Chapter 5

James’s door wasn’t locked. Of course it wasn’t. He was a guest in this house, a stranger in his own father’s world. I didn’t knock. I turned the handle and pushed it open.

He was at a desk, a textbook open, but he wasn’t reading. He was just staring into space. When the door clicked shut, he jumped, swiveling in his chair.

And then he saw me. Barely covered by my tiny night-robe. In his room.

His face went through a series of rapid, fascinating shifts. Shock. Confusion. Then a raw, undisguised panic that quickly darkened into something else. His eyes darted down, away, then back up, as if they were magnetic and I was the pole. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

I didn’t say anything at first. Just let him look. Let him drown in it. I walked slowly into the center of the room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. My gaze swept over his space—it was neat, impersonal, like a hotel room.

“Cozy,” I said, my voice a low murmur. I trailed my fingers along the polished wood of his desk, across the spine of the textbook he’d been pretending to read.

I walked to the bed, the soft carpet yielding under my feet. I didn’t just sit; I perched on the very edge of the mattress, the covers dipping with my weight. I leaned back slightly on my hands, a pose that pushed my breasts forward and arched my back. I looked right at him.

He couldn’t hold it. His gaze skittered away from my face, down to the floor, then to the window, anywhere but at me. But it was a losing battle. A second later, his eyes were back, glued to my body, tracing the curve of my hip, the line between my legs. He was like a moth hypnotized by a flame he knew would burn him.

“What?” I asked, a small smile playing on my lips. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He didn’t reply. Just licked his lips, a nervous, unconscious gesture.