The Hot List Page 4
“Now, I’ve got one more must-have,” the woman says. “We had two children, and although they got an education and are out being productive in the world, I need to know that this place will either hold its value for them to sell, or it will be a place their families can come even when I’m gone. I want a house built to last, I’m saying, not a place that lays plywood under hardwood veneer to save money in order to tart up the house with smart gadgets that’ll be outdated in four years.”
I almost chuckle at her scolding tone, and I wonder what Audrey will say. We’ve only had a day to get to know this place, and I’d bet that she concentrated on emotional appeal rather than financials. I watch her face closely, and see the hesitation before she presses her lips together and nods like she’s got a plan of attack.
“I can definitely set your mind at ease about quality. This isn’t a gimmick house. That floor? Solid hickory. The stone is locally sourced and hand-laid by master craftsmen, and the bones of the house are heart pine. This place is old-school in that way, built to outlast us all.”
Their footsteps sound on the veranda, and one set comes my way. Damn. One in a thousand clients will pore over the place like Sherlock, and it looks like she’s one of them. She pokes her head into my little nook and draws back with a start.
I stand, extending a hand and flashing my best smile. “I’m sorry to startle you. I’m Caleb Mercer. Don’t mind me; I’m just part of the scenery.”
The widow smiles a little. “You’re certainly handsome enough for the job, young man. I’m Patricia Hartwell.” I recognize the name, and remember hearing the news of John Hartwell’s death last year. Yeah, she can definitely afford this place.
Behind her, Audrey fidgets while I make small talk. I hardly know what I’m saying, because I’m hyper aware of her every move. One hand wraps around her middle, and she props an elbow on that arm. Restless fingers pinch the side of her lip. Finally, she releases the lip and her hands fall as she seems to settle whatever question she was worrying over.
“Caleb, Patricia and I were just talking about property values.”
She pauses as if waiting for me to weigh in. But I know this is her weak area, just like the emotional approach is mine. She’ll be waiting a long time if she wants me to just jump in and save her here.
“Really? Numbers seem like a tedious topic when you’re out enjoying the lake breeze.” The way Audrey’s eyebrows wrinkle in the middle gives me a little thrill of sullen glee.
“Oh, no,” Patricia says. “I know I look like the little old lady from Tweety Bird cartoons, but believe it or not, I like details. I managed the financial side of our business for years. I like to know the value of what I’m buying.”
I laugh aloud at the absurd comparison. Patricia Hartwell knows full well she’s still an attractive older woman, her loose linen slacks hinting at a trim figure. Her likeability thaws my resistance to Audrey’s unspoken plea for help, but I’m still going to make her ask for it.
“So what’s the verdict? A virtual goldmine?”
Audrey’s face is a fabulous mix of pleading and exasperation before she reins in her emotions. She needs me to give this information, but she hates it. I smile broadly, enjoying the moment. Patricia Hartwell steps around me to look at the lake from my reading nook. Audrey opens her mouth and closes it. Wanting to speak, but hesitating.
“We’ve talked about current values,” she finally says, “but you were always the best at knowing where an area will go, Caleb. I’ve been telling Patricia they don’t call you the Numbers King for nothing. I’d lay a bet that you know the investment outlook for this property and the area for the next twenty years. Any chance we could get you to weigh in on where you see this area going?”
She smiles hopefully, and I can’t resist her. I could make her look like an idiot in front of this client, but I don’t really want to. With a hand under Mrs. Hartwell’s elbow, I pull back a wicker chair for her, and then gesture Audrey into another. When we’re gathered cozily around the low table, I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees, and launch into my research: comparables, history, projections, development plans filed in the area, environmental assessments. Audrey’s eyes flash gratitude at me.
“Well that’s very impressive,” Patricia says in a grandmotherly way. “How clever of you to have memorized all of that. How confident are you in your predictions?” Underneath that grandma vibe, she’s sharp as a knife. I wouldn’t put it past her to know all this already and be testing us.
“As confident as I can be in fortune telling,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve done the research, and barring things that don’t make it into the models, you’re looking at a property that will hold its value for potentially generations.”
“Your kids and grandkids will love it here,” Audrey says, bringing the soft touch back in. “You seem to be very close. Can you imagine Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner overlooking the lake?” She seems genuinely delighted at the idea of other people’s family dinners.
“And you’ll all appreciate the way property values are due to keep going up,” I say.
The woman chuckles. “Thank you both. I do have some thinking to do, and other properties, but you’ve been great. This is a real possibility for me. I know from experience it’s hard working alongside the person you love sometimes, but in the end you’re stronger for it. You two make a lovely couple.”
I’m caught between wishing for that very thing and denying it.
Audrey’s face freezes, and her smile falls into strained lines.
A high pitched, painfully awkward laugh breaks the silence. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple. We’ve known each other a long time, though. So nice of you to say, but that’s not for us.”
Her eyes meet mine briefly. Fuck this. She could have been a little nicer about it.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got a pretty good instinct about these things. Caleb might be right about numbers, but I’m almost never wrong about people.”
“Goodness gracious, no. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is definitely not in the cards for us.”
Patricia glances at me knowingly. “We never know, do we?” Then she sticks out a hand for Audrey to shake. “Thank you, dear. I’ve enjoyed seeing this house a great deal, but I never make up my mind without sleeping on it.”
“Don’t wait too long if you like it,” Audrey says. “This one won’t be on the market for long.”
“If not, it’s not the one for me,” she says.
My phone vibrates with a text message, and I see that my next showing, my only other one today, is canceled. And because it’s exactly the worst thing that can happen right now, my screen lights up with an incoming call from Derek. Expecting results, I’m sure. Dammit.
“Caleb, tell me good news. My squash doubles partner said the Hartwell widow was looking at our lake property today. They were already loaded, and I hear his life insurance policy was fucking huge. He used to play here, so fit nobody saw the heart attack coming.”
Fuck me, can this day get any worse? What a miserable disappointment after my hopes this morning.
“Sorry, I’m afraid Mrs. Hartwell was walking through with Audrey. However—”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Caleb? Don’t dick me around. How the hell did anyone working for Claire get her hands on the Hartwell widow? What have you got in the pipeline?”
“I’ve already shown it to a tech millionaire,” I reassure him, “and I’ve got one lined up and another that’s rescheduling. My buyers are preapproved and good to go when they decide to buy. We’ve got this.”
“You better hope so. Goddammit, Caleb, I thought you were the right man for the job. Don’t fucking let me down.”
The call goes dead, and I want to throw the phone.
To make it worse, Audrey sashays back in with a gloating smile.
“Thanks so much, Caleb. I’d never have asked you if Mrs. Hartwell hadn’t stumbled on you, and you didn’t have to answer. I really appreciate it.”
Red creeps up her chest.
“I have always pulled my weight, and don’t even think about denying it. How many times did I help you brainstorm difficult buyers? The angles I’m good at are different than yours, but that doesn’t mean they’re not legit. You know what I know that you don’t? How to be a decent freaking person.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” I choke out an incredulous laugh. “We were friends. What kind of decent freaking person applies for her friend’s dream job? After I told you about it and how much I wanted that job, you still went after it. Who knows what you did to get the job? I know one thing you’re good at.” So she doesn’t miss the jab, I glance down at my crotch.
So yeah, that crossed a line. And I don’t care. Her mouth falls open, and her face draws up in rage. I’ve never seen her look so angry. Good.
“You took my job, ditched me, and never even fucking apologized.” I cross my arms, daring her to deny it.
Audrey splutters, then stops, holds up a hand, and takes a deep breath.
“One: it was never your job. Don’t bring your sense of entitlement over here and tell me it’s reality. I tried to apologize and explain, but you’re the one who stormed off. And from what I hear, you consoled yourself pretty quickly. I mean, come on, Caleb. I still have friends at the agency. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about you leaving with someone else the same damn night? After—what happened between us, you went home with someone else.”
Oh, shit. My face probably shows my surprise.
“Yeah. I heard. So why should I waste my breath apologizing? That night meant nothing to you, and I meant nothing to you. You used me to sweet talk every female client you ever had, because apparently you don’t know how to talk to women. So don’t tell me I did something wrong. All you cared about was that job and what I could do for you.”
“You don’t know anything.” I can’t wait to wipe that self-righteous anger off her face. “I put Jennifer in a cab and sent her home, Audrey. But thanks for thinking that about me. I guess you don’t know people as well as you think. What else is fake about you? This hippie, earth mama vibe you’ve got going on? It’s as fake as everything else about you. You’re just another scheming bitch, as ambitious as I am, but with the gall to pretend you’re not.”
We’ve been drawing closer as we yell. Her chest is heaving, and every muscle in me tenses. My lip curls.
“I mean, look at you. Who dresses like this?” I mean to gesture dismissively at her phony peasant top. Instead, the back of my hand brushes over her breast, and somehow the string hanging between her boobs catches between the links of my watch. When I jerk my hand away, the string jerks half of her shirt down her arm. Fabric rips. Her blouse hangs loose below her breast, exposed in a white demi-cup bra that barely covers her nipple.
If I weren’t so pissed, I’d stop to admire the physics keeping that demi-cup aloft and pointed at me. My dick forgets my grudge and springs to life yet again, fully hard and aching for her. She doesn’t cover up, doesn’t seem to notice the swath of flesh on view. Her chest heaves with anger, and I struggle to focus on her words instead of her breast.
“I’ve never been anything but real with you, asshole.” Audrey’s voice rises. Her hand twitches like she wants to slap me. I almost wish she would try it. “And as for fake, what about you, with your suits and that hair. Oh my god I hate your hair. It’s like you went in and picked this out of the smarmy real estate agent playbook. Right next to the used car salesman model.”
She reaches up, runs her fingers through my hair, and tousles it all to hell.
“There, say something douchey now, Caleb, if you can with your douchey hair all messed up. I bet you need to go fix it now.”
“Don’t fucking put your hands on me.” Put your hands on me, my dick begs. “You need to get out of my space.”
“Screw you, Caleb, get out of my space.” She raises her hands and shoves at me. When I don’t move, she balls up a fist and pounds the heel of it against my chest.
Fuck, I’ve never seen Audrey lose her cool like this. Her eyes are stormy, and her jaw juts forward. She braces, as if she expects me to push back.
I step forward instead. Right into her personal bubble. She glares up at me, daring me to go further. So I oblige.
“Just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”
She pushes me again and steps back, glaring. “Why do you have to be such a jackass? It was hard enough to ask you for help. If you didn’t want to, you could have just said no. Jackass.” Another shove.
The longer I keep goading her, the longer I can make this confrontation last. And I don’t want it to end. I’m pissed about this lake house, pissed about Derek reaming me, and pissed that I’m so fucking turned on while she’s apparently only concerned with this goddam house.
“What are you even mad about, Audrey? I’m the one who just got used so you can make a sale. Again. Do I at least get another consolation prize?”
“You fucker.” Her voice sinks to a raw whisper. “It wasn’t like that.”
She nearly trembles with anger. The tension in my body stretches tighter. “It was like that then, and it’s like that now,” I growl.
I think she’s going to push me again, but she doesn’t just shove. She throws her body against me, and I’m not prepared. I stumble back and hit the wall. We glare at each other, our hot, panting breath mingling in the same space. My erection throbs against her stomach. Lust fogs my mind.
Then her hand is in my hair again, tugging. I clutch at her ass. Our mouths collide. I thrust my tongue roughly in her mouth, groaning as she grinds her hips against mine. Her tongue slides over mine into my mouth. The memory of other things her tongue can do makes me frantic with lust. With an unexpected shove, she pushes me against the wall, her fingers plucking at the buttons of my shirt.
My hand goes to her jaw, and I force her head aside to suckle the tender skin of her neck. Her breathy pants are hot against my ear. Tangling my hand in her hair, the other still at her ass, I take charge and flip her around. Her back hits the wall, and my knee presses between her thighs. With her pinned, I free my hands. Oh god. Under her torn blouse, I fill my hands with her tits as I plunder her mouth again. My thumbs slip under the satin cups and caress her nipples until they pucker and harden. I swallow her breathy moan and then kiss along her jaw to her ear, her neck. I want her begging for me.
Then her hands are at my belt. There’s a jerk as she pulls it off, a slap as it hits the floor. Before I can stop her, her hands are in my pants, stroking up and down the length of my shaft. I swell in her grip, and I grit my teeth to stay in control. Jerking away, I pull her shirt over her head, and while she’s off balance, I spin her to face the wall.
The skin of her shoulder is as soft and sensitive as I hoped. I kiss and suck along the line of her shoulders as my fingers unhook her bra. She pushes away from the wall, but I stop, capture her hands, and slap them against the wall by her head. I nuzzle her ear while I hold her there, then run my palms over her arms to her shoulders, slide down past her shoulder blades, and stop at her hips. Then I drop kisses along her spine as I sink to my knees, working down to the little dip over her ass that drives me wild. Her breathing is ragged, and a sweet, musky scent envelops me. One I remember.
I push her gauzy skirt up, and I can’t resist a little nip at her lace-covered ass. I palm her mound, where the fabric is already damp. Fuck, knowing she’s wet for me already drives me crazy. I want to fuck her here, her palms against the wall and my pants at my knees.
But I don’t. I rise, step away, and push my pants
and boxers down. My dick juts out, hard and ready, and I slide it between her thighs, nudging against the fabric barrier keeping me out of her. Nibbling her shoulder again, I find her nipples with my fingers, tweaking and teasing, waiting for her to act.
I’m not disappointed. She pushes her ass against me, levering for space, and whips around as I back up. She grabs my dick in a fucking vise, then, and changes our positions yet again. I’m against the wall, and she’s on her knees. Her fingers tease under my balls, and her mouth wraps around me. I watch her cheeks hollow with suction as the sensation of her tongue under my head sucks all thought out of my mind for several long seconds. Fuck, I could blow right here. No.
The head of my dick pops out of her mouth, and she blows over the surface. When she opens her lips again, I pin her head between my hands while I dodge away. Then I raise her up and begin to walk toward the bedroom, pulling her with me and savaging her mouth as we walk. Her hands are busy, stroking up and down my shaft, caressing my balls.
Suddenly, she puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back and down. I think for a second she’s been playing me, but my knees buckle as I hit a sofa and plop down. She’s standing over me looking like a smug cat with cream on her whiskers. Her hands cup her own breasts, rolling the nipples as she watches me, then they slide over her hips to gather her skirt in her fists. Hooking thumbs under her panties, she slides them off and lifts her skirt to straddle me on the sofa. And the whole time I’m watching her, I can’t speak. Can’t even move.
Sitting on my lap, she’s almost silhouetted against the huge windows, the glare of the sun almost a halo around her. I reach for her breasts, and her hands cover mine, guiding my palms over her nipples. Her skirt pools around her, but underneath it, her bared sex is right there, spread open over my lap. My dick jumps, making brief contact with her wet slit. What the hell are you doing, I want to ask. No condom, some faint voice in my mind whispers.