by Scott, Lisa
That stray cat was hungrier than she’d imagined. So much for ignoring the dessert tray.
“My pleasure.” He stared at her and took a bite of the croissant. She had to look away.
“Want some more?” He held it out to her.
She held up her hand. “I’m good.” Too good, she thought, while watching him pop the rest in his mouth and lick the remains off his fingertips. She was as self-conscious as if she’d been watching him naked. Well, maybe not quite.
He stared at her for a moment, before he gestured to the door. “Let’s go have a look. It hits quite a few of your requirements.”
“Great.” And if she had a checklist for her ideal man, he’d hit all the points too, she realized. Sexy, successful, tall and…
“Good looking, right?”
She stared at him. Was she that transparent?
“Don’t you think it’s a good looking house?” He shrugged. “I kind of have a thing for brick colonials. They’re just so well built.”
“Well built. Yes, that too.” She took a gulp of tea. “Brick colonials, who doesn’t love them?” How did her IQ manage to dive bomb each time she was around this man? But indeed, the home did have a nice big porch, three bedrooms, and a huge kitchen. And she enjoyed strolling across the gleaming hardwood floors, with Henry guiding her at times by the elbow, or escorting her through doors with his hand on that magical place on her lower back that roused goose bumps darn near every time. She pictured them dancing again, right there in the middle of some stranger’s living room. When he she turned into a mushy romantic?
But when it was all over and they stood in front of the home for another look, she found herself once again telling Henry, “Something’s missing. It just doesn’t feel like the one, you know?” She wrung her hands like a foolish little girl who asked for a giant chocolate sundae and couldn’t finish it. “I’m sorry.” This wasn’t like her. She was decisive. She was responsible. She was…just not herself.
And there was his hand on her elbow again. “Don’t be sorry. This is one of the most important decisions of your life. I want you to be sure about it.” He shrugged. “Especially since you don’t have that bounce-back gene. I want to get you the right place.”
“Thanks.” She figured a guy with his sales record would be more anxious to get a deal lined up. Henry Watson wasn’t exactly what she’d expected.
He moved his hand up to her shoulder, the tips of his fingers grazing the back of her neck. “Don’t worry we’ve got five more showings scheduled this morning.”
She could feel the warmth of his hand through her thin shirt; she wondered what those fingers would feel like on the rest of her skin. She stepped back. “Shall we move on to the next place?”
“You know, we are going over your two and half hour weekly time limit,” he teased.
She tipped up her chin. “I can make an exception. I can be flexible when needed.”
“Flexible?” Up went one eyebrow. “Good. Then I’d like to try something different at the next home. Give me your clipboard.” She tried to protest, but he took away her notes. “I think you know what’s on your list by now. I want to see how you really feel about the next house.”
She looked at him holding her clipboard under his arm with a confident grin and she was intrigued. “Okay, we’ll do it your way.”
He press his mouth closed to suppress a smile. “Good. I like doing things my way.”
And that left her thinking of many interesting scenarios as she drove to next house, squirming in her seat.
Chapter 5
She followed him up the porch to the next house, her chest tight with excitement.
He rolled up his sleeves. “Close your eyes.”
She swallowed. “What?”
“Just try it.”
Pausing, she closed her eyes and waited. One eye opened. “Shouldn’t I be looking at the house to decide if I like it?”
“No. We’re trying to get your instant, gut reaction. Keep them closed, kid.”
The door clicked as he unlocked it. “This is a little…unorthodox. Is that alright?”
“I want to find the right place. Do whatever you have to do.” That’s quite the invitation.
He blew out a breath. “I should get that in writing.” He walked up behind her and slid his fingers across her cheeks then over her eyes. His breath rustled her hair. “Just to be sure you don’t peek.”
If the air wasn’t sucked out of her lungs, a soft moan might have slipped out.
“Let’s walk in.”
She took a deep breath—which didn’t help, because that whiff of his cologne nearly made her tumble. Then she took a step forward with Henry’s arms still wrapped around her, his chest pressing against her back. “What are you doing?” she managed to ask.
“Trying to get your real first impression without you thinking about check lists and square footage and closet space. Now, shh.” His breath warmed her ear.
She tried to swallow, but her throat was tight and that damn stray cat was gnawing on her ankle. She took a few more steps, Henry’s body moving with hers. Her nerve endings were on alert, tuned in to every micro-movement between them: his knee bumping her hamstring; her hands running nervously down the silky skirt on her thighs; her lashes fluttering against his fingers. God, could he see down her blouse? Was she wearing her best bra?
They stopped walking and he dipped his mouth to her ear. “We’re here.” His voice was soft and warm. “You’ve just come home from work. Rotten day, boss was a jerk. Eighteen phone calls from your sister.” She could feel his chest rising and falling. “You’re hungry, tired and alone.”
Her heart clenched. Normally, coming home alone didn’t bother her. Hearing Henry’s deep voice suggest it made her feel hollow.
He leaned in closer, his fingers still pressed against her lids, his pinkies skimming her cheekbones. She imagined those fingers working their way down to more interesting places.
“It’s been a long day. Traffic was hell, but now you’re here.” He slowly pulled his hands away and set them on her shoulders. “Open your eyes, tell me what you see.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and adjusted to the brightness of the room. Henry’s hands slid off her and she walked forward. She looked around the narrow living room with a fireplace and stained glass windows. Long curtains grazed the hardwood floors. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. Frowning, she turned to face him. “I’m not sure how I feel.” About the house that is, because she knew how she felt around him—like a cold scoop of vanilla ice cream melting under rich, hot gooey butterscotch. She’d been known to eat butterscotch straight from the jar in her wilder days.
He watched her. “Give yourself a moment.”
She looked around. “Technically, I should love this room. But I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Good? It’s horrible. It makes no sense. Why don’t I like this room?” A thread of hysteria laced her words.
He walked over and rubbed her arm. “Who knows, but you’ve got to learn to follow your instincts. You’re listening to your heart.”
She flinched. Listening to her heart never worked before. She thought she had loved Jason back in art school. Thought he loved her too. Then she’d found him in his studio on top of the model he’d been painting. Paint covered them, the floor, the canvas. And the model? Her roommate. She hadn’t been able to pick up a paintbrush since. That’s the day she stopped trusting her heart and decided only to listen to her brain. Why should she change that now? She cleared her throat. Because of this guy.
“Want to see more?”
She paused for a moment and bit her bottom lip. “Can we try your trick again?”
He smirked. “You liked that?”
She tipped up her chin. “It was effective.”
“Alright, Liz. Close your eyes and let’s check out the kitchen.”
She thought about telling him no one called her Liz. She always corrected anyone who did. But she liked the wa
y Henry said it, the way he drew out the L in her name.
This time, he came even closer. “Ready?”
Her breath hitched as their skin touched. She nodded. Then taking a few steps forward, she caught her heel and stumbled on the edge of the rug. Henry gripped her waist and caught her.
She turned to him, inches from his lips and wrapped in his arms like some old fashioned movie. “Thanks.” Damn. She really was falling for him. Literally. A less practical woman would have closed her eyes again, parted her lips and said, come to mama. But Elizabeth stuffed back all those feelings and tried to ignore the man who ignited something in her that was hot and wild and dangerous. She so didn’t do danger.
His thumbs pressed against her belly and his fingers cupped her hips.
“Is this what you do with all your clients?” Her voice was thick.
He turned up one corner of his mouth. “You’re the first. Is it helping you figure out what you want?” His hands moved over her bottom, pulling her closer to him.
She didn’t know if she could admit what she wanted; she wanted him. But she was going to have to chase that feeling away or learn to live with it, because Henry was just a killer salesman with a novel way to help his most difficult client.
She stepped out of his embrace. “It’s definitely helping. Very clever idea.” She had to round up her wits that had scattered like a pack of startled doves. Darn stray cat had sent them flying away. “Let’s just go to the next place. This isn’t the house for me.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think there’s a big difference between what you think you want and what you really want. And there’s a little voice finally speaking up.”
“Maybe,” she managed to say. But she didn’t like what that voice was telling her.
***
Henry didn’t like this feeling. He was way too turned on by this unusual appointment. What was he thinking? Not about the consequences, that’s for sure, like losing his real estate license if she complained to someone about what he was doing. He wasn’t thinking at all.
They stood in silence gazing into the room, which truthfully, wasn’t very enticing. But the woman next to him was. The initial attraction he’d felt the other day had only intensified. He knew he should fight it—wanted to fight it—but couldn’t. Even though it was the worst possible timing to be attracted to a woman, and a client, nonetheless. He looked at her profile and winced.
He’d told himself he wasn’t even going to think about romance until he had his own office up and running. He figured that he’d be well past thirty-five. And that was a few years off. What was he going to do with this woman? He couldn’t drop her as a client. He promised her she could trust him and he liked being with her. Not just because she was beautiful. It was so much more. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else the past few days. These feelings were not supposed to be part of the deal. Too bad nothing in his realtor’s manual had prepared him for this.
Chapter 6
They drove ten minutes to the next location. He was taking a risk; it wasn’t one of the properties she picked. The log cabin was built in 1980, and missed many of her checklist points. But the house was tucked away in the woods with a pond and some nice features, very much like a sanctuary. Hell, she might fire him on the spot for bring her here. And that might not be a bad thing the way things were going.
He drove down the long driveway into the thick woods, the new spring leaves forming a bright green canopy. He drove slowly to give her the feeling that the place was tucked away, that she was entering her own private retreat.
He got out of the car and waited for her. Part of him hoped she loved the house and would make an offer. Then he could get back to business and break that sales record. But another part hoped they had a few more weeks of Saturday mornings and chocolate croissants—and who knows what else—to enjoy.
She looked at him and turned up her hands. “Is this a joke? You’re working your comedy routine into your real estate biz?”
“It’s an experiment. Forget your list and just tell me how you feel about this house.”
She considered the house with her arms crossed.
He held out his hand. “Give it a chance.”
She set her hand in his palm and he closed his fingers around hers, tighter than he needed to. “It’s a little rocky, let me help you.”
She squeezed his hand and let him guide her to the front door.
“Is this an A-frame?”
“Yes, a log cabin A-frame on four acres and not a neighbor in site. You did say a quiet street, with at least a quarter acre.”
She stared for a moment, unwilling to go in.
“Don’t think, Liz. Just feel.” He wasn’t going to try his hands-over-her-eyes trick again. Didn’t know if he could manage that without sliding his hand in places they shouldn’t be.
She stepped inside and walked over to the fireplace. “How tall is this ceiling?”
“I’d say twenty-five feet.”
“I’ve never been in a house like this.”
He let her wander around, glancing out the windows, running her fingers along the rough woodwork that lined the walls.
“What are you feeling?”
“Confused. According to my checklist, I shouldn’t like this, but I do.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s look out in the backyard.”
They stepped out on the back patio and she drew in her breath. He wanted to make her gasp like that.
“This is…incredible. It’s got a pond. And what’s that building over there?” She shaded her eyes.
“A studio. Let’s go look.”
***
Her heart dropped to her stomach like a coin kerplunking in a wishing well. “A studio? Like an art studio?” She followed him.
“Sure. Look at all the beautiful scenery to inspire some lucky artist.” He spread his arms wide. “Or you could turn it into a guest house.”
“Absolutely.” Because she didn’t know if her fingers would ever respond to the feel of a brush again. It had been her passion, her refuge—her everything, until that night in college. But for the first time since that horrible moment, she could picture herself in front of an easel, in that charming little cottage—painting. And that scared her. She thought that part of herself had been closed up and packed away long, long ago.
Not that she hadn’t been with another man since Jason. She’d willingly gone out with some winners after that, like hurting herself again and again would teach her never to risk her heart like that. That was Julie’s take on the whole thing, anyway, and she was probably right. But her love of art had been so entwined with her love for Jason that she couldn’t tease the two apart. And she had left both of those loves behind for good.
“Let’s go look at the pond,” she said, quickly moving on.
They walked down to the water. Henry picked up a handful of rocks and skipped a few across the surface. He handed one to her. “Here, you try.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how.”
He tossed another one. “Right, because that would be one of those unwinding things you don’t do. Let me show you.” He bent down and picked up a few rocks. “You need a good-sized flat rock. Round ones aren’t going to skip.” He handed her a stone and stood behind her. Her took her hand in his and that sent a shot of heat streaming through her. “Curl your arm in towards your body then fling it out.”
He guided her hand and her rock skipped three times. “I did it!” She clapped, and then felt appalled at how ridiculously proud she was of her little feat.
Henry beamed. “Try it again.”
They flung more rocks into the water, and while Henry was definitely much better than her, she did manage to get one to skip eight times before sinking.
“You’d have lots of time to perfect your skill if you bought the place.”
“True.” But it wouldn’t be any fun skipping rocks alone.
They walked along the s
hore while Henry pointed out the highlights. “The pond is a full acre. You can see it has a dock and I imagine this row boat comes with the property.” He set his foot on the side of the boat. “Want to try it out?”
“We can do that?”
He shrugged. “The owners live out of state. And I am showing the property. I want you to have a good look at the whole enchilada.” He winked at her. “I do what I can to make a sale.”
Duly noted. Her glee sank like a skipping stone. Maybe she should have worn a life preserver; at least one for her heart.
He pulled the boat into the water and held out his hand for her. She wobbled as she climbed aboard and he wrapped his arm around her waist. Then he got in, pushed away from the shore and started rowing toward the middle.
She listened to the quiet splash of the oars slicing the water. “Why did you think of this place for me? It’s not what I was looking for.”
“True. But like I said, I think you want a retreat.” He paused for a moment. “What is it you’re trying to get away from?” The question hung in the air between them. “The guy who ruined you for all other men?”
She looked at her shoes. She couldn’t explain all that to Henry. She looked up at him, determined to change the subject. “What kind of house do you have?”
He laughed, pulling the oars through the water, his muscles bulging under his shirt. “I don’t own a house.”
“That’s like the cobbler not having any shoes.”
He shrugged. “I’m saving my money to open my own real estate office. I’m just waiting to really make a name for myself before I make the jump. But I’m getting close. I’m set to break the all-time office sales record. I’ve made that a benchmark for heading out on my own.”
“I hope I’m not getting in the way of your sales goal. I’m taking up a lot of your time.”
He fixed his gaze on her. “Not hardly.” He pointed to the house. “Isn’t that a killer view?” He reached for her hand and squeezed.
Did any other woman in the hemisphere respond with a surge of heat to such a simple gesture? It was probably because she hadn’t had so much as a kiss in…how long? To her, holding hands felt like second base. Pathetic.