She slides her hands across my chest. “I can help with that.”
She kisses me, hard and demanding. I kiss her back, shoving my tongue into her mouth. I press my palm to her thigh, slide it up slowly.
But my body isn’t cooperating.
Not like before.
Because I’m too aware of everything else.
Too aware of Sienna’s laugh—a sound I love but haven’t heard since yesterday.
Too aware of Jake’s presence—the lost love of my youth who I thought I’d never see again.
Too aware of how empty all of this feels.
Jazz pulls back, frowning. “Brett?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. I think I had one too many drinks.”
She studies me for a second and then sits up, a pout on her full lips. “Well, that’s a damned shame.”
Her tone is light, but it’s impossible not to hear the edge underneath.
She’s trying not to take it personally.
I appreciate that.
“I didn’t mean to?—”
She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just…”
“Just what? I’m not sexy enough?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a fantasy come to life.”
She sighs. “Just notyourfantasy.”
I don’t reply right away. I’m trying to find the right words through the liquor-clouded haze of my mind.
Because sheismy fantasy. She’s every man’s fantasy.
That’s not really the issue here.
I draw in a breath. “I’m in love,” I finally say.
“With me, I hope.” She gives me a wink.
She’s teasing. I get it. I’m not in love with her, and she’s not in love with me. She’s up for a romp, though. That much is clear.
I thought I was too. Iam, actually. My dick just didn’t seem to get the memo.
Damned bourbon.
“Baby,” she says, “this doesn’t have to be anything other than what it is. Two people enjoying each other. Two people with needs.”
She’s not wrong.
