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“Why not just say ‘damn’?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
But that wasn’t true. Shedidknow. She’d been lulled into comfort. For a second she’d been Dani and not Duchess.
He shifted and draped an arm along the back of the sofa, the fabric of his jeans bunching on his thighs. His fingers brushed her shoulder in a leisurely, unhurried motion that blazed through the material to brand her skin.
Moisture flooded her mouth.
“I’ve listened to your songs. You don’t have a problem saying curse words.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, mesmerized by blue eyes that appeared to gleam beneath lowered lids.
He reached over and swiped his thumb across her lower lip. “There are times I find it inconceivable that those words would come out ofthismouth.”
The action, so carnal and... baller, was at odds with the man she’d thought he was.
Heat settled seductively between her thighs.
“What words?” she asked, her breathing growing shallow.
“Curse words. Profane words. Dirty words.”
“Don’t I look like someone who would say those words?” she whispered, surprised by the effort that simple act took.
“Yes. And no.”
Confusion shaded with anger and threatened to burst the sensual bubble. “What does that mean?”
“When you’re dressed in a red leather corset with garters and fishnets, strutting around onstage, you definitely look like a woman who can say and do exactly what she wants.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. That was the outfit she’d wornfor the Billboard Music Awards. He’d watched her performances. And from the tone of his voice, he seemed to have liked what he saw.
Pleasure flamed her insides.
“But,” he continued, “sitting here, with your hair falling around your shoulders, wearing leggings, this unbelievably soft jumper, and tucked under a blanket, you don’t look like someone who would say those words.”
“I don’t?”
He shook his head. “No. Although you do look like someone I’d like to do those things to.”
Her breath abandoned her.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“About what?”
He moaned low. “Us. This... thing between us.”
His words left her dazed. Jameson was a professor and a real-life prince, yet he had Ja Morant on the court-worthy moves. This man, with his cardigans and rare philosophy books, shouldn’t have the power to stoke her thirst to dehydration-level like this.
She leaned away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Aren’t you tired of fighting it?”
She was, but she didn’t like the fact that he’d caught on to what she was feeling. Or that he’d spoken the words out loud.
“But you’re probably used to it. Because most men respond this way to you, so this... ache is nothing new?”
