Page 57 of I'm Your Guy
Ah. I think about that for a second. And, sure, it had been a very aggressive kiss. The best kind. “Sure, fine. You have some very toppy energy. But I happen to like it that way.”
His eyes flare. And then he closes them and exhales. “Still, it’s not in our contract, right?”
Then let’s renegotiate, my evil brain suggests. “It was the best sixty seconds of my month until you practically flung yourself out the window afterwards.”
The glower returns. “You can’t possibly take this personally. I’m obviously attracted to you. Which is a huge problem for me. I can’t, uh, handle that right now.”
“Handle what? Kissing?” I press, because I’m in a mood.
“You,” he says firmly. “Or anyone.”
“Oh.” My anger deflates. “You are so confusing.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” he says, looking everywhere but at me. “Look, I didn’t pay you as some kind of brushoff. I did it because you told me your last client took advantage of you. And I didn’t want to be that kind of client.”
“Oh.” My face begins its telltale burn. Who’s the asshole now? Yup, it’s me. “Well, I appreciate that.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m sorry to be such a mess of a human. I’ll do better.”
There’s something about the way he says this that makes me sad. Because it sounds like something I’d say. “It’s fine. Really. I’m a pretty messy human right now, too.”
He hits me with his chocolate-brown gaze. “You’re not messy at all. You know exactly who you’re supposed to be, and you don’t care who sees it.”
“Oh, Jersey.” My heart sags. “I’ll take that compliment. But my professional demeanor needs a little work.”
He crosses strong arms across his wide chest. “We can agree to disagree. I think it looks pretty good on you. Just putting that out there. And then we’ll never speak of this again.”
I smile, because this bit of praise lights me up inside. I like him, damn it. All two hundred grumpy pounds of him. And it’s a problem. “Look, I want to finish this job. I’m not a quitter. But if you need me to dial back our interaction a little, I can live with that.”
He rubs the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job. But I find you very distracting.”
Tommaso DiCosta finds me distracting? I file that away to think about later. “Tell you what. I’ll make most of my visits when you’re out. I have a lot of shopping to do, anyway. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll try to act a little less like the crazy person that I am.”
Well, shit.
He picks up a gym bag and shoulders the strap. “And now I have to get to practice. Sorry to cut this meeting short.”
“Okay. Well.” I make myself turn toward the door and step outside. He follows and locks the door. “You have a nice day. I guess I’m going to shop for lamps. Bedding for your mother. Towels for the downstairs bathroom. And, uh, curtain fabric.”
He goes still at the mention of the curtains. When I glance at him, he’s blushing furiously. “Just pick any fabric,” he says tightly. “Maybe that light-filtering kind you mentioned. I haven’t lived here in the summertime yet. It’s probably pretty bright.”
“Yessir.” The soft word slips out in a bedroom voice, because my professionalism is a work in progress.
“Carter,” he growls.
“Sorry, sorry.” I take a breath. “I’ll handle the window treatments. We’ll never discuss curtains again.”
“Thank you. ’Cause I clearly can’t handle it.”
I snort out an awkward laugh.
“But Carter?”
“Yeah?”
He looks over his shoulder and once again those dark brown eyes destroy me. “That pillow? Incredible. Can’t believe you made it. I love it. And when I show it to my mom, she’ll flip.”
