"He apologized to both of us, and said they need more time to ascertain where the error was made. Obviously, one of us got incorrect information. But he wouldn't give any indication as to which one of us that is."
"That doesn't sound like it bodes well for you. If he thought you were in the clear, he'd probably tell you."
She shrugged. "Why? He's not my lawyer."
"Yeah." He crossed his arms and dangled the bottle loosely from his fingers. "You should get one, though."
"I don't need one. I'm not personally involved in this."
He snorted. "Could have fooled me."
"Just because I take pride in my-"
"You know what? Don't care. You've violated your own boundaries. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put the rest of my beer in the fridge." He pushed off the wall and moved toward the table.
She frowned. "I came over here to give you an update. That's hardly the same thing as you making three meals a day in the kitchen."
"I didn't realize that cooking was so offensive to you."
"Cooking doesn't offend me, you oaf. You offend me. On purpose, I'm pretty sure."
"Look, I'm flying blind here. Like you, I'm not personally involved-" This time it was her turn to snort. Fine. They were both pretending on that front. "And I don't have a damn lawyer to call."
"Where's your friend?"
"I told you, he's busy."
"Doing something … important." Her voice dropped and stretched out the last word. He wasn't the only one going for a direct hit.
"You wound me," he said sarcastically, covering up the fact that it was also true. When did he get so God damned fragile?
Her cheeks flushed.
Gotcha, babe. She didn't have the stomach for warfare.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm willing to trade." She nervously licked her bottom lip, just the tip of her tongue peeking out to swipe the plump flesh. "It's likely that we're going to be sharing the estate for a while, so … I'd like to negotiate a more friendly agreement. I was hasty to say that we needed to steer clear of each other. What do you think about a trade? Access to the kitchen for access to the shower in here."
He told himself not to think about her mouth. Or the apology, either. "You're deluded, lady." He took a long swallow of beer, letting the bitter taste seep into his tongue to colour his next words. "I have full access to the entire estate because Will owns it and I am his agent. You're a squatter, and I'm allowing you to stay here out of the goodness of my heart."
"There's nothing good about your heart." Her tone sharpened again. "The rightful ownership is anything but clear, so I'm protecting the Historical Society's claim. I have a responsibility-"
It wasn't his fault that her flashing green eyes did him in. She was a vixen. A temptress. All brains and beauty and unwavering principle.
Unwavering principle always got him hot, even when it also got him hot under the collar.
Before she could finish her tirade of righteous indignation, he'd crossed the room and was crowding her against the door frame. Not touching her-he wouldn't do that until she was begging for it.
And the way the chemistry was sparking between them, she would. The heat damn near threatened to burn the place down.
"You don't need to trade, Cara. You can have access to the bathroom whenever you want."
Her nostrils flared and her eyes darkened, nearly emerald-green as her outrage hit maximum. "Without you lurking around. I want a schedule."
"I took my watch off the first day I got here, babe. It's not going back on."
"I'll make a sign."
"That's ridiculous." God, she smelled good. Vanilla and tropical blossoms. Her skin glowed with a honeyed warmth that distracted him from the fight, so he closed his eyes, but that just heightened his sense of smell.
And touch.
Strictly speaking, they weren't touching. But his skin prickled with awareness. Of her closeness. Her warmth. An impossible silky softness that reality surely couldn't live up to.
"What's the matter, Mick?" The soft, sultry, teasing purr was a complete surprise, and his eyes flew open just in time to catch her gaze jerk back to his face. But she wasn't embarrassed at having been caught checking him out. If anything, she sank with terrifying ease into this new seductress role.
Aw, hell. Like he'd been rendered into stone, he stood there, caught in the tangle of her attention.
She smiled, the ends of her mouth curving up gleefully. "I'm starting to think you're trying to intimidate me."
"You're not easily intimidated."
A slow shake of her head had her curls tumbling all over the place. They were … distracting. He could tangle his hands in them and force her to the floor … She licked her lips. "No, I'm not."
Time for him to go in for the kill. "I don't need to intimidate you, though, do I? I just need to put the fear of God in your board of directors. How much of a legal battle can they really afford against a billionaire?"
"Your friend isn't a billionaire."
"Close enough."
Her lips tightened. "That's awfully close to intimidation, Mr. Frasier."
"Just a reality wake-up call, Ms. Levasseur."
They stared at each other for a long, heated moment. Then she softened her face. It took effort, he could tell. But she sighed, and with that single, breathy noise, it didn't matter that she was putting this on for him.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly.
"Don't be," she said quietly, her lips twisting into an almost-smile. "We've been playing this tug-of-war since the moment we met, haven't we?"
"Seems so."
"Ever think that maybe … just for a night … we should drop the rope?"
"I think I tried a couple times," he said slowly. He wasn't going to try and kiss her again. Hell no. But every fiber of his being ached to find out where she was going with this.
"You did."
"What's changed?"
"Maybe we've been thinking about this all the wrong way," she whispered. "Maybe there's a way we could work together … " She trailed off and pressed her hand against his chest, spreading her fingers wide. She made a little humming sound that went straight to his blood stream.
"Together?"
"In more ways than one."
They'd been yanking Villa Sucre away from each other from the very second they met. Engaged in a mutually understood battle against each other.
Now she'd dropped the rope and was about to climb him like a tree.
In the distance, a warning bell sounded. There was something not quite right about this, but he couldn't see it because she was warm and sweet and right in front of him, all doe-eyed and willing.
Ring. The warning rang again, and it wasn't a bell, it was his fucking phone.
She glanced down his body, sighing with a regret that he felt to his bones. Noooo. But yes, after days of silence, someone had chosen this moment to fucking call him back.
Fuck.
He stepped back and yanked his phone from his pocket. Will. He should take it. No, he needed to take it. His best friend did not take a back seat to whatever fucked up chemistry experiment they were messing with.
He waved his index finger in the air between them, pointing in the general direction of her cutely twitching nose. "This is not over."
"I'm sure it's not," she murmured, her eyes dancing as she stepped backwards toward the door. "And I still want access to the bathroom."
"Not going to happen," he muttered without conviction. If she wanted to join him in the shower, he wasn't going to say no. If she wanted to join him in the shower, he'd roll over and expose his belly to her.
Swallowing that realization, he watched her walk back across the garden, then hit the call answer button on the fourth ring. "Yo."
"Did I interrupt a siesta?"
"Fuck you and your lawyers. What the hell is going on?"
"I was on exercise," Will laughed, clearly unperturbed by the fact Mick was losing his mind over an intoxicating woman. Of course, Mick hadn't shared that fact with his best friend. Hadn't full realized the extent of the problem until a few minutes ago. "Anyway, I'm sorry about the mess. I've put a call in to the senior associate at the law firm. Should have more information for you by the end of day tomorrow. Is the historical society lady giving you a lot of grief?"
She'd given him a fucking hard-on. Did that count? "She's got a lot invested in this place, Will. I don't think she's going to accept being blown off."
"Just remember, Villa Sucre is our ticket, baby. Don't worry about it."
Mick loved Will. A lot. Most of the time.
But when his friend slipped into that easy-life, frat-boy, rich-kid mentality, totally used to getting his own way and believing that no obstacle was really a problem …