Page 45 of Liars and Liaisons

Something sinister ripples in the air between us, like a hot, wet fog. As he pushes the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall from him and land softly on the wooden floor, I remind myself that this is the wrong brother.

I’m here because of him—not in spite of.

Yet when Grayson approaches the tub, kicking his shoes and socks off, all I can do is watch.

His torso is as toned and smooth as I remember with the tips of black ink from his ram skull tattoo peeking over his shoulders. But he doesn’t turn his back to me, so I can’t recall any other specifics of the design.

My chest tightens when he reaches for his belt, dragging it through the loops with a slothfulness I find infuriating. He snaps the black leather in his hands, and I flinch, lifting my eyes to his. They heat, emerald catching fire and burning like scorched earth.

His throat bobs, and he moves toward the end of the tub where my feet are.

I press myself into the porcelain, the material somehow cool on my bare nipples, even with the warm water. “What are you doing?”

“You said the bath relaxes you. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Alarm courses through my veins like a flash flood. I curl into myself, pressing my ankles tighter together to try and keep my pussy from his view even though the water isn’t clear. It still feels like he can see through it.

“There’s no need to be shy, Violet.”

“Youcannotget in this tub.”

“Why not?” He lifts a leg and swings it over. The water breaks for him, rocking against me. “There’s plenty of room.”

True, but not the point. “You’re wearing pants!”

A cruel smirk makes him look feline. The other leg follows, and then he’s standing in the tub, and I think I might combust.

“Should I remove them?” He reaches for the fly, and my eyes fall quickly to where his fingers work that button through.

Heat bleeds into my skin, choking me with its onslaught. My face feels like it’s on fire because beneath the quick work of his hands, the unmistakable evidence of his attraction to me, to the situation, strains at the fabric.

He’sbig, which unfortunately explains the accompanying arrogance. I suppose when you have the equipment to back yourself up, you can get away with anything.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Grayson sighs and gives up on his pants, though he doesn’t bother to button them back up. Instead, I’m stuck staring at the parted material and the veiny flesh it reveals.

“It smells weird in here.” He crouches down, dragging two fingers through the milky water and stopping as he comes to a rose petal. “Why are there flowers?”

“Ilikeflowers.”

“Are these mine?”

“I think something stops belonging to you when you’ve neglected it to near death.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, gripping the sides of the tub with both hands.

As he slowly lowers himself in, a prickly sensation washes over me. One of his legs shoves between my body and the porcelain, and then I’m trapped between his calves, eye-level with his bent knees.

“You can unclench, you know. I don’t bite.”

“And I don’t believe you.” I remember the teeth-shaped marks on my breasts the day after the fundraiser. It certainly wasn’t me who put those there.

That smirk again. “Smart girl. I’d bite if you let me.”

My muscles coil even tighter.

He sinks lower, bending his legs more until he can rest his neck on the edge of the bath. I gnaw on my bottom lip, trying to look everywhere, except directly at him, like an eclipse.

“Why do you need to relax?” I probe, trying to shift some of my discomfort elsewhere.

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