Page 14 of Gilt

I do my best not to gawk as his jeans hit the ground, but I can’t quite help sneaking a peek at his boxer briefs. He taps his foot impatiently. “Do you need me to unzip you?”

I bite my lip before I nod. I barely trust myself to move at this point, let alone attempt the slightest change in position. Jameson circles around behind me. He gathers my hair over my shoulder and draws the zipper down. His hands slip under the straps of my dress as he pushes them down. The flimsy dress flutters into a pool of fabric at my feet as a fingertip trails down my back, between my shoulder blades, to the band of my bra.

I whip around before he can unsnap it. “It’s going to take a little more than a dare to get me out of my panties.”

He nods in acceptance, but I can see the glimmer in his eyes. I’ve just made this a challenge. The trouble is I’m not certain which one of us I want to win. He doesn’t press it, though. Instead, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the water.

“It’s a little bit chilly up here,” I call right before he grabs me around the waist and hurls us both into the deep end. Instinct kicks in, and I struggle back toward the surface, but Jameson doesn’t let go. He smashes his lips to mine, and suddenly I don’t need air. I don’t need to fight. I go limp in his arms, my body molding naturally to his as the kiss deepens. He pushes us up, not breaking the kiss until we sputter apart for air. We suck in deep breaths, staring at one another. Water drips into his eyes from the strands of wet hair that have fallen across his forehead, but he doesn’t blink as if he can’t stand to break contact. Then he’s kissing me again, and I never want him to stop.

Jameson kicks against the water, moving us back until we hit the pool’s tile wall. I don’t protest as we spin around, and I’m pressed against the tile. My arms splay against it as he moves between my legs. The thin fabric separating us rasps against my skin, urging me toward an edge I’m not ready to go over. He begins to explore my neck, his teeth, and lips delivering thrills and shivers. When his hand moves up to cup my breast, he pulls back with a sinful smirk. “Any objection, Duchess?”

I meet his eyes, so silver in the moonlit night. He’s gained the upper hand, but I have my own cards to play. My hand reaches between us to where our bodies are pinned against the wall and rubs over the bulge trapped in his boxers.

“None at all,” I purr, biting back a moan when his fingers slide under my bra. His thumb circles my nipple and for a second, I nearly lose the last ounce of control I have. Everything with him feels so good—so right. Mostly, because what we’re doing and where we’re doing it is so wrong.

That’s what holds me back, though. I’d been down this road before. Its landscape is a bit too familiar. Still, it’s hard to turn the car around when we’re zooming swiftly toward unknown territory.

“Truth or dare,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

Jameson’s mouth closes over mine, stealing my words as if he’s through playing games. Then, he pulls away. “Dare, I think.”

I can’t keep the smile off my face. That’s what I was hoping he’d say.

CHAPTER SIX

Dawn creeps up on me. I blink against the sunlight before I sit bolt-upright and stare at the unfamiliar surroundings. Memories from last night swim to the surface. Jameson’s body pressing against mine. His hands gripping my wrists over my head while he kisses me until my lips are swollen. My fingers flutter to my mouth as I recall the vivid details of each hungry kiss. The towel draped over me drops to the ground, and I scramble to grab it before someone spots my nearly naked ass waking up in the West’s private pool cabana. In the light of day, it looks less glamorous and distinctly less friendly. But more than anything, it looks empty.

I’m alone.

I look around for a note even as it sinks in that there won’t be one. Two-party crashers don’t equal a relationship, I remind myself as I scrape up what’s left of my pride. No note, but my dress is neatly folded and waiting for me on the table next to my phone. It doesn’t score Jameson any brownie points, but it keeps him in the neutral zone, which is exactly where he belongs. Time to suck it up and do the walk of shame through enemy territory.

My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and I grab it, but it isn’t from Josie.

Mom: See you at 10!

I check the clock. 9:01. The right curse word hasn’t been invented for this scenario, so I blurt all the other ones in existence as I tug my dress on. Gathering my shoes, I tiptoe back inside, praying to every god in history that Monroe isn’t a morning person. I pass the dirty pots from last night on my way out, assuaging my guilt by reminding myself that the Wests have a full hotel staff at their beck and call. The house is deadly silent, but I can almost imagine the orgy of passed-out classmates I would find if I dared to return to the scene of the party. I’m smarter than to press my luck. The door to the study is ajar, and I pause only long enough to feel stupid. There’s no way Jameson is hanging around here.

“You could have woken me up,” I grumble under my breath, but thinking of him recalls flashes of our night together. I’d almost given in to my desire, but somehow I had clung to my integrity. The fact doesn’t take the sting out of waking up alone, though.

Coming around the corner, two groggy faces greet me.

“Morning, sunshine,” Hugo calls. Jonas just looks confused.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to join them. Unless I want to go to brunch smelling like chlorine with raccoon eyes, I don’t have the luxury of waiting around. Also, getting the hell out of here seems like a pretty good idea.

“You are looking ravaged this morning,” Hugo says. “Who’s the lucky man? The bellboy?”

I keep my eyes trained on the glowing down button. What is the point of having a private elevator if you have to wait?

“Shut up, man,” Jonas mutters. “Hey Em, you need a ride home?”

I glance at the sliver of green left on my cell’s battery status. I can’t call Josie—even if she’d pick up. It will be dead before I can get an Uber. “I can take a cab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you,” he protests.

“What a gentleman,” Hugo says. “First, you sleep on the couch, and now you’re offering rides to the peasants.”

“A cab is not an issue,” I say through gritted teeth. The elevator dings, and Jonas holds the door until I wander inside.