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He cleared his throat and pushed away from the door, heading to stand between them, careful to keep his eye on the window and the view beyond. ‘It’s...nice.’
He had tried to sound enthused, but the reality was his comment stank, its tone utterly tepid. Funny enough, just how he was feeling.
‘Nice?’ she pressed.
‘The view is good; the location is convenient and—’ he shrugged ‘—nice.’
‘What about the actual apartment?’
He turned and let his gaze sweep the living area, the dining table for two and the kitchenette; he didn’t even want to think on the bathroom.
She could do better.
Her sleaze of an ex-husband should be picking up the brunt of the cost and if not him, she should be letting Daniel help. But he’d had this argument a thousand times over and she wasn’t having any of it.
‘You need to stop frowning so much,’ she piped up. ‘Gives you wrinkles, you know.’
‘You’re clearly not impressed,’ Zara remarked and guilt nagged at him. It wasn’t down to her ability, or lack thereof, to sell the place; she was doing her job plenty well enough.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he assured her. ‘My sister is being stubborn, and, rather than accept other people’s money to afford the kind of place she has grown up with, she is determined to do this alone.’
Julia rolled her eyes, her arms folding across her chest as she pinned him with that pig-headed stare he was accustomed to. ‘Don’t start that again. Dad’s trust fund is already helping me out enough. I’m not taking your charity too.’
‘If not mine, then you should bloody well take Edward’s money. The guy deserves to be coughing up for all he did.’
‘Do you honestly think I want any ties to that man?’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s bad enough that he did the rounds with my so-called friends. The sooner the divorce is final and I can cut all ties, the better.’
He could sense Zara backing away, could feel the personal nature of their conversation putting her on edge. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, reining it back in. ‘I’m sorry to have mentioned him. I just want what’s best for you, and this isn’t it.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s impractical.’
‘Why?’
‘Kristus, Julia, you’re a tall woman—care to explain how you’re going to use that bathroom?’ He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. ‘Allow me to demonstrate...’
He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall.
He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder—‘See?’
They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs—for fuck’s sake.
He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘You think it’s so easy? You try it.’
‘I’d rather not,’ Julia blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.
‘Okay.’ He looked to Zara pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. ‘Why don’t you do the honours?’
His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, ‘Sure, could you just hold this?’
She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.
Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.
‘It’s like this,’ she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest—she could tell him anything now and he’d fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away.
‘Just back up a little,’ she ordered.
Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.
But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head.
‘And you can remove this for more height, like so,’ she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. ‘Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath.’
She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up—not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.
‘Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Zara.’ His sister gave him a smug grin. ‘See, big bro, that’s how it’s done.’
‘You’re welcome,’ came Zara’s response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn’t be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit—did she know where his head was at?
And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.
‘Right, well, I think we’re done with this one,’ she said, unceremoniously shoving the shower screen in his face and almost sending him to his ass on the pink porcelain.
‘Shall we move on?’ she said, already heading out.
‘Yup.’ Julia nodded, smirking right at him.
He screwed his face up in a childish gesture—whatever.
‘If you both go on down,’ Zara said, expertly ignoring their little exchange—thank fuck! The pair of them were doing his ego and renowned charm no favours at all.
‘I’ll join you shortly,’ she continued. ‘I just have to take care of an errand for the owner.’
‘Great,’ Julia said, moving for the front door. ‘I have a quick call to make so I’ll meet you downstairs.’
‘I’ll catch you up,’ he called after her, pushing the glass door back into place and wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought of that.
Perhaps because you’ve never had to endure one before?
He shook his head, brushing the entire incident off as he followed in Zara’s direction.
‘Can I have a quick word?’ he asked, entering the kitchenette hot on her tail. His intention had been to talk budget with Julia out of earshot but as Zara turned in the small space, hemmed in as they were by the cupboards and the breakfast bar, all thoughts of conversation evaporated.
‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes wary as they lifted to his, her hands coming to rest on the countertop either side of her as she backed up against it. ‘But first you need to stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what?’ He knew the answer well enough, but how would she describe it, what she saw in him? She was good with words—she’d demonstrated it repeatedly throughout the day, when eloquently describing the features of each potential abode. And in truth, he could listen to her talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to criticise: he wasn’t ready for her job to come to an end; he wasn’t ready for her to complete a sale for his sister and vacate his life.
He watched her eyelids flutter, her tongue flicking out to moisten that bottom lip he was so fascinated with. Was she nervous?
‘You know what.’ Her eyes dropped to his mouth, their depths revealing in their helpless nature, and his lips curled upwards. So she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she’d have him believe.
Power surged, his ego with it. ‘What if I said I can’t help it?’
Her eyes snapped back to his. ‘Then make yourself help it because this—’ she wagged a finger between them ‘—isn’t happening.’
‘No?’ He stepped forward and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a ragged breath.
‘No.’ She gave a small shake of her head, the move sending a lock across her forehead and he itched to push it back. ‘I don’t date clients.’
‘Technically,’ he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears, ‘I’m not a client.’
‘You’re as good as.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Whether you disagree or not, I don’t care,’ she rushed out. ‘I’m not falling into this trap.’
His brow knitted together; she’d flummoxed him now. ‘Trap?’
She paled, her words seeming to surprise even her, and then she visibly recovered, her chin rising, to say, ‘The kind of trap where I let this get in the way of my business.’
He studied her face, her sincerity. ‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience.’ He didn’t like the idea one bit. Oh, the irony. ‘I take it you’ve not always been so averse to dating clients?’
She hesitated, her teeth worrying over her lower lip and teasing at his concentration. Was she going to evade giving him an answer? Or should he just kiss her and be done with the whole conversation? He was veering towards the latter when she spoke.
‘Not my clients, no, my ex-business partner...we...we were together.’
‘You dated Charles Eddison?’
She exhaled sharply. ‘We more than dated, we lived together for five years.’
Five years, Kristus!
He felt sick at the very idea.
And then she squinted up at him, her eyes suddenly curious. ‘How did you know it was him? Do you know him?’
‘Not personally,’ he admitted, not liking the way her admission griped with his gut and keen to get back to more enjoyable conversation. But five years, Jesus. ‘I know enough of him, considering we looked at using his services initially.’
‘You looked at using him?’ She frowned. ‘Julia didn’t mention it.’
‘Why would she? She met him and took an instant dislike.’ Had he met the guy too, he was sure he would have felt the same, even more so now. ‘Someone on his team recommended you.’
‘They did?’ Her frown grew. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Well, now you do, can we move on?’
She didn’t acknowledge him; instead her eyes became distant, their sadness unmistakable. As was her vulnerability. No doubt Charles had done this to her. Left her like this.
‘When our relationship ended so did our business partnership, hence why I’m working from the ground up all over again.’ She dragged in a breath and straightened, her focus coming back as her confidence fell into place. ‘And hence why this just isn’t happening.’
He faltered, his brain telling him to agree, to move past the pull that was driving him to distraction.
She’s so not your type. She’s a bag of emotion. She’s not safe in your hands.
Instead he found himself saying, ‘You’re overthinking it. As much as Julia loves me, she’s already bought into your skills as an estate agent, as have I, for that matter. Nothing between us will sway her to go elsewhere.’
You idiot, why pursue her? She doesn’t fit with your no-strings rule. This woman goes in for attachment. Worse still, she’s been burned by it already and still suffering.
But then, if that’s the case, maybe she’s ready for the no-strings alternative.
Maybe she’s ready to become your type.
‘You have my word,’ he pressed gently.
You bastard.
* * *
She lifted her eyes at his soft declaration and immediately regretted it.
He hovered just above her, his wolf-like gaze burning into her own, the rush of warmth it inspired sending her toes curling inside her Louboutins. His confidence in her ability to fulfil her job beating back the negative words Charles had thrown at her on her way out of the door all those months ago—‘You’ll never make it on your own.’
Ha, well, they chose me, not you...at the recommendation of someone on your team, no less.
It felt good to know she still held favour there after walking out.
As for Daniel’s word, she held his eye; was he for real? ‘Your word?’
He made an affirmative noise deep in his throat, almost enticing a reciprocal one from her as it strummed at the heat swelling down low.
‘I’m willing to bet you’re just as caught up in this attraction as me,’ he said huskily. ‘And if that’s the case, you’ll realise this is about a bit of fun; no harm, no foul, no jeopardised business arrangement.’
‘You reckon?’ She sounded breathless, out of control.
No, no, don’t let this happen.
He nodded and raised his hand, her breath catching as she anticipated his touch, wanting and dreading it all the same, knowing that when it came she would lose herself in it, in him.
‘I’m not very good at...fun.’ She threw his description back at him, desperately clinging to what she knew to be true even as the heat of his hand brushed beneath her jaw, his touch so light it was barely there. And she wanted it there. Wanted every one of those fingers pressed into her skin as he kissed her.
‘Fun?’ he questioned softly, his hand following the contours of her neck as her head lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.
‘Not this sort of fun.’ She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.
‘You’re going to have to clarify, because I’m talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less.’
