Flush dots her cheeks. “That sounds pleasant…”
“Jane.”
“I meant to say, pleasant and something we can do later at our scheduled hour.” She smiles and pats my chest. “You may set me down.” Our scheduled hour: tonight . Couldn’t come fast enough.
It takes all my energy to drop her to her feet. But I’m aware that we tend to go overboard when we start making out like this. Too insatiable. Too hungry for each other’s bodies.
Her ballet flats hit the floor and she lets out a deeper breath. I wait for her to adjust her clothes. She pulls up her pants that slipped below her love handles.
When she meets my eyes, I ask, “Good to go?”
“Oui.”
I’m still careful when I open the door. I crack it first, just out of precaution.
Two voices filter in. Clear like they’re standing right outside. It doesn’t much matter if they see us. The public thinks we’re dating. I’m about to open it wider, but I stop when I hear her name.
“Jane Cobalt is here,” the woman says. Her voice is gravel like she’s been smoking too many cigars.
“I saw,” another woman says. “Can’t believe she’s narrating romance books when she went to Princeton for math. Girl is wasting her degree.”
“Seriously, why did she even go to school?” The voices drift off until they’re no longer audible.
I turn around to see Jane rolling her eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Everyone has an opinion,” she tells me. “Not all welcome and nice and they can think what they want but it won’t change what I’m doing. So they can go to hell and find someone else to criticize there.”
“Agreed,” I say.
Her lips quirk up. “I like when you do that.”
“Do what?” I open the door fully now. The hallway clear.
“Say only one or two words to get your point across. Like that’s all it takes. And for you, it does.” She holds my gaze for a strong beat. “I just really like that.”
I can’t name another person who said they like my brevity or quietness.
We make our way back. Both of us keep glancing more at each other than ahead. We stop by the opened archway that leads into the main parlor.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you a twin?” That question comes from a middle-aged man with a graying mustache. He motions toward the first lounge where I see Banks sitting and still chatting with Akara. “I could have sworn I was seeing double.”
“Yes, sir, I’m a twin.” I don’t elaborate. Don’t say anything else. Don’t really feel like it. But I do try to smile so I don’t make him feel bad for asking.
He laughs. “Thought so. You know my niece and nephew are twins. Six. Adorable.”
I’m sure they’re sweet, but what they’ll never understand is having to have these unprompted conversations with complete strangers.
He’s one second away from taking out his phone and showing me photographs.
“Oh this is interesting,” Jane says, but her gaze isn’t on the old man. It’s pinned to the couch that we had left.
Sulli isn’t alone anymore. Some preppy guy in his twenties is seated right next to her.
I assess: dishwater-blond hair that’s combed back, a crisp gray suit jacket over a striped button-down like he stepped out of some J.Crew catalogue.
My first instinct is to look back at the first lounge. Where Sulli’s bodyguard sits. Akara and Banks are eagle-eyeing the fuck out of this guy.
But there’s not much they can do. The club’s security would throw a fit if they crossed into the parlor for no reason.
“Excuse us, sir,” I tell the old man and follow Jane to a bookshelf, a few meters from the couch but far enough to give us some privacy.
Jane whispers, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s Wesley Rochester’s older brother. I’ve never met him. I think his name is Will.”
She’s already told me about her first kiss. Kindergarten. Wesley Rochester. How she thought she was fated to be with him just because of his last name and her namesake—Jane Eyre. Wesley grew up to be a prick, according to Jane, but I’ve never met him. And his older brother Will is an unknown variable.
It’s hard to detach my gaze from her, but I do.
I watch as Will passes Sulli a glazed donut wrapped in a napkin. Like Sulli mentioned earlier, there aren’t any donuts in the club, which either means Will brought it for her or convinced the chef to make her one from scratch.
Sulli holds out her other hand and Will takes out a pen. He scrawls on her wrist. Has to be his number. She keeps smiling, her face turning red, and her gaze sweeps his body in a slow once-over.
I look to Akara. He is frozen. Marbleized. Banks is talking to him, almost rapidly, concern in my brother’s eyes.
“I don’t want to interrupt them,” Jane whispers to me, referring to Sulli and Will. “Sulli says all guys see her as a best buddy, not a potential girlfriend or even hookup. So now I get to remind her of this moment.” She smiles even wider.
I wrap my arm around her waist. “So this a good thing?”
“I think so,” she says. She touches her lips that are still a little red from our kiss in the wine pantry. I wanted to do more, but that will have to happen later tonight. Her eyes drift to me and then down to my lips.
Thinking the same thing.
Tonight.
I feel a hot gaze to my four. Someone is staring at me. Quick check, and I meet my brother’s eyes.
Akara is talking into his mic, concentrated elsewhere. Banks is the only one watching me with a newfound intensity. Can he tell I’m looking at Jane differently now that we’ve slept together? He’d be the only one able to figure it out.
My stomach knots.
Keeping a secret from him is out of my nature.
It’s like running backwards up a fucking hill. And there’s only so long I can keep running before I trip over my own goddamn feet.
27
JANE COBALT
“I have more somewhere in here…” I sink to my knees and open the bottom bathroom cabinet. Thatcher watches me. Shirtless. Chiseled body covered in a light layer of sweat.
I’m in nothing but a pair of panties and a fuzzy baby blue robe. Tied a little too tight. Heat brews everywhere, but I wasn’t about to make the three foot trek from my doorway to the bathroom in nothing . Because I have roommates.
Who are thankfully gloriously asleep, but I’m quiet anyway as I shift products and hair irons out of the way. “It’s in the back,” I whisper more to myself. Ten seconds later my fingers wrap around a familiar slender bottle.
I grab the lube and carefully and oh so gently shut the cabinet closed.
When I turn back around, Thatcher is still watching me. Eyes planted like he can’t look away. It’s been that way all night. Wonderful, mind-altering sex that neither of us wants to end just yet. We aren’t even close to three in the morning.
My gaze travels the length of his body. He’s in drawstring pants. He had enough time to hop into those before we made it to the bathroom. No underwear. That is a very clear and well-defined…fact.
“You are very big,” I say what’s on my mind. Oh God. My eyes spring back up to catch his.
He’s quiet and hard to read.
I continue on. “In a very pleasurable way. The best of ways. I love your dick.” I’ll leave it there. It’s a fine endnote. He’s already told me he loves my pussy, so there is no harm in mentioning the fact that his cock is also very appreciated.
His nose flares in arousal and his ab muscles tighten. “Thank you.” His eyes don’t leave mine, but he draws forward. His hands slowly untie my robe. In barely a whisper, he breathes, “I love your breasts.”
Oh…I reach back for the lip of the sink. My nipples stiffen. I’ve officially decided I enjoy us so plainly and directly telling each other what we love.
His palm slips into my robe, sliding against my bare waist. I set aside the lube, and then curl my fingers over the hem of his drawstring pants, pulling him closer.
A noise gravels his throat. With his free hand, he reaches past my shoulder, his hardness pressing up against me, and he turns on the sink faucet. To drown our noises, most surely.