Page 2 of Strange Seduction (Strange #2)

Ciao, Theodore!

Arrival Day.

My life had been pure hell without Carmen Reyes.

The number of fantasies I’d racked up about having her back in my arms…yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d be locked up if anyone ever got a look inside my head.

Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to wait much longer to hold the real thing.

The noise from the engines faded as the private jet taxied to a stop on the sunlit tarmac. I was seconds away from ripping the damn doors open with my bare hands.

Three fucking years.

Three years of short weekends in L.A., late-night video calls, a million text messages, and enough phone sex to short-circuit a satellite.

All of it stopped today. It was a short pause, but I was grateful for it.

And finally— finally —the doors cracked open. I moved fast, stopping at the base of the stairs, fists clenching and unclenching like my body couldn’t decide whether to keep it together or lose its mind.

Then I saw her.

Carmen appeared in the doorway, and I fought to maintain my composure until she was safely on solid ground.

She swayed a little, hugging a champagne glass like it was a prized possession. Either she’d made excellent use of the in-flight bar, or the jet lag was kicking her ass. Maybe both, judging by the tipsy little grin she gave me.

I missed her so much that the sight of her made my chest tighten to the point of pain.

Even dressed down in a simple gray tracksuit, she looked like something I dreamed up last night when I couldn’t sleep because my mind kept imagining all the things I’d do to her.

Her blown-out, darkened blonde curls reached the bottom of her ass and bounced with every movement.

She’d let her roots grow out and blend gorgeously.

The lowered zipper of her jacket slightly exposed her cleavage, and the matching bottoms rode just below her belly button.

Fresh, manicured hands and whitened teeth beamed in the sunshine as she smiled and waved at the crew.

“You’re gripping that glass pretty hard, Sweetness,” I called up to her.

Without missing a beat, she raised it in a mock toast—and then drained it in one long, defiant sip before handing it off.

“You wish that was you, huh?” she teased.

I laughed, low and rough.

Smart-ass.

But I definitely did.

And with the way she looked? She was damn lucky I had enough self-control not to throw her over my lap right here on the runway in front of the innocent flight staff.

“Why don’t you come down here and make that wish come true?” I pleaded.

That was all it took.

She hit the stairs fast, practically flying down them. And when she jumped, I caught her like it was the easiest thing in the world. Her legs locked around my waist, her arms looped around my neck, and just like that, the three years apart didn’t matter anymore.

I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing her in.

Sweet cherries.

Her fingers threaded into my hair as she pulled back just enough to look at me.

“Where’s your piercings, Teddy?” she pouted.

I chuckled.

Nothing gets past her, huh?

“I took them out for work, baby. Gotta look professional,” I explained. The pout deepened before it relaxed a bit.

She wasn’t happy with it, but she let it go.

“And no flowers?” She huffed dramatically. “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

I laughed and opened the car door to reveal several gorgeous bouquets lined up on the seat.

“Who do you think I am?” I whispered smugly in her ear.

She giggled a little, and I could taste the champagne on her lips from how close we were.

Then, when her eyes lowered to my lips, she kissed me—hard and hungry, like she was trying to make up for every second we’d spent apart.

I kissed her back just as fiercely, my grip tightening around her thighs, grounding myself in the feeling of her.

Carmen pressed her forehead against mine when she pulled away, laughing a little breathlessly.

“You missed me?” she whispered, teasing.

“Of course I did,” I said, voice low against her skin.

She melted against me, pressing just enough to feel exactly how much I missed her.

Her hips shifted, brushing my growing hard-on, and she smirked.

“I can tell.”

“Stop,” I growled, squeezing her tighter.

“I’m not doing anything,” she sang innocently.

“Yes, you are,” I fought to gain control.

She grinded against me again, slow and deliberate.

“Not at all,” she batted those pretty eyelashes.

“Sweetness,” I warned, breathing her in like it gave me strength. “Stop it.”

She finally gave a dramatic little sigh and rested against my chest. “Fine.”

I held her there for another second.

“Wait ‘til we get home,” I muttered against her temple.

She perked up instantly, “Okay!”

Laughing under my breath, I placed her gently on the ground and opened the car door wider for her. She slid inside as the staff loaded her bags, and I climbed in after her, slamming the door shut behind me.

When the driver pulled away from the tarmac, I turned toward her, excited to finally be in her presence. But instead of finding her watching me like I expected, I found her holding up an old-ass camcorder.

I blinked. “Um… what are you doing with that?”

She looked over the top of it, one brow raised. “Documenting.”

I stared. “Why?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just aimed the lens at me like I was the subject of a low-budget indie film. Then, in her best overly-serious narrator voice, she asked, “So tell me. How has the break been for you, Theodore?”

I narrowed my eyes at her, but I could already feel the corners of my mouth twitching. “Long. And lonely.”

She panned the camcorder dramatically down to my lap and back up to my face. “Did you miss your emotional support girlfriend?”

I chuckled. “Desperately.”

She leaned in, as if conducting an actual interview. “How would you describe your mental state during the separation?”

“Fragile,” I deadpanned. “I almost died.”

She laughed, lowering the camera slightly. “Aww. Poor baby.”

“Seriously, though,” I said, gesturing to the camcorder. “What’s with the camera?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I bought it off a guy in Times Square. Thought it’d be fun to document our two weeks together. Like one of those old-school vlogs our parents used to do.”

I eyed the device. “Sweetness, that camera’s newer. This is giving Good Luck Charlie .”

She sighed. “Yet another way my life is like a 2000s teen sitcom.”

Whatever the hell that means.

“Why do you want to record?”

Her expression softened, eyes dropping for a second before she met mine again.

“I don’t know. It’s just…every time we were together before, everything felt rushed.

And when you leave, all I have to hold onto are the gifts you brought me, the book you wrote me…

and whatever memories stuck. I want this time to be different.

I want us to have something to look back on. I want to focus on us.”

I exhaled slowly, my chest easing. “I get it.”

“Yeah?”

I looked at her. “I want us to have memories to look back at, Carmen. It’s a great idea.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Teddy.”

I reached out and took the camcorder, turning it to her. “My turn. How was your flight?”

“So much fun!” she chirped, practically bouncing in her seat. “The flight attendants kept bringing me champagne. I think I went through like… three bottles?”

Of course she did.

Then her face froze. She turned to me, wide-eyed.

“Wait… they’re free, right?”

“Of course,” I said smoothly, even though it wasn’t technically true.

Champagne wasn’t complimentary. But I’d decided long ago it was easier if Carmen believed the world just magically became complimentary when she started dating me.

She didn’t keep track of receipts anyway.

Her phone buzzed, and immediately she checked it. A small smile appeared as her fingers flew across the screen.

I closed the camcorder screen with a pout. “Busy?”

She glanced up briefly, then looked back down at the screen. “Nah. Just texting Marcus.”

Something twisted low in my gut.

I’m sorry, who is she texting?

“Marcus?”

“Yeahhh,” she dragged the word out, like it was absurd I even questioned it.

“Why the fuck are you texting Marcus Avery?”

My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Her face scrunched up instantly, full of disgust. “Do I look like someone who would be texting Marcus fucking Avery of all people?”

I blinked. “Then who?”

“Marcus Dazai? My boss ?”

The boss you don’t officially work with for another two weeks?

“And when did ‘Mr. Dazai’ become ‘Marcus’ ?” I asked sharply. “And why are you texting him? Are emails not the primary way you two communicate?”

“It’s not like that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re… friends? We talk all the time.”

“All the time?” I repeated. Calm down . “What’s ‘all the time’ exactly?”

She shrugged, casual as hell. “You know. We text, call sometimes, grab lunch.”

“You what ?”

Whatever was on my face must’ve given me away, because she raised a brow, lips twitching like she was two seconds from calling me an idiot.

“It’s harmless,” she said, raising her hands defensively. “We talk about work, and he gives me advice on stuff.”

“Advice like what?”

Carmen exhaled slowly, as if she were the one being patient here. “Theodore, we’re only friends. Maybe less than that. He’s like a mentor to me.”

I ignored the last part because the word friend should never be used when she’s describing another man.

“The power dynamic between you two is too far apart for that,” I said, not backing down.

Her eyes narrowed, and the easygoing vibe disappeared.

“Is that really it? Or are you worried it might lead to something more? ‘Cause it’s not if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No. What I’m thinking is you’re being naive,” I countered.

“Well, I think you’re naive for thinking men and women can’t be just friends,” she shot back.

“ We were ‘just friends’ once, Carmen.”

The car jerked suddenly to a stop, throwing both of us forward as a cluster of pedestrians meandered across the street. The abrupt motion broke the tension, and we shifted away from each other.