“He wasn’t specific. He just said he could tell that I liked you, and as a favor to him, could I refrain from pursuing anything with you. You’re his little sister and I’m his mate, and he doesn’t want things to get awkward. I guess he’s protective of you.”

Nory blew out a huff that was distinctly raspberry-ish. “Oh, protective my arse! The man’s a megalomaniac.”

Isaac laughed. “So, you see my predicament. I am trapped between honor and desire.”

Isaac was moving closer to her again. Too close. Too close for someone who wasn’t going to kiss her. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he moved his face near to hers, their cold noses touching, lips so tantalizingly close she could almost taste them. Arrrghhhh! She was so angry! But also very, very turned on. What cruel torture was this?

“Believe me, there is nothing I would like more at this moment than to kiss you.” Isaac’s voice was low, almost a whisper; their heads were still pressed together. “I have barely thought of anything else since hauling you out of that wheelbarrow. But Thomas is my friend.”

“Right.”

Isaac took her hand in his. “Nory, I am very attracted to you.”

“Right.”

“Say something other than ‘right.’ ”

“Okay?”

Isaac smiled and leaned in to lay a single kiss on her neck, which Nory felt reverberate through every nerve in her body. Damn stupid, horny body! You’re supposed to be angry and aloof!

“I promise you,” he whispered into her neck, his breath a delightful warm agony on her skin. “I want to kiss you.” He stood back and smiled at her. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, before turning and walking away.

Nory watched him go. When his figure had been consumed by the night, she texted her brother. Stay out of my life!

You stay out of mine! came the response.

She sighed and went up to bed. Propped up against multiple pillows on her four-poster, Nory cheered her soul by trawling through vintage-book websites, searching for the perfect midwinter books for her January displays. By 3:00 a.m., she’d sourced several first-edition classic crime novels set in large country houses and a vintage copy of Murder on the Orient Express, just the ticket to soothe the post-Christmas blues.

The book search had consumed her energies and she was now too tired to be annoyed at Thomas. She liked Isaac. She really liked him. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in, well, she couldn’t even remember in how long. Why was her brother being such a poo brain? She sighed. He was a poop head even when they were kids—except when he was being the best brother in the world, of course. And that was what made their relationship so complex.