If I’d actually been drunk, Nathan’s ominous words would have been enough to sober me up even without his piercing gaze on me.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Barely anything.” It was true. I’d only had a couple of drinks, but my residual good mood was due mostly to actually having fun at the party.

I’d been so nervous—about how to wear, how to act, how to talk to people, if I’d make a good impression companywide in a social setting. Hell, I’d even been nervous about being on the dinner cruise itself, my lack of nautical experience making me worry that I’d be pitched back and forth like a sloop in a storm.

It wasn’t until I got home to Nathan that I felt seasick.

He assessed me, rubbing his chin. The hair I’d so carefully straightened hadn’t survived the muggy evening and harbor breeze, and was now in a floppy ponytail. Sitting on his bed, I tried to tug the hem of my dress down from where it had ridden up around my thighs.

After the cruise I’d ended up barhopping in the West Village with a few other interns, including Tom, Halle and Jordan. I was relaxed, feeling confident, and basically high on life. My laugh came easily, my jokes raunchier and my conversation pithier. Socially, I was on fire in a way I had little experience with, and it went right to my head.

By midnight, my “fuck me” heels had proven no match for the cobblestones paving the windy little streets we navigated. My poor feet were swollen, red and sore. Halle hooked her arm through mine in female solidarity, but her support came with a lecture attached.

“That was dumb, Zoe. For one thing, we were on a boat. For another thing, don’t wear shoes like that unless you’re going straight from a cab into a restaurant or something. Not here.” She shook her head. “Those shoes aren’t for walking.”

A year younger than me, she was from Boston and had her own cobblestone cautionary tales to tell. Her funky flats matched her equally funky sundress. If we’d been in Chinatown or something, she mused, we might have been able to find a little souvenir store still open with some flip-flops. But no such luck. I whimpered and limped until giving up and taking my shoes off.

“That’s nasty.” Jordan whistled. “You know what’s on that sidewalk?”

I didn’t want to think about it, planning to disinfect my feet when I got home. But at least in bare feet, I’d get home without breaking my ankle. I’d put my shoes back on before going into a cute little speakeasy, but just trying to walk in them again brought tears to my eyes. We called it a night soon after, since most places had a “no shoes, no service” policy.

Tom lived pretty close to me, so he offered to make sure I got home with all my toes intact. We traded dirty jokes across town in the cab, even the driver chuckling, and by the time I fiddled with my fob for Nathan’s building, I was breathless from laughing.

My fatigue and silly mood spurred some reckless words, though, and it wasn’t until I felt Nathan’s erection pressing into my lower back that I realized just how much danger I was in.

Yeah, I’d been on fire all evening. And now I was on fire in a different way. I squirmed on Nathan’s big, white bed…

“My feet!”

Not wanting to get his bedding dirty, I lifted my legs and spun on my butt. His eyes widened as I wriggled to the side of the bed, my dress once again riding up to expose my—

“Holy Christ, Zoe! Are you—did you go commando tonight?” Nathan’s voice rose.

“It’s a thong. Tight dress equals VPL issues, big bro,” I explained. He looked pained. “You didn’t notice when you spanked me?” The memory of his palm on my backside did strange things to my insides.

“Zoe, that wasn’t a spanking.” He shook his head, looking amused.

I fell off the side of the bed onto my butt. “Ow.” I leaned back against the mattress, my knees up and my soles flat on the hardwood.

He moved around to squat beside me, probably looking up my dress. “You okay?”

I nodded, chewing on my lower lip. “My feet hurt.”

His gaze roamed down my legs to land at my tender tootsies. “I bet.” He looped his arms under my knees and armpits, hoisting me up.

“What—” What was with all the carrying tonight?

“I’m just taking you to the bathroom,” Nathan said. He sidled through the doorway to his en suite and lowered me to the edge of the soaker tub. With one arm still looped around my shoulder, he reached over to flip the plug and turn on the taps. Water started pooling toward my feet in the tub.

“I don’t suppose you have any Epsom salts, do you?” I asked. My hippy dippy Mom always swore by their healing powers.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Let me look.”

I balanced on the edge of the tub, the water rising around my ankles and turning murky from the filth on my feet. But fuck, it felt good, even if it stung a little. The ledge cooled the backs of my thighs, and my shoulders hunched over a little as the sound of running water soothed my ears.

Nathan reappeared, brandishing a jar. “Will this work?”

I peered at it. Himalayan pink salt. “Maybe?”

He wrenched it open and dumped it in. I cringed in anticipation. “You know you’re literally pouring salt on my wounds,” I pointed out as I turned off the water.

“Well, you deserve it for wearing those ridiculous shoes.” He dropped to his knees beside the tub and looked at my feet in the dirty water. Still, I had a feeling he’d liked those ridiculous shoes.

I jumped when Nathan leaned over beside me, reaching into the tub to swirl the water around my toes. When he trailed his knuckles down my calves to my heels, I held my breath.

“Doesn’t look like you broke the skin,” he murmured.

“Small mercies.” I sighed. “Men are so lucky. Do your shoes ever hurt?”

“Which ones?”

“Any. All. The ones the Keebler Elves made.”

His laugh bounced off all the glass and tile and reverberated in my heart like a tuning fork. He leaned into my side, his head near my breast. His hair tickled my arm and it was then that I remembered he was shirtless.

Nervously I swished my feet around in the shallow water. They were still red and puffy, but clean and feeling better.

“So… I’m your roommate?” I asked shyly.

His forehead creased. “I’m your brother?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of, huh?”

Still kneeling on the floor as I sat with my feet in the tub, he nuzzled the crook of my elbow. I sucked in a sharp breath as his nose and mouth wandered up my arm to the curve of my shoulder. “You said something else,” he reminded me hotly.

“Not really.” Could he hear my heart pounding?

“You did.”

“What?”

“Say something else. Keep up, Zoe.” His rebuke was followed by a bite on my shoulder, beside the strap of my dress.

I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensations rippling through me. “I meant you’re not really my brother.” A fact that I’d been acutely aware of since Day One.

He let out a sigh, sliding a finger under my dress and bra straps then pulling them off my shoulder. “Thank god for that.”