Blood in the Water(56)

“As the lady wishes. I suppose we should get ready for bed.”

And yet Jane felt a stab of disappointment at his words. Why? Because she’d wanted to play with fire? The last thing in the world she needed right now was a tryst with Byron Beauregard.

Byron stood and unbuttoned his shirt.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

All of a sudden, Jane had a lump in her throat. Ogling him didn’t strike her as polite, but she couldn’t look away.

"I should step outside and give you some privacy.” Yet her legs weren’t working.

Why aren’t I sprinting out of here? Maybe because I’m enjoying the show.

Oh, no.

"Ain’t a problem, darlin’, I’m not shy. You sit tight.” He folded his coat, tie, and shirt on the chest beside him in a neat little stack. Then he bent down to untie his shoes. “Did I ever tell you I used to go skinny dippin’ in the creek?”

At the mental image of him swimming in the nude—all rippling muscle and fluid grace—her throat seized, and Jane coughed.

He shucked off his white cotton undershirt. Byron had a well-defined torso, his abs looking as though they’d been fashioned by razor blades, gleaming golden skin over muscle.

Her mouth fell open, and she snapped it shut at his pointed, self-satisfied smile. Jane wished she could slap it right off his face.

“I wasn’t looking.”

“Darlin’, who are you trying to kid? Yeah, you were. And you like what you see too. Why wouldn’t you?”

Maybe Georgia was right, and she did like the man. Heaven help me.

“Unless you want some shock and awe, I suggest you avert your eyes.” He brought his hands to the button of his fly.

Shock and awe. A little laugh bubbled up, but she glanced away from his hands…and other parts.

“Er, you could sleep in your clothes.” At this rate, any clothes would do.

“Darlin’, I ain’t gonna wrinkle this thousand-dollar suit, and I sleep naked as a jaybird anyhow.”

So, all night, he’d be beside her in the bed, naked.

Jane gulped.

He caught her eye and winked. “Besides, you’re enjoyin’ the show.”

The whir of his zipper somehow sounded very loud in the room.

And then he was wearing nothing—not a stitch, but she refused to look anywhere below his navel.

Byron stretched out on the bed again, lying on his back, arms tucked beneath his head. She couldn’t help but admire the sleek way he moved.

She wanted to stroke every inch of his smooth-looking skin, feel the muscles, trace the path of the gold hair bisecting his abdomen and trailing down lower, so much lower.

“I’ve shown you mine.” He raised a brow. “You gonna show me yours?”

Jane swallowed.

For a second, she imagined it. Throwing off her clothes and getting into bed with Byron, the devil himself.

Jane wasn’t a prude. She enjoyed sex—on her own terms, even if she wasn’t actively engaged in it like most people were. Right now, she wanted to sleep with him—lay beneath him, surrender to him. And she couldn’t think of a single reason why she’d waited this long.

Then Jane mentally slapped herself back to her senses. Yes, it’d be a night like no other, but it’d lead to so many other complications. Her life was already a mess, she didn’t need to add to the chaos.

“No!” Jane leaped to her feet, raced to the chair, and grabbed her clothing. Then she made a mad dash to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Byron’s laughter followed her.


***

“No, don’t!”

Jane jolted awake.

Byron muttered under his breath, moving his head side to side. She’d always been a light sleeper. Lying next to the naked mobster wasn’t exactly conducive to getting rest.

When she’d returned to the room, after stalling for the better part of two hours, she’d found him in bed already, the sheets tucked around his waist. Jane didn’t get into bed until after she’d thrown on an extra hoodie.

She grabbed her cell from the nightstand and hit the button, waking up the screen for meager light. It was 5:36 in the morning.

“Stop it, Dad. Don’t.” Byron’s eyes were tightly closed, and he shook his head.

She clutched his shoulder, intending to gently shake him awake, but he shot up in bed with a hoarse shout and grabbed a gun he must’ve tucked under the pillow.

Jane dropped the phone and raised her hands. “It’s me, Byron.”

Blinking, he placed the gun underneath the pillow once more and then ran a hand down his face.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

She flipped on the bedside lamp.

Despite his assertion, Jane doubted him. His eyes were wide, and his breath came in pants. Whatever he’d been dreaming about disturbed him.