Page 102 of Charming Deception

The heat in his eyes as they graze over my cleavage, then my lips, hones into something hungrier before his gaze skips away to focus on the food.

“Glad you enjoyed it.” His tone is still neutral.

Very practiced.

“This is amazing.” I change the subject, admiring the spread before us. “Coffee,” as it turns out, is nothing short of a gourmet breakfast for two, complete with omelets in little skillets, an array of meats, cheeses, fruits, and pastries.

“I had Chef roll out some things I thought you might like. Rurik noticed you went to the market for fresh food a lot.”

“Yes. Spies are handy that way.” I eye him sidelong.

He lets it pass.

“We’ve got fresh berries, jam, honey, ham, eggs, everything sourced locally. I thought you might like a taste of what Vancouver has to offer.”

“It looks fabulous, thank you. What more could a newly engaged woman ask for on her first morning as a fiancée?” I smile tentatively.

He smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It seems like something’s troubling him.

It always seems that way, really.

I wonder if he’s always stressed out because of the pressures he lives with. Financial pressures. Family pressures. Fame, or infamy, depending on how you look at the kind of media attention he seems to get.

Yet he suddenly seems concerned about me, his brows drawing together. “If there’s anything you’d like, anything you want to be different, just let me know.”

“Thank you. I will. This all might just take an adjustment period. I’m not used to being catered to at this level.” And by someone like you.

“Well, you’ll get used to it.”

I doubt that.

With that, we dig in, and I make it my mission to sample everything on offer. Jameson watches me eat, his attention skipping between my face and my breasts.

Maybe I’ve overdone it with the open buttons. Without the straps holding it up, the dress is gradually slipping down and my bra is actually showing, along with the generous upper half of my boobs. But I just keep eating. I’m hungry.

Finally, I dab at my mouth with a napkin and sit back. “I can’t eat any more. I’m sorry. I’m stuffed.”

He says nothing, just sips his coffee, a strangely black expression in his light-blue eyes. It’s confounding. I’m seriously not sure if he’s irritated with me about something or wants to fuck me up against the wall.

Intense.

“So,” I venture nervously. “It’s Sunday. What do you do on a Sunday?”

“Whatever I want to do.”

The weight of his gaze makes me want to squirm, but I try not to.

“There’s nothing that needs your attention right now? Work? Billionaire stuff?”

“Maybe I just want to enjoy my fiancée.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “Megan…” His voice is low and heated. “I can see your nipple and it’s driving me crazy.”

I look down. The perky demicups of my bra are indeed showing, my boobs spilling out of them. It might be a good vibe, seductionwise, except the right one is spilling over and my nipple has popped out.

“Oh my god.” I cover my breast with my hand.

Jameson tears his eyes away.

I try to keep my voice calm when I ask him, “How long has it been out?” I jiggle my boob back into place while he politely keeps his eyes averted.

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