Read Online Sleeping Arrangements (Silhouette Desire) by Amy Jo Cousins - Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Jo Cousins
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he could open his mouth, she raised her hands in surrender.
“Listen, Reed.” She shut her mouth and shrugged, caught without words for a moment. She went with the first sentence that floated to the surface. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
He looked blank for a moment and then began what she could only describe as laughing his ass off. After a moment, she grinned with him.
“Contrary to appearances,” she admitted. He might be a bit stiff and spend way too much money on his wardrobe, but at least the guy had a sense of humor. “It’s midnight. I’ve got to get up in five hours, less if I want to dig out my truck instead of calling a cab, and I’m already tired at the thought. So why don’t you give me the ten-cent tour of this house that’ll never be mine and we’ll call it a night.”
“All right.” He gave in gracefully and cupped his hand around her elbow to guide her up the stairs. She shrugged off his hand. “But next time you won’t get off so easy.”
“Yeah, well, next time I won’t fall for the ‘why don’t you sit down in front of the nice warm fire and curl up in this blanket while I read you really boring legal documents’ trick.” She made sure not to stomp up the stairs, so he would know she was kidding.
“Hey, some tricks only work once.” She whipped her head around to find him grinning at her, and then stumbled up the next step and cursed. “I’m kidding. It’s called humor. When jokes are exchanged between two friends.”
“Don’t push it, Reed.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down at him. “Let’s see how friendly you think I am when I come banging on your door at five in the morning, wanting you to help me shovel a path to the street.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
“I’d bet most of your friends just pick up the phone and call for their drivers to pull the limo around.”
“Don’t be petty. It doesn’t suit you.” He brushed his hands against her hips to move her out of his way. She felt each fingertip like a small electric shock and then her stomach slid into that slow, rolling loop that she was coming to expect whenever he touched her. “Follow me. I’ll make this quick.”
“You don’t know what suits me,” she muttered, keeping her voice low enough to avoid the inevitable comeback if he heardher. Spencer was striding down the hall in front of her, pointing right and left like an air traffic controller and calling out information.
There were six rooms on the second floor. Two bedrooms, each with its own bath, thanks to someone in her family tree who’d had a fondness for extensive indoor plumbing, and two suites at diagonally opposite ends of the floor. Each suite had a master-size bedroom and bathroom and another attached room, which in one suite had been made into an office and in the other, an artist’s studio.
“I don’t know who the artist was, but it’s a good space,” Spencer said, walking her through the bedroom of that suite and into the connecting room. “Lots of light. Plenty of room if someone wanted to set up a drafting table for construction plans, say.” He knew better than to look at her with that leading statement.
“Shut up, Reed,” she answered, no real malice in her voice. She stood in the middle of the open room—no curtains on these windows to block the southern light—and knew that she wanted this house. She thought of her cozy but cramped one-bedroom apartment, a place that she didn’t own and that could be taken from her in a month if her building went condo, and then craved this house.
She’d been here for six hours, had hated the very thought of the place and the woman who had lived here, and yet she felt the timbers of the floors and the plaster of the walls settling into her bones with a rightness that scared her.
It was all impossible.
“Very nice,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady, pretending all was normal. “I’m sure the charity Great-Aunt
“Listen, Reed.” She shut her mouth and shrugged, caught without words for a moment. She went with the first sentence that floated to the surface. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
He looked blank for a moment and then began what she could only describe as laughing his ass off. After a moment, she grinned with him.
“Contrary to appearances,” she admitted. He might be a bit stiff and spend way too much money on his wardrobe, but at least the guy had a sense of humor. “It’s midnight. I’ve got to get up in five hours, less if I want to dig out my truck instead of calling a cab, and I’m already tired at the thought. So why don’t you give me the ten-cent tour of this house that’ll never be mine and we’ll call it a night.”
“All right.” He gave in gracefully and cupped his hand around her elbow to guide her up the stairs. She shrugged off his hand. “But next time you won’t get off so easy.”
“Yeah, well, next time I won’t fall for the ‘why don’t you sit down in front of the nice warm fire and curl up in this blanket while I read you really boring legal documents’ trick.” She made sure not to stomp up the stairs, so he would know she was kidding.
“Hey, some tricks only work once.” She whipped her head around to find him grinning at her, and then stumbled up the next step and cursed. “I’m kidding. It’s called humor. When jokes are exchanged between two friends.”
“Don’t push it, Reed.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down at him. “Let’s see how friendly you think I am when I come banging on your door at five in the morning, wanting you to help me shovel a path to the street.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
“I’d bet most of your friends just pick up the phone and call for their drivers to pull the limo around.”
“Don’t be petty. It doesn’t suit you.” He brushed his hands against her hips to move her out of his way. She felt each fingertip like a small electric shock and then her stomach slid into that slow, rolling loop that she was coming to expect whenever he touched her. “Follow me. I’ll make this quick.”
“You don’t know what suits me,” she muttered, keeping her voice low enough to avoid the inevitable comeback if he heardher. Spencer was striding down the hall in front of her, pointing right and left like an air traffic controller and calling out information.
There were six rooms on the second floor. Two bedrooms, each with its own bath, thanks to someone in her family tree who’d had a fondness for extensive indoor plumbing, and two suites at diagonally opposite ends of the floor. Each suite had a master-size bedroom and bathroom and another attached room, which in one suite had been made into an office and in the other, an artist’s studio.
“I don’t know who the artist was, but it’s a good space,” Spencer said, walking her through the bedroom of that suite and into the connecting room. “Lots of light. Plenty of room if someone wanted to set up a drafting table for construction plans, say.” He knew better than to look at her with that leading statement.
“Shut up, Reed,” she answered, no real malice in her voice. She stood in the middle of the open room—no curtains on these windows to block the southern light—and knew that she wanted this house. She thought of her cozy but cramped one-bedroom apartment, a place that she didn’t own and that could be taken from her in a month if her building went condo, and then craved this house.
She’d been here for six hours, had hated the very thought of the place and the woman who had lived here, and yet she felt the timbers of the floors and the plaster of the walls settling into her bones with a rightness that scared her.
It was all impossible.
“Very nice,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady, pretending all was normal. “I’m sure the charity Great-Aunt
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