Page 12 of Reluctantly Rogue

Both Torin and I look at him.

“What?” Torin asks.

“She doesn’t need to know how to fucking flirt.” Jonah shoves up from his chair but looks down at me, making eye contact for the first time.

The impact of his green gaze locking on mine rocks through me. My nerve endings light up.

“Do you still have that green dress you wore to dinner in October?” Jonah asks.

I blink at him. Green dress? October? But then the memory clicks and I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“How about the maroon one? The long one with the low back.”

I nod stupidly.

“Wear those. The same heels. The same lipstick.” Then he pivots and stalks toward the door. “Wear your hair down, be yourself. And laugh at least twice. About anything. Just let them hear you laugh. That’s all you need to do. But be prepared for them to ask you on another date at the end of dinner.” Then he lets himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I stare at the dark wood for several long seconds.

Then I finally look back at Torin.

He looks very pleased. “Great. You’ll let the guys know you’re coming this weekend then? You can use my plane to travel, of course.”

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.

“I…” I take a breath. I have no reason to say no. Dammit. “Yes. Fine. I’ll email them both tonight.” Cara is five hours ahead of D.C. so James and Christian will see the messages, and possibly even respond, before I wake up tomorrow.

Torin pushes up from the desk and claps his hands together, grinning. “This is going to be so great.”

I just nod.

Yeah, great. So fucking great.

11 MONTHS AGO…

Chapter3

Jonah

* * *

Ironing naked shouldn’t be hazardous.

I do it all the time.

I’ve never burned anything. Not shirts. Not fingers. Certainly not my favorite body part.

Sure, hot things near that part of mecould bedangerous—considering its size—but since I only iron my shirts in my bedroom by myself and I have excellent fine and gross motor skills, I don’t worry about it.

Usually.

Then again, I also don’t have people bursting unexpectedly into my room while I’m doing it, causing my hand to jerk.

Usually.

But when my door suddenly swings open when I’m mid-swipe, I do jolt, and the hot iron twists toward my mid-section, and I let out a “Fuck!”

This causes the woman—who not only carries herself, speaks, and looks like a future queen but who will actuallybea future queen—to stop three steps inside the door suddenly.

---