Someone knocked on the door. “Sienna Roberts?” a muffled and distant male voice came from outside.
James sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t need to hear the shout any clearer to know who it was.
“This is Thomas St. Clair,” Thomas continued, laughter dancing in his thick New York accent. “And I’m here to seduce you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sienna blinked. Did she hear that correctly?
James studied her, his expression unreadable.
She frowned. What did she do?
“Open up, Sienna Roberts,” the American author yelled outside her home, thumping on the door again. “So I can seduce you away from Dyson.”
“Okay,” James grumbled, shoving himself off her. “I need to bring this to an end.”
She shifted into a sitting position, acutely aware of the loss of body-to-body contact with him. “I don’t think he means it.”
He snatched his chinos up from the floor and tugged them on, flicking her a grin. “I know. And if he did, he’d fail.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”
He swooped down and crushed her lips in a searing, hungry kiss. “Yes.”
The single-word answer hung on the air—ripe with smug conceit—as he strode out of her studio space.
“You probably should get dressed,” he threw over his shoulder as he approached the door. “If St. Clair sees you naked, I’ll be forced to beat the shit out of him.”
Cheeks warm, she scrambled for her clothes, a chuckle tickling her throat.
“Go away, St. Clair,” James’s greeting floated back to her, accompanied by the faint noises of the world beyond her home. “Your timing sucks.”
Thomas laughed. “Figured you might be here, dude. Didn’t expect the semi-naked look, though. Y’know, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you without a shirt. Goddamn, your chest has got some hair on it. Have you considered waxing?”
James laughed in return. “My chest has nothing on your arse, mate. I’ve seen it, remember?”
Sienna pressed her palm to her mouth, hoping to smother her giggle. She failed. Both men turned to look at her.
“There she is.” Thomas strode past James, his grin locked on her. “The goddess I intend to make mine. Forget this loser and run away with me. I’ll write a book about you and make you famous.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Don’t you write horror novels?”
He stopped directly in front of her, snagged her fingers with his to tug her closer, and dropped a kiss first on her right cheek and then the left, before smiling wide. “What? You’ve never heard of a sex demon?”
“Yeah, yeah.” James appeared at his side, extracting Sienna’s hands to pull her into his side. “Sienna’s not suckered in by your charms.”
Mischief danced in Thomas’s gaze as he regarded them both. “A shame. I would have given her the world. Or at least a penthouse in New York.”
She laughed. “I thank you for the offer, Mr. St. Clair. But I’m a converted-warehouse kind of girl.”
He nodded and turned his devilish grin on James. “You win again, M—”
“Coffee?” James burst out, stepping away from her to clap a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Want some?”
Thomas flinched at his abrupt offer. A frown of confusion wrinkled his forehead. “Err…sure.”
“Good, good.” James slapped him on the back, directing him away from where they stood. “Still black with ten sugars?”
“Dude,” Thomas protested. “Don’t exaggerate. It’s only eight.”
She watched them go, a small flutter of uncertainty stirring in her tummy. Why did James’s behavior suddenly seem out of sorts? Was he really jealous? Surely not? After last night and this morning, didn’t he realize she wasn’t in any way interested in another man?
But then, when he first arrived here demanding she paint his portrait, he considered her a gold digger who used sex to get what she wanted.
A cold finger traced up her spine. When had he changed his mind about that? She’d told him outright she wasn’t, but had that been enough? He still didn’t know the full story of her and Clint, and yet their relationship had shifted somewhere. Had gone from one of antagonistic contempt and carnal sexual attraction to a relaxed and wonderful sense of companionship and desire. How had that happened? And why?