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“Oh, butdarling,I thought we were engaged? Isn’t it all the rage now to play house the minute there’s a ring involved?” She sends me a long look over her shoulder, eyes hooded. “Besides, fair’s fair.”
“Fine,” I snarl, leaning on the kitchen island. “Fucking fine, you win. You want to come here and see where I live? Have at it, sweetheart. Help yourself to a drink and stay a while.”
Her mouth hardens like she’s sucking citrus. For the faintest second, my mind goes other places, wondering what she could really do with those lips.
But she just strides toward the stairs.
“Where’s the basement? I’d better make sure there aren’t any dead bodies down there, and you can bet I’ll be rummaging through all your closets—God, I bet they’re enormous—just to check for skeletons.”
“I know you don’t trust me—”
She pins me down with another glare. “Don’t trust you? After all this, you expect me to just settle and take your word for anything?” She finds the stairs leading down and flicks on the light. There’s so much repressed anger in her movements I’m surprised she doesn’t combust into a pile of ash.
“Nothing but a couple guest rooms, a reading area, and my home gym,” I explain. “If you’ve never seen a gym before, knock yourself out.”
Her eyes flash hellfire.
Shit, I didn’t mean it like that.
I open my mouth to apologize, but she shoots first.
“Mr. Rory, let’s get one thing straight. You’ve already insulted my intelligence. That’s bad enough, but I can deal.” She strides forward, her teeth tucked into a sharp smile. “But listen, if you think I’ll just stand here while you insult anything else—”
“I didn’t mean it like you think, Winkley. There’s nothing wrong with your looks—nothing at all. I slipped.”
“Uh-huh,” she says tightly. “You do that a lot, don’t you? You could try some speech therapy.”
“Woman, I told you I fucked up. I don’t need this shit.”
“And I donotneed any sarcasm from you, Big Fish.”
I’m fucking speechless. Again.
How is she so good at turning my tongue into a useless sponge?
“Can we get on with this interruption?” I fold my arms, matching her gaze with mine. She glances down my chest again, at the worst of the sweat, then looks at the equipment.
“You were working out?”
“When you showed up? Yeah. Evening routine.”
“I’m not surprised.” She wrinkles her nose as I follow her downstairs. It doesn’t take her long to find the exercise room. “This whole place smells like money and—ew, man-sweat.”
“Ididn’t invite you down here.” Or to my house at all. “If you have a problem with the smell, leave.”
“Actually, no. I have a problem withyou.” She shoves the note I sent her—and the check—straight into my chest. The shock of it makes me stumble back a step.
“How dare you,” she mutters.
Oh, fuck.
My eyebrows go up.
“Now you’re pissed when I offer you money?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. Ugh! You know what, screw this.” She runs both hands through her hair and storms back upstairs.
If she needs space, I get it.
