Page 50 of Lavish

“Mrow,” he said to her.

“It’s huge.”

“He’sa Maine coon. Respect his breed.”

She stepped back, holding the door wide enough for me to slip through, and glared at Doughboy.

“Keep him away from me.”

The inside was all slick lines and sharp corners. Muted tones dominated the space, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the town down to the marina and the Pacific Ocean beyond. The furniture was clean and angular, every piece looking like it belonged in some fancy design magazine.

“Doughboy is a free spirit. He goes where he pleases,” I said. “If he gracesyou with his company, be glad.”

“You will abide by my rules,” Serena snapped.

“Your rules, huh?” I said, slipping into the condo like I wasn’t seconds from combusting in annoyance. “Damn, déjà vu. Just missing the chore wheel and being grounded if I forgot to take out the trash.”

Serena sent me another glare, but I felt like it was losing its threat.

My rules. My rules. My rules.

I remembered how she used to say that when we were kids. Whenever Yvonne put Serena in charge of stuff, like cleaning the attic or garage, Serena bossed us around like a drill sergeant.

“Open blinds and dim the lights,” Serena commanded.

The condo sprang to life instantly. The blinds whooshed open, and a warm glow filled the room from the setting sun. Smooth jazz started playing from hidden speakers.

“Wow.” I whistled low. “So this is how the other half lives. Must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Noelle.” Serena’s tone was flat. “She wants me to test her new software. We’re thinking of partnering on a few smart houses.”

“Tell Noelle I’m impressed. I only have that basic shit that comes on the phone, and it judged me every time I ordered pizza at two a.m.”

Still nothing.

I finally noticed that Serena had changed out of the pantsuit from earlier.

Loose, comfortable jeans. I felt like I was twenty-seven again, peeling them off her body, listening to her breath hitch as my hands mapped skin I had no business touching.

I dragged my gaze up, past the wild strands of hair slipping free from her short ponytail, past the delicate line of her throat. Her bare feet tapped against the floor, an absent, restless habit.

She looked so fucking touchable. And I wanted to.

Which only pissed me off more.

“I have a pullout couch.” Serena crossed her arms. “It’s in my office. You can put everything there.”

“All I get is a pullout couch? Damn, no guest room with a little mint on the pillow?”

“I don’t like people in my space,” she said. “A guest room encourages…lingering. And I’ve worked very hard to ensure that Gigi and Walter never get the idea to sleep over unannounced again.”

I smirked. “I’m being punished because your sister’s a bad houseguest?”

“Exactly,” Serena said, turning toward the hallway. “This is not the Motel 6. You’ll be on your way soon too.”

“This is a marriage,” I pushed. “Couples share beds. Isn’t that in our marriage clause?”

“Don’t play with me, Miles.”