Page 86 of Charming Deception

God. I’m horny.

It’s been so damn long since anyone touched me there.

Besides, well, me.

I tie my hair up into a loose bun and force myself into the shower, turning the temperature down to a cooler setting when the penetrating warmth only makes me internally hotter, my pulse throbbing insistently in my clit. I wash quickly with the bodywash on offer, leaving my hair dry.

I keep glancing at the open doorway, checking to see if I’m being watched. But Jameson doesn’t appear.

When I finish in the shower, I dry off and slip into my fresh panties, then my nightshirt. I’ve never thought of it as sexy. It’s a comfort item, soft cotton, ending halfway down my thighs. But when I turn in front of the mirror now, my breasts are pretty jiggly through the thin fabric. My nipples stick out.

I’m still horny.

I turn sideways to my reflection. I cut the sleeves out long ago, and the enlarged armholes show some side boob. I never really thought about that before. I’ve only ever worn it to sleep in front of Troy, and now Nicole.

Well, fuck. I don’t want to be a tease.

Or worse, seem desperate, like I’m trying to seduce him or something.

Maybe he’ll be asleep by now anyway. And if he isn’t, I’ll just be careful to keep the shirt in place so a boob doesn’t pop out in his face.

I press my arms down at my sides and head into the bedroom.

As it turns out, Jameson is awake. He’s lying on the side of the bed closest to the walk-in, the small lamp on his night table glowing over him.

He’s on his back, the thin covers tucked up around his ribs, which means that his strong, gorgeous arms, his muscular, tattooed chest, and his ruddy-pink, lickable nipples are all bare.

He turns his head on his pillow to face me, and his eyes trace the jutting shape of my breasts through my shirt, his pupils big and dark in the dimly lit room. “Dirty,” he says, almost to himself.

I tug self-consciously at the hem of the nightshirt, which is actually an old band shirt, trying to cover more of me. “Yeah. They’re my favorite band.”

He watches as I round the bed to my side and peel back the covers, carefully, so as not to expose more of him than is already exposed. But I’m dying to know what he’s wearing under there.

“If only I’d known,” he says dryly. “I could’ve introduced you to Jesse on day one, won you over right there.”

I slip into the bed as he speaks, and now I’m trying to slide down under the covers without the boob on his side falling out. “What?”

“Jesse Mayes.” He nods at my shirt. “I know him.”

I drop my head on the pillow with a thud. My eyes go wide, the way I’ve seen Nicole’s do at the mention of something she wants badly. “You know heartthrob Jesse Mayes? Dirty’s lead guitarist and one of the sexiest men on planet Earth? Can I rethink this whole engagement?”

He half rolls his eyes.

“I’m kidding.” I kill the cartoon-cat eyes. “It’s not a big deal. Cole has introduced me to famous people.”

“Glad to know you won’t get too swept away,” he mutters, “when you find out he’s my neighbor.”

“Really?” Honestly, I’m intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? “On which side?”

“Not right next door. And hell if I’m telling you now.” He reaches to turn off the lamp and the covers slip farther down his muscled rib cage. Before I can really enjoy the view, the light goes out.

“Hmm. Too bad. I am a bit of a voyeur.”

Silence.

When he doesn’t respond, heat creeps up my face as I mentally kick myself. It sounded funny, innocent in my head, but the fact that it’s true—and maybe he can tell I meant it, even though it was a joke?—makes me deeply regret opening my mouth.

“Um. Did I mention I have no game?”

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