Page 42 of Reluctantly Yours

Barrett reaches across me to open the door.

“This is where I live.”

“No. That’s not possible.” I shake my head. “Your home is perched on top of a building, overlooking the mere mortals that dare to breathe your same air.” I glance forlornly at the beautiful exterior of the home I imagine Barrett has ruined the inside of. He’s likely outfitted it with some modern concrete and glass décor a la his minimalist office. Turned it into some cold gray box with square lights and chairs that look like they belong in a dentist office. Ugh. “Where are the gargoyles?”

“Now who’s being judgy?” His brows lift and his lips twitch with amusement.

He’s too close again. Close enough I can smell him. And what’s up with Barrett not smelling after playing tennis in the heat? His cologne is faint now, mixed with potent pheromones and an intoxicating musk. He should bottle his scent, call it Sweaty Guy. It would sell millions.

It’s the racquet club all over again only now there’s one thousand nine hundred and ninety-five square feet less surrounding us. His eyes, those lips, that lickable jaw. I need to find something on his face that doesn’t make me want to spontaneously combust when I look at it.

“You have great eyebrows. Do you get them waxed?” I ask.

“Do I look like a man who gets his eyebrows waxed?” He furrows them now, really showing off their range.

“No. You look like a man whose hair is genetically programed to grow in the exact right spot.”

He studies me for a moment.

“Anything else, Chloe?”

“I just really like your eyebrows. They’re probably my favorite thing about you,” I lie. “No one’s ever asked, but I want to be prepared with an answer.”

“Is that what you would say, if asked?”

“It’s not the girlfriend answer I would give.”

“What is the girlfriend answer you would give?”

My eyes betray me, landing squarely in Barrett’s lap. When I glance back up to meet his gaze, he’s practically laughing at me. It’s a rare sight to behold. So much so that I almost manage to forget that I was just staring at his crotch.

“Your charming personality,” I choke out.

Barrett leans in closer, his face barely visible in my periphery.

“Do you know what I’d say?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“The way your eyes light up when they spot the outline of my dick in tennis shorts.”

My jaw drops to the floor of the car.

“That’s not—” I begin to argue.

“My boyfriend answer is your smile.”

Barrett retreats from the side of my head and exits out the other door. Marcus has already unloaded most of my items. He’s set my suitcase and laptop bag on the quaint stoop I was admiring minutes ago. Back before Barrett’s deep, full-bodied voice whispered the word dick into my ear. That must have been in another life because I’m dead now.

I think he said something about my smile. I can’t be sure, he lost me at dick. I’ve also had a head injury today so I’m not sure if he didn’t just say to make myself at home.

I have two options. Stay in this car and live here until my apartment is rodent-free or manage to get my highly aroused body out of the car and climb the stairs to Barrett’s stoop with wobbly legs. I opt for option two because option one will inevitably have me coming face to face with Barrett at some point, since this is his car, and I’d like to put more than two feet between us. So, I discreetly fan my flushed cheeks for half a minute then meet him on the sidewalk.

Gripping the handrail, I manage to make it up the stairs without any more head trauma.

“I love that you have a stoop. It’s so quaint.” I turn to look back to the street from my temporary residence. “I’m sure there’s some interesting history behind it.”

“It was so the parlor floor was a level above the horse manure.” Barrett’s lips twitch.