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I barely managed to keep my expression neutral, the thought of her wrinkled body exposed under the sun nearly turning my stomach. "And?"
"I don’t want to be the center of attention," she continued, her voice hard.
"You won’t be," I replied calmly. "This is the tallest building in the area. No one can see you from here."
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"Positive," I said, my patience wearing thin. I resisted the urge to suggest she test it out while I watched from the building next door.
She looked around the patio once more, then nodded. "I like this place, but fourteen million is a bit steep."
"There have been several inquiries about this apartment," I said, trying to push her just enough.
"Is that supposed to make me jump?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not at all," I replied smoothly. "I just want you to know where you stand."
She paused, considering. "I’ll need to discuss it with my brother."
"Will he be living here with you?" I asked, more out of formality than genuine interest.
"Of course not!" Mrs. Ducane snapped, narrowing her eyes at me as if I’d insulted her intelligence. "He’s a financial advisor. I don’t plan to purchase anything that won’t appreciate in the future."
"The housing market in Manhattan is solid," I replied, keeping my voice measured.
"But it might not be in six months," she shot back, her tone sharp.
I bit back the urge to ask if her brother had a crystal ball. How could he possibly know what the market would do in six months? "Possibly," I conceded, "but I doubt it will go down anytime soon." I gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to strike a balance between caution and confidence.
She eyed me for a moment, then asked, "Can you show me the upstairs master?"
Before I could respond, her red-tipped nails clamped down on my arm again. I led her up the winding, ornately carved stairway, feeling those claws dig into my skin with every step. Once inside the master bedroom, she released me and made a beeline for the walk-in closet, which was large enough to be a small bedroom on its own. I leaned against the white wall, my gaze drifting out the window to the few clouds dotting the sky. Anywhere but here would have been preferable.
"Mr. Elliot!" Mrs. Ducane’s voice snapped me back to reality.
I turned to find her standing in the closet doorway, watching me with a raised brow. "When do you need to know if I want to buy?" she asked, her tone suddenly businesslike.
I almost smiled but kept my face neutral. "The sooner, the better."
"You’ll have my answer by this evening," she replied curtly. "Now, if you could escort me to the lobby."
I let out a soft sigh. Escorting her meant I’d have to go all the way downstairs and then come back up to lock the doors. It was an inconvenience but getting Mrs. Ducane out of my hair was worth the extra effort. I led her down to the lobby and helped her into the back of her waiting black limo, making sure to flash her my most charming smile as I closed the door. "I’ll be in touch," she said, and I thanked her, watching as the limo pulled away.
As I rode the elevator back upstairs, my mind began to drift away from real estate and back to the woman in Lycra at the gym. This time, I allowed myself to indulge in the memory. The way her ass had bounced with every step on the elliptical—it was more than enough to make me harden like steel.
By the time I reached the penthouse, I was so uncomfortable that I couldn’t focus. I did something I shouldn’t have—I headed to the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind me. Leaning against the cold tiles, I stroked myself, letting the tension from the day and the thoughts of her body take over. It didn’t take long before I reached release, a brief moment of satisfaction in an otherwise frustrating day.
When I was done, I washed up quickly, feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt. I locked up the penthouse, turned off all the lights, and headed home, the image of her Lycra-clad figure still lingering in the back of my mind.
"Christ, Talon, would you drop this girl already?" I asked, exasperation seeping into my voice as I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples.
"I can’t," came his predictable reply, heavy with that same stubbornness I’d heard a thousand times before.
My younger brother had once again called to whine about Storm, the woman he’d been hopelessly in love with for years. The woman who wouldn’t even give him the time of day.
"Why the fuck not?" I pressed. "You’re handsome, rich. I’m sure plenty of women want to date you."
"I’m only interested in her," he said, his voice resolute.
