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I bent down and covered her lips with mine.
Two
Michael was kissing me. Holy shit, he was kissing me and it was brilliant.
I had thought telling him the truth would get me bounced from his flat, which would have gutted me, but instead he was kissing me. Very well, I might add.
He had soft lips and a commanding touch. His hand held my head while he brushed over my mouth over and over.
I kissed him back, but he was in charge, one hundred percent. My eyes drifted shut as he teased between my lips with his tongue and did all kinds of amazing things to my insides. I pressed my hands on his chest for balance and to feel him. It was a hard plane of muscle that only stoked the fire of my desire even further.
Curling my fingertips into the fabric of his T-shirt, I sighed, wanting to be closer to him. Wanting to feel every inch of him.
Michael broke off the kiss and stepped back from me. He gave me a slow, sexy smile.
“Let me show you that closet.”
Just like that. Let me show you that closet. Like he hadn’t just destroyed me with his mouth. Like he hadn’t made me ache for more.
I stood there for a second, struck dumb, breathing hard.
He turned and sipped his wine.
That snapped me out of it. “Right. Of course. Let’s get right on that.”
The reason I was there. To assess his dead wife’s wardrobe. Not to shatter beneath his tongue.
He didn’t look shattered. He looked as casual as his outfit. Chill. Cool as a damn cucumber.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my tablet, determined to be professional for the next thirty minutes. “I’ll just snap a few photos for reference. I can usually get you an estimate within three days of what I’ll be able to take to list and target auction prices. If you choose to use my services, I will need to remove the clothing so that photos can be taken on a model with styling. I take forty percent of the sale price and do all the shipping.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m planning to donate the money to breast cancer research.”
Of course he was. Because that wasn’t going to help my burning desire to shag him. The bastard was a nice guy on top of being attractive, intelligent, and forgiving.
I followed him down the hallway to the second door on the right. It was clearly intended to be the second bedroom but it was set up like a walk-in closet. It was all women’s clothing. Hundreds of pieces. There was a rack of shoes that even at first glance showed designer taste. The shelves filled with handbags displayed a very obvious Chanel and a Hermès courchevel Birkin with gold hardware. Becca had a Birkin. I wondered if Michael had any idea how much just that one bag alone was worth.
“There are a lot of quality pieces here,” I said, running my fingers down the sleeve of a Prada jacket. “How many are you willing to part with?”
“All of it.”
My heart almost stopped. Turning in a circle I at first guess thought there was at least fifty thousand worth of designer pieces in the room. More likely even more. The Birkin alone was worth five grand gently used. This would be quite the padding for my bank account.
“This is thousands and thousands of dollars in fashion, do you realize that?”
He nodded, leaning on the doorway frame. “I bought most of it. Trust me, I’m well aware of how much it cost. That’s why I figured I would have someone sell it and I’ll donate the proceeds.”
“Thank God you didn’t throw all of this in the bin.” The thought made my stomach hurt. “That would be a crime against fashion.” The beauty of so much fabulous clothing was really the only thing that could have distracted me from my attraction to Michael and the fact that he’d kissed me.
There was still an awareness on my part of him filling the doorway, of our obvious easy chemistry, but the clothes were to die for. I shifted through the hanging dresses, jackets, and skirts. I pulled a few that I wanted to start with, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head that was telling me going on a date with Michael was falling back into an old pattern I’d consciously tried to break.
The older man with money.
Been there, done that, and I had always wound up feeling less than. The power balance had always been off, and particularly back when I’d been modeling, it was clear my role was to be eye candy.
I’d known Michael was a doctor but I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of buying a wardrobe like this one. Besides, I’d thought I was talking to him for Savannah, not me. It was obvious now given this flat and room full of fashion, orthopedic surgeons pocketed more money than I’d expected. Or maybe he came from money. Either way, warning bells were going off, but I resolutely ignored them. I’d already agreed to go to dinner with him. I couldn’t be a complete idiot and cancel on him now.
“How long have you lived in New York?” Michael asked as I laid several dresses on the ottoman in the center of the room and took pictures so I could do some research.
