“Beautiful, smart, successful. And that girl is so very sweet,” Shanna babbled on. “Did I tell you she came by with chicken noodle soup when I was sick last week?”
Yeah, probably because she had an ulterior motive of some sort, Dylan almost replied. He also didn’t mention that he suspected Claire had zero respect for his mom, which she’d broadcasted loud and clear during that last visit by scoffing at Dylan’s insistence that “homemaker” absolutely counted as a real job. Shanna Wade had been a stay-at-home wife and mother for more than half of Dylan’s life, but clearly Claire McKinley didn’t think that counted as work.
“Claire’s a real sweetheart, all right,” he said lightly, hoping his mom wouldn’t pick up on the distaste in his voice.
“Your brother told me you’ve agreed to be his best man.”
“I did. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never planned a bachelor party before…”
“Dylan Wade, don’t you dare get your brother a stripper!” Shanna said in outrage.
He laughed. “Relax, Mom. I won’t.” Naah, he definitely wouldn’t get a stripper. More like many strippers. But his mother didn’t need to know that.
As his mom continued to chat about the upcoming wedding, Dylan got distracted by the sound of muffled footsteps in the hall, followed by a door opening and closing. When he heard soft feminine laughter and a low male murmur, he realized that for all the pomp and circumstance of this condo, the walls were pretty thin.
It wasn’t until twenty minutes later, after he’d hung up with his mom and was getting ready to crash, that he realized just how thin those damn walls were.
Thump-thump-thump.
Thump-thump-thump.
Thump-thump-thump.
The unmistakable rhythm of a headboard banging against the wall sent an ambush of raunchy images to his brain. Aidan was probably working Lani over real good—his trim hips pistoning, ass flexing with each deep thrust. Or maybe Lani was doing some riding, impaled on Aidan’s cock, her long fingernails digging into Aidan’s sculpted abdomen.
Saliva pooled in Dylan’s mouth. He nearly groaned out loud. Managed to swallow the agonized sound, but controlling the erection that sprang up was impossible. It was official. Coming here had been a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He’d already given up his room to Miranda; he’d be a total ass if he suddenly demanded it back. And if he went home anyway and tried to sleep on the couch, there was no doubt in his mind that Miranda would drag him back to his room and revert to bunking on that tiny bed with her kids.
So going home was not an option. He supposed he could crash at Jackson’s place in Imperial Beach, but hopping from one guest room to another seemed kind of ridiculous. Might as well suck it up and stay here at Aidan’s place.
It was only for a week. Surely he could refrain from doing something stupid for the next seven days. Granted, the nonstupid course of action would’ve been to not come here in the first place, but he’d already made his damn bed, and now he had to lie in it.
Another forbidden image flew into his head.
He quickly shot it down with a mental rifle and banished it from thought.
Alone. He’d be lying in the bed he’d made—alone.
Was she really going to do this?
Miranda killed the engine but couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car. She stared at the pale light shining through the gauzy white curtains of Seth’s living room window. Kim was probably in there, doing homework or watching TV. And Seth…well, he was probably waiting for her in his bedroom.
Naked.
With condoms handy.
Ready to fuck her.
Miranda’s cheeks scorched. Gosh, had she actually said all that?
She wondered if it was too late to change her mind, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Why couldn’t she sleep with Seth? She hadn’t had sex in seven years. Seven years. Didn’t she owe it to herself to get laid? She wasn’t a nun, for Pete’s sake, and a girl did have urges, after all.
But was Seth Masterson the right man to satisfy those urges? Physically, definitely. She was attracted to him like nobody’s business, and there was no challenging his ability to turn her on—she’d almost orgasmed simply from his touching her breasts. But seven years of celibacy was a long time. Shouldn’t she ease herself back into the whole sex thing with someone who wasn’t so…sexually overwhelming? Dip her toe in the shallow end instead of diving into the deep end right off the bat?
She ran a hand through her hair and released a disgusted breath. Okay. Enough second-guessing. Really, there was only one question of any importance here, one question she always asked herself before she made any life-altering decisions: Will this hurt my kids?
She’d posed that same inquiry when deciding whether to leave Vegas, and now she applied it to Seth. To sex with Seth.