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“It’s a rainy Sunday morning—nearly afternoon—we’ve both had busy mornings . . . who’s going to begrudge us a drink before midday?”
She pursed her lips as she reflected over his words. It was nearly noon, and after another morning of procrastination, she could definitely do with a drink.
“Where are the glasses?”
“Good girl, Bean,” he murmured approvingly.
Cute as a bean. The memory of his—frankly ridiculous—confession gave her warm fuzzies, and she hid her fond smile at the nickname that she had resented so much when she was a teen. He opened a cabinet above the sink, and she went onto her tiptoes to reach for a couple of gleaming—obviously recently cleaned—wineglasses from the second-lowest shelf. She could barely reach and looked over her shoulder for some help, only to find Harris staring at her butt with an appreciative, almost dreamy smile on his face. Recognizing that her long top had pulled up to reveal her bum and thighs in the tight leggings, she flushed and quickly grabbed the glasses.
She turned around quickly, keeping her butt against the sink, and was weirdly satisfied to see the look of disappointment in his eyes when the little peepshow ended.
“Wine?” she asked, and he almost visibly shook himself.
“There’s a bottle of red wine in the cabinet under the sink,” he said, his voice brusque, and Tina huffed an impatient breath when she realized she’d have to turn around and bend over to access the cabinet.
Biting the bullet—and okay, some part of her was really enjoying this strange, sexy game—she turned and opened the cabinet, aware of his eyes once again glued to her ass. She rooted around the cabinet but couldn’t find the wine.
“It’s not in here,” she said, and there was a long silence before he cleared his throat.
“My bad . . . it’s on the countertop next to the shitty coffee maker.”
Seriously?
She turned around to take him to task for his obvious little ploy, but he looked flushed and sweaty and very uncomfortable. He was turned on. That much was obvious. He could barely stand upright.
Oh my. The knowledge of his condition made her feel outrageously smug and extremely powerful. She gave him her best cat-that-got-the-cream grin before sauntering her way past him to the coffee maker. Loving it when he groaned in reaction to the extra little wiggle she’d put into her walk.
Luckily the wine had a screw top, because she sincerely doubted there was a corkscrew in this kitchen. The flat was in much worse condition than hers had been. Hers had been unfurnished, because she had wanted to move her own things in, but this place was cluttered with unnecessary junk, and she wondered if the landlord had just moved stuff from her flat into this one.
“This place is a hoarder’s paradise,” she said while pouring the wine.
“I know. I took it sight unseen. Not the way I normally do business, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
The Chapman name was almost synonymous with property development, and Harris’s family had built and sold homes and residential estates for generations, so this was most definitely not the type of place one would expect to find the Chapman brothers staying. Especially not the current CEO and CFO of the company.
Harris had always been the more down to earth of the brothers, and she wondered how Greyson was finding this unexpected foray into penury.
“Greyson must hate it here.”
“Well, he hasn’t really been around that much . . . but he didn’t have anything good to say about the place.”
“Well, in his defense, there really is nothing good to say about it,” Tina said, and Harris, who was scrubbing the kitchen cabinet again, chuckled. “And Libby’s house isn’t that much better. If he intends to be her handyman, he’d better be prepared to fix toilets, sinks, and possibly the wiring.”
“I hope to God he doesn’t electrocute himself.”
“Maybe he intends to call in the professionals?” Tina’s voice raised in question, and she took a swallow of her wine before crossing the short distance to Harris and placing his glass on the counter beside him.
“Thanks,” he muttered, giving the cabinets a wipe with a dry cloth before setting it aside and tugging off the gloves. Tina’s nose wrinkled when the unpleasant smell of the warm rubber on his hands wafted up to her nostrils. Thankfully he turned away to wash and dry his hands before turning back to pick up his glass and take a thirsty sip.
“He bought a toolbox, Tina,” he continued after his drink. “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to prove something to her.”
“His sheer incompetence at anything resembling physical labor?” Tina asked incredulously, and Harris grinned. He was smiling a lot, and it did crazy, fluttering things to her stomach. The vultures, for the moment, had been replaced by genuine butterflies, and their wings were soft and pleasant.
