mind.
Was it really going to be possible to escape the fate some deity with a rotten sense of humor apparently had planned for him? He was starting to doubt it.
"Mr. Moore?"
Nate jerked himself back to the present. Thinking of exactly what he'd done to her—all the wonderfully innovative things he'd do to her next time—maybe wasn't a good idea when he was supposed to be selling houses. Make that, definitely wasn't a good idea. He could feel his cock swelling and there wasn't much he could do about it.
"Do you like this one, Mrs. Winston? It has a rather good view, don't you think?" Thank goodness he knew this particular house so well—it had been on the books so long he could spiel off its attributes without thought.
"The kitchen is a little old-fashioned."
He put on his best 'salesperson' smile, nodding his agreement even while saying the opposite. "But that's the beauty of it, don't you think? The owner took that into consideration when he decided his price, so you pay less for the house because of it. And of course," his smile became conspiratorial, "that means you get to decide your own color scheme when you renovate."
"I don't know…" She shook her head, lips tight. "It still seems expensive considering we're nearly two
hours from the city.
"Have another look around," he urged. "A property similar to this in the city would cost ten times as much. There's no comparison."
He pulled a face as the couple trailed up the stairs. Working Saturdays paid off because he got the city buyers in, the ones who were looking for their own little piece of paradise. Unfortunately, they also expected it at bargain basement prices. But despite their complaints, they still paid an awful lot more than a local would ever consider for the same property.
You couldn't put a price on Utopia. If he hadn't been sure they'd have heard him, he'd have groaned out loud. God, he was getting cynical. Maybe it was time he gave some thought to settling down, raising a family. If nothing else, 'practicing' could be fun.
A floorboard creaked directly above his head, and he shrugged. The house was an overpriced pile of crap. Not that he'd tell the eventual buyer that— legally, he couldn't—but there was nothing to stop him strenuously recommending they get a building inspection done before they signed any contracts.
His memory crept back to the board floors in Gina's bedroom as he waited. He'd seen quite a lot of them this morning when he'd gone searching for all the condom wrappers he'd tossed on the floor last night. The timber was a nice color, well worn but with the patina of a good polish hiding the imperfections.
He poked idly at the bearskin rug covering the ugly tiled floors of the house he was trying to sell. Yugh! Who'd put tiles in a living room anyway? The board floors at Gina's would be good if he moved in with her. It really was a pain trying to get the fur out of wall-to-wall carpeting.
This time he did groan out loud, spinning to look out the window at the distant forest. He could hardly believe it. No matter how many times he told his brain to forget about her, his thoughts snuck back around to Gina Longmire.
It wasn't until he realised his fists were tightly clenched by his sides, his stance stiff, that he forced himself to relax. Castigating himself for every errant thought obviously wasn't working. He flicked open his cell, punching in Gina's number. So much for him being the one in control…
Chapter Nine
Bending over to pick up the apple she'd accidentally knocked off the counter, Gina discovered a whole new set of muscles. A hot shower had loosened her up—for a while—but now muscles she hadn't even known existed were protesting almost every time she moved. And when every movement reminded her of last night…
Swallowing a groan, she straightened, gingerly adding the apple to her small pile of groceries. Her
Was it really going to be possible to escape the fate some deity with a rotten sense of humor apparently had planned for him? He was starting to doubt it.
"Mr. Moore?"
Nate jerked himself back to the present. Thinking of exactly what he'd done to her—all the wonderfully innovative things he'd do to her next time—maybe wasn't a good idea when he was supposed to be selling houses. Make that, definitely wasn't a good idea. He could feel his cock swelling and there wasn't much he could do about it.
"Do you like this one, Mrs. Winston? It has a rather good view, don't you think?" Thank goodness he knew this particular house so well—it had been on the books so long he could spiel off its attributes without thought.
"The kitchen is a little old-fashioned."
He put on his best 'salesperson' smile, nodding his agreement even while saying the opposite. "But that's the beauty of it, don't you think? The owner took that into consideration when he decided his price, so you pay less for the house because of it. And of course," his smile became conspiratorial, "that means you get to decide your own color scheme when you renovate."
"I don't know…" She shook her head, lips tight. "It still seems expensive considering we're nearly two
hours from the city.
"Have another look around," he urged. "A property similar to this in the city would cost ten times as much. There's no comparison."
He pulled a face as the couple trailed up the stairs. Working Saturdays paid off because he got the city buyers in, the ones who were looking for their own little piece of paradise. Unfortunately, they also expected it at bargain basement prices. But despite their complaints, they still paid an awful lot more than a local would ever consider for the same property.
You couldn't put a price on Utopia. If he hadn't been sure they'd have heard him, he'd have groaned out loud. God, he was getting cynical. Maybe it was time he gave some thought to settling down, raising a family. If nothing else, 'practicing' could be fun.
A floorboard creaked directly above his head, and he shrugged. The house was an overpriced pile of crap. Not that he'd tell the eventual buyer that— legally, he couldn't—but there was nothing to stop him strenuously recommending they get a building inspection done before they signed any contracts.
His memory crept back to the board floors in Gina's bedroom as he waited. He'd seen quite a lot of them this morning when he'd gone searching for all the condom wrappers he'd tossed on the floor last night. The timber was a nice color, well worn but with the patina of a good polish hiding the imperfections.
He poked idly at the bearskin rug covering the ugly tiled floors of the house he was trying to sell. Yugh! Who'd put tiles in a living room anyway? The board floors at Gina's would be good if he moved in with her. It really was a pain trying to get the fur out of wall-to-wall carpeting.
This time he did groan out loud, spinning to look out the window at the distant forest. He could hardly believe it. No matter how many times he told his brain to forget about her, his thoughts snuck back around to Gina Longmire.
It wasn't until he realised his fists were tightly clenched by his sides, his stance stiff, that he forced himself to relax. Castigating himself for every errant thought obviously wasn't working. He flicked open his cell, punching in Gina's number. So much for him being the one in control…
Chapter Nine
Bending over to pick up the apple she'd accidentally knocked off the counter, Gina discovered a whole new set of muscles. A hot shower had loosened her up—for a while—but now muscles she hadn't even known existed were protesting almost every time she moved. And when every movement reminded her of last night…
Swallowing a groan, she straightened, gingerly adding the apple to her small pile of groceries. Her
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