Page 97 of Tangled Like Us

“So…” I keep going. Why am I still going? “There’s that.”

Positive endnote.Let me survive this.

Thatcher is quiet, not unusual for him. His eyes are still on me. Still burning me alive. I shouldn’t like that.

But in this moment, I don’t want him to stare at anything or anyone but me.

His deep, husky voice fills the room. “So I’m the first guy you’ll be faking an orgasm with.”

He says it like it’s a fact. Which I suppose it is. But I doubt that’d make anyone feel good.

I lean my hip on the nightstand. “Factually, yes—but if we were really having sex, there’s a high probability that I’d orgasm.” I’m unblinking. Unmoving.

Frozen.

His biceps seem to flex. “Not a high probability.”

“No?” I hang on the edge of his words.

“If I put my cock in your pussy, there’s a hundred-percent certainty you’d orgasm in my arms. More than twice.”

Oh my God.

I cross my ankles. Somehow still standing, but I press my thighs harder together. Pulsating. “Good to know,” I say as diplomatically as I can. “We’re on the same page then.”

It’s all very professional here.

Thatcher nods, but his shoulders seem more bound.He’s on-duty, on guard, is all.He pulls out a taser and water bottle from his backpack. When he stands, he feels even taller, or maybe I feel shorter.

With a confident stride, he heads nearer, and I shift out of the way so he can open the nightstand drawer. He stores the taser and then removes his holstered gun off his waistband. Sliding in the second weapon before closing the drawer.

I realize he has to sleep on this side of the bed. It’s closest to the door.

Thatcher touches his earpiece, then clicks his mic. “Solid copy.”

I’ve decided that watching him work is utterly captivating. And I have a front row seat each and every day.

He unscrews his water bottle. Veins in his arm muscles are more noticeable as he tips the bottle of water to his mouth.

I can’t think…he is so…

My breath shallows. How am I going to survive?Okay, you packed your favorite vibrator.I can go into the bathroom tonight. All will work in my favor.

I take a measured breath.

Thatcher wipes his mouth with the back of his palm. He offers me his water, holding the bottle.

I press my lips together, a smile pulling my cheeks. I should decline. “Thank you,” I say, my hand already reaching out to accept.

Oh, you are done for, Miss Jane Eleanor.

We never look away from one another, and I take a small sip. I am parched.

Just not for water.

When I finish, I pass the water bottle back to my bodyguard. “Should I test the bed?”

He nods and checks his watch. “We should start before the other guests fall asleep.”