Bad Boy (An Indecent Proposal) - J.C. Reed Page 0,57

was the paid help, if you get my drift.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And your conclusion is based on what?”

“I’m psychic.”

I rolled my eyes at his answer.

“Okay, I’ll share my secrets,” Chase said. “The picture frame on the nightstand was a dead giveaway. I don’t know how you could miss it. It’s like by bringing a family portrait with him, he felt less guilty fucking a stranger.” He shook his head. “Anyway, you’ve got to admit, it makes a good story, though. As a lawyer, I’ve heard so many of those, it’s ridiculous. I don’t know why people get married, but don’t keep it in their pants.”

He sure knew what to say and when to say it.

It took all my willpower not to give in and kiss him—until he said the next stupid thing.

“That scene of yours—” He laughed. “And your face. Priceless.”

“Oh, hilarious.” I let out a sarcastic laugh as I rose on my elbows, facing him. “Enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me where your room was?”

“You didn’t ask.” He kept grinning. “You just assumed. Out of interest, why didn’t you knock on the door to your left rather than assume you got the door right? I mean, there was a fifty percent chance you got the door wrong. That’s what usually crosses one’s mind when a stranger opens.”

“No idea.” I began to chew my nail

Honestly, it was one of those brain dead, impulsive reactions, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that when it came to him, any reasoning became non-existent. I decided to stick to parts of the truth. “Your brother headed in that direction, so I assumed…”

“Ah, my brother again.” He shook his head, giving an exasperated sigh. “This is getting old, Laurie, you know? Let me guess, you still don’t believe me that I had no idea he was here?”

“Actually, I do now,” I said.

His fingers twisted in my hair again, playing with a strand, pulling gently.

“What changed?” he asked absentmindedly, as though my hair was fascinating and he could barely focus on anything else. “Was it my excellent performance last night? Or this.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my mouth, the unexpected motion both infuriating and intoxicating. For a moment, our tongues connected in that slow dance I loved. And then he pulled back again, leaving me breathless, wanting more.

Wanting him.

“No, it’s the fact that I didn’t find him in your room,” I said, giving him a playful shove.

His heated gaze brushed my lips, then met my eyes, his glance going back and forth between the two, as if he considered whether to kiss me again.

“Je veux lècher chaque partie de ton corps,” he said slowly, his tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth.

I stared at him, transfixed by his mouth, his tongue, the memory of the two so vivid I could almost feel his touch on my body, and a blush crept up my face.

I had no idea what he’d said, but it kind of sounded dirty.

And hot.

Hell, I loved it when he was dirty.

His eyes lingered on me for too long, reminding me of our sinfully sexy night and all the fun we had. His tongue brushed his lip skillfully, silently inviting me to play. There was no doubt he was focused on a lot of things—just not on a serious conversation.

I wanted a replay of last night so badly, I almost winced at the soft tug between my legs.

But there were more pressing issues to deal with, like Clint’s phone call.

“What does this mean?” I asked, taking the bite, even though I should have known better.

“I could show you.” He grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement, challenging me to take him up on his offer.

I shook my head. “There is no need to show off your linguistic skills.”

“I could have sworn you were about to compliment them,” he said smoothly.

“You already proved that last night.”

And boy he did.

“That’s right, baby.” He grinned. “Je me suis beaucoup amuse.”

“No idea what you said right now, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that one. We have far more important things to do than praise your tongue, and stroke your ego.”

“Yeah? Like what?” His lips twitched. He ran a finger down my neck, and I shifted as another surge of wanting pulsed through me. “Like your jealousy issues? They were about to spiral out of control.”

“I’m not jealous,” I said, slightly defensive. I plucked a loose thread from the bedspread, unsure how to explain