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She flushed, knowing exactly what he’d meant. Yes, she’d worn it down. But not for him. He was still a jerk. A hot jerk who’d somehow managed to look a billion times hotter holding a baby—which struck her as odd because she didn’t even want kids—but he was a cocky, heartless jerk nonetheless and she would not be having sex with him tonight, no matter how much she’d been fantasizing about him for the last few weeks.
“Thanks,” she replied, forcing her chin up. Then she gestured to the doorbell. “Get a lot of persistent Girl Scouts or something?”
He shook his head solemnly, staring at the destroyed box. “The bell wakes the baby. Never wake the baby. For some reason, the gate buzzer doesn’t bother her, but the doorbell wakes her up.”
Chuckling, she stepped inside. “Don’t worry. Once you’re on kid three or four, they learn to sleep through anything.” When she turned to face him, she realized he’d just been admiring her ass again. Subtle, he was not.
Her sex drive had taken over picking an outfit earlier, and she’d found herself putting on the sexiest pencil skirt and blouse she owned. She knew this skirt made her ass look damn good, and maybe she wanted to drive him a little crazy. He deserved it.
“Your house is huge,” she said uncomfortably, wanting to fill the awkward silence. She probably should have said something more professional, but she was having trouble coming up with anything better. It looked like there was potential here, in the frame and foundation, but from a design standpoint, it sucked. The colors clashed, parts were still just drywall, and the flooring looked expensive but impractical.
“I’m in the middle of renovations,” Will said, peering around. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re used to big houses.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you say you had a big family?”
“Yes, but we were crammed into a three-bedroom. My parents would have killed for something this size. Of course, that would have encouraged them to have more kids.”
“Oh. I assumed you were . . .” He trailed off.
“Rich?” She snorted. “No. Why would you assume that?”
“I’ve been around a lot of rich, snooty types. You have that presence. The way you dress and the way you do your hair—it all comes off as rich girl.”
She grumbled. “It’s called professionalism.”
His lips quirked. “I like you mussed up better.”
Her cheeks heated. God, he was already getting on her nerves. She adjusted the grip on her briefcase. “Do you have somewhere to sit down? Maybe on something other than a mattress in the middle of a torture chamber?”
His dark chuckle seemed to creep down her spine. “Follow me, smart-ass.”
He walked her pas
t a massive great room with a big-screen TV hanging on the wall, a leather recliner that looked brand-new, a couch, and an array of baby toys and blankets on the floor, but no other furniture. She smiled a little. For all he claimed he wasn’t prepared for a baby, he certainly was adjusting.
The kitchen was cleaner than she’d expected. A few takeout containers littered the counter, which he quickly pushed into a garbage bag, seeming embarrassed. An oval oak table took up a breakfast nook, and he motioned her to sit there.
Juliet spotted the baby monitor, turned on, sitting on the counter. “Have you found a family for her yet?”
He sat opposite side of the table. “There are private adoption agencies online. I looked through the profiles of waiting families, but they all seem too . . . perfect.”
“Too perfect?”
“Perfect teeth. Perfect hair. Matching turtlenecks in the posed photo. Something sinister is definitely afoot there. It’s not normal.”
“They’re probably just trying to put their best foot forward so they get chosen.”
“One guy had a weird look in his eye. Probably a serial killer. Another was a schoolteacher.”
“What’s wrong with that? At least they’d have experience with kids.”
He shook his head. “She’d be working with kids all day then come home to take care of Beau? That’s just a bad idea.”
Juliet arched a brow. “Sounds like you’re making excuses.”
“What?” he asked irritably. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
