STRIPTEASED (Roommate Reverse Harem Romance)

A sound from outside the door caught my attention. My heart pounded rapidly as I heard a footfall and then a soft knock. I tried to call out, but my throat was dry. I licked my lips and tried again. “Hello?”

The door swung inward and a handsome face appeared—one of the twin strippers from last night. Despite the picture on the desk, it was still hard to wrap my head around the fact that he was standing in front of me. He was just so damn good-looking, it didn’t seem possible that he could exist in real life. His brown hair was sticking up in a sexy way, and his jaw was lined with the smallest hint of stubble. I felt sure those tawny eyes were the color of finely aged whiskey even though I’d never touched a drop of the stuff in my life. Everything about him was perfection designed to make a woman melt.

“Good morning.”

The rich, rumbly voice was a boon to my ears, especially after all the loud chaos from the club. Also in contrast to last night was the fact that he was wearing clothes. Tan forearms emerged from a light blue t-shirt—one that bulged over his biceps. It was tight on him and made me recall every ab I’d drooled over last night. Black running shorts covered other parts I’d admired. “Um… hi.”

“I heard you moving around and figured you might have some questions.” His smile was made for charming and disarming, and he looked entirely too perfect to be standing a few feet in front of me. Maybe I was dreaming?

“Yeah,” I managed to say. So far, I was being one hell of a conversationalist.

“I imagine you might need this.” He stepped further into the room, revealing a glass of water and a little white bottle in his hands. He held them out and I approached gingerly, as if he might vanish if I got too close. I took the water and the container of aspirin—thank God. I mumbled my thanks, worked the bottle open, and took two pills with a long swig of water. It tasted so good on my dry throat that I forgot to feel self-conscious in front of him.

“Thanks.” My voice sounded less raspy than before. I took another sip, stalling as I tried to figure out what to ask first. “How did I get here?”

“We brought you back here last night when we couldn’t get a local address out of you. You were pretty wasted,” he said frankly. The twinkle in his eyes spoke of good humor, but my face flushed anyway. Why on Earth had I drunk that much?

“We?”

“Me and my roommates. We work at the club you were at. I’m Denver.” He held out his hand. Denver. The names came back to me. Denver and Austin, not Boston. His large hand engulfed mine and heat rushed up my arm. It was like touching a demigod or something. No mere mortal could be that gorgeous. He cocked his head to the side. “How much do you remember about last night?”

“Not much.” I retreated backwards until I felt the bed behind me. “I mean, I know you’re a—” Somehow, I couldn’t say the word stripper. “I know you work there, I just didn’t know which one you were.” God, I’d practically just admitted to ogling him and his brother last night.

Denver grinned, as if he knew why my cheeks were turning pink. “Austin’s downstairs. So are the others. We made breakfast, if you’re feeling up to it. And they’d like to meet you.”

“The others?”

“Come see for yourself. Or, sorry, what am I thinking? The bathroom’s just down the hall. You probably need that first. But come downstairs when you’re ready, okay?”

His gaze was so intense that I could only nod in agreement. He could be a hypnotist if he wanted to be—I couldn’t imagine any woman saying no to him. Besides, it wasn’t like I could hide up here forever. I was obviously in his room, invading his personal space. I had to emerge at some point, whether I had any place to go or not.

“Okay,” I echoed, and looked down as he flashed his megawatt smile again. But I couldn’t help peeking as he walked away, his tee stretched tightly over the muscles of his back. The black running shorts were looser, but they didn’t hide that perfect ass. Clothed or unclothed, it was a pretty spectacular view.

Ten minutes later, I clung to the banister as I made my way down the wooden staircase. My lack of balance wasn’t all because of my hangover—I’d put on my heels from last night, which had been outside the door of the room. Apparently, they’d survived whatever calamity had befallen my dress. My purse was slung over the arm that wasn’t clutching the railing in a death grip.