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Bree said "lawyer" with the disgust generally reserved for con artists who bilked seniors of their life savings. But he ignored that. At least she remembered meeting him. A blank look from her would have been a serious blow to his ego. "Exactly. It's great to see you again, Bree. Do you have a minute? I have a business proposition I'd like to discuss with you."
"Uh . . . sure. Okay." Bree looked confused, but she did step back to let him in, bumping into a girl in the process who Ian recognized as her younger sister. "Abby, give me some breathing room," she said in annoyance. Then to him, "Come on in."
As Ian stepped into the entryway of the house, Abby was grinning from ear to ear, which was a little distracting. Ian offered her his hand as well. "Ian Carrington."
"Abigail Murphy," she said, still smiling. "I'm psychic."
One of Ian's eyebrows shot up before he could stop it. "That's nice," he said, for lack of anything better to say. Kookiness obviously ran in the family.
"Abby," Bree said, her voice laced with warning.
"I just told Bree not fifteen minutes ago that a guy with a pink shirt was going to ring her doorbell and that you—"
Bree's hand clapped over her sister's mouth, cutting off Abby's words. Bree gave him a sheepish look, her cheeks tinting with embarrassment. "Sorry. She's sweet but delusional."
Ian glanced down involuntarily at his pink shirt. Why did he get the feeling he'd just been insulted? What the hell was wrong with pink anyway? It wasn't like it was hot pink, it was a very faint, light, barely there pink. It was a very now color in corporate circles. It was GQ, damn it.
But something about Bree Murphy and her Goth clothes suddenly made him feel . . . unmanly. Not a good feeling, given the dreams he'd been having, which all involved her running her fairskinned fingers with those black nails over his chest, down his na-
vel, and landing on his . . .
Ian dragged himself back to reality. "I won't take up a lot of your time, I just wanted to discuss this house with you. You're the owner, correct?"
Bree frowned at him. "Yes. Why?"
A blonde came down the hall and gave the women a pointed look. "Maybe he would like to sit down and have a cup of tea."
"Oh, that's not necessary," he protested, when Bree gave the woman a look of horror. "I just need a minute."
"No, no," Bree said, looking flustered and embarrassed and damn adorable. "We should at least sit down. This is my other sister, Charlotte, by the way."
"Charlotte Murphy-Thornton," the blonde said, sticking her hand out and giving his a firm shake.
"Ian Carrington."
Charlotte's type he understood. She was the kind of woman he normally interacted with. She was dressed in a twin sweater set in a shade of green that flattered her complexion, and she wore tasteful gold jewelry, enough for a flash, but not so much that it was gaudy. If he was going to lust after a Murphy sister, Charlotte should be the one. They were a logical fit. Of course, his client Amanda had told him Charlotte was newly married, and there was nothing logical about what he was feeling anyway because he wanted Bree in all her black. And then out of all of her black. Naked. Dark hair tumbling over her bare flesh.
He was insane, absolutely completely out of his normally practical mind. And horny. With no explana-tion for either.
Charlotte and Bree led him down the hallway to the kitchen, and Ian fought the urge to look at Bree's sexy backside. He lost. It was a good view, and he didn't want to miss it. She was wearing a long, stretchy black skirt that hugged her curves in a way that made him sweat.
Abby patted him on the arm as she walked next to him. "It's okay, you can't help it. It's destiny."
"What?" The youngest Murphy sister definitely freaked him out. He had no idea what to make of her.
"It will all make sense soon," she told him.
He could only hope. Because so far his preoccupat-ion with Bree made no sense whatsoever, nor could he figure out why all his sexual dreams involving her took place in a Christmas setting. It was weird as hell, and said questionable things about his psyche.
"What about the house?" Bree said, after they were all seated at a vintage table.
It was painted in a soft shade of pink that
surprised Ian. He wouldn't have expected that to be her choice in decor. Then again, he really knew very little about her at all. He needed to remember that. Own it. Eat it, damn it. There was no reason to be attracted to Bree Murphy.
"I have a client who would like to make an offer for the house." There. That sounded professional and completely lacking in lust.
"An offer? What does that mean?" Bree was looking at him with total suspicion, her fingers playing with the edge of a rich blue place mat.
