Page 2 of Brazen Deceits

“Harrison Grant.”

Jansen holds up his phone, scrolling through pictures until he finds Harrison’s. The guys take this more seriously than I realized. “Perfect, Mr. Grant. If you head up to the attic, your first game will begin at the top of the hour. Your guest is your responsibility. Ignorance of the rules is no excuse, and all consequences will fall on you, even if the actions are hers. Do you understand?”

Harrison Grant swallows, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat, and he glances behind him. “Got it.”

Jansen swings the door open with a flourish, and Harrison Grant stumbles upstairs, trailed by a blond wearing a killer dress and what must be thousand-dollar shoes. Wow. I guess sushi is the right level of fancy for this shindig.

“Hiya, beautiful,” Jansen says, abandoning his door duties to come give me a kiss. As soon as his lips touch mine, my heart flutters in my chest, my hands pulling him closer of their own accord. With that invitation, Jansen dips his tongue into my mouth with a mad swipe, before releasing my lipsso he can nibble my earlobe and down my neck, my shivers following his every touch.

“Hi,” I eke out, tilting my head to give him plenty of space to do his thing. Although, if he does too much more, I’m not sure my legs are going to hold me up. Luckily, he’s guessed I’m turning boneless, as his arms wrap around me, bracing me against him the moment before my knees turn to goo.

My own hands sneak up under his dress shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back, the ridges of his spine. God, I’ve missed this. Why have I been keeping my distance?

Right now, there’s no reason for that oversight.

The doorbell’s jingle makes us both groan, my neck damp in the best way possible. “Shit,” I mutter.

Jansen presses a kiss to my cheek, my forehead, and my nose. “Do you think I can pretend they’re not there?”

“Trips would kill you if you left one of his rich marks on the porch,” I say, running my hands around his sides and up over his abs, his breath hitching as I debate inching one hand higher—and the other lower.

Jansen watches me, considering the options, before pulling my hands out from his shirt, kissing each palm. With a long look, he throws open the door and greets the next player.

I watch from the kitchen doorway, the words of the entrance ceremony flowing over me, my attention focused on the shift of Jansen’s muscles under his clothes, the control he has over every inch of his body, the body of a dancer. Or in this case, the body of a thief.

I huff out a breath, annoyed at the interruption.

If I really think about it, though, I’m more annoyed at myself. It’s been three weeks since we sent my ex-boyfriendto jail, which was a consequence he’d more than earned. Three weeks of me sleeping alone in my bed, despite the obvious looks of longing from both Jansen and Walker. Three weeks of these beautiful, wonderful guys waiting for me to feel comfortable enough in my skin to let them touch me without feeling like I need to vomit.

Why do I feel like I’m the problem? I’m not. It was my stupid ex, Bryce, who had a problem. I’m just me. But I can’t help but feel like my own skin is repugnant, like I’m a twenty-year-old stuck in a fourteen-year-old’s body. Which is broken, and wrong, and simply not true, but if I think about it at all, that’s what it feels like.

Bryce broke the part of me that was comfortable with my body, with its appeal.

But I’m sick of pushing the guys away. Not only have I been avoiding being alone with Jansen and Walker, but I’ve also taken to running when I know RJ is in class. We’re not even at the kissing point in our relationship, but I still don’t want to spend time alone with him.

The only guy I haven’t been able to avoid is Trips. Every Monday morning, he wakes me up and drives me to West Bank for my business law course. I tried one morning, right after my last run-in with Bryce, to sneak out early, buy a coffee, then take the bus. Trips pulled up on the sidewalk between me and the coffee shop in his massive pickup truck, cars honking behind him. I really had no choice but to climb in, if only to stop the angry glances everyone was throwing at me.

He didn’t say anything, just glared at me long enough to make me squirm under those icy eyes of his, before spendingthe rest of the drive running his hand through his auburn hair until it was a lumpy porcupine poking out of his head.

I didn’t try to avoid him again.

Watching Jansen, I remember what it feels like to be touched, to be wanted. My whole body is lightning, waiting for another brush of his lips to explode into a burst of sensation, of presence, of simply being. His green eyes twinkle as he catches my gaze, almost done verifying this new entrant. God, I want that touch. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed me.

I mentally shake myself.

Enough wallowing. When you fall off the horse, you’ve got to get right back on. Not that I’ve ever been on a horse, but I imagine the saying applies here as well. I want some delicious memories, my body worshiped by men who see it for what it is, not what they wished it would be.

And if I freak out? I trust them, all of them, to walk me through it. I’ve trusted them with the worst things that have ever happened to me. It’s time to trust them to help me heal.

Jansen sweeps the door open, letting this new group up the stairs to the attic. The cool fall air trails them up the stairs, drifting off their clothes onto me below. The front door shuts, my attention snapping back on Jansen immediately. He’s leaning against the door, arms crossed, not coming to me, but a dorky smile stuck to his face. Is he planning on teasing me?

Two can tease. I pat the wall next to me, inviting him over. He shakes his head. “I don’t trust myself over there, beautiful. You’re way too tempting.”

I pull my hair over one shoulder, braiding the curls slowly, shifting my weight to raise one hip, giving me curves where I usually have a hillock and a dip. Running at least fifteen miles a week hasn’t left me with much of a figure, but I’ll use what I’ve got to the best of my ability. I lock eyes with Jansen, waiting to see if he’ll take the bait.

He shakes his head again. “I’ve got a job to do, and you weren’t wrong about Trips killing me for failing to do it right. You’re tempting, but I have a feeling Trips is an equal opportunity murderer when it comes to distractions.”

I laugh, leaning against the wall, my hair fully braided. I pull the hair tie from my wrist and wrap it around the end. “Trips may scare you, but he doesn’t scare me.”

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