Flirt With Me

by Kristen Proby

  His eyes narrow. “Are you already taken?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  That cocky grin flashes again and makes my stomach clench.

  Damn it, he’s sexy. Potent. Dangerous.

  “You can beg all you want,” he murmurs, and then seems to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Are you attached to someone?”

  I tilt my head. “You know, that’s a rather archaic way of asking me if I have someone in my life, Mr. Meyers.”

  “Hunter.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, no. Not married. I definitely wouldn’t have flirted with you the way I did last night if I were in a relationship. That’s just…gross.”

  “Agreed.” He leans over and brushes his fingertip over my cheek, then comes away with an eyelash. “Blow.”

  “Blow?”

  “Yeah, you blow it away and make a wish.”

  I pucker my lips and blow, and then laugh a little. “This is crazy.”

  “Which part?”

  “The whole situation. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m so far out of my comfort zone, I’m not sure where it went.”

  “Comfort zones are overrated.” He winks. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t poaching on someone else’s territory. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not that. We haven’t known each other very long, but I like flirting with you, Maeve.”

  Yeah, well, the feeling is entirely mutual.

  “Let’s move on to the other house,” I suggest, and climb into my car.

  Good God, he’s potent. I’ve never had a client who had such an impact on my hormones. It’s unsettling. And ridiculous.

  But it’s also kind of fun.

  What’s the harm in a few mild flirtations? It spices up the day. He’s charming, sexy, and I haven’t had anyone in my life to flirt with in longer than I care to remember.

  I just have to remember that he is a client, and I have to maintain my professionalism.

  After that brief pep talk, we pull into the driveway of the last house for the day. I can’t help but admire the sleek lines of his fancy car or the way he looks when he steps out of it—tousled hair and dark aviators on his face, highlighting his square jaw.

  And those muscles…

  I’ve read about men who just pick up women and have their way with them, moving them about to suit their needs and desires. I can’t say I’ve ever had that life experience.

  But it’s something to daydream about.

  “Keep looking at me like that,” he says softly, “and I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.”

  “Yes, you will.” I unlock the door and walk inside, willing my hormones to calm the hell down. “This home sits on about two acres and only has partial views of the water.”

  I describe the pros and cons of the building and then step through the sliding glass doors to breathe in the salty sea air as Hunter has a look around.

  Get yourself together, Maeve.

  He’s just a man.

  He’ll buy a house, come here once or twice a year, and I’ll likely hardly ever see him again. I mean, sure, I can flirt with him, but there’s no need to behave like a randy teenager.

  “That view is a no-go,” he says as he joins me on the deck. “It’s nice, but for the price, I want more water view.”

  “I understand. Well, we have an appointment to see the one you pointed out to me tomorrow. And I can show you others, as well. There are plenty of options.”

  His gaze falls to my mouth. “I’ll see anything that you want to show me.”

  I lick my lips. “I’m sure we’ll find you the perfect home.”

  His lips twitch. “The house. Right.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  He helps me lock up the house once more, and when we’re outside, I hold out my hand for him to shake. It seems silly, but I’m not exactly ready to jump in his arms and kiss him silly.

  I don’t want the man to take out a restraining order or anything.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say politely.

  His hand is warm and firm in mine. Those eyes hold humor and interest. “See you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand and unload clean glasses from the dishwasher behind the bar. Keegan’s stocking liquor and making googly eyes at Izzy, his very pregnant wife. Not that I blame him. She’s beautiful and simply glows with her pregnancy.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That we had a famous person in the pub yesterday. One who, by the way, I flirted with all night last night and ended up being my client today. If you’d have told me last night, I wouldn’t have been blindsided today. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have flirted with him so much either.”

  “Jesus, Maeve, I can’t be responsible for giving you the lowdown on every single bleeding customer who walks through my doors, can I?”

  “Famous ones, yes.” I set the last clean glass on the shelf and get to work washing the dirty ones. “You could have said: ‘By the way, that man down the bar is a famous fighter.’”

  “That’s just ridiculous.”

  I turn to Izzy for backup. “Tell him it’s not ridiculous.”

  “I’m not getting in the middle of this. Oh, and look at that, it’s time for my nap.” She kisses Keegan, waves at me, and escapes up the back stairs to the apartment above.

  “How’s she feeling?” I ask my brother.

  “Ready to have a wee babe,” he says with a proud smile. “And I’m ready right with her. It feels like this pregnancy has taken forever.”

  “You haven’t even known her a year.” I laugh and wipe down the bar. “Crazy to think about, isn’t it? A year ago, you didn’t even know her. And now, you’re married and about to have a baby. Things can change so fast.”

  “For the better,” he adds. “Because I wasn’t truly alive until she walked through that door.”

  I stop and stare at him, feeling my heart shifting in my chest. “That might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “We O’Callaghan men are a sappy bunch,” he says with that Irish brogue and winks at me.

  “I have to go check on my customers.”

  We haven’t been open for the dinner crowd long, so only a few of my tables are full right now. In a couple of hours, we’ll have a waiting line out the door, and I’ll be busting my ass to keep up.

  I check in with my tables, refill water, take fresh drink orders, and when I return to the bar, I stop short.

  Sitting right there, at the end of the counter, is Hunter.

  His eyes meet mine. They’re full of humor and heat, and my freaking nipples tighten.

  By the way his eyes fall to breast level and darken before returning to mine, I’d say he noticed.

  “I need a pint of Guinness, a Coke, and two shots of whiskey,” I say to Keegan as I set my tray on the bar for him to fill. “Hello, Mr. Meyers.”

  “Hunter,” he says and reaches over to tuck a loose piece of my hair behind my ear. My entire body comes alive when he touches me. “You look beautiful this evening, Maeve.”

  I smirk, but his words make me want to preen.

  I’m in my usual uniform of an O’Callaghan’s Pub T-shirt, denim shorts, and sneakers. I tied up my hair and even scrubbed my face free of makeup because it just makes me feel grimy while I’m working.

  But I’ll take the compliment all the same.

  “Can I put in a food order for you?” I ask him.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Like I said last night, my mother’s stew is wonderful. The best on the continent.”

  He blinks in surprise. “Then I guess I’d better try it.”

  “I’ll go fetch it for you.”

  I swing through the doors leading to the kitchen and have to stop to catch my breath.

  “Why do you look like that?” Shawn asks.

  “Like what?” I do my best to keep my face bland, blinking innocently.

  He waves his hand in my direction. “Like you’re…
”

  “Turned on,” Lexi finishes for him and grins at me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to act nonchalant as I place the order for the stew. “I’ll be right back for that.”

  I swing back through the doors, hurry into the restroom, and lean on the counter to catch my breath.

  “Get it together, Maeve.”

  Chapter 3

  ~Maeve~

  “You’re two different people.”

  I turn and frown at Hunter as I unlock the door of the house we’ve come to see.

  My house.

  “What do you mean? Are you saying I’m crazy?”

  “No.” He chuckles and closes the door behind him after we step inside. “It’s interesting to see you in both of the places you work. They’re so different. You’re so different in them.”

  No one has ever noticed that before. It’s not like my family hangs out with me while I sell houses. I have to turn my back to him and take a deep breath. It would help keep my libido in check if he didn’t smell so damn good.

  “I would think that the real estate market would be good enough here for you not to need the second job,” he continues.

  That has me turning back to him. “I don’t need it. Working at the pub has always been a family thing. Shawn and Lexi are famous writers, but they still man the kitchen. We don’t do it because we have to, but because we love it. I enjoy my family, Mr. Meyers.”

  “Hunter.” He steps closer to me and reaches out to brush my hair over one ear.

  “The truth is, there’s more than enough real estate business to go around. The island is popular and expensive. And, given that it’s not getting any bigger, there’s only so much of it to go around. I’ve seen it change dramatically since I was younger.”

  “Does that bother you?” he asks.

  “It used to.” I shrug, prop my hands on my hips, and turn to look out the killer windows that have an incredible view of the ocean. “But then I realized that I could be miserable here, hate the change and the new people moving in, or I could embrace it, love it, cultivate it.”

  “And now you sell homes here.”

  “I do. I love my island. I was so young when we moved here, it’s really all I know. Okay, enough about me. You should wander through and have a look.”

  Please hate it. Please, please, please hate it.

  “Why don’t you show it to me?” he counters and holds his hand out for mine.

  “Sure, if you’d rather. I just like to give prospective buyers a chance to look at their own pace.” I find myself with my hand in his as we wander through the house. “Well, as you can see, the view is okay.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay.” He shakes his head. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

  I shrug, not wanting to tell him how much I agree. “If you like that sort of thing.”

  I turn and gesture to the kitchen and living space.

  “The owners updated the kitchen just a couple of years ago, so you have your pot filler above the stove, a deep farmhouse sink, and all of the bells and whistles, including a built-in coffee maker.”

  My dream coffee maker.

  “The house is only about four-thousand square feet, so it’s smaller than some of the others you’ve seen.”

  “I don’t need anything huge,” he says as he follows me up the stairs, and I hear him inhale sharply when we get to the top. “I like this space.”

  I glance around at the second living space. The staging company has it set up with a pool table, a wet bar, and a gaming place for the kids.

  I would clear all of this out and make it a fabulous reading and relaxing space.

  “There are three bedrooms on this level, including the master. The master suite is situated on the entire left side of the house.”

  I guide him through French doors that lead into the master bedroom, and step to the glass doors that open to the balcony beyond.

  “Wow,” he says as he steps outside with me and stares at the waves crashing below. “This is incredible.”

  “The waves are a little loud,” I point out.

  “I would keep the doors open and fall asleep to the sound of it.”

  So would I.

  “It would get awfully cold in there.” I gesture with my thumb to the bedroom.

  “I’ll just get a heated mattress pad and a nice, thick blanket, and it’ll be fine.”

  I ignore that comment because that’s precisely what I would do. Instead, I walk back inside to show him the rest.

  “There are two separate master closets,” I inform him. “A his and hers, so to speak, which I think is odd.”

  Or, you know, absolutely amazing.

  “I think it’s nice,” he says, checking them out. “I have a lot of gear that I don’t want mixing with other things, so it would work well.”

  Well, crap.

  I follow him into the master bath and wait as he looks at the walk-in shower and the amazing tub with a view of the water behind it.

  My heart sings when I walk through this house. This bathroom is everything. But I don’t want him to think that.

  “The tub is kind of small,” I point out. “You’re a big guy. You’d need more room.”

  He eyes the tub dubiously. It sits in the corner of the room with wide windows that look out to the water.

  I’ve daydreamed about the bubble baths I’d take in this room.

  “I think it looks plenty big.”

  I climb inside and sit. “See? It’s barely big enough for me. And you’re much bigger than I am.”

  He taps his finger to his lips, and then, to my utter shock, he just climbs right in with me.

  “We both fit.”

  I stare at him, blinking. “It’s a little tight in here.”

  Before I can get out, Hunter tugs me into his lap and cups my face. “What is it about you?” He murmurs, his eyes on my lips.

  I can’t help but lean into him. God, he just feels so good.

  “This is kind of inappropriate,” I whisper. I don’t sound convincing even to my ears.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my client.”

  He sighs and watches his thumb as it makes circles on the apple of my cheek.

  “You know, I can respect that you’re trying to be professional,” he says softly. “I get that. But we’re both adults here, Maeve.”

  He lifts his eyebrow, and I nod in agreement. “True. We are.”

  “And it’s not like I’ll be your client forever. Just until I find my house.”

  I can’t help but nod. He’s not wrong. I don’t have to worry about a long-term working relationship with this man.

  “That’s true, too.”

  He leans in and kisses my forehead. Not my lips, like I expected. No, he kisses my forehead. And somehow, that’s almost more intimate than the meeting of lips.

  I swallow. Hunter takes a deep breath.

  “Should we continue the tour?” I ask.

  “Good idea.” He lifts me off of his lap and helps me out of the tub. “Where are the other bedrooms?”

  “There are two on the other side of the house, and there’s a mother-in-law apartment above the garage.”

  “Rachel will love that,” he mutters.

  Rachel? Who’s Rachel?

  He’d asked me if I was taken yesterday, and we’ve flirted like it’s our job. Hell, just thirty seconds ago in the tub, I would have sworn we’d had a special moment when all this time he’s had a woman in his life named Rachel?

  Why are men so horrible?

  But I don’t say anything as I follow him, staying quiet as he checks out the rest of the house.

  “Let’s have a look at the garage,” he suggests.

  “Sure.” We walk downstairs and out the back door, under a short breezeway that leads to the garage. “There are three bays for vehicles in here. There’s also an extra two acres of raw land for sale next door in case you want extra space for something like a shop.”

 
“Or a gym.” He nods and walks through the garage. “I like the built-ins. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “The entrance is on the outside of the building.” I lead him around the perimeter of the garage to the staircase on the backside. “There’s a one-bedroom apartment up here, complete with a kitchenette.”

  And it would be absolutely perfect for my office space.

  Or a guest house for my parents when they’re here from Ireland.

  He just nods and follows me back outside, then waits for me to lock the apartment before joining me in the kitchen.

  “Listen, I have to get back to the city this afternoon,” he says and tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. “I have to get Rachel from my parents’ place. But I’d like to come back on Thursday afternoon to keep looking. Do you think any of these places will sell in the next few days?”

  “That’s hard to say.” I wish I could come up with the twenty-five grand I need for the down payment on this place. “I can tell you that the homes in this price range don’t move quite as quickly.”

  “Good. I just need a couple of more days here before I decide.”

  “I can set up showings for Thursday afternoon, and anytime on Friday,” I offer, elated that he didn’t automatically buy this house. It’s by far the best of all of the properties I’ve shown him.

  His phone buzzes, he checks it, and then scowls. “I’ll kill her.”

  “Do you often think about murdering your wife?”

  He blinks up at me, that scowl still on his face. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Girlfriend, then.”

  “Rachel is my daughter.” Worry and anger still line his face. “And she’s testing my damn patience.”

  His daughter.

  This sexy, cocky, arrogant yet endearing man is a father.

  He’s distracted as he takes one more look around the house and then starts walking toward the front door.

  “I have to get back. But I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  “Sure, okay.” He’s leaving. Why does that make me sad? I barely know this man. But I like him. I like him a lot.

  He opens the door, pauses, and then hurries back to me, his face full of determination.