Page 75 of Tangled Kisses
And then—bam. Curtain closed. All thanks to the worst wingwoman in history.
I saw the doubt creep back into Reese’s eyes as I helped her sister to the truck. That look that says she thinks she’s no different than the others in my life.
That’s where she’s dead wrong. She’s the only woman I want.
But I’ve made a decision. No matter how desperately I want to taste every inch of her, I’m slowing it down.
Women paid me for sex—for a performance I could deliver in my sleep. They paid for the fantasy, but it was never real for me. And hell, it wasn’t real for them either, no matter what story they told themselves afterward. But this? With Reese? It’s the first time it feels real. And I won’t cheapen it by rushing.
She deserves more than just a performance. She deserves romance. Sensuality. The slow, lingering kind of love which builds like a pressure cooker, until it explodes.
And it starts today.
Reese peersat me through the door, her eyes glazed with sleep. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you out for a late breakfast.”
“Late?” She pushes her hair behind her ear and rubs the back of her neck. “What time is it? Seven?”
“Not even close. It’s after ten.”
She groans and opens the door fully. “Already? I feel like I just fell asleep. We were at the emergency room until six. Turns out Piper isn’t the only drunken idiot in these parts.”
I jerk my thumb toward the door, trying to hide the sting of disappointment. “Should I leave? Let you go back to bed?”
Reese shakes her head and crosses to her dresser. She’s wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt and underwear, like she forgot I’m standing here.
And then she bends over.
Sweet. Merciful. God.
The hem of her shirt hikes up, and there it is—perfection. Round, bare, and enough to make every promise I made myself this morning feel like a sick joke. Slow? Patient? Hell, I’ve never been tested like this in my life.
My jaw locks, need punching low as I wrench my gaze away. I yank my hat off, drag a hand through my curls, and try to hold it the fuck together.
Too late. The image is already branded into me.
When I glance back, she’s tugging her shirt down in a rush, cheeks flushed. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize. Sorry. Nothing like an unexpected strip show.”
Christ. She has no idea.
I huff out a low laugh, stepping closer, my voice rough with unfulfilled need. “Don’t be sorry, belleza. Just know I’m seriously rethinking our plans for the day.”
She gives me a quick, sheepish smile. “Let me shower and then feed me. We’ll take it from there, okay?”
She disappears into the bathroom, leaving me standing in the middle of her room with a problem pressing hard against my jeans, and growing harder by the second.
The shower kicks on, and I fight every damn urge to barrel through that door and join her. She’s naked. Ten feet away. And every drop of water hitting her skin feels like a personal test from the universe.
Holding women at arm’s length has never been an issue. Not since escorting. My body learned to perform on command, like some well-trained dog—automatic, detached.
But Reese? Reese has turned me inside out. She ignited feelings I didn’t believe still lived in the marrow of my bones. With her, it isn’t about performance—it’s real. Raw. Consuming.
And I need her so badly it hurts.
I grunt, dragging a hand down my face as I adjust myself, muttering under my breath.
Trust me, buddy, I get it. But we’re not doing this the way I’ve done everything else. Not with her.
