surprised Ian. He wouldn't have expected that to be her choice in decor. Then again, he really knew very little about her at all. He needed to remember that. Own it. Eat it, damn it. There was no reason to be attracted to Bree Murphy.
"I have a client who would like to make an offer for the house." There. That sounded professional and completely lacking in lust.
"An offer? What does that mean?" Bree was looking at him with total suspicion, her fingers playing with the edge of a rich blue place mat.
"Someone wants to buy the house?" Charlotte asked, her lip curling up in horror. "Grandma's house?"
Ian didn't know the particulars, but he did know that Bree had inherited the house from her grandmother. He had assumed she would be reluctant, but he was obligated to make the offer for his client. And it had given him a legitimate excuse to ring Bree's doorbell. "Yes." Ian pulled out the contract that detailed the offer and passed it across the table. "It's a generous offer."
Bree took the paper, glanced down at it, and blanched. "Who the hell thinks my house is worth this much money?"
"My client does." Ian leaned back in his chair and tried to project casual. It was likely he wasn't succeeding because Bree was glaring at him, and all he could think about was leaning over the table and kissing her. Running his hands down her sides, raking his fingers through her hair, and licking every inch of her. It made focusing on real estate damn difficult.
"What's his name? What is he going to do with the house?"
"You're not going to actually consider this, are you?" Abby looked at Bree in disbelief.
"No, absolutely not. But I'm curious who this person is and why he wants my house."
All Ian heard was that she wasn't interested. "If you're not going to accept the offer, I don't see any reason to tell you his plans for the property." Then they could disregard what had supposedly brought him there initially and move straight to his asking her out for dinner, which was what he planned to do now that he realized there was no possibility of his attraction dissolving on sight. It had actually increased now that he was sitting close enough to touch her, and he would have thought that was impossible.
She obviously wasn't feeling the lust, if that sniff of disdain was any indication. "Why the hell can't you tell me who he is? What difference does it make? Is he some kind of pervert? A drug dealer? Was he planning to turn my granny's Victorian into a whorehouse?"
"Uh . . ." Ian was momentarily caught off guard. A whorehouse? Did they even have those anymore? "No. I believe he intended to use it as a private residence since that's the way its zoned, but it's not really my job to grill him on his specific intentions."
"What is your job anyway? I thought you were a lawyer. Why are you selling real estate?"
Ian shifted in his chair, annoyed. He wasn't there to present her with his resume. "I'm not selling or buying real estate. I am a properties attorney. My client uses me to do his contracts instead of a real-estate agent."
"Why?"
Ian wasn't exactly sure how to explain that he worked for millionaires, who had no patience for real-estate agents, but he was saved from having to answer when something brushed against his leg. He glanced down and saw a black cat. Big surprise that Bree would make that her pet of choice. But he liked cats, so he reached down and scratched behind the feline's ears and was rewarded with a purr.
"Abby, get Akasha!" Bree said, nudging her sister. "You know she hates men."
Ian glanced down at the cat, who was nuzzling his pants and weaving in and out between his legs. "It's fine. I don't mind."
"She'll bite you. I'm serious. She hates men."
Ian kept scratching, and the purring kicked up a notch. "She seems to like me." And damn if he didn't feel a little sense of triumph over that.
"She does," Abby said, eyes wide. "Bree, do you know what that means? It means—"
"That you need to stop talking," Bree said, glaring at her sister. "Akasha is probably just waiting for the right minute to sink her claws into his leg."
Bree jumped out of her seat and got down on the floor next to him, reaching for her cat. It was an interesting twist on the current situation, and Ian didn't move, curious how the moment would play out. He just sat there with Bree moving closer and closer to his knees as she crawled around on the floor, reaching for the elusive cat, who darted away from her and around the back of Ian's chair.
"Akasha!" Bree frowned. "I'm really sorry, she really doesn't like men and I really need to get her before she—"
Bree stopped talking when the cat jumped up on his lap, kneaded her paws into his thighs, and sat down. Ian scratched Akasha again with one hand and used the other to play a little tug-of-war with the sprig of greenery in her mouth. It looked like mistletoe, oddly enough. Ian stared at it, a little unnerved. Funny how much mistletoe had factored in all of his sexual dreams about Bree. They always started with mistletoe, either hanging in a doorway, or in Bree's hands, teasing him to kiss her. And he always did, and it went to really happy and horny places after that.
It was crazy that the cat, the black cat, belonging to the self-proclaimed witch he was so attracted to, was chomping on mistletoe. In fact, it was disturbing enough that Ian decided it was time to leave.
"So you're not interested?" he asked her, very aware of the fact that she was on her knees right in front of his knees and under different circumstances, that would be a beautiful thing.
"Uh . . . what?" Bree looked up at him in confusion, her pale cheeks tinted pink again.
He thought it was damn cute that she blushed. Witches shouldn't blush, but he liked it when she did.
"The house," he prompted. "You're really not interested in selling it?"
"The house. Right. Yes. I mean, no. No, I am definitely not interested in selling it. Sorry." She snatched the cat off his lap.
Only Ian was still holding the mistletoe, as was the cat, and Bree wound up effectively stretching Akasha out to her full furry length between the two of them. She gave him a pointed look, so he dropped the mistletoe.
She stood up and cuddled the cat against her chest.
Ian didn't think a dinner invitation would have any chance whatsoever of being accepted, so he stood up as well. "Thanks for your time. I'll let my client know you're not interested."
"Thanks." Bree's mouth opened like she was going to say something, but then she closed it again.
The silence hung awkwardly for a second while they stared at each other for no apparent reason other than that Ian was having a hard time making his feet move him to the door. He really needed to come up with another excuse to see her. Tomorrow. But his brain wasn't cooperating and creating any plausible reason. Just when he was about to give up and save face by exiting, Abby stepped between them, breaking Ian and Bree's eye contact.
"You don't need a reason, Ian," Abby said. "You can totally stop by tomorrow."
Ian started. Had the kid read his mind or what? His feet lost their paralysis, and on that note, he waved good-bye to the women and got the hell out of there.
Chapter 2
"Abby, what are you doing?" Bree stood in her front hall watching Ian Carrington head down the snowy walk to an expensive-looking black car. "Are you just trying to embarrass the hell out of me or do you have a death wish?"
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.
So Bree shut the door on his sexy face.
She didn't feel like playing games.
Or maybe she was offended that he could want her physically but had reservations about liking her, as a person.
Of course, she was doing the same thing about him. Wanting his body but not necessarily him.
Which made the whole damn thing too complicated. She was letting it go. Done with it.
But she still found herself wandering back into the kitchen and pulling out her tarot cards. Maybe they would reveal to her why, exactly, a sexy lawyer from Chicago had popped into her life, only to pop right back out.
Only all she could seem to see in the cards was a future real-estate transaction, which was totally boring, and totally wrong. She was not going to sell her house to Ian Carrington's rich client.
"Never," she said out loud to the spread in front of her, pushing all the cards back into a pile and wondering if she had any ice cream in the freezer.
Cold outside or not, she could use a little comfort from the carton.
Chapter 3
Ian was pulling in the driveway of the bed-and-breakfast he was staying in, annoyed with himself for wimping out and not asking Bree to dinner, when he sensed movement in the car with him. He glanced over to the passenger seat and slammed on the brakes.
"What the hell?"
Bree's cat was sitting on the seat, staring up at him calmly, mistletoe dangling from her mouth.
"How did you get into my car?" The doors had been shut at Bree's house. Locked. He was positive of that. Even if he had, just this one time, inadvertently forgotten to lock it, it wasn't like the cat could open car doors by herself.
But Akasha wasn't answering him, thank God, and he had no choice but to put the car in reverse and drive back to Bree's. Ian glanced over at the cat every few seconds, wary of her. He didn't believe in magic or witches or the power of black cats.
Nonetheless, he had a feline Houdini miraculously sitting next to him at the end of a five-minute drive, and it was weirding him out. Especially since the cat just stared at him, that sprig of greenery dangling from her mouth, her big green eyes unblinking.
"What?" Ian asked her in irritation. "You look stupid with that thing hanging from your mouth, you know."
Akasha dropped the mistletoe onto the seat.
Ian felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Man, he needed to get out of this town. Cuttersville billed itself as Ohio's Most Haunted Town, and he had always thought it was a ridiculous designation. Now he was struggling with the illogic of certain things, like the dreams he'd been having and this crazy-ass cat.
"Okay, you're home. Bree is probably wondering where the hell you are." Ian parked his car in Bree's driveway and gave a sigh as he glanced up at the big Victorian. It was a cool house, totally different from his streamlined, modern apartment, reminding him a bit of the house in which he'd grown up, though his mother's farmhouse had been more shabby than architecturally intriguing. But this Victorian was pretty and complicated, somewhat brooding and mysterious. The alleged witch who lived there shared the same characteristics with her house, and Ian doubted she was going to be thrilled to see him again. She didn't seem to like him, nor did she seem to be suffering from the same overpowering lust that he was. Unfortunately.
Grabbing the cat in a firm grip, Ian carried her up the walk and rang the bell.
Bree answered the door with a frown. "What are you doing with Akasha?"
Not much of a greeting. Yeah, she so wasn't interested in him. She held her hands out for her pet, and Ian turned the cat over.
"She was in my car . . . it was the weirdest thing. I drove all the way through town and looked over, and suddenly she was just sitting on the passenger seat." He still couldn't imagine how it had happened, but there it was.
Bree's eyebrows rose. "You can't be serious."
"Totally. I have no idea how it could have happened, but I swear to God, she was suddenly just there with me."
"Yeah, because cats just open car doors and jump in." Bree rolled her eyes.
Ian frowned back. "I know it's insane," he said in irritation. "But she was in my car, and I didn't put her there."
"Whatever."
There was no single word more designed to incite Ian's anger. He couldn't stand it when people said that to him. It catapulted him back to childhood, when his older sister would toss "whatever" at him a hundre