She stepped forward, a sway in her hips, and slid her hands onto his shoulders. Her gaze was steady, almost hard. “Missed me, cupcake?”

“Yes,” he said, the vanilla scent of her like a drug. “So much. But—”

She smiled, the pink gloss on her lips reflecting the light. “Good.”

She tracked her fingers down over his chest and then lowered her body, slowly going to her knees in front of him. His cock was hard as steel already, and his skin felt so hot he feared he’d melt before he got to enjoy this. She reached for the button on his jeans. This was a scene out of some forbidden fantasy he’d had when he was seventeen. Kincaid Breslin wrapped in lace and wanting to pleasure him. He wanted to stand there and let the moment happen in all its glory, but some warring faction inside him was sending a flare into his sex-addled thoughts. A warning.

He tried to push the thought away. Any thought other than Let’s enjoy this beautiful woman giving me a blow job seemed ludicrous. But when Kincaid dragged her nails lightly over his fabric-clad erection and wet her lips while looking at him with vixen eyes, the quiet warning turned into a blaring alarm.

Fuck.

No. No. No.

But he couldn’t deny the rush of awareness. His vision had cleared, and now he saw the scene in a much less favorable light. The woman at his feet was not Kincaid, not the real Kincaid. This was the woman she was for other men. The femme fatale. The southern seductress. Butter won’t melt in my mouth, but your body sure will.

And goddamn, he had no issues with being seduced. Bring that shit on if it was all in good fun. But he knew that, for Kincaid, this was an act. A role. She’d admitted as much the night before. She was turning him into just another guy. She wasn’t really there with him.

She hooked her fingers in the band of his jeans and boxers, tugging, but he grabbed her wrists before she could pull them down. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hold on.”

Kincaid’s gaze flicked upward, her brow arching. “Getting shy on me, gorgeous? Or do you just need that control?” Her lips curved. “You can hold my hair if you want, show me how you like it.”

Even her voice sounded different to his ear. Too smooth. He wrangled in his libido, which had formed a cheering squad chanting Blow job! Blow job! in the background. He kept hold of her wrists and lowered himself to his knees in front of her. He gave a small shake of his head. “Not like this.”

A line formed between her brows, and her lips pressed together. “Not like what? On my knees?”

He searched her face and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything sexier than you on your knees in front of me. But talk to me, KC. Something’s off. This isn’t you. Not the you I know.”