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Her eyes are big, surprise written all over her face, but in an instant it’s replaced with a scowl.
“What are you doing here—again?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Do you always just open the door to strangers, completely unaware?” I step into her apartment, causing her to back up. I close the door and lock it again.
“No, it’s not like I get a lot of strangers knocking on my door. I thought it might have just been my neighbor asking me to hang out again.”
“Hang out?”
“Yeah, like to watch a movie or play video games with him,” she says casually.
“Him?” I crook an eyebrow, trying to keep that jealous feeling at bay.
“He’s harmless, trust me. He’s just awkward and probably lonely. I don’t think he has any friends. Now, I answered a lot of your questions so back to mine. What are you doing here—I don’t see Daisy with you this time.”
I look down at her outfit, noticing she’s wearing the fuzzy socks again and it makes me smile. Her shorts are almost nonexistent beneath her oversized t-shirt. Her hair is in two braids hanging down over her shoulders.
“I heard you needed a picture hung.”
“Eavesdropping again, Mr. Vaughn?” She cocks her head, a smirk on her face. It’s funny to see how she slips between that nervous, bubbly woman I met in Paris and this feisty, combative woman standing before me.
“Do you always have to be argumentative?” I snap, instantly feeling bad. I hate that I can’t control my tone with her. It’s childish. I want her to want me just as badly but I can’t figure out if she truly does hate me or if this is just a game of playing hard to get. “No,” I soften my tone, “it’s not eavesdropping when you were having the conversation loud enough that I could clearly hear you from where I was standing.” We both stand there in silence for a moment. “So,” I say as I remove my suit jacket and place it neatly on the back of one of her barstools, “do you want to show me where the picture needs to be hung?”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Not to beargumentative,but is this going to be another tit-for-tat situation where I’ll owe you some favor in a few weeks?”
“No, consider it something done out of the goodness of my heart.”
“You mean you have one those?”
I smile at her, knowing damn well this isn’t out of the goodness of my heart, but more like my dick. The thought of Mr. Fudge Sundae in her apartment made my stomach sour the rest of the afternoon and maybe I’m just projecting, but she seemed uncomfortable with giving him her number.
“Okay, it’s in here.” She walks down the hallway and I follow her.
Fuck, her bedroom?
I glance around the room. It’s small but tidy. Her bed is all white, crisp, and cozy-looking with several decorative throw pillows in soft pink. On her nightstand is a small brass lamp, a stack of three books, and a framed picture of her with a young man and an older couple. I’m assuming it’s her family.
“I was thinking it would look good over here.” She points to a space on the wall opposite her bed.
I walk over next to her, the picture, a painting of wildflowers in an antique brass frame, propped against the wall. “Heavier than it looks,” I say, picking it up.
“Yeah, that’s why I figured the Command Strips weren’t going to cut it.”
I tap on the wall, listening for the studs. “Stud there,” I say, continuing to tap, “and there. Do you have a pencil? I should have asked for that before.”
“Just a second.” She opens the drawer of a small desk by her closet and hands one to me. I mark where the studs start and end on both sides before placing it in my pocket.
“Probably best we hang it on either stud unless you have wall anchors?”
“Umm, I’m not sure I know what those even are.” She does that thing again where she wraps her arms around her waist, then reaches up to rub her neck almost nervously.
Is she uneasy having me in her bedroom for the same reasons that ran through my head? Because the second I saw her bed, I imagined her arms and legs tied to the brass frame as I took my time exploring her body.The thought of her trembling beneath my touch, completely at my mercy, has me so on edge I’m seconds away from my cock making its presence very known again.
“Not a problem. I’ll make sure we won’t need them. How about you stand back and let me know when I’ve got it in the right spot.”
“Okay.” She nervously steps around me, walking to the other side of the room as I pick up the picture and hold it against the wall.
“We can put it here,” I say, looking back at her. “Or further over here.”
