In that moment, Seth had never encountered a more appetizing sight. And yeah, maybe coming off a six-month-long deployment had intensified the punch of lust he’d experienced, but here he was, a year and a half later, and he still hadn’t come close to meeting a woman who turned him on as much as Miranda did.
“You struck out, huh?”
Seth nearly jumped out of his own skin when the deep male voice cut through the silence of the house. He flicked the light switch in the kitchen to find his roommate leaning against the L-shaped counter.
As Seth’s heartbeat steadied, Dylan nonchalantly sipped his glass of water like he had no care in the world.
He also had no stitch of clothing on.
Dylan’s naked body was neither new nor off-putting—Seth had seen enough of it after three years of living with the guy, not to mention all those times they’d tag-teamed chicks. Without batting an eye, he stalked past the blond SEAL and opened the fridge door.
“Judging by the silence, you struck out hard,” Dylan remarked, unconcealed amusement in his voice. “Don’t you think it might be time to give up?”
“Never.” He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.
“What is it about that woman that gets your panties in a knot, man?”
He wasn’t in the mood to be harassed, not when his cock ached so badly he could barely stay upright, but just as he was about to offer a sarcastic response, he noticed the genuine curiosity in Dylan’s green eyes. Huh. Weird.
Instead of snapping, Seth simply shrugged. “She yells at me a lot. I kinda dig it.”
Dylan burst out laughing. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”
“Plus, she’s hot as hell. Smart as a whip. Tough as nails. Doesn’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”
And apparently capable of turning him into a sappy loser who stood around at two in the fucking morning, listing his favorite qualities about a woman.
Dylan set his empty glass in the sink. “Is this a mommy complex thing?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I was watching that new talk show today, the one with those two dorky therapists who wear matching glasses. They did a whole segment about men having this subconscious need to marry their mothers. Well, not their mothers, but, you know, chicks who remind them of their moms.”
Seth grinned. “I thought we decided you weren’t gonna watch that crap anymore.”
“I know, but ever since Oprah went off the air, there’s shit-all on TV during the day. I was bored as fuck today.”
“You poor thing.”
“Anyway, it was interesting. And it totally applies to you. Mom’s a showgirl, your new crush is a showgirl…”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a crush. It’s lust. I want to get her into bed. End of story.”
“Whatever you say.” Dylan strode toward the oak cabinets over the sink, opened one and started rummaging around.
“Besides, Miranda is nothing like my mother. They’re both dancers, but their personalities couldn’t be more different.”
Hell, if Miranda had Missy Masterson’s personality, Seth would run in the opposite direction. He loved his mom to death, but the woman was loud, flighty, and had no sense of tact. She belonged on one of those reality shows where the women got very noisy and said things like “talk to the hand, bee-otch”.
But despite her scatterbrained nature and garish sense of style, Missy was a good mother, a ferocious lioness when it came to her cub, and that loyalty and maternal pride extended to the dancers she now trained, Miranda included.
When his mom had phoned and demanded he keep an eye on Miranda, Seth’s first thought had been hell yeah. Moving to a new city was tough, and he’d been more than ready to show Miranda some Southern California hospitality. Helping her unpack some boxes, taking her out to a dinner or two, and then, if they happened to wind up in bed…well, he sure wouldn’t be complaining. Except there was one thing he hadn’t banked on—her stubborn determination to resist his advances.
And he also hadn’t anticipated the baggage she came with.
Kids.
Two of them.
Christ. Like one wasn’t bad enough.
As he sipped his water, he watched Dylan assemble a baffling collection of items. A box of crackers from the cabinet. A block of cheddar cheese from the fridge. Chocolate syrup. A knife, presumably for the cheese.
“Anyway, if you do have a thing for Miranda because she reminds you of Missy, that’s perfectly healthy,” Dylan said.
Seth let out a sigh. “Do you realize that you have absolutely no credibility right now?”
“Why the hell not?” Dylan added a box of sugar cubes to the growing pile in his hands.
“Because you’re walking around the kitchen with your cock flapping in the wind like the American flag.”
“What can I say? My dick’s a patriot.”
Seth snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you—okay, seriously, what the fuck are you gonna do with all that stuff?” he demanded as Dylan grabbed a pack of toothpicks and a saltshaker from the cupboard.
His roommate strode toward the kitchen doorway. “Some of this is for eating, the rest is props.”
“Please tell me you have a girl in your room.”
“Duh.”