Chapter 15

Amelia's POV

I barge into Miguel's room just before dinner "Teach me how to be wanton."

"The one day that I don't have lunch with you and hell freezes over."

"I said teach me how to—" The remaining words die in my throat when I take in his state of undress.

The white towel rides dangerously low on his waist, his hands working another towel over his wet locks.

My eyes trace the outline of his lean body like a vulture eyeing it's next meal, my gaze settling on his abs where drops of water trickle down the pecs and the outline of a tattoo disappears down the towel.

Look away, Amelia. Look away.

I can't.

When my gaze finally moves away from his abs to look at his face, I don't see the Miguel that I'm used to. The cocky unashamed taunting Miguel. The Miguel that would have said something absolutely lewd and revelled in the fact that I'm gawking at him in a way that a sister should never look at a brother.

He's looking at me like he likes my eyes on him. Like it's absolutely okay for