“What... ?” Noelle lowered her voice. “What would make you think that?”
“First, you all but refuse to bring him his phone. Then you get squirrelly about being in his room. Seems pretty suspicious to me.”
“Well, it’s not.” Noelle stamped her good foot for emphasis. “There’s absolutely nothing going on between us. I barely know the man.”
“Good. Then it won’t be a problem for you to give him his phone.”
Trapped.
“Of course not,” Noelle said with forced lightness. “I’ll see you in sixty.”
Woman up, she told herself as she limped out the door and down the hall. You got this. Just knock on his door, hand him his phone and go. No smiles. No small talk. And definitely no steamy kisses.
The first part of her plan was no problem. She made her way to his room and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. She even tried calling out his name.
No answer. Too bad the darned phone wasn’t thin enough to slip under the door.
In a last-ditch move, she tried the knob. If she was lucky, she could leave the phone just inside the door and slip away unnoticed.
She was lucky.
The knob turned and she inched the door open. The sound of running water greeted her, explaining why Jace hadn’t answered the door.
He was in the shower.
Which, of course, conjured all sorts of X-rated images in her head. Like Jace naked. And wet. And best—or worst—of all, hard. Every naked, wet inch of him.
Noelle shook her head to clear her thoughts—fat lot of good that did—and stepped gingerly into the room. She was all set to drop off the phone and hightail it out of there as fast as she could with one good leg when she heard a thud, then a moan, from the bathroom.
“Jace?” She froze, the phone still in her hand. “Are you okay?”
Another moan, this one longer, more guttural, almost a growl.
She put the phone down on the nightstand and pressed her ear to the bathroom door. “Jace?”
Still no response.
Damn.
How did she get herself into these predicaments?
He was probably fine. Doing what guys did in the shower when they were horny or bored or whatever. She’d done what she promised, brought him his stupid phone. And now she could—should—leave.
But what if he wasn’t okay?
Double damn.
She eased the door open, telling herself her motives were noble, not naughty. She’d only look long enough to make sure he wasn’t crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the bathtub. And if she happened to get a glimpse of a bulging bicep or slick pec or—heaven forbid—stiff cock, she’d just look down and back away quickly.
Very quickly.
JACE LEANED AGAINST the smooth, cool tile, letting the warm water pound his chest as he jerked himself into oblivion. He rolled his thumb over the head of his cock, imagining how the Duchess would react if she could see him now. And how he’d like her to react.
She had a perfect mouth, red, ripe and lush. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since their kiss. If he had his way, she’d be on her knees now with it wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and pictured her lips closing around his crown, her tongue stealing out to capture the drops of pre-come gathered at the slit.
His balls tightened and he squeezed his cock as he slid his soapy hand up and down the soft skin. He was close, so damn close.
But not yet.
He slowed his movements, not wanting the movie playing in his mind to end. Now Noelle was rising, sliding her slick body up his, thigh meeting thigh, breast meeting chest. Her pale skin glowed against his perpetual California tan. In his mind, she was perfectly smooth everywhere, and when she lifted one leg to hook it around his waist her sleek, bare pussy brushed against the tip of his rock-hard dick.
With a groan, Jace thrust into his fist, his need to come trumping his desire to prolong the sweet torture of his dirty daydream. He imagined he was driving into Noelle, pounding her, hammering her, her wet heat clenching around him until she was as desperate as him for release.
His thighs shook as he moved his good hand faster and faster over his straining cock. His hips moved in rhythm with his fist and his chest heaved, his lungs struggling to draw air as he climbed closer to climax.
It hit him like a runner sliding into second, hard and fast. He swore and called out her name as he came, hitting the wall and floor of the shower, the last burst landing hot on his chest. He slumped against the cold tile, his fist still gripped around his throbbing cock.
Fuck. If just fantasizing about doing it with Noelle was that explosive, he was afraid to think what might happen if they actually had sex.
He turned the water temperature down a notch, figuring a splash of cold was just the thing to snap him back to reality. He’d barely started to lather up when a crash, followed by a high-pitched, distinctly female “shit” stopped him cold.
“Who’s there?” he barked, hastily rinsing himself before shutting off the water.
The only answer was the snick of metal against metal as the door caught in the latch.
Someone was there. Or had been. Listening to—or even watching—him.
And not just someone. A female someone.
Noelle? Had she seen him? Heard him cry out her name as he came?
He grabbed a towel off the rack, patted himself dry and had it fastened around his waist before you could say “ground rule double.” But when he opened the bathroom door, his room was empty.
He scanned from corner to corner, searching for some clue as to who had been there. Whatever his visitor had crashed into was apparently still intact and had been put back in its proper place. But his eyes stopped on one familiar object that definitely wasn’t there when he went to shower.
His cell phone. The one he’d lost in PT. On the table next to his bed.
So his voyeur was also a Good Samaritan. That explained what she’d been doing there in the first place. But it didn’t leave him any closer to knowing her identity.
Yet.
He picked up the phone and turned it on, thanking his lucky stars Sara had insisted they exchange cell numbers. Ignoring the notifications that flashed on the screen, he opened a new text message and started typing.
Thanks for dropping off my phone. Hope you enjoyed the show.
He figured he’d have to wait for her response after he hit Send, but he was wrong. She must have been between patients or on a break or something, because almost immediately he could see she’d started typing. A few seconds later, her answer appeared.
Not me, hot shot. You can thank your ballerina friend. Can’t wait to hear about the show.
She ended the text with a winky face emoji.
Jackpot. Noelle was his Peeping Tom. Again. And this time she’d gotten even more of an eyeful—and earful—than last time.
Whistling, he texted Sara back.
I’d do that if I could find her. Haven’t seen her all week.
He hoped Sara might have some idea of Noelle’s whereabouts. Then he could ambush the Duchess and have some fun messing with her.
And man, did