What the hell was wrong with him? Emily was nothing like the women he usually dated. He’d always been partial to blatantly sexy, sophisticated females with carnal appetites to match. In stark contrast, Emily was like a breath of fresh air, open and guileless, carrying her innocence around her like a mantle.
With great difficulty, Devlin ignored the sudden spike of insistent heat in his blood. “Are you trying to start a family feud?” he asked, attempting to infuse his words with mild amusement and failing miserably. It was difficult not to eat her up with his eyes. “The last time us McKay boys got into a serious squabble with your brothers was when we were in junior high.”
Emily cocked her head and rolled her eyes. “I remember. You kissed Bridget Conway after school, not knowing that Eric had been mooning over her for the better part of the year.”
Despite the discomfort of his hard-on, Devlin managed a small smile. “Your brothers waited for me behind the gym the next day.”
“You beat each other up. My mom nearly had a heart attack when Eric came home with a bloody lip. Brett’s nose was broken and Alex had a black eye. She called the General in a panic.”
The General was the nickname the Sinclair kids had bestowed upon their father, Harmon Sinclair, a battle-hardened US Marine Corps Lieutenant General. Devlin grinned, reliving the memory. Both sets of parents had gotten involved and managed to smooth over the altercation. Their kids had been best friends ever since.
“We didn’t come out of it unscathed.” Jake had lost a tooth. Riley had come away with a sprained hand, and he, the oldest and supposedly the wisest, had sported a fat lip for several days.
“So will you help me? Please?”
His cock twitched at the sexy voice but he fought to ignore it. Devlin snorted. “Your brothers would kill me first.” He gallantly tried not to let his eyes linger on any part of her luscious body. Damn, but Emily was sexy and alluring without even trying. And, he reminded himself, she had three brothers who could be meaner than junkyard dogs. He ought to know. They were his friends.
Emily scooted closer. Her nipples pushed softly against the silky material of her dress, brushing dangerously near his arm. Devlin’s mouth watered, salivating for a taste. He bit back a groan. If her brothers knew what he was thinking right now, they’d skin him alive.
He was tempted to bury his hand in her thick hair to see if it was as silky as it looked. Her full, glistening lips made him think of hot, tongue-tangling, deep French kisses. Or better yet, wrapped around his cock in a long, slow suck. His blood pressure escalated. Jesus. This was Emily Sinclair. He’d watched her grow up, for God’s sake. It was as if a switch had gone off and she’d suddenly become the equivalent of a voluptuous pinup in his mind. He felt like a pervert.
She crossed her arms, pushing those delicious mounds into prominence. Limpid blue eyes implored him. “Will you at least let me explain why I need you to teach me?”
“Hell, no.” Devlin didn’t want to know. Wanting to hide the huge boner he was sporting, he stormed off across the yard.
Emily hurried to catch up. “I’m writing an article on ten different ways,” she lowered her voice, “a relatively inexperienced woman can drive a man insane in bed.”
