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Outcome one, he comes onto me first and my job gets five hundred times easier.Outcome two, I come onto him, and he uses his smart brains to oblige that request.
Outcome three, I come onto him, and he outright rejects me. Ouch, but I emotionally steeled myself for this possibility. If it was a no, then it wasn’t meant to be. No biggie.
Outcome four, I chicken out and go to sleep without so much as touching him.
The only one I didn’t think likely was outcome one, because Amos seemed like one of those morally steadfast types with enormous amounts of self-control. He’d be all, “But you just had an asthma attack.” And his brain would talk him out of making a move. Not that I was going to let him get away with that stupidity.
I did my best to keep my boisterous hair out of the shower water because, although I knew literally nothing about actually having sex, I didn’t think a wet mop of hair would make it enjoyable for either of us.
When I’d finished, I stepped out of the clawfoot tub, sliding aside the white vinyl shower curtain, and saw that Amos had placed my bag on the pedestal sink. As I dried off, I rummaged through my bag for the strategic “please take me” outfit that would give me some confidence. I hadn’t packed lingerie obviously, but I had a better idea.
Deodorant on, teeth brushed, moisturizer slapped on my cheeks, and a spritz of chai perfume prefaced the tossing of the chocolate syrup in my gym bag to hide it. I left my hair down, slightly damp from the foggy bathroom, and surveyed my appearance. Not bad. Not great, either. I was nowhere near Amos’s league.
Shoving aside that insecurity, I took a deep breath, wrapped myself in false confidence, and sashayed out of the bathroom. I went for cool indifference, toweling off the base of my curls that had gotten wet, and padded across the cold wood floors to my bedside table. I felt Amos’s eyes follow me from his spot on the bed where he sat with a book. Ignoring him, I bent down to plug my phone charger into the wall.
Amos snapped his book closed. I jumped, straightening. Well, so much for indifference. He stared at me with dark chocolate eyes that burned with intensity. “Whatare you wearing?”
I glanced down at myself. I’d chosen a white spaghetti strap crop top with ribbed fabric and three buttons that strained against my breasts as they practically spilled out of the top. And if that didn’t get him, then the outline of my nipples would. I normally wore this under my other tops to keep my bra colors from showing through, but on its own, it made my tits look fantastic. My pajama shorts were practically boy cut underwear with lace along the bottoms.
I gave him a blank look. “What?” He folded his arms, scowling. Uncertainty plucked at the fraying edges of my plan. “What?” I asked again, plugging in my phone and pretending to scroll through it.
“That’s—you’re not even wearing anything.”
I gave him a derisive look. “They’re pajamas, and anyway, you sleep topless. I could sleep topless if you’d rather.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
I plopped myself on the bed, arranging the down pillows behind me, and stretched my body out so I lay propped up on one elbow and facing him. I scrolled through my phone with my left hand, only half paying attention to what my artist friends had posted on their social media profiles. The other half of my brain was screaming that I was an absolute idiot, and that I should run back into the bathroom and put on my nightgown.
Amos watched me so intently, I could have sworn I felt scorch marks on my skin. He started to turn back to his book, and then paused. “What happened to your legs?”
I looked down. Welts and angry red crisscross marks from my sandals streaked down to my feet where blisters and cuts marred the skin.Ah, hell.I’d forgotten about them entirely. I shrugged, “I wore sandals on a hiking trip, remember?”Ignore them, I pleaded silently.That is not part of the seduction plan, dammit.
“Do you still have that antibiotic ointment I gave you?” he asked.
I flitted my attention to the scab on my right shin I’d completely neglected. I searched around in my head for where I might have put it. “Uhh…”
Amos sat up, giving me a reproachful glare. “You didn’t even use it, did you?”
“I got drunk and then a moose attacked me!” I retorted defensively.
With a sound of disgust, Amos stood and went to the bathroom where my bag still sat on the sink. “Is it in your bag?”
I racked my brain, wondering if I’d stuck it in my purse. Or maybe I’d left it in his car. The sound of Amos unzipping my bag ripped through my senses. I gasped, flying off the bed. “Wait!”
But it was too late. Amos turned in a half circle with a bottle of chocolate syrup in his hand. He inspected it, turning it like he had with the honey, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you have chocolate syrup in your bag?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. His gaze raked me from toe to hairline.
“I like chocolate,” I said weakly. The cogs whirred behind his eyes. Oh my Hell, that was what I got for trying to “sneaky seduce” a smart doctor. I could practically see all the gears lining up perfectly in his brain before the conclusion whirred to life.
“June Ella Matthews,” Amos said, his voice deepening into a hum as he took slow steps toward me. He’d put on a pair of white joggers and a long-sleeve gray Henley. He looked mouthwateringly menacing with his mouth curved into a “gotcha” smile. “What’s the syrup for?”
Abort. Abort. Engine failure.“N-nothing.”
His eyes took in my outfit, and then bounced back to the syrup. Incredulously, and almost as if he were wondering out loud, he asked, “Are you trying to seduce me?”
Mayday, mayday! Evacuate! Eject!
Amos glanced at the chocolate syrup with a hint of curiosity. “With syrup?”
