Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

The Moretti brothers are back already from their quick chat.

Thatcher’s intense gaze descends upon me. “I need to talk to Jane alone.”

My eyes grow and I sweep him more inquiringly. Moments like these, I’d love to be able to predict the future.

13

THATCHER MORETTI

“Ignore the mess,” Jane says as she snatches dirty clothes off a fuzzy rug and flings them in a narrow, stuffed closet.

I shut the door behind me.

Her room is drenched in pastel colors, sequins, and animal prints. Coming here is like jumping into some type of milkshake-drinking bubblegum-blowing pop era that dresses up as the fucking 80s. Banks says it gives him agita . Makes him want to chug three bottles of Pepto-Bismol, and if it weren’t for Jane, I might feel the same.

But I step foot in here and I just see all the sides of Jane Cobalt. Bold and soft. Outlandish and unabashed. Feminine and eager.

Beautiful.

It makes me never want to leave.

Don’t go there —but I’m already here, and truth is, I’ve been in her room plenty before. For security. After the Nate incident, she asked if I could make routine checks each night.

I have.

It’s not a big space. Not many places for a target to hide. Not many entry-points for a break-in. Her four-poster bed is tucked up against the only window, and a pale blue vanity and cushioned stool hug a corner.

I’ve opened the mirrored closet door and peered behind her skirts and blouses before. I’ve lifted up the pink duvet, so I could inspect the dark area underneath her bed. Always littered with cat toys.

I’ve had to stretch over her mattress and push aside cheetah-patterned drapes. Just to secure the latch on the window and reset an alarm.

But I’m not here right now to assess and observe. I’m here to talk to Jane.

This is still about security , I remind myself.

This is still about her protection.

That’s all it should be.

I stand at the door like I’m on patrol and shouldering eighty-pounds of gear on my back. Just routine. What I’m trained for.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

I fold my arms over my chest, and I watch Jane fling a stray pair of cotton panties into the closet before she whirls around. Almost tripping over her own feet. She brushes wavy brown strands out of her face, and then she settles a confident hand on her waist.

Goddamn.

My blood heats.

“Thatcher,” she says, breathless. Her chest rises and falls and pushes out her breasts. Temperature ratchets up a hundred degrees, veins lit up on fire. Get it together.

There’s no waffling with me. Indecisiveness can fuck up a whole team, an entire op, and my mission this time is her.

Her.

“Jane,” I say, clear and cut and definitive, “I’ve already made a decision.”

She never breaks eye contact. “You have…?”

“I want to do this with you.”

Her voice catches, words stuck on her tongue.

I hold her gaze in a tighter grip. “I want to date you in public.”

Jane presses her knuckles to her lips. “For my protection.” She’s laying out the parameters before I even can. We’ve been good about that.

“For your protection,” I agree, and in a millisecond, my gaze slips down the nape of her neck. And she leans a hip on the bedpost like I’m fucking her sideways.

Christ. My abs tighten, and I rub my jaw with a tensed hand. I need to get my mind right.

“You’ve truly considered all the costs and benefits of being in a public relationship with me?” she asks. “I gain more than you. You’ll lose privacy, normalcy—your life will be forever different.”

She’s concerned about me being doxxed and the public scrutiny, but I’ve weighed the risks. “I know what I’m stepping into,” I say with severity. “No cost is greater than the cost of your life.”

Jane inhales, and then speaks in a whisper. “Just once more and I won’t ever ask again: are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” I would take any shot if it meant scaring off another stalker like Nate. If it meant keeping her safe. “Do you want to do this?”

“If you’re confident—”

“I am.”

“Then yes.” She straightens up. “I’d like to deter a stalker or two, possibly more, so I’d very much like to fake date you…” Blush shades her freckles. “Platonically, I’m guessing. How does one actually fake date?” Her eyes glimmer like we’re headed into curious territory.

I soak up her excitement. It amplifies my readiness, and I crave nothing more than to push forward with Jane.

“We’ll have a new set of boundaries,” I explain. “The main goal is to make the media and public buy the fact that I’m your boyfriend.”

I can’t act like I’ve been set free to do whatever the fuck I want. This is a security operation and a publicity stunt. I have a team to think about, and I’m positive Alpha and Epsilon especially will want to pull strings and have a hand in what I do with Jane.

Whether I like it or not, I have to obey the rules.

I can’t think about how her eyes dropped to my dick at the word boyfriend. I can’t think about how, if she weren’t a client, I would’ve already had her on the bed. Bare and wet and ready for me.

My muscles bind.

I’m rigid, and silence stretches. While we stand on either side of the room, invisible tension threads from her body to mine.

Jane fills the quiet. “What type of boundaries are we talking about?”

“We can’t have sex.” I say the unsaid words that have hung untouched between us for months.

Shock drops her jaw. Jane reaches behind her back with two hands. Clasping the bedpost, standing pin-straight. “Sex?” Her eyes are fucking huge.

There’s no way I’ve read her incorrectly, not for this long.

“Jane…” I fix the mic on my gray T-shirt collar.

She processes slowly like she’s asleep. Dreaming.

“I want to make this clear.” I rub my mouth and then drop my arm. “This arrangement isn’t a free pass to sleep together. No matter how…” Don’t say the word horny in front of her like we’re fourteen. I’m twenty-eight.

She’s twenty-three.

I restart, “No matter how attracted we both are to each other.”

Her mouth falls and wavers into a shocked smile. “You just said out loud that you’re attracted to me.”

She’s more surprised that I said the words than that I actually am attracted to her. Which means I did a piss-poor job at hiding it, but I already knew that.

“Jane,” I say, voice deep. “No sex.”

“Oui.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything we do from here on out needs to be for the sake of fake-dating.” She tips her head, a question crinkling her forehead. “If you know that I’m forever closed off to sex, then why do you think it’s such a concern that we’ll sleep together?”

“I’m not a stranger. You feel safe with me. Right?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“You still trust me?”

“Immensely.”

I nod once. “That’s why.”

Jane smiles softly. “Just for clarity between us, I’ve thought the same: that you’d be the exception if I were to ever touch a dick again—but I won’t touch yours,” she adds quickly. “We’re strictly fake boyfriend and fake girlfriend. Sex should stay out of bounds, I wholeheartedly agree.”

My expression hardens.

I can’t think about how she’d allow me to get her off. Because I hate that she’s been hurt in the past and that’s part of why she’d need me. On top of that, I hate that I’m jealous at even the idea of her opening up to another guy. When she should heal those wounds. When it’s not even possible for her and me to be together for real.

And I fucking hate Nate.

Oh and one more: buried beneath all these profe

ssional restrictions and complications, I want to bring her to the edge with orgasms so fucking intense they eke out her energy and sink her to sleep.

Inappropriate.

That’s the circle of hell I’ve been having a picnic in.

Jane shifts around the wooden post and leans on her bed, hands flat beside her waist on the pink duvet. “When we say no sex , maybe we should be more specific.”

I never flinch. “Specifically, my cock isn’t going inside your pussy.”

Jane crosses her ankles, her chest concaving in arousal. “I usually dislike when guys say pussy , but…that was good…very direct and assertive.” She smooths her lips together. “Assertiveness suits you.” She straightens up again and dusts her skirt, and our eyes meet in raw desire.

Fuck.

My muscles flame. Nerves scorched. I’m literally pinning myself to the fucking door. I can’t talk about this with her right now.

Not in her bedroom.

Not when we’re severing a shitload of rope that’ll allow me to move in closer.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I tell Jane.