I wasn’t sure what would be better—Miranda in the jumpsuit or out of it. There was something so ridiculously hot about her walking around in a fucking skintight leotard with her cleavage busting out the top and her thighs deliciously naked. There was a peek of ass cheek hanging out as well and all I could think was that I wanted a lap dance. She knew how to move. I wanted all that attention turned on me.

She was carrying a bag that she dug into and removed a key, never glancing back at me. I had no clue what was going on in her head. Hell, I had no idea what was going on in mine. I just knew that my already complicated feelings for Miranda had gotten more so. I was intrigued by the idea of giving her what she wanted, a baby. Our baby. But at the same time I wasn’t sure my DNA was the best bet, what with a brother who was a sociopath. I also didn’t want to go jerk off in a medical office and have them shoot my sperm into Miranda with the turkey baster. There was nothing intimate about that.

Props to science for making it work for couples struggling with fertility, but that was not what I wanted with Miranda.

She dropped her key and bent over to retrieve it before I realized what was happening. Those long, trim legs. That tight, pert ass. That sexy blond hair that made me want to wrap it around my fingers and tug.

The bag swung forward and fell off of her shoulder from gravity as she bent over. The momentum slammed her purse into the door. “Shit,” she said.

The items inside spilled on the floor and I squatted down to help her retrieve them. A lipstick, aspirin, her wallet. The usual. Her phone had fallen face down but when I picked it up it was lit, probably falling on its side and turning the screen on. Her screen showed a familiar face. I only saw it for a flash before it went dark again and I fought the urge to hit the button, to see that grinning bastard behind her passcode request.

Why the fuck did she still have a picture of Max on her phone screen? Where she had to glance at it a hundred times a day. That was not cool. Not cool at all. Nor was it healthy. Five years. What had he done to deserve her devotion for five fucking years? Nothing.

She snatched her phone from my hand. She was looking everywhere but at me.

“Hey. What is going on? For real?”

Finally she stopped avoiding my gaze and we locked eyes. With a little sniff she whispered, “What do you mean?”

“I’m coming in your room and you’re going to tell me why you are here, in Miami. Not the partial truth. The whole truth.”

Her eyelashes dropped, veiling her amber eyes. She tried to laugh, but it was brittle. “Don’t you want to go back to Lola? I think you could get lucky with a pop star if you take your shirt off again.”

“I know that. But that wouldn’t answer my questions about you.” I reached out and tugged the end of her hair and gave her a smile. “Don’t look so scared. You know I’m harmless.” Unlike my brother. “You just totally caught me off guard tonight and I want to know what’s up. The full story.”

“There’s no full story. I just want to be a mother. I’m sorry I sprung it on you the way I did.” She stood back up and opened the door. “Why don’t you think about it and call me in a few days?”

But I put my hand on the door. She wasn’t getting off the hook that easy. I hadn’t seen her in three years and she had dropped a bomb on me. “Miranda.”

“What?” she asked, flustered.

“Talk to me.” Maybe I was pushing. Maybe I should walk away. But the majority of my life I had learned that if I was persistent I could get what I wanted in the end.

That was probably the one thing my brother and I had in common. Then again, Max never tried to coax. He just took. That wasn’t my style.

I may not have ever gotten Miranda, but then again, I’d never tried. This was my chance. She had opened the door and I was going to stroll right in. I could feel it—that persistent desire spiraling out of control. Every feeling I’d ever had, every fantasy about her, felt like it was within reach if I played this all right. But first, I had to get her talking again.

She sighed and stepped into her room. “Get in here. I’m not having a conversation in the hallway. I may have left the tour but I still don’t want everyone knowing my business.”

I nodded and followed her. My shirt was still unbuttoned and loose over my waistband. It was a little ridiculous given that I was also carrying a gun, but this was my life. Hell, this was Miami. Over-the-top. Miranda’s room was small but still pretty damn glam to my eye. It was modern, lots of white on white on white, and the drapes were open. She didn’t have a view of the water, but the downtown skyline, and I walked over to it, appreciating the view from the vantage point. “It looks like you get to travel in style on the tour,” I said.

“Yeah, Lola has been good to her team. Usually I have a roommate but they gave me a solo room since I won’t be here for the show tomorrow night.” Miranda came up beside me and looked out the window. “I did miss Miami. There is nothing like it anywhere else. The lights are so beautiful,” she murmured.

But I was watching her, taking in her profile. “You’re beautiful.”

She gave a startled soft laugh. “Oh geez. Thanks.”

“It’s true.” I leaned against the wall, cramming my hands into my pockets so I refrained from touching her. “You know I’ve always thought that. You know I always had a thing for you.”

I half expected her to deny it. To bluster and act shocked. But she nodded. “I know. But I also know that you’ve outgrown it.”

Her statement sounded more like a question. I shook my head. “I haven’t grown out of thinking you’re beautiful.”

I saw her visibly swallow. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“I see a lot of someones,” I said truthfully. “But no one special and never for very long.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m sharing the wealth.” I gave her a smirk. “What about you? No boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you what I did if that were the case.” Miranda went over to the bed and sat down. She reached down to undo her strapped-on heels. “I haven’t really had time to date.”

That made me frown. “Are you telling me you haven’t dated since Max?” I knew the answer. She still had his damn picture on her phone.

She shook her head. “Not really. It’s been hard to move on.”

I stayed by the window. I wanted to appear casual even though I felt anything but. “Then maybe asking me to give you a baby isn’t the best way to make that happen. I am his brother.” Unfortunately. “Every time you look at a kid, you’re going to think of me. And him.”

Then it hit me. That was the point. This wasn’t about me at all. It wasn’t like she thought I was a nice guy and had good genes. She wanted Max, and I was the next best thing. Fuck me. My nostrils flared.

Miranda stood up and went over to the mirror to undo the clip on the top of her hair. She was avoiding looking at me. “Why does everyone think I’m supposed to hit the one-year mark and just be able to move on? Grief doesn’t work that way.” She threw down the clip and shook her hair loose.

“There’s grief and then there’s flat-out denial.”

She was attempting to unzip her bodysuit but she was struggling to get the zipper down. Frustrated with that and me simultaneously, she huffed. “You don’t have the right to tell me how I feel.”

I crossed the room in three steps and put my large hands on her zipper and started to take it down. She jumped and tried to pull away but I stilled her by leaning close to her ear. “Let me help,” I murmured. “And you’re right, I don’t. But I’m concerned about you. I’ve always been concerned about you.”

The frustration, old and gnarled and nasty, rose again. What the fuck did she see in Max? Or really, why couldn’t she see the truth? He was good at masking his rotten inner core. But he wasn’t that good. Even the world’s best liar and sociopath can’t hide how narcissistic he is. It pissed me off that Miranda was just perfectly willing to overlook all of that. Had she never noticed that Max didn’t do anything that wasn’t self-serving? That every gift he gave her came at a price? It was either a manipulation, like he wanted a guys’ weekend in Vegas without her, or some bullshit apology, ie “Sorry I used your car and left the tank empty and you were late to work.”

This was my frustration my whole life with Max. No one ever saw. No one. I was a man alone on an island and everyone had thought I was jealous of my charismatic brother.

When I got the zipper halfway down her back, Miranda shivered and turned around. Her eyes were troubled. “I can get it the rest of the way. What do you want me to say, Alejandro? A new relationship hasn’t come along for me so I decided it doesn’t matter. I want to move on with my life and become a chef and a mother. I’m sorry if that isn’t enough progress for you.”

“It’s like this zipper,” I said, brushing my thumb along her bare skin, feeling the ridges of her spine. “You can do it by yourself, but you’ll struggle some.” I needed to think about this, but I needed her to think about something too. “I know you’re a very capable woman, Miranda. And I know you’ll be a great mother. But before we discuss this any further, I need to know if you can agree to two conditions.”

Her expression was wary. “What conditions?”

She wasn’t going to like either one. But I had my limits.

“That you at least admit that there is a possibility that Max left of his own free will.”

Immediately her mouth opened and she was going to protest. “Stop. I don’t want you to defend Max or tell me I’m full of shit. I just want you to think about it. Nothing is one hundred percent. You can’t know with certainty that he was abducted or met with foul play any more than I can know that he wasn’t.” I was pretty damn sure though, but in the interest of fairness, I couldn’t prove it. So I just wanted her to say that it was possible. That her blind faith in him might have been misplaced.

She didn’t say anything. She just stared at me. “The other condition?”

This one might go over with even less enthusiasm. “I don’t want to go into an office and donate my sperm. I want to do this the old-fashioned way. I want you to have sex with me.”

Already furious from Alejandro’s implication that I was an idiot for believing in Max, his follow-up request shocked me speechless. “What? Why?”

“Because making a baby is intimate and if you love me as a person, or friend, or whatever you want to call it, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

His muscles and body and personality were crowding my space. I felt hot and flustered. “This feels like blackmail.” It did. But it also felt… arousing. I was breathing too hard and it wasn’t just from anger, though I was angry. It was from desire. I was attracted to Alejandro, there was no denying it, even though it was so damn wrong.

He was sexy, he was built. He had a devilish smile and charm. I knew him too, had known him for a decade, so he felt familiar, easy to be around. But he was Max’s brother. I couldn’t get over that. Max’s brother who didn’t even understand why I loved Max. That was obvious. Or why I felt guilty.

“It’s not blackmail. You don’t have to say yes. You can still have a baby with someone else.”

“That makes it blackmail.”

He just shook his head, and the bastard was smiling, the grin of a playboy who knows he’ll get exactly what he wants. “No. That makes it payment.”

My hand flew up to slap him before I even realized what I was doing. I’m not a woman who runs around hitting men. This was the first time ever, in fact. Yet I was just so furious and offended. “I’m not a hooker, I’m your sister-in-law.”

His instincts were better than mine. He grabbed my hand and stopped my momentum before my palm made contact with his skin. “You never married Max. So you are not my sister in any way. And I never said you were a hooker. Don’t put words in my mouth. I told you that I love you and I meant it.”

Confused, I stood there with his hand wrapped around my wrist. “But I don’t understand why you would want this.” For some insane reason I couldn’t bring myself to say sex out loud, which was irritating as hell. I was thirty damn years old and I had toured with some of the biggest names in the music business. I had fended off creepers and stalkers and stage hands. I had endured endless days and nights on the road. I am not wimpy. Yet I couldn’t say sex out loud. It was so stupid.

“Why do I want this?” he asked, startling me by running his finger down my back. “Or why I want this?” His hand drew across my waist. “Or this?” His voice was slow, seductive, his touch light as a feather.

I shivered as his hand rose near my cleavage without actually touching me. It was just a subtle gesture, an indication of his desire.

“Or why do I want these lips?” There was the pad of his thumb, rubbing across my plump bottom lip.

My anger mingled with confusion, which warred with desire. I wanted to touch his bare chest, to tilt my head, raising my lips to him. To peel down the bodysuit and stand before him naked, a full complete woman, with nipples begging for his touch. Not usually at a loss for words, I stood there, waiting. Needing. I had known him for a decade, but never like this.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, bending down. He was so close to me I could smell his aftershave.

See the scar on his cheek that he hadn’t had before. “Yes,” I whispered. “I want to know.”

“Because ever since I was fifteen I have thought you were the perfect woman and just once, I want to feel your skin against mine. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Then he lowered his head and I knew what he was going to do. He was going to kiss me. And for whatever insane reason I was going to let him. His hand had shifted to cup my cheek with the softest touch imaginable. He had calluses and large encapsulating fingers, a big man with an even larger intensity. I had always felt older, wiser, and totally in control with Alejandro. It was because I was the first without dispute, the second in my mind because of the first, and the third because I had known he had that harmless little crush.

Now I was still older but that was it. I was not wiser, clearly, or I wouldn’t be in a partially unzipped bodysuit. As for being in control? Not even close.

When his lips brushed mine I shivered. It went from the roots of my hair down my cheeks, over my shoulders, and rolled down the length of me. I sighed. I leaned. I ached. It had been a long time since I had kissed a man and this was different anyway. That had been an aggressive, let’s do this, kind of a moment. This was hushed, anticipatory, a soft, sensual whisper. It was silk on my skin.

His lips took mine fully then, with a skill that left me flushed, reaching out for his chest, to hold myself up. He kissed like it was art and I was his canvas. But less studied. A self-trained artist who was worshipping me with his touch. Oh God, everything in me went still, hushed. Then passion rose, exploded inside me, his tongue teasing my lips apart and sliding past them. If he could do this, so easily draw desire from the depths of my core with just some kisses, what else could he do?

I was losing myself, drowning, digging my nails into his chest.

Then he pulled away.

Leaving me breathing hard and leaning in to him, unable to think. At some point one of my shoulder straps had slipped off and I felt exposed, but I didn’t make any move to cover up. I didn’t want to hide from him. Alejandro was the one who reached out and slid my strap back into place.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, my heart pounding, breathing ragged in the quiet room. His eyes were dark, intense.

Then he leaned forward, breaking the moment, and he kissed my forehead. It wasn’t sexual at all, and I was disappointed.

“Get some sleep. Think about it,” he said. “Call me if you need help moving into your new place. I still have the same number.” He stepped back and buttoned up his shirt. “And I’m good for heavy lifting.”

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to nod. “Okay. Thanks. I have the same number too.” How could he be so casual? I felt way off-kilter. None of this had gone according to plan. I wasn’t supposed to be standing there speechless with tight nipples and a deep ache between my thighs.

Alejandro gave me a smile. “Good to see you, Miranda. I’m glad you’re home.”

I still couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. But as he turned and went towards the door, I found my voice again. He wasn’t going to come in here, turn my plan on its head, and then stroll out with a flip of his wrist in a very chill wave.

“Why haven’t you texted or called me in three years?” I asked. That had been the last time I was in town and I had gone to see his parents and he had still been living with them. He had been aloof then, though still friendly. But he had said we should stay in touch and I had believed him. I had wanted to both believe him and have him in my life.

He stopped and turned, shaking his head. “Because it had to be you reaching out. Because of Max. You had to come to me.”

I don’t know what I was expecting. Something that would put me back in control? I was the one who had rocked the foundation of our relationship and he was running with it. I couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle. “I think we want two different things.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s true at all. Sweet dreams.”

He left my hotel room and I stood there, breathing hard, unsure what the hell had just happened. I went and took a shower and massaged my aching body under the hot stream. And damn it. I pictured Alejandro naked, in the shower with me, as I let the spray hit my sensitive flesh, my fingers teasing myself open, stroking.

It shocked the hell out of me that I came with his face dancing before my closed eyelids.

Oh dammit, I was in serious trouble here. Maybe we didn’t want different things after all.

Because I couldn’t deny that I wanted him.

Which was really freaking messed up.

Two brothers, two totally different personalities. And yet for all Alejandro made me feel unnerved, at the same time I felt very safe with him.

Safe, and very, very sexy.

And I came for the second time, this time his name on my lips.