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Watching me. A soft breath moving over my shoulder.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I exhaled a small, tense breath.
Why was I so nervous all of the sudden? And why was he standing so close?
I peeked in his direction, trying not to be too obvious.
God, he was handsome. Almost beautiful, in that silent, broody kind of way. The kind that made me self-conscious because I felt his eyes on me. Watching my every move.
Even though he was still wet from the rain, his suit didn't cling to him but sat comfortably, perfectly on his body. His tie was straight, his hair only tousled just enough, even though it was drenched. I wanted to slip my fingers through the dark strands to see if it was as silky as it looked.
He was clearly a serious man; I wondered when the last time was he'd laughed.
And seriously, why was he standing so close to me?
I clanked the spoon loudly on the edge of the mug, just to irritate him.
If he'd come to make me feel like an idiot about the estate, or to try and tell me what to do, he’d come to the wrong place.
My father was gone, and I hadn't put out a want ad for a new one.
Because I was the daddy now.
"How did you get through the gate?" I pushed the mug towards his chest and his fingers curled around it, brushing against mine, heat coiling through my belly at the touch. With him so close, I could smell his musky cologne. It was so…gruff and manly.
His distasteful look at the mug cooled the desire looping around my silly heart.
He was a man. An older man. And I had no room in my life for someone tryin’ to be a bossy-boss. My father hadn’t been in the grave longer than five hours when several men had approached me, at the wake for heaven’s sake, to offer their financial services.
Shaking my head at my own childishness, I walked off, calling out in case Callie was hovering on the upstairs landing. “I’m serious. Go to sleep, Callie!”
There was a pause, then a soft huff. “Brat!”
“I’m not getting a lamp thrown at me again!” I grinned, biting down on my lower lip. Callie was… grumpy if woken by something other than her phone alarm.
A pause, then, “fair.” Her footsteps padded towards her room, the door clicking shut.
And then, it was just him, and me.
* * *
This side of the house was always a little chilly, especially with the spring rain. It didn’t help that there was a leak in the roof, dripping into a large bucket in the corner of the room. The too-large presence following, once again, too closely behind me. “Please have a seat,” I instructed while I lit the gas fireplace.
When I was done, I turned around; he hadn’t moved from my side, instead surveying me with that serious look he’d mastered.
“Or not…” I mumbled, then curled up on the sofa, sitting crisscross apple-sauce with my mug in my lap. I stared at him expectantly. “Well? The gate?”
"It's not hard," he dismissed me, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa to drape over me, “if you know what you're doing."
I frowned. That didn't help me feel more safe.
"I never thanked you for helping us the other day, at the funeral." I took a small sip of my drink and curled up in the blanket, the warmth making me feel better. “I don't know what I would've done without your help."
He didn't look at me, but stared at the fire, the orange flames lighting up his handsome face. "Grief can make us do strange things.” He was referring to Callie jumping into the grave.
"You understand it, then?"
He finally turned towards me, placing the mug on the top of the fireplace without taking a sip. "I'm here to inquire about the purchase of your home." He paused. "And the Bugatti you have in the garage.”
