Page 66 of False God

“I wasunpredictableat twenty-one too,” I tell him, taking a bite of my cod and nearly moaning out loud. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, salty and flaky and tender.

Charlie raises one eyebrow. “Only at twenty-one?”

I cut another bite. “What do you think?”

“I think I could handle it.”

I think he could too.

15

The rough edges of the ornate metal key, which I pulled out from my Birkin during our charged trip in the elevator, cut into the soft flesh of my palm as I turn to face him. “This is me,” I announce.

Charlie glances at the door to my hotel room, and then his attention is right back on me. “Nice room.”

“You haven’t even seen it.”

One corner of his mouth lifts as he rests a hand on the wall next to my head. I have immediate déjà vu, recalling the last time we were in this same position.

He told me during dessert—pistachio tiramisu—that he’s staying here rather than driving home to Newcastle tonight and then back here for the wedding tomorrow. Chloe told me Carys Park was fully booked, but I’m not shocked they managed to procure a room for Charlie.

His gaze dips to my lips, the intensity practically a physical sensation against my skin. “Is that your way of inviting me in?”

“No. I’d ask.” I pause. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes.”

Such a simple answer, suffused with certainty.

I’ve spent a lot of time around confident men. Yet Charlie’s the only one who’s ever managed to make me nervous. His proximity is a drug that makes me feel dizzy and reckless and energized. If he challenged me to something right now, the amount of adrenaline swimming in my system might actually allow me to beat him.

I wasn’t certain we’d end up here. My pride still smarts when I picture him strolling away from me, down my grandparents’ hallway and out of sight. But I also remember how I felt in the moments before, and I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time considering what might have happened if Charlie hadn’t left that night.

Bridget was right—his indifference makes him an ideal candidate for a fun night of hot, meaningless sex.

And he’s not walking away now. He’s staring at me in a way that makes me feel like I’ll explode with impatience. Like the amount of desire is too much to contain. Anticipation has been humming through my body, making me feel like I’m brushing against a live wire, ever since we left the restaurant.

“So much for you offering to walk me to my door to be a gentleman.”

Charlie huffs a laugh, then twirls a piece of my hair around one finger. He braided it for me again on the car ride back. I undid it during the short journey from his car to upstairs, searching for a distraction from the smothering sexual tension.

He tugs the strands—hard—pulling a soft gasp from my mouth. “You don’t want a gentleman, Elizabeth.”

It’s the smoothest I’ve ever heard his accent sound. Usually, the syllables are crisp and precise. But that sentence sounded like it was cushioned by velvet, sliding across my skin like decadent sin.

I’m so aroused I’m almost disoriented. My heartbeat is a wild echo in my ears. No matter how fast I inhale, I can’t seem topull in enough air. There’s not a cell in my body that’s currently unaffected.

Charlie’s hand drops from my hair, his fingers prying my fist open and finding the metal that’s now warm.

The lock clicks open, and then I’m being pulled into a dark room.

The first thing Charlie does is turn on the lights. Not a lamp. The overhead that illuminates every corner. His second move is to slip off his suit jacket, throw it onto the couch in the small seating area, and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He tugs the white fabric from the waistband of his pants next, then begins unbuttoning.

His eyes don’t leave mine the entire time.

And I stand there and stare at him like I’ve never seen a shirtless guy before. I’ve never seenCharlieshirtless before, which seems like the same thing.

I toss my purse onto the couch, then tuck a piece of hair—the same section he touched—behind my ear. I’m accustomed to being the initiator in these situations. To being treated like I’m delicate.

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