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“Nope.” I shake my head. “We’ve had that rivalry for a while now.”
“Yeah, and I bet he loves it.”
We take a seat as Tess still mingles around the room.
I reach into my purse, pull out my notebook, and grab my glasses. “He doesn’t love it. The only thing he loves more than trying to steal my clients is himself.”
Ashton chuckles. “Trust me, the guy has front-row seats for you.”
I shake my head, not believing it for one second. “There’s no way I’d go for a guy like that.”
I see the corner of Ashton’s mouth tug upwards. “Yeah?”
I shake my head. “The guy leaves a trail of slime.”
Ashton laughs. “Well, I gotta agree there.”
“I loved you pretending to be my client, by the way.”
“Oh, I’d love to be your client,” he says.
“I didn’t know you were in the market?” I muse, and I can’t help but feel the rush of heat over my body at the way he’s looking at me.
He grins that sexy grin. “Oh, I’m in the market, baby.”
He squeezes my knee as I cross one leg over the other, looking up at the podium as the mansion appears on the big screen.
The last thing I want to do is go into a bidding war with Phil Davie’s especially in front of Ashton. He probably isn’t even here to bid anyway, just to be nosy.
Tess finally sits beside me, noting Ashton’s hand still on my leg. She gives me a nudge in the ribs as he leans over before the auctioneer opens the morning’s proceedings.
“By the way, I dig the glasses,baby,” he whispers in a smoky voice. His breath tickles my earlobe. I squeeze my thighs together. I will myself to concentrate on the auctioneer and not focus on his husky tone or his sexy scent, and certainly not on the way my body hums to his tune. He’s already swayed me once this morning while I was on work time. I can’t let him do it again by breathing all sexily in my ear.
I can’t even believe he’s here. But I’m loving every second of it.
“Thank you,” I answer.
“You look very official. I like the skirt.” His eyes skate south.
I smile as I look up at him, glad that I wore it.“I have to get this in the bag for my clients,” I tell him quietly. “They’re overseas on vacation. They’re going to be upset if they lose it.”
“So, no pressure then.”
“Just a tad,” I sigh.
“Would it help any if I said not to stress?”
I shrug. “I don’t usually get nervous, but I have their house on the market. I don’t want them to pull the listing if they don’t get the house they want.”
“Seems like a tough gig,” he whispers as the auctioneer launches into his welcome spiel, and everyone mingling takes their seats.
“A very tough gig,” I whisper back. “What do you do in times of stress on the ice?” They just won the Stanley Cup. He must’ve been nervous at some point. I’ve heard some athletes do, and some don’t, and now probably isn’t the best time to ask him what makes him tick, but I am curious.
He glances at me. It’s sexy. He hasn’t removed his hand from my leg and doesn’t care who sees.
It hasn’t gone unnoticed that people have spotted him, either, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I imagine the outcome I want over and over again. Taylor and I both use visualization techniques. He’s better at it than me. But the best way with your opponents trying to get the better of you, is to be as cool as a shade tree.”
