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Hesitating, I know he sees me through the doors, so pretending I’m not home is not an option. Reluctantly I open the door, and there he stands, hair tied back, wearing a gray t-shirt, jeans, and tan carpenter boots.
“Seriously?” I rest my hand on my hip, my other arm blocking his entry. “How did you get my number?” I pause, “And my address?”
“My sister,” he explains with a cocky grin. “She told me to give you the family discount.” He raises his eyebrows.
“Why does everything that comes out of your mouth sound sexual?” I ask.
“Might be because you’re hoping it is.” He gives me a cocky smirk, and I roll my eyes.
“Some might call this stalking,” I point out.
“And some might call this doing you a favor for my sister,” Adrian counters.
“She said your dad owned the company,” I glare at him.
“He does, but I’m the installer,” he says, shifting his weight. “Would you rather my dad be the one here?” he asks, playfully.
Ignoring his question, I say, “This is strictly professional, got it?” I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about him being in my home. Going to his apartment that night at the bar was a mistake, and having sex with him at my sister’s wedding was an even bigger mistake. So why am I imagining my legs wrapped around his waist while he fucks me on the kitchen island?
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, jolting me from my daydream. Ma’am is a sure-fire way to kill any sexuality looming around between my legs.
“Excuse me?” I ask disdainfully.
He holds his hands in the air. “Clearly the wrong choice of words,” he apologizes, raising an eyebrow. “What would you like me to call you?” he asks, the tone of his voice low and deep.
“Lake is fine,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“Lake,” he says in a deep sexy voice, and I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. “Are you going to let me in?”
Finally realizing I’m standing in the heat and letting all the cold air out, I move my hand from the doorframe so he can enter. As he stands in my foyer, I convince myself that it’s perfectly innocent. His sister gave him my information before I realized who he was or even before he knew who I was. He’s just fulfilling an obligation because Laura asked him to be kind.
Of course, she didn’t ask him to give me oral sex in the bathroom at her wedding either, but he did.
Adrian looks around my home, his eyes going wide as he surveys the expansive living room and kitchen. “Jesus, what do you do for a living?” he asks, walking further into the house.
I have a chef’s kitchen with a double oven, but neither I nor Noelle cooks. There are four bedrooms, one of which I use as my office and the other as a guest room, although I’ve never had a guest. The house is more than what Noelle and I need, but when I bought it, I was in a different place in life. If I could tell my younger self that I would never need that extra room, or that double oven, because I wasn’t going to fill it with children or home cooked meals, I would have saved myself the constant reminder.
This has been our home since Noelle was five, and the sound of her violin has been ingrained in these walls and in these floors ever since.
“I work in finance,” I reply, trailing after him into my kitchen while he toes the broken tile with his boot. Pieces of dark hair fall loose over his face as he kneels down to inspect the damaged area.
“This is pretty old tile,” he says, and his eyes trail over my bare feet and legs as he rises, meeting my eyes.
“It’s original to the home. I’ve never had the flooring replaced,” I explain.
“I can see that,” he says and looks around critically.“Finance, huh?” He circles back. “What exactly do you do?”
I could say that currently I’m going through the company’s organizational chart to eliminate redundant jobs preparing for an acquisition, or that I’m contending with some condescending asshole who looks more at my chest than my face when I speak to him, but I don’t. Instead I give my standard answer. “It’s pretty boring.”
Adrian stands to his full height, filling up the space of my kitchen. He’s not a large man, but he has a big presence. “I doubt anything you do is boring,” he says, and then notices the plate of half eaten pizza on the island next to him.
“Is that your breakfast?” he asks, pointing to the pizza.
“Don’t judge,” I say, grabbing the plate and tossing it in the garbage.
“I wasn’t judging.” He holds his hands in the air, a sexy smirk on his face.
“Yes, you were,” I say, shaking my head.
