Chapter Six
“You look happy,” Julie says, fixing her lifeless bangs on the other end of the screen.
I prop my iPad up on its stand to free my hands to flip through my wardrobe.
“It’s a huge commission, Jules. I’m talking six figures.”
Her eyes widen appreciatively.
“Does that mean you’re treating tonight?”
A euphoric laugh floats from my freshly glossed lips.
“If you want.” I will pay for her next grocery bill.
Her next seven grocery bills, I’m that excited about landing this buyer.
My high has nothing to do with how the attractive man thinks I’m attractive, too.
Nope, can’t be that.
“I was kidding.” She tilts her head back and forth.
“Kind of.”
I skate my fingers across a few blouses, pausing on a lavender one with a low dip in the front I haven’t had the courage to wear, but after a morning of ego stroking, my confidence levels have spiked.
I pull it from the hanger.
“Hang on a sec…” Julie says, and then calls off screen.
“Did you walk the dog?”
My ten-year-old nephew Lucas answers with a grumble.
“No Wi-Fi password until it’s done.”
“Where’s the leash? ”
“Where’d you put it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t know.” Her eyes follow across the room, and I know exactly what look her son is giving her by the way her lips purse.
“Take Lauren with you!”
“Uggggnnn.”
Julie turns back to me.
“Sorry.”
“No worries.” Honestly, I’m used to it by now.
Being the only sibling without kids has trained me enough to expect weird and frequent interruptions.
“Oh! Nate and I may have to duck out early tonight,” she says.
“The sitter can only stay till 9:30, and the kids have school tomorrow.” She lets out a long, tired sigh.
“I can’t wait till summer’s here. May is my least favorite month.”
I drop the blouse onto the bed with a laugh.
She says this every year, and two minutes into summer vacation, she’s wishing them all back in school.
“That’s fine.” I turn to my closet.
“Maybe we’ll want you out of there.”
Her brows pull inward.
“Is that genuine enthusiasm I’m hearing?”
I lift a shoulder.
“Maybe.” My hand smooths down one of my gray jackets as I consider pairing it with the lavender for the showing.
“It’s been a good day.”
Her suspicious lips turn upward, seemingly excited about not only my compliance to go on this blind date, but my eagerness.
I’m surprised by it, too, if I’m being honest. Cooper’s flattery has made me feel like a walking vixen, even if I’m not the girl he’s looking for—which I did tell him .
“Good. I really think you’re going to like him. He’s funny, laid back, likes cats. Oh! And I’ve heard through the vine that he’s got no reason to compensate for anything if you catch my drift.”
I tilt my head at her.
“I know what overselling sounds like.”
“Fine. I’ll just leave you to confirm that particular rumor.” Her laugh is cut off by an oof!
as her three-year-old hops into her lap, and I get a shot of bushy brown hair through the screen.
“Eye-ah!”
“Hi Lily.”
“Eye-ah, Eye-ah, Eye-ah,” she sings, and the next thing I see is a thumb before the screen goes black.
Squeals from my niece and scolding from my sister blend together as Julie chases her daughter around.
I lean over my desk chair to reach the iPad.
“I’ll see you tonight, Jules!”
“Bye!”
I click off the chat and swipe over to my schedule.
Forty-five minutes till the showing, and a swoop of excitement rushes through my stomach.
Cooper ended the brunch with a proposal—a business one.
I’m officially his realtor, and as such, I think I’m still going to try to convince him to build, partially for selfish reasons.
When I can, I try to give Warren business.
My best friend Holland married the contractor when I was still living in my crazy early twenties, and they’re coming up on ten years of marriage and first born baby.
She doesn’t mention it much, but I can tell they’re struggling a bit financially.
I tap in a reminder to give her a call, Kat hopping onto my desk and rubbing her head on my hand until I give in and scratch her ears.
“Okay, troublemaker,” I tell her, pointing to the bed, “stay off my clothes while I shower. Orange cat fur is not in this season.”
She turns to show me her butt so I can give it a good scratching as well.
Instead of granting her request, I strip down and head into my adjoining bathroom.
My eyes narrow as I watch the kitten tilt her head at my bed where I’ve laid out my outfit.
With a sigh, I grab my clothes and take them into the bathroom with me.
My kitties are cute, but I don’t trust them for a second.
***
The best thing about showing high-priced housing is the owners keep it sparkly clean.
There are a few showings I’ve done that we didn’t even walk inside due to either the smell or questionable carpet stains.
I punch in the code and retrieve the key from the lock box.
I’m a little early, so I let myself in and turn the security off with the number the seller’s realtor gave me.
The entryway has a simple elegance to it—a wide open space with a high ceiling and extravagant lighting.
A grin teases at the corner of my lips.
With Cooper’s lack of filter, I imagine a very candid assessment of the place is coming, and since the owner’s pretty darn well off, I bet there is a camera or fifteen capturing the walkthrough.
Allowing myself a little laughter over the thought, I clack my way into the formal sitting room and set my keys and purse on top of a polished white side table.
The window runs from ceiling to floor, providing the room with a view of the city below.
I don’t blame him for wanting to look at the place; it has a je ne sais quoi outside of the lavish layout and fine furniture that gives a person a sense of calm and serenity.
If I was a billionaire, I’d want something like this, but unlike Cooper’s stubborn hide, I’d build one specifically made for me.
Speaking of stubborn billionaires, a mud-ridden truck pulls through the front gate, squeaking to a stop behind my teeny tiny VW bug.
I squint, trying to decide what color the truck is under all the muck; I’m guessing deep purple?
Deep enough to almost pass as black if it weren’t for the sun streaking down against the hood.
Cooper shuts the loud engine off, cranking the door open and hopping from the truck’s height.
An involuntary gulp threatens in my throat, and I press a hand over my chest to calm the sudden skip in my heartbeat.
It’s ridiculous—these juvenile reactions to a man I know is not for me, but his candor earlier has awakened a playfulness that finds little harm in playing the game, even if there is no winner at the end of it.
I take a deep breath to calm the flutters and put on a winning smile.
Cooper gets to the front door before I do, poking his head in and meeting my smile with one that would blow the panties off any innocent bystander.
“Afternoon.”
“On time,” I reply for lack of something clever to say.
“I like that in a client. ”
He steps inside and flips his keys around his forefinger until he gets them settled into the front pocket of his jeans.
“I’ve shown enough of my own houses to know what a pain it is to have to leave for showings.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Just another one of my finer qualities for you to consider,” he says, leaning into me as he passes.
I purse my lips to refuse him the satisfaction of amusing me with his arrogance.
But it doesn’t quiet the unsteady rhythm that’s returned to my heart the moment his warm breath rushes over my shoulder.
Damn him.
“Well, look at that view,” he says, and I shake myself out of the daze I’m falling into and chant the dollar amount I’m hoping to get from this whole thing.
Professionalism, Maya.
Learn to use it.
Cooper crosses his arms over his white t-shirt.
The muscles near his elbows are veined indicators that he either works a lot with his hands or he has a personal trainer.
I fix the flowy hem of my blouse so that it hides my midsection roll more effectively.
He stands in front of the window and admires my personal favorite perk of the place while I confidently step up beside him.
“It’s reflective,” I inform him, veering into my realtor mode, imagining sunny vacation spots as soon as I get my commission.
“Feel free to forgo the drapes.”
His shoulders jerk with a hint of laughter.
“Or parade around in the nude.”
Mother of all sweet images .
I fold my arms to stop the onslaught of jitters running through my stomach just at the visual of Cooper in the emperor’s new clothes, standing like Mr. Clean in front of this giant window while some innocent passerby hasn’t a clue to the show they’re missing.
I clear my throat. “Can’t do that with a bunch of kids running around.”
“Exactly.” He leans to the side, his face creeping close enough to mine that I can count the individual tiny hairs along his jaw.
“Gotta get that in before they get here. Stripped Sundays.”
I bite back a grin.
He has a much cleverer name for his own personal naked time.
I plan on stealing it next “Stripped Sunday.”
“How many floors?” He turns from the window, crossing toward the stairs.
After a few tripped steps to catch up with him, I slip my heels off near the front door.
“There’s a basement, main level, second level, and a master suite that is the entire third floor. There’s an attic as well.”
He lets out a long whistle, pulling himself up the stairs using the banister.
He takes them two at a time, and my plump and short legs scurry to keep up with his daddy long ones.
He stops at the second floor for only a moment, grinning as I let out a long breath as I reach the top, and then he starts down the hall.
“Where’s this third level staircase?”
“Not sure.” I push open one of the doors that leads to a bigger-than-my-kitchen bathroom.
“Did you want to see these rooms first?”
He shakes his head, blue eyes lifting to the ceiling.
“I wanna see top to bottom.” His gaze takes a swift turn toward me.
“Just my style.”
I wait for his stare to drop, hitching my hand on my hip in faux annoyance at his entendre, even though I’m enjoying them more and more, never having had this sort of attention directed toward me.
But I warn myself to err on the side of caution until I can get a thorough background check on him—not that I am toying with ideas of actually giving in and agreeing to a date with the man.
He surprises me once more by not letting his eyes travel south, and he turns, starting down the hall again.
My hand falls from my waist, and I blink against the surprising disappointment crawling through me.
He starts opening random doors, and I join him, internally shouting at myself.
I open doors to so many lavishly decorated rooms that I lose count after six.
“You’ll definitely have room to grow,” I say after shutting the door to another bedroom.
He laughs, and the sound swoops through my chest, and I bite my lip, forcing myself not to get giddy over the fact that I made that laugh happen.
“Ah,” he says, distracting me from the doorknob I was about to try.
He steps through the door he just opened, and I secretly appreciate the fact he’s not insisting I lead him up.
The curved stairwell is narrower than a standard staircases, and wiggling my plushed-out rearend in his face doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest. The very opposite, very tight, very manly view he’s providing me, however…
“Well,” he says, letting out a long breath as he steps into the master suite, “that’s disappointing.”
I meet up with him, desperately trying to hide the fact that my breathing is close to a woman in labor.
My eyes scan around the suite, brows pulling in.
What could possibly be disappointing?
The furniture, maybe?
The white-only color choice isn’t my personal preference, but he has his own furniture to replace all of that.
The windows are reflective up here as well, going from ceiling to floor facing the back side of the house which is just the rocky mountain wall.
It gives the place a more private feel, for sure.
He strides toward the bathroom, the deep, jetted tub taking up most of the space—as it should—leaving a marble shower in the corner, his and hers sinks, and a private area for the toilet.
He doesn’t comment with anything but a “hmm” before moving onto the closet.
“This is the quietest you’ve been since we’ve met,” I joke as he clicks on the light and walks through the giant closet that could very well double as a nursery…
if that’s what he wants.
I’d use it for what it’s designed for; maybe spend nights with my shoes.
I mean, there’s a spot right there that I could prop a pillow up and curl under a blanket with my brand new Manolo Blahnik’s.
Yes, this closet is going to make it on my bucket list.
“I’m analyzing myself,” he says, stealing my attention away from the rack of Prada bags I’m currently coveting.
“Trying to decide if I’m being reasonable or too picky.”
“Have you reached a verdict? ”
He flicks the light off and heads back into the main suite.
I silently say goodbyes to the shoes while he takes a stance in front of the window similar to the one he used in the formal.
“This view,” he comments.
“I expected something a bit more… well…” We simultaneously tilt our heads, which causes us both to grin and only me to blush.
He lets out a gravelly sigh.
“Just more.”
He has a point; the view here is equal to staring at the side of a building wall, though this is mountainous rock instead of brick.
Compared to the view of the formal, there is something left to be desired.
“Can I be honest?” I ask him.
“Please.”
“When buying a house, there are two things to consider,” I say, turning toward him.
His blue eyes are so intent on listening that my brain stutters.
“You will not find the perfect house, but you will find something close to it. It’s just a matter of figuring out what imperfections you can live with.”
His jaw clicks, and he thoughtfully nods at the window.
“Wise words.” He slides a hand into his back pocket.
“Mind if I take some pictures?”
“Go for it.”
He holds the phone out, camera facing me, his lips forming into a playful grin.
I shove his arm down and shake my head.
“Of the house.” My heart adds an extra beat when my fingers get the dose of warmth from their short and sweet contact with his skin.
I’m reminded of the sweet way he wiped the whipped cream from my nose, the way my breath disappeared for half a moment of perfection.
He doesn’t take many shots of the house, even as we make our way through the second level and the main.
He pauses in the kitchen, setting his phone on the island and peering inside one of the ovens.
“Seeing if your head fits in there?” I tease.
He comes out with an achingly sexy smile on his face.
“Well, besides the bedroom, the kitchen is my favorite room in a home.”
“Because?” I ask, noticing he used the word “home” not “house.” It’s a very family word; I usually only hear it from buyers who are couples.
Rare in a billionaire bachelor.
“Food,” he says as if it’s an obvious thing.
“Preparing food, cooking food, baking food, eating food.” He spreads his arms wide.
“This is where the magic happens.”
“And the bedroom?”
“Magic happens there, too.” He drops his arms, settling one of his hands on the oven door before pushing it back into place.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?” I say, shaking my head.
“You just set it up so nicely.” His eyebrow twitches.
“The honest answer? Sleep. Sleep happens there. Rest, rejuvenation… the start of a new day and the end of an old one. All in the bedroom.”
He takes a deliberate step toward me, and a rush flows through my skin, as if I’ve been dipped head first into warm oil and set out in the sun to dry .
“Trying to wax poetic?” I try to tease, yet my voice has taken on its own version of staccato.
He shakes his head, blond hair tousling with the movement.
“I like the idea of new days,” he says, stepping ever closer.
I feel as if I should step back, keep the distance between us the same, but my feet have melted into the floor.
“That there’s hope to start over when things don’t necessarily go your way. Like when you hope you find that woman who will make every day worth getting out of bed… or staying in it. Whatever the mood calls for.”
He stops in front of me, his stare heating up my already warm cheeks.
His eyes explore my face, examining from the top of my crown, over my cheek bones, and down my nose to my lips.
I feel like I should be self-conscious about it somehow—in fact, I expect the dose of insecurity—but…
I’ve never felt so desirable in my life.
My thoughts start to escape me, and I have to strain to focus on our conversation.
What were we talking about?
Bedrooms? Kitchens? No…
mornings. We’re on how he’s a morning person.
Just another thing we’re polar opposites in.
His dimple arrives in his cheek just in time to melt me completely.
“And food,” he says, his body now a whisper away.
“I like the idea of food in the morning.”
There is a likely chance that I am bewitched, because only a person under a spell would kiss a man who equally scares her as he does intrigue her.
My bare feet have to push up on their very tiptoes to reach, and even then, my palm smooths over the back of his head to coax him to meet me halfway.
He covers my mouth, and my lips aren’t slow or shy; they are ready for some real aggressive action which his lips are more than happy to oblige.
“Bewitched” doesn’t even cover the electrified current running through my frazzled heart; my thoughts aren’t even here on earth at the moment.
I feel his palm at the small of my back, reeling me in to the hard plate of his chest. He tugs at my bottom lip over and over.
The softness of his mouth combined with the rough scruff of his chin elicit uninhibited moans from deep down in my fluttering stomach.
My fingers curl into his shirt, the touch of this man annihilating every rational thought I know I should have.
He’s soft, he’s rough, he’s hard and warm and he’s satisfying a long stint of loneliness and at the same time never quenching my thirst. I claw at him, wishing I hadn’t chosen a pencil skirt when picking my outfit.
His fingers squeeze me tighter for just a moment before he pulls back.
His lips leave mine so suddenly that neither of us breathe right away.
I let out a tiny sigh, embarrassment creeping its way up my neck, but his lips find mine once more in a softer, gentler embrace.
It’s only for a second, but it takes my breath away just the same.
He does it again. And another time.
It’s almost as if he keeps talking himself in and out of the decision.
A relieved smile slips onto my lips.
It’s good to know I wasn’t completely out of line.
Then again, he’d kissed me before we’d said a handful of words to each other.
I search for something, anything to say; I don’t blame him now for just taking off the last time this happened.
How do you put a voice to a moment like this?
How can you follow it up?
“I have a date tonight,” I blurt out, picking probably the worst possible words I could have.
His eyebrows lift. “What about tomorrow night?”
I take a deep breath, letting it out through my tingly lips.
“Depends on how well this one goes.”
He laughs, and his hand falls from my back as I step away for some much needed clarity.
“Oh, I already know how it’ll go.”
“Oh really?” My fingers fumble down my skirt as I attempt to straighten out not only my clothing but my hormones.
“Care to tell me?”
His head tilts in a playful, yet sexy manner, and he reaches for his phone.
“Wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.” He slides his thumb around the screen.
“Six-thirty tomorrow night work for you?”
Not willing to give him the satisfaction of knocking me clean out of my shoes—if I were wearing any—I collect myself and say, “If I don’t have plans with Todd already.” I have no idea if that’s the right name.
“That’s a yes, then.”
“It’s a maybe.”
He slides his phone into his back pocket, then closes the gap we’ve put between us.
I find myself slowly falling into dangerous territory.
He waits there, playing chicken with me until I finally break.
“What?”
A smile cracks on his lips.
“Just hedging my bets.” He steps around me, heading out of the kitchen and down to the basement.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I call after him.
He turns with that dimple in his cheek.
“That tonight, when you’re with him, I guarantee you’ll be thinking of me.”