The whole ten-minute encounter with Ian had been an exercise in mortification. She couldn't even fathom why she had been so intent on getting Akasha from him. But she had thought the cat would bite or scratch him, and the thought of the meticulous Ian Carrington having his pricey pants torn into by her cat had panicked her. Of course, it had wound up being far more embarrassing to be crawling around on the floor in front of him, her eyes level with his crotch. She should have just let the damn cat sink her claws into his thigh.
"What?" Abby looked entirely unremorseful. "He's the dude I saw in the cards, and you're just blowing him off. I had to try and do something so you don't screw up the whole rest of your life."
Bree shuddered, a lifetime of attachment to such a pompous overachiever too horrific to contemplate.
Though she had to admit, if she were honest, the way he stared at her, like he wanted to take off her clothes and devote all of his intensity to her body, was hot.
Just a little. Okay, a lot. It was bizarre, given she didn't really like him, but her naughty bits seemed to think he could do a thing or two for her, because he turned her on, no doubt about it.
"I am not going to fall in love with that guy. But you were right about one thing—he does want to have sex with me. I picked up on that empathically."
Charlotte snorted. "You don't have to be empathic or psychic to figure that out. He was virtually drooling over your butt."
Bree involuntarily grabbed her backside. "He was?
Ohmigod, are you serious?"
Her sisters both nodded, Charlotte solemn, Abby gleeful.
"When did he do that?" And more importantly, how had her butt looked?
"When you were walking down the hall to the kitchen," Charlotte said.
Damn herself for wearing such a tight skirt. "Did I look okay? I mean, am I having a good-ass day or a bad-ass day? God, this is awful."
Charlotte laughed. "What the hell is a good-ass day?"
Bree saw nothing amusing about it. "You know, when your butt looks good in whatever you're wearing, when it's sort of living up to its fullest potential, being the best your butt can be." Duh.
But her sister looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"That is the freakiest thing I've ever heard you say, and you've said a lot of weird things over the years."
"Your butt looked great," Abby told her.
"See? Abby gets it." And Bree was marginally reassured. She didn't want to want Ian, and she didn't want him looking at her and not wanting her either.
"So we all know he wants to have sex with you, but the question is, do you want to have sex with him?"
Charlotte pinned her with a hard stare. "And be honest."
Did she have to be? Bree bit her lip, something she never did. Exasperated, with herself, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know. Maybe. He's totally not my type, and I know I don't want to date him, but I can admit that I find him attractive in the most basic animalistic sort of way." And his intensity fascinated her, but she was not going to say that out loud.
This was not the way she had pictured her day. It was supposed to be a normal day, in which she lamented her celibate status but simultaneously applauded her independence, when she spent time with her sisters putting up a Christmas tree and ate those satanically delicious butter cookies Charlotte insisted on baking.
"So just do him," Abby said. "It's a good jumping point."
When had her baby sister become so outrageous?
Wait. Abby had always been that way. Maybe it was the result of being conceived on a grave in the cemetery, but Bree should realize that literally anything could come out of Abby's mouth at any given moment.
"I can't just 'do him.' "
"Why not?" Charlotte asked.
And that was her conservative sister speaking. It boggled the mind. "Because," she said in exasperation.
"I can't."
"Why not?" Charlotte asked, shrugging.
"Well . . ." That was a good question. Why couldn't she really? She knew he wanted her. Lust was radiating all over his aura. She really was attracted to him, too, for whatever random reason.
But it seemed like such a risk, such a messy situation to walk into voluntarily. How would they even get from where they were to there, and if they did, what happened afterward? It sounded like a potential disaster. "Because . . ."
Akasha rubbed against her leg, the mistletoe still in its mouth. Inspiration struck. "Because it was the mistletoe that made him think he's into me. It's not real."
That should get her out of having to deal with it, and it might even be true. Even if Ian had arrived at the door looking like he wanted to eat her way before he'd had any contact with the lust-spell-loaded mistletoe.
"That's lame. When he comes back tomorrow I think you should go for it," Abby said.
"He's not going to come here tomorrow. He's probably going back to Chicago."
And she could forget all about Ian Carrington and his sexy brown eyes.
Except he didn't go back to Chicago.
Bree's stomach dropped when twenty-four hours later her doorbell rang and a peek out her front window showed none other than Ian standing on her doorstep again. Damn. How was that even possible?
And she was totally alone. Charlotte was at work, and Abby was at their parents' house. Alone was bad.
Dangerous. A test of her self-control, which—she had to admit—didn't seem all that intact.
At least she was wearing a loose skirt and a very unsexy black cardigan. That would help her feel less naked when he looked at her. Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door. The cardigan was insufficient armor. She still felt naked under his intense scrutiny.
"Hi." She tried to smile, but didn't quite manage more than a tight-lipped upturn.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you again, but my client has countered with another offer. Can I come in?"
That threw her off. Another offer on her house?
That was random. "Sure."
It was a long walk down the hall to the kitchen, and Bree's cheeks burned as she wondered if Ian was looking at her butt. It made her self-conscious, torn between wanting to put some effort into rolling her hips to show off her assets and wanting to cover herself with her hands. In the end, she tried really hard to just walk normally, but doubted she succeeded.
"Another offer? What does that mean exactly?" she asked him, gesturing for him to have a seat.
"It means that when I told my client you were not interested in selling, he upped the amount of his offer." Ian pulled out a piece of paper and pushed it over to her.
Bree's mouth went dry when she saw the dollar amount in black-and-white. "This is insane." It was a lot of money. She never would have guessed her grandmother's house was worth that much.
"It's a very respectable offer."
Bree glanced up at Ian. She couldn't tell if he cared one way or the other if she agreed to the offer. He had a poker face that was unnerving. Even his emotions, his aura, revealed nothing to her of his opinion about the house. But the sexual interest was there again. It was intense and vibrant, and it made her want to run away at the same time that it fired up every neuron in her body. He had the most compelling and intense eyes, and she felt seriously off kilter around him.
"I think it's actually too much. But that's irrelevant because I'm not going to sell. It's my grandmother's house." Bree couldn't part with the remaining piece of her grandmother, the woman who had taught her tarot and witchcraft. Charlotte had inherited their grandmother's tea shop, and had promptly turned it into a profitable coffee shop. That had been the smart, practical thing to do, but Bree couldn't help but miss the tea shop and its pleasant memories. She was sentimental in the extreme, and she wasn't going to sell the house just for the cash. She'd rather have that connection to her grandma indefinitely.
"I know."
"You know that it's my grandmother's house?"
"Yes. And I know that you won't sell it. But my client is wealthy and stubborn and used to getting what he wants. He'll keep making offers, and I'm obligated to deliver them. I'm sorry."
Ian didn't look sorry, exactly. He looked more ambivalent than anything. Like he was used to doing his job, following through on rich men's whims, and the outcome didn't much matter. It unnerved Bree a little, made her wonder who exactly Ian Carrington was and what he stood for. "It's okay. He can keep offering, but I'll just keep saying no. Seems like a waste of time, but I understand people are irrational."
As was her attraction to the man in front of her.
But she could also admit that she had spent most of her life living by emotion, not logic, so maybe her sisters were right. Maybe she needed to just embrace the idea of an affair with Ian. See where it led, if anywhere. Even if it went nowhere, she had a sneaking suspicion the sex would be well worth it.
"Well, I won't take up any more of your time then."
Ian tucked his paper away and stood up.
That was it? Bree frowned. Here she had virtually just decided that she could have sex with him, and he was just going to leave without asking her out or at least hitting on her or flirting?
She knew he wanted her. Knew it. It was irrefutable.
Yet he wasn't going to act on it? That was all sorts of wrong.
As was the fact that she was offended by his lack of action. The whole thing was ridiculous.
"Okay. Thanks." She had no idea what the hell she was thanking him for, but she was at a loss as to what else to say.
In sixty seconds he was down the hall and pausing on her porch right outside the front door. "Good-bye," he said. Then he smiled at her.
It was the first time she'd ever seen him smile, and it was devastating in its charm and sensuality. It revealed straight and white teeth and crooked up a little in the corner. It was a smile that said he knew what she was thinking, the kind of smile that could bring women to their knees, and most of all, it was the smile of a man who knew how to please a woman.