In the silence, he gives me a rueful look, rubbing the back of his neck. “You see why I need you in here.”
But he’s looking at the bed when he says it, and my stupid ovulating horny brain unhelpfully imagines he’s saying he needs me in his bedroom, specifically.
As in his bed.
“I have lots of ideas for what we could do in this bedroom,” I say.
This time, it’s his gaze that snaps to me, and I realize that what I just said could be read any number of ways.
“Do tell.” There’s something about the glimmer in his eyes that makes me wonder if he’s teasing me. Flirting, even.
“Before we get into all of that,” I say quickly, “let’s talk about your needs and wants in here.”
He tilts his head. “My needs and want in the bedroom?”
My cheeks heat. “I mean, the things you like to do in here.”
Oh God, I’m making it so much worse.
His lips press together, like he’s hiding a smile.
I close my eyes briefly, ignoring my burning face and thanking God Slade is too much of a gentleman to point out I’m probably the color of a lobster.
“Let’s try this again,” I say. “Let’s go over your day-to-day. When did you wake up this morning?”
“About four.”
I give a little shudder.
His eyebrow quirks. “Not a morning person?”
“I like mornings. I just like spending them lazing around in bed.”
“Do you?” he murmurs. The corner of his mouth lifts.
Do not flirt with the client.
“I suppose you’re already hard at work by sunup,” I say. I say that instead ofyes, I do like to laze around in bed, shall we practice together?
“Usually I’m an early riser, yes.” Those dark green eyes glimmer as they hold mine. “But I could be persuaded to stay in bed. For the right reasons.”
The words send a flutter of heat through my stomach. I can think of more than a few compelling reasons I could keep him in bed.
My fingers clutch my notebook a little tighter.
“Walk me through your daily routine,” I say, attempting a professional, brisk tone. “I like to know how my clients actually live in their spaces.”
He pushes his hair back. “Four AM, work out. Five, on horseback. Spend the day working the ranch, then back by dinner.” He says it like it’s nothing, like spending twelve hours doing physical labor is just how his life works.
I’m tired just thinking about it.
“And on days off?”
“Don’t really take those. What do you do on your days off?”
“Go to the farmer’s market. I usually try to bring home flowers. You must always keep fresh flowers in the house. It’s a cardinal rule,” I tell him with a smile. “Then I might go down to the bookstore or coffee shop. Catch up on paperwork.”
“Paperwork doesn’t sound like much of a day off,” hesays.
