Licking my lips discreetly, I watch Giselle walk out of the bathroom in that emerald-green lace nightgown—the one I love because of the way it hugs her body. Pretending I haven't noticed her, I try to focus on my book, though I keep sneaking glances over the top, not missing a single detail.

"Still mad about the other day?" she asks, settling onto the edge of the bed and crossing her legs in that sensual way of hers, revealing a generous stretch of bare thigh.

"How could I not be? You’re ...