Page 103 of She Belongs to Me

She hadn’t been.

“You mean male strippers.”

I turned my head, eyeing my brother carefully. I could tell he was serious. My mother was close to seventy years old. It was definitely too much information. “I do not want to know.”

He grinned, his goddamn eyes twinkling like he’d just scored one on me.

“You’re an ass,” I told him.

“You’re a stuck-up prude. How do you think your much younger girlfriend is going to tolerate your ancient actions? I doubt she’ll want to spin you around in your wheelchair in a few years.” He took a step back, waiting for my response.

It was as if we were young men again with way too much testosterone and a determination to control the world. “Yeah? Well, since you have a tough time getting it up, you won’t have that option.”

“Bastard.”

“Jerk.”

We pretended to spar as we’d done so long ago. The activity had stopped. I couldn’t remember when or if there’d been a why other than there’d been a few years we hadn’t gotten along. This felt good. Damn good. Almost normal. Family traditions my father had tried to instill in all three of us. He’d ensured every holiday was special, fawning over my mother for her favorite holiday of Christmas.

The feast of the seven fishes. Family coming over for days. Music blaring through the house. Four Christmas trees standing twelve feet high. And every tree and surface outside decorated with lights.

For the past four years, nothing.

No lights.

No trees in the main house.

No Christmas Eve feast.

At first, I’d led myself to believe it was because of grief. Now I was beginning to ask myself how the rest of my family tolerated my cold fish behavior. I didn’t know what had happened, but I hated myself for it.

Could I change?

Who the hell knew. What I did know was that if I had a reason to, it was Alexandra. One fucking week. It had taken her one fucking week to derail everything in my world.

One. Fucking. Week.

What did that tell me?

We heard female laughter and straightened up, both of us brushing our hands down the front of our clothes at the same time.

When the two ladies walked into the room, I heard my brother whistling first. Both women were incredibly beautiful, but I was used to my sister stealing the show anywhere we went or at any event.

But Alexandra.

By God, I know my heart stopped. I’d enjoyed the beauty of various women from different countries over the years. Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads. From fashion to horse shows. But seeing Alexandra in a crimson dress, her long hair piled on top of her head, with the subtle makeup no doubt my sister had applied adding a sultry touch was…

Breathtaking.

The dress highlighted her voluptuous body without appearing tight. It was the perfect attire for her long legs and shapely figure. My mouth watered. My cock throbbed. And my balls tightened. Not to mention what the sight of her did to my pulse.

Fuck me.

I hadn’t realized I’d walked closer until she lifted her head to look me in the eyes. But only slightly. She was much taller in heels, which also helped with the defiant, sparkling look in her eyes. I adored seeing her this way, as if she could conquer the world.

I had no doubt she could.

Without hesitation, she offered a sly smile and took the glass of whiskey from my hand. The little temptress licked the rim before taking a sip. My brother whistled again and by that point, my sister had moved to his side, swatting him in the stomach.

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