“Hi.” I breathe, opening my eyes while bracing myself for the vision of her. She’s loaded down with bags, her hair a wet mess, her white T-shirt sopping wet. “Raining again?” I ask like a chump, my eyes cemented to the pink bra revealed through the wet material. Nipples like bullets. Skin pink and cold. A few licks and I would have her body temperature back to where it should be. Boiling.
She dumps her bag on the worktop, and I vaguely register her torso arching inward, her hand peeling the material from her skin. “The buyer’s still here?”
“Taking measurements. It’s a good sign.”
“Drew!” she snaps, and my stare jumps up from her chest to her face. She narrows her eyes on me, and I can’t lie: the disapproval hurts. I’ve seen every inch of her skin. It shouldn’t bother her now, and it bothers me that it does. “Should I leave?” she asks.
I’m just about to tell her that would be wise when heavy footsteps descend the stairs. We both turn to find Mr. Watts has made his way down.
I slap myself back to life and pull in my jacket. “Mr. Watts, this is Miss Rivers, the owner.” I move over to join them. “All done?”
He doesn’t answer, and it takes a moment to realize that he’s too busy staring at Raya to hear me. Or staring at her fucking chest. A beastly rage creeps up on me, and next thing I know, I’ve moved between them, blocking his view, shielding her. “All done?” I repeat, not snarling but not far from it. He looks up at me, and I raise my eyebrows expectantly, to hell with what he thinks. To hell with the sale and commission. Good God, hold me back.
“Yes, sorry.” He shakes himself back to life, the dirty bastard, and backs up toward the stairs, eventually turning and taking them quickly. It takes everything in me not to chase him down and poke his eyes out.
I redirect my attention to Raya, huffing to myself, until I register her expression. She looks fuming mad.
“What the hell was that about?” she asks, all bristly.
“What?”
“That there.” She points past me, to the man fleeing her home. With a lack of anything else coming to me, I look over my shoulder, racking my brain for an explanation for my cavemanlike behavior. I have nothing, so I go with the truth. “He was staring at your chest.”
“And what has that got to do with you?”
My teeth grate as I return to face her. “It was inappropriate.”
“No, what you did was inappropriate. And, while we’re on the subject of you being inappropriate,”—her finger comes up and points in my face, making my head retract on my neck—“What the hell were you doing intruding on me and Kirk at Hux?”
That gets my hackles up more than the pervert who just scuttled out of her house. “Me? What was I doing? What the hell were you doing?” My temper is barely contained.
“You made it clear you couldn’t help me anymore. You just fucked me, remember.” She uses my words against me, a weapon that I would say was hitting below the belt if it didn’t make me a hypocrite. “So don’t come into my life and my house and throw your weight around like you have some right over me.”
I shrink. Ouch. Well, that’s certainly put me in my place. “There will be more buyers,” I mutter, sounding as timid as I feel. Angry Raya is quite something.
She takes her bag from the counter, and it drops to her side. It’s kind of how my insides feel, everything sinking quickly. She’s mad at me. I don’t like it. “You’d better hope so, Drew. And maybe it’s best you aren’t the one to show them around.”
“Anyone would think you’re desperate to sell.”
“I am.”
“Why?” I demand, unable to stop myself. “Explain, Raya. This house, that constant sadness deep in your eyes. I want to know. Explain it to me.”
She recoils a little, going from livid to cautious in a heartbeat. “I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.” She turns and heads back up the stairs, not looking back. “I don’t need anything from you or any other man. You’re all the damn same.”
Something primal and possessive comes over me, something way past my ability to control. Not that I try to. I fly after her, catching her halfway up the stairs.
She turns, startled, and falls to her arse a few steps above me. I look at her, my face poker straight. “Don’t tell me I’m the same. Do you get these insane feelings with anyone else?”
She doesn’t answer, her face challenging, her jaw tight.
I shove her skirt up her thighs. “You gonna stop me?”
“Fuck you, Drew,” she breathes, already short of breath. She’s mad with herself. Welcome to the fucking club.
I smirk and pull her knickers down, and my mouth is on her in a heartbeat—licking, swirling, kissing, and nibbling. I plunge my tongue, bite at her lips, dig my fingers into the damp flesh of her thighs. Her moans fill my head, fill the whole damn house. I give her no breathing space. I don’t give her a second respite. I’m a man on a mission, though what that mission is I have no fucking clue.
The entire house rocks with the power of her orgasm, her scream never ending, her shakes violent. I swallow it all down, savor the flavor. Jesus, how did I think I could do without this? The taste of her, the feel of her, the life coursing through me. The satisfaction of knowing I’m helping her.
Her brown eyes look down to where my face is still nestled between her thighs, and her hand reaches for my hair, tugging. With her silent order, I crawl up her body until I’m splayed against her. “You do owe me something,” I whisper, kissing the corner of her mouth.
A slow, lazy smile breaks. “What?”
“An orgasm.” We’re all teeth and low laughter, trying to kiss and smile at the same time. “And a massage, too.” I roll my shoulder, wincing as I push myself up and help her to her feet, arranging her skirt.
“Thank you.” She takes the stairs, eyes flirting with mine as she passes, and fetches a glass of water.
I follow her down. “Who’s in that picture with you?”
With her glass at her lips, she stares at me. “You noticed it’s missing, then?”
I shrug. “You were quite speedy in turning it down.” Sadness. That Godawful sadness slopes back onto her face and tarnishes the brightness. Tarnishes my mood, as well as hers.
Fuck, are there tears bubbling in her eyes? “I know what you’re thinking,” she says quietly.
“Good, then maybe you can help me out, because I don’t know what to think.”
“Why do you care?” She eyes me carefully, assessing. I don’t know why I care, but it seems I do. So I just shrug lamely. With my head in such a tangle, I haven’t got much hope of explaining to Raya. “You think it’s an ex,” she states.
“It’s not?”
She shakes her head. “There is an ex. Dean. We split up four weeks ago after I found him in bed with someone.” A single tear slides down her cheek.
Well, damn. “I’m sorry.” What else can I say?
“Don’t be. It didn’t cut half as deep as losing my grandfather the day before.”
I recoil, somewhere between shock and disgust.