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Slowly, I exhaled, then dipped into my purse for a business card. It was heavy black cardstock, my name embossed in a glossy, sleek white font. He took it, then tapped it against his thigh.
“I’ll take some measurements before I leave, email you the estimate and a contract when I’m done.” His eyes lingered on my face. “I guess I’ll talk to you soon, Ivy Lynch.”
When he said my name, I felt a prophetic rumbling deep under my chest. Tectonic plate movements had less of an impact when they triggered something deep under the earth’s surface, and that shit caused earthquakes and tsunamis.
Somehow, Cameron Wilder had even greater power than that.
I didn’t want to think about why that felt like a portent of great doom—the lift of the hairs on the back of my neck when he said my name.
So I ignored that too, pivoting on my heel and striding quickly back to the car.
Chapter 7
Cameron
“What the hell was that?”
My brother’s incredulous statement went unanswered as Ivy’s very nice car pulled out onto the road and out of view.
My head was spinning. There weren’t enough deep breathing exercises in the world for this, and no matter how many I tried to take, she’d still completely knocked me off my axis.
When I met her, I had a feeling she was well-off—with discussions of family businesses and marriages to keep things contained within those families.
Ivy was Wealthy, with a capital W.
She stepped out of that car, with her tailored black dress and shining heels and sleek hair and black sunglasses and carved features, and it felt like someone parked a truck on my chest.
That was only one of the revelations from her first visit, and my brain couldn’t stagger through any more of them with my stupid brother bearing witness.
“Not now, Ian,” I said, digging my measuring tape and my iPad out of the back of the truck. “Get your shit and come help me measure rooms.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Good. Your dick would probably fall off from frostbite.”
“Hey,” I barked, “don’t say shit like that about her.”
My brother’s movements slowed, then his expression changed instantly.
Fucking hell.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
I wrenched my tool belt around my waist and tightened it, keeping my eyes on the ground.
“You check the perimeter and the state of the exterior. I’ll start measuring interior rooms.”
“I would’ve been nicer to her if I knew you wanted to sleep with her.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“So you do want to sleep with her?”
My eyes narrowed in his direction. “She’s a client. I don’t sleep with clients.”
“Is that in the Wilder Homes handbook?” He pursed his lips, staring up at the house. “She’s not my usual type, but she’s hot. Scary but hot. I guess I’ve always liked that in a woman. Maybe she softens up with a warmer approach.”
