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By´╝ÜSosie Frost

Her finger went up. Fortunately, it was her index and not the middle.

“Oh. Hell. No.”

Now the finger wagged. A starting gun shot somewhere, and we were off.

And I deserved it. That’s why I hadn’t asked for her number after she writhed in my sheets. We were going to meet up sooner rather than later. I only hoped I’d have enough time to grab some of my old gear. A Kevlar vest maybe. A pair a handcuffs if she lunged…or if she forgave me.

“This isn’t happening.” Shay didn’t let me speak. “You aren’t serious.”

The attorney panicked, knotting his fingers together.

“Uh, son, do you know each other?”

In every way imaginable. I dodged the question.

“Yes, sir. We ran into each other a few nights ago.”

And I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head since. At least it was something good to remember when Shay inevitably jumped me and succeeded where eight ISIS agents failed. I took a seat across from the attorney and hoped some form of the legal system would protect me from bleeding all over the office.

To her credit, Shay was just as beautiful angry as she was naked, trembling, and completely exposed to me. And that was a hard look to beat.

She acted tough, but she was a quart of trouble squeezed into a pint-sized carton. The skirt, the glasses, the low barrette in her hair pinning back the luxurious ebony locks. I didn’t know if I wanted the vixen or the princess, but damn if they didn’t mesh into the perfect woman.

…A very pissed off woman, as she had every right to be.

But I wasn’t going to stress about our night together. My biggest regret was blowing the chance to re-live the most erotic sex of my life. Shay was a one-of-a-kind woman, even if she was, technically, my step-sister. You just didn’t get that kind of kink anywhere. That was a special brand of off-the-shelf, bargain-bin, sell-it-out-of-the-trunk-of-a-1980-Pontiac-in-a-flea-market-parking-lot kink.

“I can’t believe this,” Shay said. “This has to be some sort of joke.”

William nervously laughed. “What a small world, huh?”

I smirked. “Small isn’t the word Shay would use.”

“This is ridiculous.” Shay stared at William. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“No…” William shrugged. “Zachary Harden is the son of Emily Brewer, your father’s wife. He is your step-brother, and he’s named in your father’s will.”

I shrugged. “I can show you ID, but I’d think you’d recognize me by now.”

Even with clothes on.

Shay wasn’t amused.

I shouldn’t have been so confrontational, but damn she was pretty when angry. I knew it was wrong, especially since she was my step-sister, but after Shay left, I jerked off in the shower to the memory of her clenching around me. Three days passed and I could still feel her lips over my cock, imagine her warmth surrounding me, and still smell the tease of apple and pomegranate on my pillow.

It was the wrong kind of fantasy to have, made worse by the current situation.

I was now an incredibly rich man.

And I had to face an irate woman demanding a metric shit-ton of explanations.

She’d be lucky if I could even answer. Just getting to the attorney’s office was a trip and a half. For the past week, Georgia flooded with rain. Suddenly, we had nothing but clear skies and an obscenely bright sun determined to burn through my retinas and set my goddamned head on fire. The migraine this morning nearly kept me in bed, but a billion dollars got me into the shower.

The money opened the world to me—even if I wanted to travel to the places other people wouldn’t dare. Iraq. Afghanistan. Iran. Syria. Those where the countries where I was supposed to be, fighting and protecting. I didn’t belong in some bumbling attorney’s office in the middle of Atlanta. I had my fill of sweet-tea, it was time to get my ass back into the service.

Though…some things they only made good in the south.

Shrimp and grits. Pecan pie. Shay Franklin.

She was definitely my favorite meal. My favorite entertainment. My favorite night life. If she could be wrapped up in a care package and sent overseas, my morale—and other things—would definitely rise.

“Shall we…uh, discuss the situation?” William asked. He offered Shay a chair that would probably get slammed over my head.

“We have nothing to discuss,” she said.

William’s nervous chuckle cracked under her stare. “Not so. There are quite a few pieces of property which will transfer to both your names, including your father’s newly purchased estate.” William dropped two house keys on his desk. “It might get pretty complicated.”