Getting Hotter
Page 5
Seth Masterson, that’s who, and you’re an idiot if you think your battery-operated boyfriend will make you forget it.
Oh for the love of…was that Seth’s voice in her head?
Wonderful. The man was already shadowing her at work. Haunting her dreams. Starring in her fantasies. And now he was narrating her damn thoughts.
How on earth was she supposed to crush this attraction to dust when even her own subconscious was against her?
With another sigh, Miranda headed back to the main floor of the club. And prayed that the deafening dance beat would pound all thoughts of Seth right out of her head.
Chapter Two
Seth had never felt more on edge as he stalked into the dark townhouse he shared with Dylan Wade. Seeing Miranda on a nightly basis was absolute torture, and tonight had been particularly brutal. Probably because it was the closest he’d ever come to battering through her defenses. He’d seen her pulse jumping in her throat when he’d told her he wanted her. Heard her intake of breath. Witnessed the haze of arousal in her eyes.
She could deny it all she wanted, but Seth knew when a woman was hot for him. And this one was. Big-time.
Which was a damn good thing, because he was hot for her too. He’d wanted Miranda Breslin from the second he’d laid eyes on her. They may have officially met four months ago when he’d helped her move into her new apartment, but he’d already been lusting over the woman for more than a year by then.
First time he’d seen her was backstage at the Paradis, which he pretty much considered his second home. Miranda had been sitting at a vanity table while a makeup artist hovered over her. She’d worn an elaborate costume studded with blue jewels and adorned with peacock feathers. The leotard-like outfit had offered a lot of cle**age and emphasized her long, shapely legs, made even longer and shapelier thanks to her sheer silver stockings and high-heeled dance shoes. She’d yet to put on her feathered headdress, so her long sable-brown hair had been slicked back in a tight bun, drawing his attention to her high cheekbones and intriguing features.
In that moment, Seth had never encountered a more appetizing sight. And yeah, maybe coming off a six-month-long deployment had intensified the punch of lust he’d experienced, but here he was, a year and a half later, and he still hadn’t come close to meeting a woman who turned him on as much as Miranda did.
“You struck out, huh?”
Seth nearly jumped out of his own skin when the deep male voice cut through the silence of the house. He flicked the light switch in the kitchen to find his roommate leaning against the L-shaped counter.
As Seth’s heartbeat steadied, Dylan nonchalantly sipped his glass of water like he had no care in the world.
He also had no stitch of clothing on.
Dylan’s naked body was neither new nor off-putting—Seth had seen enough of it after three years of living with the guy, not to mention all those times they’d tag-teamed chicks. Without batting an eye, he stalked past the blond SEAL and opened the fridge door.
“Judging by the silence, you struck out hard,” Dylan remarked, unconcealed amusement in his voice. “Don’t you think it might be time to give up?”
“Never.” He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.
“What is it about that woman that gets your panties in a knot, man?”
He wasn’t in the mood to be harassed, not when his c**k ached so badly he could barely stay upright, but just as he was about to offer a sarcastic response, he noticed the genuine curiosity in Dylan’s green eyes. Huh. Weird.
Instead of snapping, Seth simply shrugged. “She yells at me a lot. I kinda dig it.”
Dylan burst out laughing. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“Plus, she’s hot as hell. Smart as a whip. Tough as nails. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”
And apparently capable of turning him into a sappy loser who stood around at two in the f**king morning, listing his favorite qualities about a woman.
Dylan set his empty glass in the sink. “Is this a mommy complex thing?”
“What the f**k are you talking about?”
“I was watching that new talk show today, the one with those two dorky therapists who wear matching glasses. They did a whole segment about men having this subconscious need to marry their mothers. Well, not their mothers, but, you know, chicks who remind them of their moms.”
Seth grinned. “I thought we decided you weren’t gonna watch that crap anymore.”
“I know, but ever since Oprah went off the air, there’s shit-all on TV during the day. I was bored as f**k today.”
“You poor thing.”
“Anyway, it was interesting. And it totally applies to you. Mom’s a showgirl, your new crush is a showgirl…”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a crush. It’s lust. I want to get her into bed. End of story.”
“Whatever you say.” Dylan strode toward the oak cabinets over the sink, opened one and started rummaging around.
“Besides, Miranda is nothing like my mother. They’re both dancers, but their personalities couldn’t be more different.”
Hell, if Miranda had Missy Masterson’s personality, Seth would run in the opposite direction. He loved his mom to death, but the woman was loud, flighty, and had no sense of tact. She belonged on one of those reality shows where the women got very noisy and said things like “talk to the hand, bee-otch”.
But despite her scatterbrained nature and garish sense of style, Missy was a good mother, a ferocious lioness when it came to her cub, and that loyalty and maternal pride extended to the dancers she now trained, Miranda included.
Oh for the love of…was that Seth’s voice in her head?
Wonderful. The man was already shadowing her at work. Haunting her dreams. Starring in her fantasies. And now he was narrating her damn thoughts.
How on earth was she supposed to crush this attraction to dust when even her own subconscious was against her?
With another sigh, Miranda headed back to the main floor of the club. And prayed that the deafening dance beat would pound all thoughts of Seth right out of her head.
Chapter Two
Seth had never felt more on edge as he stalked into the dark townhouse he shared with Dylan Wade. Seeing Miranda on a nightly basis was absolute torture, and tonight had been particularly brutal. Probably because it was the closest he’d ever come to battering through her defenses. He’d seen her pulse jumping in her throat when he’d told her he wanted her. Heard her intake of breath. Witnessed the haze of arousal in her eyes.
She could deny it all she wanted, but Seth knew when a woman was hot for him. And this one was. Big-time.
Which was a damn good thing, because he was hot for her too. He’d wanted Miranda Breslin from the second he’d laid eyes on her. They may have officially met four months ago when he’d helped her move into her new apartment, but he’d already been lusting over the woman for more than a year by then.
First time he’d seen her was backstage at the Paradis, which he pretty much considered his second home. Miranda had been sitting at a vanity table while a makeup artist hovered over her. She’d worn an elaborate costume studded with blue jewels and adorned with peacock feathers. The leotard-like outfit had offered a lot of cle**age and emphasized her long, shapely legs, made even longer and shapelier thanks to her sheer silver stockings and high-heeled dance shoes. She’d yet to put on her feathered headdress, so her long sable-brown hair had been slicked back in a tight bun, drawing his attention to her high cheekbones and intriguing features.
In that moment, Seth had never encountered a more appetizing sight. And yeah, maybe coming off a six-month-long deployment had intensified the punch of lust he’d experienced, but here he was, a year and a half later, and he still hadn’t come close to meeting a woman who turned him on as much as Miranda did.
“You struck out, huh?”
Seth nearly jumped out of his own skin when the deep male voice cut through the silence of the house. He flicked the light switch in the kitchen to find his roommate leaning against the L-shaped counter.
As Seth’s heartbeat steadied, Dylan nonchalantly sipped his glass of water like he had no care in the world.
He also had no stitch of clothing on.
Dylan’s naked body was neither new nor off-putting—Seth had seen enough of it after three years of living with the guy, not to mention all those times they’d tag-teamed chicks. Without batting an eye, he stalked past the blond SEAL and opened the fridge door.
“Judging by the silence, you struck out hard,” Dylan remarked, unconcealed amusement in his voice. “Don’t you think it might be time to give up?”
“Never.” He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.
“What is it about that woman that gets your panties in a knot, man?”
He wasn’t in the mood to be harassed, not when his c**k ached so badly he could barely stay upright, but just as he was about to offer a sarcastic response, he noticed the genuine curiosity in Dylan’s green eyes. Huh. Weird.
Instead of snapping, Seth simply shrugged. “She yells at me a lot. I kinda dig it.”
Dylan burst out laughing. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“Plus, she’s hot as hell. Smart as a whip. Tough as nails. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”
And apparently capable of turning him into a sappy loser who stood around at two in the f**king morning, listing his favorite qualities about a woman.
Dylan set his empty glass in the sink. “Is this a mommy complex thing?”
“What the f**k are you talking about?”
“I was watching that new talk show today, the one with those two dorky therapists who wear matching glasses. They did a whole segment about men having this subconscious need to marry their mothers. Well, not their mothers, but, you know, chicks who remind them of their moms.”
Seth grinned. “I thought we decided you weren’t gonna watch that crap anymore.”
“I know, but ever since Oprah went off the air, there’s shit-all on TV during the day. I was bored as f**k today.”
“You poor thing.”
“Anyway, it was interesting. And it totally applies to you. Mom’s a showgirl, your new crush is a showgirl…”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a crush. It’s lust. I want to get her into bed. End of story.”
“Whatever you say.” Dylan strode toward the oak cabinets over the sink, opened one and started rummaging around.
“Besides, Miranda is nothing like my mother. They’re both dancers, but their personalities couldn’t be more different.”
Hell, if Miranda had Missy Masterson’s personality, Seth would run in the opposite direction. He loved his mom to death, but the woman was loud, flighty, and had no sense of tact. She belonged on one of those reality shows where the women got very noisy and said things like “talk to the hand, bee-otch”.
But despite her scatterbrained nature and garish sense of style, Missy was a good mother, a ferocious lioness when it came to her cub, and that loyalty and maternal pride extended to the dancers she now trained, Miranda included.
