Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
IVAN
I don’t give a rat's ass about the house.
And if she is clever, she must already know that. If I had no interest in her, I’d have walked out by now. Nothing she has said so far has made the house more appealing to me. She is a terrible salesperson. I have a day of meetings ahead of me, so I get right to the point.
"Show me the master bedroom, Miss Fitzpatrick."
She whirls around with surprise, and something shifts in my chest. I ignore it and hold her gaze, but I have to admit I have never met a man or a woman who affects me the way she does.
"Master bedroom? That's on the first floor, Mr Ivanovich." She tries not to frown, but she knows skipping the rest of the tour to go straight to the master has to be a very clear indication that I don’t care for her presentation.
"Yes. That's what I want to see, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
She nods. “Of course.” I watch the sway of her hips as we head up the ‘black Caracalla marble and hand-carved rosewood staircase with its daring backdrop of salmon pink and European art’. Her hands tightly grip the bannister. She opens a pair of double doors, walks in, and stands in the middle of a spacious bright room. Her body faces away from me.
We are finally completely alone. No bodyguards, no prying colleagues. Just the two of us—my desire and her nerves.
I look around me. It’s a good bedroom with a stunning view of the sea, but I have no interest in anything but the painting over the bed. It is so appropriate it almost makes me laugh. I turn my attention back to her. She is staring at the floor silently. No doubt, she believes the sale is lost.
“The painting over the bed. Tell me about it,” I invite.
Her drooping head snaps up. She looks at the painting and I see the dismay on her face.
“I’m sorry, I… I don’t know anything about it, but I can find out for you. I’ll just make a quick call to Sasha. I’ll just be two minutes. If you?—”
“It’s from the legend of Leda and the Swan,” I interrupt. “When the Olympian god Zeus coveted a Spartan queen called Leda, he took the form of a swan and… ravished her.” I move closer to her. I can hear her shallow breathing. I can smell the fresh fruity scent of her perfume. “Do you see her soft white nape caught in his bill, Miss Fitzpatrick?”
She exhales slowly and nods.
“Look at those puny terrified fingers pushing at the feathered glory of a God in swan form, but mastered by the great wings, caught up by the brute blood in the air, she is helpless. He caresses her widening thighs and enters her violently… by the time his indifferent beak drops her he has impregnated her with twins.”
She turns to me, her eyes wide, her mouth parted. “Why did you ask me about the painting if you knew all about it?”
“That is not the question you should be asking?” I ask.
“What is the question I should be asking?”
“Why did you end up here alone with me in this bedroom?”
“Why?” Her voice is hoarse, but she doesn’t cower away.
“Because I covet you.”
Her mouth falls open with shock. "I think I misheard you."
"You didn't," I say, slipping my hands into my pockets.
"Oh." Her eyes widen. "Oh," she says again in disbelief. "That is why you specifically asked for me?"
"Yes," I reply.
"Um..." She begins to pull at her collar as though it is suddenly too tight. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ivanovich," she begins. "I mean, I'm not sorry. I'm incredibly flattered, but I'm just. This is just so?—"
"You're not interested?" I ask softly.
"I..." She is so shocked and astonished it is quite entertaining to watch. "I think I'm going to need some time to… er… process your…er… interest."
"That's fair. There’s no rush. You know how to reach me when you have processed my… er… interest." I turn around to leave, but she stops me with a shout.
"Wait!"
I turn around, one eyebrow raised.
"I'm sorry," she says, frowning. "For yelling... But I just need to clarify something. You don’t actually want to buy this house, do you?”
I smile. “I do.”
“Oh.” She stares at me with confusion.