Juliet looks up, her expression morphing from concentration to glee. “BeeBee! West!” She snaps the book shut and bounds our way. “Come hang out. Jean-Claude, put work away.”

He frowns, throwing a brief glance over the back of the sofa, then gives us a polite nod. “Can’t. Christopher’s got me in work up to my eyeballs.” There’s a tinge of resentment in his voice.

“That’s what you get for being excellent and earning a promotion,” Juliet says, smacking a kiss on his cheek, then turning to face us. “Want a drink? A snack—”

“That’s okay,” Bea says, tugging affectionately at one of Juliet’s loose ribbons of hair falling from her bun. “I’m just introducing him to Cornelius. Thanks, though.”

Her face falls. “Oh. Are you sure?”

“Juliet,” Jean-Claude says sharply. “Leave them alone and come sit with me.”

Bea frowns his way, but her sister only rolls her eyes affectionately and smiles. “We’re working on Jean-Claude’s appreciation for double-dating.”

He sighs and sips his whiskey, broadcasting annoyance. Jean-Claude’s never been one to socialize when he has a girlfriend. The longer the relationship lasts, the less I see of him.

“I appreciate the offer,” I tell her, “but I have to work tomorrow. I can’t be out too late. Thank you, though.”

“All right,” she says, glancing between us, her smile widening.

“Stop it,” Bea tells her. “Your gloating is intolerable.” Taking my hand, she tugs me down the hall. “Have you ever held a hedgehog?” she asks over her shoulder.

“I have not.”

She opens a door at the end of the hall. “No big deal. I’ll show you the ropes.”

I come up short at her threshold. Her room is beautiful. Dark blue walls, a white duvet on her bed with a turquoise blanket on top that looks weighted. A table littered with rainbow shades of art supplies, and an egg-shaped orange chair hanging from the ceiling that brims with colorful clothes.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she says, grabbing the pile of laundry and quickly tossing it inside her closet. A pair of dark purple panties falls and lands with a splash on the warm wood floor. Bea doesn’t notice.

I do. They’re simple. No lace. Nothing fancy. And yet, the mere sight of them makes my chest too tight for air, sends blood rushing south.

Turning away, I shut my eyes and suck in a deep breath. This does not help because Bea’s scent is concentrated here, soft and sultry. Sun-ripe fig and rich sandalwood wrap around me in a caress, torturing me with thoughts of pressing her into her bed, breathing her in as I kiss my way down her body, then taste her, where she’s sweet and warm.

“Jamie?”

My eyes snap open. Bea’s standing in front of me, looking concerned. “You okay?” she asks.

“Sorry. Eyes are bothering me.”