Read Online Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) by Shelly Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Shelly Bell
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against his chest, he crossed the threshold of their new home. “Just seemed like the thing to do when you move in with a woman.”
“That’s only when you get married,” she said, laughing. “Now put me down and let’s grab our suitcases. It’s been a long day and I’d really like to get a good night’s rest before we start working on this place in the morning.”
He lowered her to her feet and brought both pieces of luggage into the house. He’d packed light, only bringing a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries. Most of his stuff remained over at Braden’s. “Did you leave the rest of your things at your sister’s?”
She stilled for a moment then tugged on a strand of her hair. “No. Everything I own is in that case.”
“Oh. Sorry.” A sharp pang of guilt shot him straight in the heart. For some reason, he’d thought she’d exaggerated when she explained her current financial situation.
She shuffled to the wall next to the doorframe and ran her fingers across the wall. “It’s awfully dark in here. Where’s the light switch?” She found it and flicked it up and down. “Uh, Ryan. Did anyone make sure this place had electricity?”
He strode into the great room and tried that switch. Nothing happened. “I guess I assumed George took care of it. Didn’t think to check this afternoon.”
She crouched on the floor and dug into her purse. “I’ve got a pen light in here attached to my keys. That will have to do for tonight. Come on. Let’s go to bed.” The moon shined bright enough to witness the blush creep onto her cheeks. “I mean . . .”
He knew exactly what she meant, but the image of lying naked under the covers with her did nothing to cool his ardor. “I know what you meant.” Too bad one part of his anatomy didn’t.
She aimed the light at the stairs while he returned the door to its upright position then followed behind her, dragging both suitcases as they walked up the stairs.
“I love the staircase. It reminds me of Gone with the Wind .” She whipped around and dramatically flung the back of her hand to her forehead. “Rhett, if you go, where will I go? What will I do?” she said in a very bad Southern accent.
Unlike Rhett, he didn’t think he’d ever walk out on her. “Don’t give up your day job, sweetheart. Stick with dancing.”
She frowned. “I told you I retired.” Turning back around, she proceeded up the stairs, subtly swaying her hips. “So remind me, how many bedrooms does the house have?”
“Five. But after his Alzheimer’s got worse, Uncle Al started storing . . . things, and sold off the bedroom sets to make room for it all.” Aw, man. The bedrooms. He stopped climbing the stairs and laughed under his breath. This was not going to go over well with Portia.
“What kinds of things?” She continued up the steps, oblivious to his silent moment of clarity about the sleeping arrangements.
Good thing it was after curfew. She couldn’t run out of the house once she learned the truth. He forced one foot in front of the other. “You ever watch the Home Shopping Network? He became an addict. Bought everything they sold. We’ll go through it all and see if we can sell it on eBay. Might be able to make some cash from it.”
They made it to the landing of the second floor. She shined the flashlight illuminating the long white banister overlooking the great room and the hallway, showcasing door after door of junk-filled rooms. Tomorrow, she’d no doubt want to explore the multitude of photographs decorating the walls chronicling years of family history.
She pivoted toward him and the light hit him in the eyes, practically blinding him. “Why didn’t your family do anything to stop him?”
He held his hand over his eyes and squinted to make out her figure behind the light. “They decided as addictions go, his was pretty benign. It didn’t hurt anyone and he had plenty of money. Plus, it made him happy.” His hands on her shoulders, he
“That’s only when you get married,” she said, laughing. “Now put me down and let’s grab our suitcases. It’s been a long day and I’d really like to get a good night’s rest before we start working on this place in the morning.”
He lowered her to her feet and brought both pieces of luggage into the house. He’d packed light, only bringing a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries. Most of his stuff remained over at Braden’s. “Did you leave the rest of your things at your sister’s?”
She stilled for a moment then tugged on a strand of her hair. “No. Everything I own is in that case.”
“Oh. Sorry.” A sharp pang of guilt shot him straight in the heart. For some reason, he’d thought she’d exaggerated when she explained her current financial situation.
She shuffled to the wall next to the doorframe and ran her fingers across the wall. “It’s awfully dark in here. Where’s the light switch?” She found it and flicked it up and down. “Uh, Ryan. Did anyone make sure this place had electricity?”
He strode into the great room and tried that switch. Nothing happened. “I guess I assumed George took care of it. Didn’t think to check this afternoon.”
She crouched on the floor and dug into her purse. “I’ve got a pen light in here attached to my keys. That will have to do for tonight. Come on. Let’s go to bed.” The moon shined bright enough to witness the blush creep onto her cheeks. “I mean . . .”
He knew exactly what she meant, but the image of lying naked under the covers with her did nothing to cool his ardor. “I know what you meant.” Too bad one part of his anatomy didn’t.
She aimed the light at the stairs while he returned the door to its upright position then followed behind her, dragging both suitcases as they walked up the stairs.
“I love the staircase. It reminds me of Gone with the Wind .” She whipped around and dramatically flung the back of her hand to her forehead. “Rhett, if you go, where will I go? What will I do?” she said in a very bad Southern accent.
Unlike Rhett, he didn’t think he’d ever walk out on her. “Don’t give up your day job, sweetheart. Stick with dancing.”
She frowned. “I told you I retired.” Turning back around, she proceeded up the stairs, subtly swaying her hips. “So remind me, how many bedrooms does the house have?”
“Five. But after his Alzheimer’s got worse, Uncle Al started storing . . . things, and sold off the bedroom sets to make room for it all.” Aw, man. The bedrooms. He stopped climbing the stairs and laughed under his breath. This was not going to go over well with Portia.
“What kinds of things?” She continued up the steps, oblivious to his silent moment of clarity about the sleeping arrangements.
Good thing it was after curfew. She couldn’t run out of the house once she learned the truth. He forced one foot in front of the other. “You ever watch the Home Shopping Network? He became an addict. Bought everything they sold. We’ll go through it all and see if we can sell it on eBay. Might be able to make some cash from it.”
They made it to the landing of the second floor. She shined the flashlight illuminating the long white banister overlooking the great room and the hallway, showcasing door after door of junk-filled rooms. Tomorrow, she’d no doubt want to explore the multitude of photographs decorating the walls chronicling years of family history.
She pivoted toward him and the light hit him in the eyes, practically blinding him. “Why didn’t your family do anything to stop him?”
He held his hand over his eyes and squinted to make out her figure behind the light. “They decided as addictions go, his was pretty benign. It didn’t hurt anyone and he had plenty of money. Plus, it made him happy.” His hands on her shoulders, he
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