The double entendre hit home, her cheeks reddening not from the cold, but arousal. “Oh. Good.”
“Where do you want to do it,” he drawled.
“Make the offer, you mean?” She cleared her throat. “All you have to do is tell me what you…want and I’ll…make it happen.”
Aw, she wasn’t used to casual sex. How sweet.
“Here.”
“I’m sorry?” she said, finally looking up into his eyes.
He smiled slow and tight so his fangs didn’t show. “The offer. Let’s do that here?”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” He stepped in closer, but not so close that they were touching. He was happy to seduce her, but she had to be one hundred percent sure she was into the grind. “You ready?”
“To…make…the offer.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s, ah, it’s cold in here,” she said. “Maybe at my office? That’s where most of the…offers…get handled.”
From out of nowhere, the image of his brother sitting on the sofa at home, staring at him like he was the frickin’ problem, hit him hard—and as it stuck around, he realized that he’d had sex with almost every woman he’d come across in the last…shit, how long?
Well, obviously, if they weren’t of mateable age he hadn’t been with them.
Or fertile.
Which cut out what, like, a dozen or two? Great. What a hero.
What the fuck was he doing? He didn’t want to go back to this woman’s office—for one thing, there wasn’t enough time, assuming he wanted to be at the Iron Mask for opening. So the only option was right here, standing up, her skirt around her waist, her legs around his hips. Quick, to the point; then go their separate ways.
After he’d told her how much cash he was willing to pay for this warehouse, of course.
But then what? It wasn’t like he was going to bang her at the closing. He rarely did repeats, and only if he was seriously attracted or really itchy—which in this case he was not.
For chrissakes, what exactly was he getting out of this? It wasn’t like he was going to see her naked. Or have much skin-on-skin contact.
Unless…that was the point.
When was the last time he’d really been with a female? Like, properly. As in…nice dinner, little music, some necking that led to a bedroom…then long, slow, patient shit where he had a couple of orgasms.
And no choking sense of panic when it was over.
“You were going to say something?” the woman prompted him.
iAm was right. He didn’t need to be doing this crap. Hell, he wasn’t even attracted to the Realtor. She was standing in front of him; she was available; and that wedding ring on her finger meant she was probably not going to cause a lot of trouble after it was over—because she had something to lose.
Trez took a step back. “Listen, I—” As his phone went off in his coat, he thought, Perfect timing—and checked it. It was iAm. “’Scuse me. I have to take this. Hey, what you doing, little brother?”
iAm’s reply was soft, like he’d lowered his voice. “We got company.”
Trez’s body tensed. “What kind and where.”
“I’m home.”
Oh, shit. “Who is it.”
“It’s not your betrothed, relax. It’s AnsLai.”
The high priest. Fantastic. “Well, I’m busy.”
“He’s not here to see me.”
“Then he’d better go back where he came from, because I’m otherwise engaged.” When there was nothing but silence over the connection, all he had to do was dub in the ass-kicking. Unable to keep still, he stalked around. “Look, what do you want me to do?”
“Stop running and deal with this.”
“There’s nothing to deal with. I’ll catch you later, ’kay?”
He waited for a response. Instead, the line went dead. Then again, when you expected your brother to clean up your crap, the guy wasn’t likely to be in the mood for a protracted good-bye.
Trez hung up and glanced over at the Realtor. Smiling widely, he walked to her and looked down. Her lipstick was a little too coral for her complexion, but he didn’t care.
The shit wasn’t going to be on her mouth for much longer.
“Let me show you how warm I can make it in here,” he said with a slow smile.
Back at the Brotherhood mansion, up in Layla’s room, a kind of détente had been reached among the various interested parties.
Phury wasn’t trying to turn Qhuinn into a wall hanging. Layla was getting assessed. And the door had been shut so that anything that went down was going to have no more than a quartet of firsthand witnesses.