Jensen Mackey has messed with the wrong Miller. From here on out, I’m dancing with rebellion if only to teach him a lesson.
“I thought about what you said.” I cross my legs and sit up straight, batting my lashes. I drag my hand across his comforter before scooting back.
“That quick? Don’t need a night to sleep on it?” He’s testing me, but I think he’s scared. I’m about to call his bluff.
My throat constricts. My face heats. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. I unbutton my cardigan one pearl button at a time. I may as well be undressing in slow motion, but it’s absolutely intentional. Jensen stands by his dresser, his golden eyes wide as saucers and nothing coming from his rarely silent lips. The room spins like the bed is some sort of merry-go-round, but I don’t stop.
Two buttons…
Three buttons…
Four…
My cleavage peeks out from my white camisole, drawing his eyes to my milky flesh like bees to honey.
“I know you want to touch them,” I say, having absolutely no intention of letting him come anywhere near them.
This is all a bit of an experiment that will hopefully turn into a deterrent. The constant provocation since the day we met needs to stop. It ends now. Here. With me calling his bluff.
“Waverly.” My name is a low rumble in his throat. He swallows, daring my eyes to travel down to where his fist still clenches his towel around his waist. There’s clearly a pitched tent thing going on. It’s much bigger than it was before and much bigger than I expected a penis to be.
Do they get that big?
I smile and hope he can’t see me gradually losing my cool. I summon the strength of the Harlequin heroine resting on the pages between my mattress and box spring and slap a smoldering expression on my face.
What’s happening right now is a highly strategic game, not unlike chess.
Your move, Jensen.
His lips form a straight line. His eyes search mine. “You sure this is what you want?”
I could slap him. He’s should be taking the bait, not calling my bluff. Where’s the lusty gaze he threw my way earlier? Where are his needy hands? His greedy intrusion? What happened to Jensen from the laundry room?
“No, I’m just undressing in front of you for no reason.” I roll my eyes.
“I’d hardly call it undressing. You wear more layers than an Eskimo, and you haven’t even taken your sweater off yet.” He leans against his dresser like we’ve got all the time in the world.
News flash: our entire family is downstairs and it’s only a matter of time before they notice we’re the only two missing.
I swallow the anger swelling in my chest and let his words bounce right off me. I’m not losing this game. I’m playing to win.
“You clearly didn’t understand a word of what I said to you earlier.” He still hasn’t moved from his perch by the dresser.
My face pinches. Once again, Jensen has found a way to burrow himself right beneath my skin. I resist the urge to scratch.
“What didn’t I understand?” I brush my hair over my shoulder.
“You’re doing all this…” His eyes fall to my cleavage and then lift up to my gaze. “Because you think it’s what I want. Because I planted the seed. Because I told you I thought about you. You’re doing it all for me. The control is still mine, Waverly. You’re a smart girl. How can you not understand that?”
No, no. This isn’t going the way I planned.
He ambles across the room to the side of the bed. The grip on his towel loosens, threatening to let go altogether any second now. My heart pounds hard in my ears.
Think fast.
“Nice try.” His full mouth turns into a half-smirk. I want to slap it off his face. “But I think you should go. I bet they’re looking for you downstairs.”
No.
Just… no.
He doesn’t get to do this.
He doesn’t get to knock down everything I’ve built up in one fell swoop.
“I want you to touch me.” The words make my lips feel wavy and foreign, like they belong to someone else. I’ve never spoken that way before, not even in my fantasies. Those are dirty words, and they taste wrong and delicious coming from my clean lips.
I tug away at the top of my sweater and pop my chest out a little more. The man must have more self-control than God. He’s still not taking the bait. “I want it, Jensen. You told me the choice was mine. I’m not doing this for you.”
Why won’t you try to touch me?
He licks his lips, but his body is still. Frozen. He’s reading me like an open book, the upper hand slipping from my tight little grasp straight into his second by second.
“Take off your top,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“You want me so bad, show me. I want you naked and sprawled across my bed. Give yourself to me. You know, if that’s what you want to do.”
I could smack him.
He leans into my space, his energy saturating mine. I’m trying to calculate my next move, but I can’t think straight when his warm soapy scent is infiltrating the air I breathe and his hardness is making itself known from behind his thin towel.
My thoughts don’t make sense and my body isn’t making things any easier. There’s a slick heat between my thighs I wasn’t anticipating, an uninvited arousal.
Knock, knock.
“Go,” he whispers. He points to the far side of his bed, motioning for me to hide behind it.
“Waverly in here?” It’s my dad.
This is bad.
Very, very bad.
“Nope. Just got out of the shower. Haven’t seen her.” Jensen is cool as a cucumber, like he’s covered this sort of thing up a thousand times before.
I capture a lungful of air; afraid if I so much as exhale my father will hear it. I’ve seen him come unglued before, and it isn’t pretty. There are two distinct sides to Mark Miller: his everyday side and the side that emerges when you cross him. Jensen standing half-naked in front of his virgin daughter would definitely fall into the latter category.
It’s silent. I picture my father scanning the perimeter, looking for a single out of place item or a foot sticking out from under the bed. He never misses a thing.
My heart pounds hard in my ears. We’re seconds away from a catastrophic event.
Please, please, please…
“Hm. If you see her around, tell her I’m looking for her.” I pick up a slight suspicion in my father’s voice.
My lungs plead for oxygen, yet I’m still afraid to breathe. We’re almost in the clear.
“Will do.” Jensen’s ability to remain calm around my father is nothing short of impressive.
The door clicks shut two seconds later. I wait for the ping of the lock to fill the quiet room, then I remember his door has no lock.
“You can come out now,” Jensen whispers.
I rise gently, fearful that my father will come bursting back through the door if he hears so much as an extra floorboard creak coming from Jensen’s room.
That was close.
My cardigan is disheveled, my face flushed. Jensen’s eyes travel from my chest to my mouth before settling on my eyes.
“Come on,” he says. “No more playing around.”
I push past him, invading his space the way he invades mine. “I wasn’t playing. I was offering myself to you on a silver platter. I chose you, Jensen. And now I choose to leave.”
He grips my wrist but not too tight. Just enough to let me know the balance of power is shifting in his favor once more.