sweat-damp Lakers T-shirt and gray workout shorts. Just the sight of him looking so healthy made her temper erupt. “I met your girlfriend downstairs. She fell on her knees and thanked me for getting you out of her life.”
“I hope you were nice to her.”
He didn’t have the grace to apologize for his lie, but then he’d never told her he was sorry for anything he’d done. She moved in on him. “There’s no girlfriend, and there’s no apartment. This is your house, and I want you to stop lying to me.”
“Couldn’t help it. You were getting on my nerves.” He walked right past her toward the bathroom.
“I mean it, Bram! We’re in this together. No matter how muchwe hate it, we’re officially a team. I know you don’t understand what that means, but I do. A team only works if everybody cooperates.”
“Okay. You’ve gotten on my nerves again. Try to entertain yourself while I clean up.” He whipped off his damp T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom. “Unless”—he stuck his head back out—“you want to hop in the shower with me and play some water games.” He deliberately smoldered her with his eyes. “After last night…I’m not saying you’re a nympho, but you sure are close.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t getting her that easily. She lifted her chin and smoldered him right back. “I’m afraid you have me confused with that Great Dane you used to own.”
He laughed and shut the bathroom door.
She grabbed her suitcase and carried it out into the hallway. Once again, the sense of being trapped made her heart race, and once again she fought to steady herself. She needed someplace to sleep tonight. She’d glimpsed a guesthouse in the back, but he almost certainly had some kind of household staff, so she couldn’t settle in that far away.
She explored the upstairs and discovered five bedrooms. Bram used one for storage, he’d converted another into a well-equipped exercise room, and a third was spacious but empty. Only the room next to the master had furniture, a double bed with an ornamental Moorish headboard and matching dresser. Light spilled in through a set of French doors that opened out onto the rear balcony. The cool lemony walls provided an appealing contrast to the dark wood and colorful Oriental rug.
Her assistant would bring over some clothes tomorrow, but until then, she had only one clean outfit left. She unpacked her suitcase and carried her toiletries into the adjoining glass block and cinnabar tile bathroom. She badly needed a shower, but when she returned to her room to undress, she found Bram stretched out on her bed in a clean T-shirt and cargo shorts with what looked like a tumbler of scotch balanced on his chest. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon.
He swirled the liquid in the glass. “Your sleeping in here isn’t going to work. My housekeeper lives over the garage. I have a feeling she’ll notice if we have separate beds.”
“I’ll make the bed every morning before she sees it,” she said with fake sweetness. “As for my things…Tell her I’m turning this into my dressing room.”
He took a sip of scotch and uncrossed his ankles. “I meant what I said yesterday. We’re doing this by my rules. A regular sex life is part of the deal.”
She knew him too well to even pretend to be surprised. “This is the twenty-first century, Skipper. Men don’t issue sexual ultimatums.”
“This man does.” He uncoiled from the bed like a tawny lion getting ready for the hunt. “I’m not giving up sex, which means I can either screw around on you, or we’ll do what married couples do. And don’t worry. I’m not nearly as much into S and M as I used to be. Not that I’ve given it up entirely…” His light mockery seemed more intimidating than the surly scorn she remembered. He took a lazy sip of scotch. “There’s a new sheriff in town, Scooter. You and Daddy don’t hold the power card any longer. We’re playing with a fresh deck, and it’s my
“I hope you were nice to her.”
He didn’t have the grace to apologize for his lie, but then he’d never told her he was sorry for anything he’d done. She moved in on him. “There’s no girlfriend, and there’s no apartment. This is your house, and I want you to stop lying to me.”
“Couldn’t help it. You were getting on my nerves.” He walked right past her toward the bathroom.
“I mean it, Bram! We’re in this together. No matter how muchwe hate it, we’re officially a team. I know you don’t understand what that means, but I do. A team only works if everybody cooperates.”
“Okay. You’ve gotten on my nerves again. Try to entertain yourself while I clean up.” He whipped off his damp T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom. “Unless”—he stuck his head back out—“you want to hop in the shower with me and play some water games.” He deliberately smoldered her with his eyes. “After last night…I’m not saying you’re a nympho, but you sure are close.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t getting her that easily. She lifted her chin and smoldered him right back. “I’m afraid you have me confused with that Great Dane you used to own.”
He laughed and shut the bathroom door.
She grabbed her suitcase and carried it out into the hallway. Once again, the sense of being trapped made her heart race, and once again she fought to steady herself. She needed someplace to sleep tonight. She’d glimpsed a guesthouse in the back, but he almost certainly had some kind of household staff, so she couldn’t settle in that far away.
She explored the upstairs and discovered five bedrooms. Bram used one for storage, he’d converted another into a well-equipped exercise room, and a third was spacious but empty. Only the room next to the master had furniture, a double bed with an ornamental Moorish headboard and matching dresser. Light spilled in through a set of French doors that opened out onto the rear balcony. The cool lemony walls provided an appealing contrast to the dark wood and colorful Oriental rug.
Her assistant would bring over some clothes tomorrow, but until then, she had only one clean outfit left. She unpacked her suitcase and carried her toiletries into the adjoining glass block and cinnabar tile bathroom. She badly needed a shower, but when she returned to her room to undress, she found Bram stretched out on her bed in a clean T-shirt and cargo shorts with what looked like a tumbler of scotch balanced on his chest. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon.
He swirled the liquid in the glass. “Your sleeping in here isn’t going to work. My housekeeper lives over the garage. I have a feeling she’ll notice if we have separate beds.”
“I’ll make the bed every morning before she sees it,” she said with fake sweetness. “As for my things…Tell her I’m turning this into my dressing room.”
He took a sip of scotch and uncrossed his ankles. “I meant what I said yesterday. We’re doing this by my rules. A regular sex life is part of the deal.”
She knew him too well to even pretend to be surprised. “This is the twenty-first century, Skipper. Men don’t issue sexual ultimatums.”
“This man does.” He uncoiled from the bed like a tawny lion getting ready for the hunt. “I’m not giving up sex, which means I can either screw around on you, or we’ll do what married couples do. And don’t worry. I’m not nearly as much into S and M as I used to be. Not that I’ve given it up entirely…” His light mockery seemed more intimidating than the surly scorn she remembered. He took a lazy sip of scotch. “There’s a new sheriff in town, Scooter. You and Daddy don’t hold the power card any longer. We’re playing with a fresh deck, and it’s my
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