Page 47 of The Roommate Lie

My knees wobble.

“You know,” he says slowly, “when other girls wear maid costumes for fun—for Halloween and stuff—they don’t look like this.”

For Halloween and stuff?

I shrug. “Mine is a Regency maid costume. That’s different.”

Charlie nods, his warm hazel eyes fixed on mine, and that much playful smolder should be illegal. That man should bearrested. Still holding my gaze, he pushes off the dresser and takes a slow step toward me.

I gulp.

Then I ramble.

“Go historically accurate or go home. That’s what I always say.”

Is it, Alice? Is that what youalwayssay?

My ramblings don’t deter Charlie. He chuckles, and the low rumble of that sound buzzes under my skin. My knees wobble again.

“Why did you bring it with you?” he asks, and his voice is a flirtatious growl. The best growl.

I shake my head, adamant. I’d rather die than confess. I’d rather write an entire romance novel about my ex.

Charlie doesn’t give up. Keeping his eyes on me, he moves closer, his smile so wicked it takes years off my life. As if that man has ways of making me talk.

Very fun ways.

Chapter Twenty-Four

ALICE

Before I can steady myself, Charlie closes the distance between us.

I’m standing at the foot of the bed, his bed, and suddenly he’s there too. It’s a four-poster masterpiece, a real historic wonder, and Charlie rests his hand high on the nearest post as he angles his body toward mine, boxing me in. Doing the best makeshift doorway-lean I’ve ever seen.

“Alice,” he grumbles like a caged lion, “why did you bring a Regency maid costume on vacation?”

I don’t say anything, so he leans closer.

“I know you want to tell me…”

He pairs that with the perfect mischievous wink, the kind I’ve written about for years, and his dimples are so deep I want to sink my thumbs into them. I almost do.

Then he turns up the heat. Just for fun.

Gaze steady, eyes burning into mine, he bites his bottom lip—like a rake who knows exactly what he’s doing—and I amsusceptible. Any resolve I had fades; I want to tell that man everything. I want to do a lot of other things too, most of them completely out of character for sweet little Alice.

Don’t be fooled.

I know it isn’t real, whatever’s happening between us. This moment is only pretend. Charlie has feelings for someone else, and he’s just playing a game to make me talk. But it might be my new favorite game.

“Alice…”

He lets my name linger, drawing it out like a promise as he waits for an explanation. I try to resist, but I’m a mere mortal, weaker than weak.

“The outfit goes with the typewriter. They’re for writer’s block.”

Technically, that’s true, but it sounds like nonsense. I haven’t explained myself nearly enough, yet Charlie doesn’t question my logic. “And where exactly does one get a historically accurate maid costume—for writer’s block?”

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