"Someone wants to buy the house?" Charlotte asked, her lip curling up in horror. "Grandma's house?"
Ian didn't know the particulars, but he did know that Bree had inherited the house from her grandmother. He had assumed she would be reluctant, but he was obligated to make the offer for his client. And it had given him a legitimate excuse to ring Bree's doorbell. "Yes." Ian pulled out the contract that detailed the offer and passed it across the table. "It's a generous offer."
Bree took the paper, glanced down at it, and blanched. "Who the hell thinks my house is worth this much money?"
"My client does." Ian leaned back in his chair and tried to project casual. It was likely he wasn't succeeding because Bree was glaring at him, and all he could think about was leaning over the table and kissing her. Running his hands down her sides, raking his fingers through her hair, and licking every inch of her. It made focusing on real estate damn difficult.
"What's his name? What is he going to do with the house?"
"You're not going to actually consider this, are you?" Abby looked at Bree in disbelief.
"No, absolutely not. But I'm curious who this person is and why he wants my house."
All Ian heard was that she wasn't interested. "If you're not going to accept the offer, I don't see any reason to tell you his plans for the property." Then they could disregard what had supposedly brought him there initially and move straight to his asking her out for dinner, which was what he planned to do now that he realized there was no possibility of his attraction dissolving on sight. It had actually increased now that he was sitting close enough to touch her, and he would have thought that was impossible.
She obviously wasn't feeling the lust, if that sniff of disdain was any indication. "Why the hell can't you tell me who he is? What difference does it make? Is he some kind of pervert? A drug dealer? Was he planning to turn my granny's Victorian into a whorehouse?"
"Uh . . ." Ian was momentarily caught off guard. A whorehouse? Did they even have those anymore? "No. I believe he intended to use it as a private residence since that's the way its zoned, but it's not really my job to grill him on his specific intentions."
"What is your job anyway? I thought you were a lawyer. Why are you selling real estate?"
Ian shifted in his chair, annoyed. He wasn't there to present her with his resume. "I'm not selling or buying real estate. I am a properties attorney. My client uses me to do his contracts instead of a real-estate agent."
"Why?"
Ian wasn't exactly sure how to explain that he worked for millionaires, who had no patience for real-estate agents, but he was saved from having to answer when something brushed against his leg. He glanced down and saw a black cat. Big surprise that Bree would make that her pet of choice. But he liked cats, so he reached down and scratched behind the feline's ears and was rewarded with a purr.
"Abby, get Akasha!" Bree said, nudging her sister. "You know she hates men."
Ian glanced down at the cat, who was nuzzling his pants and weaving in and out between his legs. "It's fine. I don't mind."
"She'll bite you. I'm serious. She hates men."
Ian kept scratching, and the purring kicked up a notch. "She seems to like me." And damn if he didn't feel a little sense of triumph over that.
"She does," Abby said, eyes wide. "Bree, do you know what that means? It means—"
"That you need to stop talking," Bree said, glaring at her sister. "Akasha is probably just waiting for the right minute to sink her claws into his leg."
Bree jumped out of her seat and got down on the floor next to him, reaching for her cat. It was an interesting twist on the current situation, and Ian didn't move, curious how the moment would play out. He just sat there with Bree moving closer and closer to his knees as she crawled around on the floor, reaching for the elusive cat, who darted away from her and around the back of Ian's chair.
"Akasha!" Bree frowned. "I'm really sorry, she really doesn't like men and I really need to get her before she—"
Bree stopped talking when the cat jumped up on his lap, kneaded her paws into his thighs, and sat down. Ian scratched Akasha again with one hand and used the other to play a little tug-of-war with the sprig of greenery in her mouth. It looked like mistletoe, oddly enough. Ian stared at it, a little unnerved. Funny how much mistletoe had factored in all of his sexual dreams about Bree. They always started with mistletoe, either hanging in a doorway, or in Bree's hands, teasing him to kiss her. And he always did, and it went to really happy and horny places after that.
It was crazy that the cat, the black cat, belonging to the self-proclaimed witch he was so attracted to, was chomping on mistletoe. In fact, it was disturbing enough that Ian decided it was time to leave.
"So you're not interested?" he asked her, very aware of the fact that she was on her knees right in front of his knees and under different circumstances, that would be a beautiful thing.
"Uh . . . what?" Bree looked up at him in confusion, her pale cheeks tinted pink again.
He thought it was damn cute that she blushed. Witches shouldn't blush, but he liked it when she did.
"The house," he prompted. "You're really not interested in selling it?"
"The house. Right. Yes. I mean, no. No, I am definitely not interested in selling it. Sorry." She snatched the cat off his lap.
Only Ian was still holding the mistletoe, as was the cat, and Bree wound up effectively stretching Akasha out to her full furry length between the two of them. She gave him a pointed look, so he dropped the mistletoe.