“Yes,” she answered in a half-asleep whisper.
Separating them only long enough to roll off the condom and dispose of it in a nearby trash can, he then picked her up in his arms and crossed the room to his bed. It wasn’t a place where the women he had sex with spent the night. He wasn’t an asshole about it, but the women he dated knew the score going in. So did Clover. This was an arrangement, a little fun. He should take her to her room. It was just down the very long hallway. She had her own bed where the sheets were probably cold, maybe itchy for all he knew. And anyway, they hadn’t specifically negotiated sleeping arrangements. In his arms, Clover sighed and snuggled against him, nestling her head against his shoulder.
Fuck it. She was staying with him.
He lowered her to the bed and climbed in behind her, pulling her close to keep her warm. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. Anyway, he wanted to be there when she woke up and wanted round two. Plus, she felt really good—which ran a far second to not getting stuck with the nickname Mr. One and Done. It did. Really. Sure of his reasoning, Sawyer let his eyes fall closed and drifted off to sleep with Clover in his arms.
Chapter Thirteen
A week later, Sawyer sat at his desk in his home office catching up on a morning of missed work, thanks to his second ever trip to the flea market and reread the same email for the third time without comprehending a single word. Too much of his attention was focused on the strange noises coming from the general direction of his living room. By the time the second loud bang sounded—followed by a muffled groan, what had to be a curse in another language, and a shouted promise from Clover that she was all right—he shut the lid of his laptop and got up. He wasn’t going to get a damn thing done until he figured out what in the world was going on.
Walking down the hall, he found a pile of deliveries from Dylan’s Department Store. Included among the sexy date-night dresses that showed just enough skin to tantalize and work-appropriate dresses in bright colors and patterns that had probably never been seen before in Carlyle Tower was a pair of heavy-duty hiking boots. He stopped and studied the boots. Since Clover wasn’t going to any construction sites, they had to be for her Australia trip.
After a quick glance toward the balcony where he could hear her cursing again, he grabbed the boots and carried them to the hall closet and shoved them in the back on the very top shelf next to another pair that had been delivered a few days earlier.
It wasn’t like she was going any time soon, and so he’d rather have the big picture showing exactly what he envisioned right now. There was nothing more to it than that. No reason to overthink it. They were just boots.
He found Clover out on the balcony and almost swallowed his tongue, but not before he could offer a quiet thank you to whoever had invented yoga pants and tank tops. Her tight black pants molded perfectly to the curve of the ass he’d worshiped last night and every night for the past week. His cock twitched against his thigh and his brain was already working out if the potted bushes the decorator had placed at strategic positions on the balcony would block the neighbors’ view, because all he wanted at the moment was to peel her yoga pants down, spread her legs, and fuck her until they were both blind.
She looked up and spotted him. “Perfect timing,” she said as she rolled the heavy, rusted-out wreck of a metal medical tray out onto a newspaper covered section of the balcony.
“For what?” He had ideas. Lots of them.
She held out a white dust mask, the kind that was held in place by a rubber band that went around your head.
Oh no. Not happening. Not in this lifetime.
He crossed the threshold out onto the balcony but stopped well clear of the monstrosity they’d gotten at the flea market the previous week. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Of course you did.” She leaned forward over the cart and brushed off a piece of flaking paint—the move giving him an eyeful of her hard-on inducing cleavage—and winked at him before straightening back up. “It’s totally on the napkin.”
He could almost hear the snap and fizz that was his mental synapses short circuiting as the more primal part of his brain took over—the one that concerned itself with fucking or fighting. Scratch that. It was only concerned with fucking which, judging by the knowing little smirk on her face, she knew. Another negotiation tactic? That wasn’t fair. Well, if she was going to sink to that level, he really didn’t have any other choice but to do the same.
“I remember writing down going to the flea market,” he said, reaching behind his neck and pulling off his T-shirt as he strolled over to the chaise lounge. Feeling her gaze on him as sure as a touch, he sat down on the chair, stretched out his legs, and put his hands behind his head. “I never wrote anything down about going to DIY hell.”
“What do you think the flea market is all about?” She tossed the dust mask at him and it landed in the middle of his bare chest. “You’re going to need this.”
He picked up the mask, making sure to flex his biceps as he held up the not heavy item and examined it as if it was even a tenth as interesting as the hungry look on her face right now. “Explain to me again why I would rather refinish that crap cart when we could entertain each other in much better ways?”
With one hand on her cocked out hip, she tried for intimidating but all he saw was hot-chick-he-wanted-naked and soon. She must have noticed that because her eyes narrowed and she got that stubborn tilt to her chin that he’d started looking forward to seeing more than he probably should.
“Don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who welches on his promises.”
“I believe I did everything you wanted last night.” The fact that either of them could walk today was damn close to a miracle.
Her blush was immediate and only a shade or two off scarlet. “Enough stalling, Mr. Ego. Put on the mask and help me sand this thing down.”
“God, I wish that was a euphemism,” he muttered, but he got up and put on the stupid mask and walked over to the cart.