Page 20 of Charming Deception

I’m halfway through my second Campari and soda, and Cole is still talking, when the big glass walls to the living room slide open and a man steps out.

As he strides in our direction, the world suddenly does this strange stopping-in-its-tracks thing.

It’s like he’s walking in slow motion, and my stomach squeezes, reminding me that I haven’t eaten enough today. I feel strangely weightless, and I must be doing something weird with my face because I feel Cole’s eyes on me. But I can’t take mine off the man strolling toward us.

It’s the man I met in the street.

He’s shirtless now. Tanned and muscular and athletic, with a gleaming eight-pack. A few artful tattoos, mostly etched in black, wind up the side of his sculpted torso and both gym-toned arms, including a dagger tattoo featured prominently on his perfectly sculpted chest, above his heart.

It literally takes me that long to drag my eyes up to his face. And by then, my cheeks and several other parts of me are warm.

He has stunning light-blue eyes, blondish stubble along his strong jaw, sun-kissed hair with a bit of wayward curl in it, and an air of bad boy about him that’s somehow more prominent now that most of his clothes are gone.

Wearing nothing but a pair of low-riding white linen pants, he stands in front of us, staring at me.

No, devouring me with his eyes.

Cole greets him. They hug, and still, he doesn’t take his eyes off me. I don’t even hear whatever they say to each other.

“Megan, this is Jameson,” Cole says, somewhere far away.

I feel warm all over now, tingly, and breathless. My brother is miles away. My feet no longer touch the ground. There’s nothing but the man in front of me, as everything else falls away like a dream I’m waking up from.

Is this what love at first sight feels like?

No. If it was love at first sight, you would’ve felt this in the street.

All I felt in the street was embarrassed, and like I wanted to sink through the pavement and disappear.

But I’ve never felt half as floored with the adrenaline rush of being introduced to a man in my life. My entire nervous system trembles with euphoria while outwardly, a strange paralysis overtakes my limbs.

“Nice to meet you, Megan.” His voice is a low rumble, and just as guarded as it sounded in the street. He doesn’t smile, and I realize belatedly that he’s offering me his hand.

I take it, hoping my fingers aren’t shaking. My heart seems to think I’m on the brink of death, and pumps blood through my system so hard, I might black out.

“Jameson.” My voice is gooey. It’s like I’m liquefying under his gaze.

He’s the sun, and everything around us is just a watercolor world, melting under the force of his heat.

“Cole has told me such nice things about you,” he says. And I love my brother so much right now, I could grab him and kiss him.

I don’t.

I just hold onto his best friend’s hand for an awkward beat—or two—longer than a handshake requires, staring.

* * *

For several of the most awkward minutes of my life, under the guise of “getting a drink”—even though both of them already have a drink in hand—Cole and his bestie relocate themselves to the far end of the patio, by the bar adjacent to the outdoor kitchen.

To talk about me.

I mean, I’m assuming they’re talking about me. Because my brother just deposited me on a lounge chair like a pet and told me to stay.

I finish my Campari, try to overhear them, fail, and try to look anywhere but at Jameson.

Lord of all that’s good and holy, though, he’s hot. Or maybe it’s lord of all that’s bad and dripping in temptation?

Does he have to be so shirtless?

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