Page 174 of Charming Deception

“Of course I did.” His hands slide into my hair and cup my head. “Give me your mouth.”

Our lips collide in a hot, ravenous kiss that goes on and on as his heartbeat and mine blur into one. All my cautions to myself are flying out the windows of this runaway train.

Because maybe this was all I was waiting for, all along: for him to express his affection for me.

I’ve been so starved for it, I gobble it up.

In the midst of all this smoldering heat, though, I feel a twinge of fear. Troy used to withhold affection until I was starving for it, too. Until I just learned to go without.

And over the years, part of me shriveled up inside.

My heart. My heart and my capacity to trust, and even to love, shriveled up.

And now Jameson is bringing it back to pulsating life.

But if he lavishes me with affection like this and then takes it away, puts up that silent barrier between us again… I know it’s going to hurt like hell.

“I need to fuck you again,” he murmurs against my neck, and I suppress the euphoric giggle that bubbles up my throat.

“Are you always this insatiable?”

He hasn’t even pulled out yet.

“For you… Yes.” He lightly bites my throat, making me shiver. Then he looks into my eyes, sending my heart to the moon when he utters, “You’ll just have to get used to my appetite if you’re going to be my wife.”

Then he kisses me so deep and so long, my chest starts to burn.

And I know if he actually asked me to be his wife… to stay… to make this thing between us real…

I’d say yes.

Chapter 39

Megan

The night after we arrive back in the city, Jameson takes me up Vance Tower for dinner.

At fifty-six floors, it’s the third-tallest building in downtown Vancouver, and the restaurant at the top boasts the most epic three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views over the city, the mountains, and the waters beyond.

It’s called Gravity Lounge. It’s a private club with a costly annual membership, valet service, a private elevator, a fixed dinner menu, and a strict dress code. You don’t get in without a membership.

Or an invitation from the owners.

Luckily, I’m with one of the owners.

To top it all off, there’s a great DJ playing sultry music, sparkling chandelier lighting, and stylish people mingling by the bar and dining at the cozy tables. This is the high life, and somehow I’m a VIP.

I’m flying on pure lust, adrenaline, and happiness as Jameson and I dine at our private table in a dark nook, with its unobstructed view of the sparkling city through the wall of windows next to us. I feel like I’ve been high for a week.

When the waitress clears away our dinner plates and Jameson orders us a second bottle of wine, the only thing I want to do almost as much as I want to climb into his lap and ride him right here is just stare at him in wonder.

He catches me staring and smiles at me before lifting his wineglass to his lips.

I take a sip of my Syrah, my heart pounding.

I’m falling.

Hard.

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