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“Why are you in my house, Lola Grant?” I drew still closer. We were just barely more than an arm’s length apart. I gave her offered hand a scowl, and she dropped it, blushing fiercely. I found I quite liked that on her.
“I’m… Craig sent me. In Kara’s place?” She fished inside the front pocket of her jeans, the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips. Drawing out a badge, she held it up for me. I barely looked at it though.
“Tell me something, Ms. Grant. When you’re at home alone, do you make a habit of leaving the door unlocked? Do you think it’s safe to do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” She stuffed her badge back in her jeans. “Probably not.”
I nodded slowly, advancing another step, close enough now that I could feel the air pressure change at the proximity of her body next to mine. “Sensible, really. Which mystifies me, because you seem so casual about leaving the door tomyhouse unlocked. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I didn’t, did I?” She blushed once more. “If I did… I must have forgotten. I was in a rush to get started and—”
“Save it,” I barked, holding up a hand. “I’m going to my office”—I nodded toward the top of the stairs—“to get some work done. I would appreciate it if you’d make sure the door is locked, whenever you’re here. It’s common courtesy. Even if this isn’tyourhome. I’m sure you understand.”
“I… okay. I’m sorry.” She glanced away, wrapping her arms about her torso, then letting them drop, as if she were unsure where to put her hands.
Clearly nervous. Good.
I moved toward the staircase, but she remained rooted in her spot. I inclined my head toward her. “Lots of other parts of the house you could be working in. Go find one of them.”
She gasped, her mouth dropping open, revealing pretty and very white teeth. “Uh,okay.”
Then she gathered up the cord for the vacuum cleaner, and fled into the living room, directly opposite the staircase.
I watched her go, trying and failing not to be entranced by the roll and sway of her plump, round buttocks so lovingly encased—and displayed—in those jeans. If I were the man in possession of a bottom like that…
Stop.
I made my way upstairs, trying to put the image of one luscious Lola Grant—and her equally luscious ass—entirely out of my mind.
CHAPTER3
Lola
What a fucking asshole.
But it was far more galling that such an asshole had to look so very good.
I’d never seen Mr. Winters before. I’d never even thought to ask. I suppose I just assumed he fit the profile of so many other wealthy clients.
Overfed. Well dressed, yet somehow nondescript, bland. And vaguely irritated that I was even in their presence.
Mr. Winters was certainly the latter, but the rest? No way.
I made my way to the kitchen, marveling at the massive dark quartz of the island and the countertops. He had more cabinets in his kitchen than one could possibly need, but that wasn’t my concern. Mine was only to make sure they were clean.
Fortunately, Kara had seemed to have already done most of the kitchen already, the place looking immaculate. Craig had told me before I’d left to only concentrate on those areas Kara hadn’t yet gotten to, which meant really only the living room, the stairs, and one of the downstairs bathrooms. Not too much work.
The living room was stunning, frankly. With soaring ceilings that went all the way to the roofline, and a massive bank of built-in cabinetry dominating the entirety of one wall, the man’s living room reminded me of a central gathering room in a ski chalet, the decor accented by deeply stained wood notes, brass and silver trim, and a dazzling array of recessed lighting that must have lit up the place like a cathedral at night. I’d never get the chance to see that, of course, as this was, with luck, a ‘one and done’ as Craig had put it.
Considering my visceral reaction to the appearance of Mr. Winters—and his dismissive, insulting manner—one and done was going to be just fine with me.
Sure, tell yourself that.
I shook my head as I wiped down the first of the many shelves in the living room, careful not to disrupt any of the statuary, trophies, and awards dotted throughout the place, including one rather large, ornate one with a plaque at the base with the Department of Defense logo embossed on its golden surface. I didn’t even try to decipher all the words on it, but ‘selfless and valorous service’ was enough to get the gist. I wasn’t sure if he was military, though he definitely did have a ‘martial bearing.’ He definitely had something to do with the armed forces though.
I kept picturing his eyes as I worked, and Ireallydidn’t want to do that. They were the eyes of a hunter, perhaps even a predator. Well, not an actual killer—perhaps—but instead they were those of a man who could command a woman, by force of personal magnetism alone, to do… just about anything he liked.
A striking blue-gray that drew my eye regardless of how hard I tried not to stare, they were both attractive and a little unsettling at the same time. Mr. Winters being—just as Craig warned—an asshole, only enhanced that effect, much as I might want to deny it.
