Ramsay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unzipped her jacket. Her mother would have never let her leave the apartment had she seen how her daughter was dressed. The snug, low-cut camisole didn't quite conceal her lacy black bra; the hem of her plaid skirt fell several inches above her knees. Her black patent stilettos were decidedly of the "fuck me" variety. Ramsay peered down at her ample cleavage, watched it rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath. She had kept her jacket zipped up to her chin on the walk over to Seth's apartment, and yet several men had leered at her. The memory of their lascivious gazes turned her stomach.
She slowly climbed the stairs to Seth's floor. He entirely deserved what she had in store for him. She would taunt him with her scantily clad body and then abruptly leave him high and dry. She could just imagine him practically grinding his teeth in frustration, his eyes glassy with thwarted desire. Yes, he deserved every bit of it.
She stopped short of his apartment door and tried once more to calm her racing heart. God, what an awful day it had been. Had someone told her it would end with her standing outside her sister's 26-year-old ex-boyfriend's door dressed like a tart, she would have laughed. But then again, she mused as she tugged at her camisole to reveal more of her bra, if her affair with Seth had taught her anything, it was that her days would never again be predictable as long as he was around.
And, God help her, she wanted him around. Ever since he had, at her urging, relieved her of the burden of her virginity on her eighteenth birthday, Seth had made her life completely terrible and wonderful. Well, no, she supposed it had really started the day Gaby, her 22-year-old sister, brought Seth home to meet her and her mother. The air had changed—had suddenly grown thick and hot—as she watched him step into her mother's living room. She'd been mesmerized by his muscled arms, his artfully rumpled hair. He had reached out his hand in greeting, and as she'd clasped it, she had felt his finger brush lightly across the inside of her wrist. The intimacy of the gesture had sent an electric shiver down her spine. Months later, as they lay in bed, Ramsay had worked up the courage to ask what he'd thought of her the day they met. His answer had made her blush. "It's not my fault," he'd teased, stroking her hip through the sheet, "that you're so fucking hot."
"Fucking hot," she whispered to herself as she steeled herself to knock on Seth's apartment door. He thought she was fucking hot. She closed her eyes again and conjured the image of his sensual lips, his slow-blinking eyes, the dark brown stubble that left light abrasions on her inner thighs every time he went down on her. Her nipples tightened inside her bra as she recalled the way he liked to suckle them just a bit too aggressively and then soothe them with his tongue. He was entirely too sexy, and he couldn't get enough of her body—at least if his demands to see her nearly every day were any indication. Her first lover would undoubtedly prove to be her best; any man she met in the future would surely suffer the comparison.
But now it was time to let him go. God, the mere thought of never touching him again was almost nauseating. She began to understand how her sister felt when Seth ended their relationship. Gaby had cried for days on end, never imagining that Seth's new inamorata was her own sister. Ramsay rolled her eyes at her own shamelessness. She'd been so selfish, so thoughtless. Well, as heart-rending as ending this affair would be, it would at least lighten the burden of her guilt.
And she'd be damned if he beat her to the punch, she thought, looking sullenly down at her stilettos. He could have that tattooed blond she'd seen him chatting up in the street. Her pride wouldn't let her wait around long enough to get jilted.
But her pride, as it turned out, couldn't quite stem the tide of her tears. Images of Seth flirting with that woman—the one with the pierced lip and the "tramp stamp"—flickered inexorably through her mind: Seth laughing at her joke, Seth touching her arm gently as he spoke, Seth smiling at her as she leaned in to the flame he held and lit her cigarette. She had watched the whole scene unfold from the window of the coffee shop across the street. Thank heavens that blond hadn't kissed him; Ramsay might have gotten sick right then and there.
"Seriously now," she hissed to herself as she wiped her eyes, "there will be time for this later." She peered down once more to make sure her show of cleavage was generous, threw her shoulders back, and knocked on Seth's door. Her heart was officially pounding now.
The next few seconds dragged on endlessly; by the time she heard the deadbolt turn, she'd already formulated a plan to make a frantic run for the exit. But it was too late. Seth was standing before her—and looking unbearably sexy in his fitted black t-shirt and jeans.
It seemed she had rendered him speechless. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and mouth slightly agape, and looked her up and down. Ramsay held her breath. She thought she read amusement in his expression.
"Well, I'll be god-damned," he drawled, still not meeting her eyes. "Here you are."
"Here I am." She hoped her tone was sufficiently chilly.
His gaze traveled back to her breasts and lingered there. Ramsay felt her cheeks burn.
"How did you get over here?" he asked, still distracted by her cleavage. "And don't tell me you walked." His appraising gaze slid over her body once more before returning to her face. He beckoned her into his apartment with a tilt of his head.
"I walked." She didn't move. "What does it matter?"
"It's fucking dangerous, especially with your tits hanging out like that." When she didn't respond, he took a deep breath and reached for her. "Come inside before you get raped in the hallway."
Ramsay stepped out of his grasp. This wasn't at all going the way she'd planned. Seth wasn't drooling helplessly over her shameless display; in fact, he seemed almost offended by it. She suddenly felt rather embarrassed—and resented him for it.
"I've got to go." She spoke with a forced nonchalance. "I really just came by to—"
"You're not going anywhere dressed like that."
God, he was starting to sound like her mother. "Fuck you," she snapped. Her heart thumped as she heard the words echo through the hallway. Seth had a temper, and she was brazenly provoking him.
"Fuck me? I'm not the one who's asking for it, sweetheart," he retorted, looking once again at her breasts.
She crossed her arms, conscious that doing so only created more cleavage, and glared at him.
"I'm not going to beg. That's clearly your job." His voice was gravelly, his face smug—and maddeningly handsome. "Get in here, Ramsay."
She rammed her hands in her jacket pockets and looked down at her shoes, which had started to pinch her toes. The urge to bury her face against Seth's chest, to breathe in the intoxicating muskiness of his skin, was so overwhelming she wanted to cry. But then she remembered that blond woman—imagined her savoring Seth's scent—and the thought bolstered her willpower. She would never let herself become that woman—the woman who's so pathetically lovestruck that she tolerates infidelity.
With a disdainful toss of her head, Ramsay turned on her heel and started down the hallway. Her shattered nerves told her to break out in a run, but her pride demanded that she stride away from him casually, deliberately. Tears stung the rims of her eyes. Her plan had fallen apart at the seams: instead of driving Seth mad with desire and then promptly ending their liaison with a calculated nonchalance, she had only irked him and completely embarrassed herself. How could she have been so stupid? And now she had to walk back home in her slutty getup and pray that she didn't encounter any amorous drunks on the sidewalk.
The glowing exit sign leading to the stairs was only a few steps away when she felt his hard grip on her shoulders. He spun her to face him. She could scarcely decide whether she was thrilled or indignant. Seth was holding her, but his eyes were nearly opaque with anger. She suspected she was in for another round of castigation at Seth's hands...and his tongue...and his.... God, the thought made her toes curl inside her tight shoes. And yet she found his fury insulting. He was the guilty one; he had forfeited his right to be possessive the minute he started flirting with that blond.
"Let me go," she seethed.
