Sway With Me(11)

She laughed. No question, the house needed some work.

“Are you okay? You didn’t break anything, did you?” she asked as she stood, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“I’m good. You?” At her nod, he rolled over on his back and stared up at her. “No one could ever argue that we don’t know how to make an entrance.”

He gave her a sexy smile, which set off all sorts of little tremors in her lower belly. She bit her tongue and stretched her feet, doing her exercises to distract her from the arousal pulsing between her thighs. His eyes darkened from caramel to chocolate as they tracked her motions, confirming her earlier suspicions about his foot fetish.

She immediately stopped. “Can I help you off the floor or are you enjoying the view?”

His eyebrows rose and he smirked.

“I meant the house. Not me,” she stammered, her cheeks growing hot.

He leaned onto his elbows. “I am enjoying the view, but I think I can get up without assistance.”

He stood and edged toward her. His hand lightly brushed her cheek causing her heart to race. “You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your face.”

“Thanks.” She stepped back, tripping over her heels. Her hand shot out and grabbed his shirt as an anchor before she fell on her butt. The heat in his brown eyes singed her, a burn she felt from her head to her toes. Her breath shuttered, betraying how he affected her. Darn oxygen. She swallowed hard and released her hold on his shirt. “Why don’t you give me a tour?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably.



Her plan to sway him to her way of thinking did not include falling into bed with him. While she enjoyed their banter, she couldn’t give in to their attraction. She’d never turn into her mother.

“Follow me and stay close. Judging by the door, who knows what awaits us.” He took her hand and pulled her further into the grand foyer, a large entranceway with gray marble tiles resembling cobblestones, and a sweeping staircase, which appeared as though it went all the way up to the princess locked in the tower.

She didn’t want to be rude and pull her hand away, but she didn’t want Ryan to get the wrong idea. Not to mention her girly parts already had a grand design on what they wanted to do with Ryan, despite what her brain was saying to the contrary. That’s what she got for placing sex on the back burner while she put all her energy into her career.

She stopped underneath a crystal chandelier and jerked him back a step. “Ryan?”

He turned on his heels. “Portia?”

She intended to tell him how much she treasured having him as her friend in a city where she didn’t know anyone and how much she appreciated having him as part of her family. But instead, “I’m not going to sleep with you,” tumbled out.

That wasn’t what she meant to say. Why’d her mouth always jump two sentences ahead of her brain? Ryan’s face gave away nothing. What was he thinking? “I mean, I’m not saying I think that you want to, or I want to, it’s just—”

“Not a good idea.”



She blew out a breath. “Yes.”

She was relieved, right? Then why’d she suddenly feel as though a bowling ball had lodged in her stomach?

He looked amused, a grin on his handsome face. “You’re right. We’re practically cousins.”

“Right. We’re family and it would be—”

“Awkward?”

“Yes, awkward, if things—when things—end, we don’t need any complications. We both have goals in mind for this house, and I wouldn’t want you—I mean, either one of us—to use sex to change the other’s mind.”

Judging by the burning sensation, a red blush stained her cheeks, neck, and chest. She’d always suffered from the nervous condition, and had to apply layers of foundation to her skin before a performance or she’d look like a dancing tomato by the end of the first act. Plus her mother and sister could always tell when she lied by the color of her skin.

She squirmed under his gaze. Oddly, his nostrils flared, drawing her attention to what an aristocratic nose he had. Didn’t he have a single flaw?

After what felt like minutes, he finally shook his head, laughing. “You don’t have to worry about me. I promise not to touch you. Ready for more of the tour?”

The last time she was this embarrassed, she’d fallen off the stage doing a Grand Jeté en Avant, baring her pantiless ass through ripped tights. Not that anyone present cared about seeing her naked ass.

Uncomfortably warm, she removed her jacket. “Ready.” She followed closely behind him, not checking out his butt or muscular thighs, or how his muscles rippled as he walked.