Tempted by Megan Hart Page A

know, get excited.”
    “By exhibitionism?” I tried sounding shocked, but didn’t do a very good job of it.
    James stepped out of his jeans and stood in front of me in boxer briefs. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?”
    I straightened. “About having sex in front of someone else? No!”
    “We did it with your roommate in the room,” he reminded me.
    “That was different. We didn’t have anyplace else to go. And it was only once.”
    Once, making love under covers. Making sure not to moan too loudly, or rustle too fiercely. Listening to be certain the bed wasn’t squeaking in a telltale way. James’s mouth between my legs, licking me as I arched and tensed and came in agonized silence.
    “We’re too old for that now,” I said.
    He put his hands on his hips. God, I loved him, every piece of him. Loved the way his skin dipped so slightly between his ribs. The tufts of dark hair under his arms and around his prick. Loved the smoothness of his skin, the dark thickness of his eyebrows, the startling blue of his eyes. He could be an infuriating pain in the ass, but I loved him anyway.
    “You can’t tell me it doesn’t get you hot, thinking about it.” He was always so sure of himself. So confident he was right. “Like that time at the movies. When we sat in the back and you wore that skirt.”
    I turned back to the laundry. I snapped a pair of wrinkled shorts to smooth them before folding. Heat crept up my throat to my cheeks.
    “You liked that,” James said.
    His slow stroke on the outside of my panties had made me writhe. He’d kept up the pace for an hour and a half, the entire length of the movie. He’d never even slipped his fingers inside my panties, just circled my fabric-covered clit with small, tight strokes until I’d been ready to climb the walls. He made me come as the ending credits began, just before the houselights came up. I’d come so hard I couldn’t breathe. I still couldn’t remember what the movie was about.
    “Just because I liked that doesn’t mean I want to have your friend walk in on us,” I said begrudgingly. “Think how embarrassed he’d be.”
    James put his arms around me. He should’ve smelled like sweat and dirt, but he didn’t. “He’s a guy, Anne. He wouldn’t be embarrassed. He’d be horny.”
    I tried not to smile at the truth of that. “He’s your friend!”
    James was quiet for a few seconds. “Yeah.”
    I looked at him. “You like that idea, don’t you? Of him watching.”
    Not just anyone. Not a stranger. Not a delivery boy. Of Alex, watching us.
    James traced a finger along each of my eyebrows. “Forget it. You’re right, it’s stupid.”
    “I didn’t say it was stupid.” I put my hands on his chest. “I just want to know if it’s true.”
    He shrugged, a nonanswer that said more than words. My guts did a slow, rolling tumble.
    “What is it about him?” I whispered the question so he could pretend not to hear it.
    He heard me. He didn’t answer, but he heard. We looked at each other. I didn’t like the sudden distance between us, in a moment when we should have felt closer than ever.
    We both heard the door open at the same time. We both turned our heads toward the sound. We both heard Alex coming home, but it was James who went to greet him.

    Patricia’s house is always clean. I’ve seen her vacuum her carpet to leave marks in a herringbone pattern. I’ve known her to scrub her kitchen floor on hands and knees with a toothbrush, just to get the grime from the grout. We might make fun of each other for various things, but none of us ever mocked Patricia about the cleanliness of her house.
    Despite her compulsion to clean, she’s always made it comfortable. Her kids have the run of the place. They’re good kids, too, messy like kids can be but not destructive. The house is clean, but you can tell people live in it. It’s not a showroom. It’s a home.
    So when I walked inside my sister’s house and saw the pillows scattered off