Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Yes. That was the plan.

“Lunch is here,” one of the interns called from the other side of the trailers.

Thank God.

“I think I’ll grab mine to go,” Hannah murmured to no one, turning to leave. Stealthily. Looking right and left, whistling under her breath. No one is going to know you’re on a masturbation break. Relax.

Hannah made it a few steps before Sergei caught up with her. “Hey. Hannah.”

Oh no. Her body was already doing that hot-anticipation thing it did when she decided the mood was right. Wheels were in motion. Could Sergei tell just by looking at her? That she had plans that included gingery massage oil?

“Yes?” she croaked.

He traced the path of his goatee where it ran around his mouth, frankly looking kind of . . . shy? “Where are you running off to?”

Oh, nowhere. Just have a quick errand to run in Orgasm Village.

“I left something . . . at the apartment.” She pointed to her face. “Sunscreen. I’m going to end up looking like Rudolph without it.”

“Oh. No, you could never.”

Why wasn’t she exploding over that compliment?

A few weeks ago, at the mere suggestion from Sergei that he found her attractive, she would have found a private place to blast “For Once in My Life” by Stevie Wonder and dance (terribly) in place. Now all she could do was search for an excuse to get away. This was when she needed to reach out and brush her fingers against his arm. Locate his bicep and test for firmness, like an avocado at the farmer’s market. Or remind him of their physical differences, as Fox had suggested. You man, me woman. Science says we should do it! But she didn’t have the slightest desire to flirt or try to snag his interest.

What is happening to me?

“I could walk with you,” he suggested.

Again, nothing. Not a spark of joy to be had.

No, she did like Sergei. The sparks would return. She just needed to eradicate this . . . temporary physical spell she was under. “No, that’s okay.” She waved him off. “Go eat your sprouts and hummus on wheat. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He nodded, looking disappointed, and she didn’t even have the room to feel bad. There was only the selfish hunger that raked invisible hands down the front of her body, teasing erogenous zones wherever they touched.

Orange bottle. Orange bottle.

Hannah already had the key out by the time she got to Fox’s building, and she slid it into the lock now, entering the dark, empty apartment and closing the door behind her. She was panting. Panting. It was ridiculous! But she beelined for the bathroom anyway, snatching the almighty bottle off the bathroom shelf and carrying it to the guest room like a running back protecting a football.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, closing the bedroom door and leaning her forehead up against it. “Calm down.”

Easier said than done, though.

Her hands were almost too unsteady to remove the bottle cap. Especially when she thought of the way Fox uncapped beer with his teeth. Why was that so stupidly hot? His dentist must be appalled.

Finally, Hannah got the top off the bottle, and the aroma filled the air, sensual and rich and heavy with sex. No wonder she’d been so determined to figure out the source. She wedged the container between her knees and stripped the dress off over her head, letting it drift to the ground—

The apartment door opened and closed.

What the . . . ? she mouthed.

“Hannah,” came Fox’s voice from the other side of the bedroom door. Like the immediate other side. It sounded like he was speaking right against the wood. Don’t think of wood. “Are you okay in there? Looked like something was wrong.”

“I’m fine,” she lied—not very successfully, since her voice sounded like it had been sanded raw. “I just needed a minute.”

Too much silence passed.

Then: “I can smell the oil, Hannah.”

Fire blazed up her neck and cheeks. “Oh my God,” she said, dropping her forehead to the door again. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Stop that, Hannah.” His voice had fallen another octave. “I wasn’t embarrassed this morning when I admitted to doing the same thing.”

“You didn’t do it during business hours.”

His low laugh made the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stand up. “If you’re done berating yourself for having natural impulses, you can open the door.”

“What?” she breathed, staring at the barrier in shock. “Why?”

A slow exhale. “Hannah.”

That was all he said.

What did he mean by that?

Hannah.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to read between the lines, and meanwhile, none of the heat tickling her belly had dissipated. In fact, God help her, standing in her bra and thong with Fox right on the other side of the door was exciting her more.

And it shouldn’t be.

For a lot of reasons.