James Elliot pushed the door open and stepped into the room. He got two steps in—and froze.

“Bloody hell!” Olivia Taylor’s yelp pierced the air. “What are you doing in here?

James had to force the muscles in his jaw to work before he could respond, and even then forming words wasn’t easy. “What am I doing? Uh, what are you doing?”

Liv glared at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” A curious, high-pitched squeak marred the usual controlled tone of her voice.

“Uh…” James took a moment to look her over from head to toe. A moment he knew he had no right to take, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His gaze swept from the shocked look in her blue eyes and the rosy red lips pursed in a frown, to the hand propped on her hip and finally to the sexy red nail polish on her toes. “Well, it, uh, doesn’t look like you’re doing much of anything.”

Which wasn’t a false assessment of the situation. She just stood there, glaring at him. James would know, since he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from her. Hell, he couldn’t even blink. She might not be doing a damn thing, but she’d never looked better. Ever.

She scowled at him, shooting invisible daggers from across her bedroom. “I’m getting dressed, you moron.”

“Ah, right.” James nodded, snapping back to reality. “Which would probably explain why you have nothing on.” His good friend stood there, beside a tall chest of drawers, stripped naked. Magnificently, wonderfully, stunningly naked.

She looked good. Chin-droppingly, mouthwateringly good. And just as soon as the shock of finding her this way wore off, he’d close his eyes, turn around and get the hell out of her bedroom.

“Yes, that would indeed explain it.” Her voice held a hint of sarcasm. “What is not explainable is what you’re doing inside my room while I’m getting dressed?”

James narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m here to collect you and Ava.”

It wasn’t like Liv hadn’t been expecting him. As had become routine over the years, James stopped in at Liv and Ava’s place every third Sunday evening to pick them up for Dinner Club. It was pointless taking two cars when they lived in the same block of flats and were all headed to the same place. “We have dinner tonight.”

“I didn’t ask what you were doing in the flat. I asked what you were doing in my bedroom.”

“Is that a trick question?” He tilted his head to the side, genuinely puzzled.

She glared at him.

“You invited me in.”

“I most definitely did not.”

“I knocked. You said come in.”

Liv folded her arms beneath her breasts in indignation. “I said I’m coming.”

It took James a good few seconds to respond. For the life of him, he could not string a sentence together. Not when Liv’s arms framed her breasts so perfectly. And what breasts they were—small, round and pert. Not even a handful by his estimation, but still enough to satisfy any man.

One glance was all it took to make him hard as a rock.

He curled his fingers into fists as an unexpected urge to touch her left him bewildered. Liv’s breasts may be a solid fifteen on a scale of one to ten, but they were Olivia’s, for fuck sake. Liv’s. His friend, his mate, his good buddy from way back when.

No way in hell should he be pondering how best to get his grubby paws on them.

“James!” the friend in question spluttered.

Ah, right. She expected a response to… Crap. What had she just said?