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Chelsea’s expression is unreadable, and instead of pulling away she laces her fingers with mine. “Expected what?”
My breath hitches in my throat and my cock twitches in my trousers. “Don’t play games with me,” I bite out.
“If I’d been willing…” She steps closer.
I dip my head so my lips brush against the shell of her ear. “If you’d been willing…” I take a sharp inhale. “Then I would have fucked you all night long. In every position. In every room of my estate.”
Electricity sparks around us. I want nothing more than to fist my fingers in her hair and claim her mouth. Her crystal-blue eyes meet my greens, and I can feel her retreat. I don’t release her, not right away, and for a second I tighten my hold. I take in everything her body has to offer—her scent, her touch, her warmth—before finally releasing her.
I don’t see anger in her stare, but something else. She looks at me in a way she never has before. “My point exactly, Lucian. If something is offered to you, you take it.”
I shrug and try to fight back my desire. “I’m a red-blooded male, Chelsea, what do you expect?”
“Nothing, Lucian. You’re the same as everyone else out there. The same as Thomas, the same as—”
I raise my hand. “Thomas, as in your ex-boyfriend who burnt down your salon? Tell me, how am I the same as him?”
“He wanted my shop, and you want my body. There is no sincerity behind your motives, everyone wants something from me.”
I rub my hand over my beard. “Foolish girl. I don’t just want your body. I want you, all of you.”
The silence is louder than it has ever been. I’m waiting for her to say something, anything, but she stands with her lips pressed firmly together.
I don’t know what to say to alleviate the tension between us. I ball my hands into fists and push them into my trouser pockets. I glance toward the hallway and back to Chelsea. “I think I’m going to—”
The bedroom door swings open and Tyler strides out. Steam rises from his bare chest. A pink fluffy towel is secured around his waist. He beams at Chelsea, but his expression sours when he looks at me. “What ishedoing here?”
Chelsea motions to the door. “He was just leaving.”
She doesn’t stick around to hear my reply. She disappears into one of the bedrooms and reappears with a tray full of cleaning products. She lays the bottles out on the kitchen worktop, along with a selection of rags for cleaning.
“Not this again.” Tyler hurries over to Chelsea and puts the bottles back into the tray. “I said I’d clean up,” he insists.
“You have a flight to catch. The taxi will be here any minute.”
I take a step forward. “May I make a suggestion?”
“No!” Chelsea and Tyler holler in unison. They continue to argue about who is going to clean up, and, zoning out of their argument, I make my way to the window and peer out onto the street. From up here I have the perfect view.
Heller St Claire is a quaint yet busy town. People stop walking in the street to greet one another, shop owners help carry customers’ bags to their cars and small crowds gather to gossip on street corners. From this small snippet of time I can feel a real sense of community. I know that in order to make the estate agency a success I will have to make a good impression with the locals. Which only reinforces that I made the right decision about Royston and Eve, the previous employees. Keeping them on and training them up in a lucrative career should work in my favour.
I home in on a black taxi, which parks up out front. “As much as I hate interrupting,” I pipe up, “I believe your taxi has just arrived.”
“Shit!” Tyler yells, and runs to his bedroom to get dressed. A smile creeps its way up my face from knowing that he is leaving and I will have Chelsea all to myself.
I don’t move from the window and listen as Chelsea and Tyler say their goodbyes.
“Please call me the moment you’ve landed. I want Mason’s home address. And if he gives you any serial killer vibes, I want you to get out, do you hear me?”
I watch them hug through the reflection in the windowpane. Tyler is gay and I know I have nothing to worry about, yet it bothers me seeing another man with his arms around her.
They break their hug and head downstairs. From the window I have the perfect view of their goodbye. They talk briefly before they hug again and Tyler slides into the taxi.
I step back and grab my phone from my pocket. I shoot an email to Cornwall’s Merry Maids, a local cleaning service, and wait patiently for Chelsea to return.
I take a moment to look around the flat. The living area is small, a lot smaller than I’m used to. I ignore the mess and take in the actual room. I’m surprised that they don’t have a breakfast bar or a dining table. Where the hell do they eat?
The open-plan living room and kitchen are decorated in a dull cream. Except for the kitchen, which has a cheap laminate floor, the same tired cream carpet appears to be fitted throughout. Everything looks so clinical, not like a home at all. I notice pictures hanging in a collage-style photo frame. I bypass photos of Tyler and focus on Chelsea. There are several of her and her sister, Amber, whom I am acquainted with. There are photos of Chelsea and a group of friends, all of whom I recognise, her niece, and finally two scraggy-looking black cats. Chelsea doesn’t strike me as a cat person.
