Outside an office door an older Asian woman who might be Chinese, or maybe Vietnamese, with her hair mostly gray gives me a reassuring smile. “Right on time, exactly the way he likes it. Good start. Go on in.”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath, straighten my back then open the door.
Holy shit, a city bus slams into my chest, leaving me gasping for air. Beautiful, he’s fucking beautiful. It’s absurd, absolutely ridiculous, men aren’t beautiful but he is, so beautiful he doesn’t seem real. He’s a blend of his brothers yet completely unique, no chance of confusing him with anyone else. He has a hawkish nose that appears to have been broken in the past. His brow is heavy and lined, his jaw square, aggressive, and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut diamonds. Eyes a glittering onyx meet mine and hold until I can’t fucking breathe. A blink and I struggle to take in air even as I can’t take my eyes off those lips—perfectly defined, with a slight dip above them I want to trace my finger over. His jaw tightens, making him even more forbidding; those lines in his forehead deepen and damn it, they should take away from his beauty, not add to it, but they do. Those gorgeous full lips thin; why does he look angry? I haven’t even said a word.
Instead of the fear I’m pretty sure I would feel at any other moment, fascination has me unable to take my eyes off him. Brute power radiates from him, shimmering like a heat wave. He’s huge, wide; muscle on muscle is visible even through the silk suit in charcoal, cut to fit him. The snow-white shirt causes his deep olive skin to glow, and I want to find out what his skin tastes like. What? No. What the hell was that?
Stop staring at him. My eyes flick down for a painful heartbeat, then up again to see his hand clench into a fist. I haven’t done anything, what could he be mad about? Does he think I’m too fat? That has to be it, what else could it be? God, he is an asshole. Fuck him. I pick the gold clip on his electric blue tie to stare at. “Thank you for taking the time to see me today. I will be able to assist you in finding your next home quickly and easily. At present I have at least four properties I believe will meet your high expectations. All are available for us to view at any time your schedule allows.”
He nods to the chair in front of his desk. “Tell me about these properties you think will suit me.”
It’s an invitation, a taunt. It doesn’t help his voice is deep, smoky, like a perfect espresso first thing in the morning. Get it together, woman. Repressing a shiver, I give him a hesitant smile as I offer him the first folder, he doesn’t take it. Swallowing hard, I square my shoulders. “The first is a condo on the lake in one of the best buildings in the city. Seven thousand three hundred square feet with four bedrooms, five bathrooms, an updated kitchen in marble—”
“Wrong.” The word rumbles out of him.
What? I blink fast to recover. Okay. “The second is a condo also on the lake along Michigan Avenue, in a sought-after building. If you would take a look I’m sure you’ll find it—” I’m offering him the file folder. He looks as if I’m offering him dirty underwear.
“Wrong. Again.” Deeper, harder the words strike me.
“But I didn’t even—” Thick black eyebrows go up. What the fuck? A deep breath is required before I try again. “The third is a condo in—”
Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head. “Ms. Hutchins, I do believe my brother lied to me when he said he was sending his best person. Tell Dante to send me someone else.”
“Excuse me?” The words are out before I can check them. This motherfucker. “I am the best—”
“At wasting time, perhaps, but not as an agent sent to help someone find the home they want.”
“Would you let me fucking finish a sentence? What the hell is your problem?” Oh my god. I did not just say that. I did. Those black eyes flare with something I cannot define, it scares the hell out of me. Then it’s gone before I can even figure out what it was. He sits back in his chair, his hands linked over his no doubt washboard abs. I take a breath so deep it comes from my toes. “Mr. Sabatini, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for anything I might have done to offend you. If you would be willing to give me another chance, I know I can give you what you want. You need to tell me what that is.”
His eyes meet mine and my entire body goes weak. What the hell is going on? Then he blinks and I’m left wondering if it really happened. “Am I allowed to speak?”
I hate him so much right now. “Please.”
“I do believe there is a saying as old as time about assuming something. It was my understanding we would meet, I would tell you what I was looking for, by the way, nothing you suggested is what I want, you would then go back to your office, find those properties closest to what I want, we would then settle a time to look at them. It’s how I found my last three properties. None of those agents brought in properties telling me what I wanted. Had I allowed you to continue your little spiels, you would have used up the fifteen minutes I allotted for this meeting.” I close my eyes and sink against the back of the chair. He’s right. As much as I hate him, he’s absolutely right. I’ve never walked into a meeting telling a client I was sure I knew what they wanted. I prepared properties, but I waited for the client to tell me first, then I looked like a psychic when I pulled out the folders. “And now your time is up, Ms. Hutchins. Have a good day.”
“I have a historic home built in 1909, ten thousand and ten square feet, on a fourteen-thousand-square-feet corner lot. It’s filled with original details including art glass double doors, oak floors throughout, and original mahogany wood paneling, five bedrooms, six bathrooms. The master suite has a sitting room, two walk-in closets, a steam shower and separate soaker tub.” I talk fast, doing my best impression of an auctioneer and failing miserably, yet he doesn’t look annoyed. He’s listening.
Since he hasn’t tossed me out, I keep going. “Or I have an 1886 Victorian six thousand seven hundred square feet. It’s on a double lot and ten thousand seven hundred square feet. Original fireplaces, carpenter’s lace, a turret, large windows everywhere plugged into a timer and remote. Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a separate apartment for a housekeeper, all the kitchens and bathrooms are updated and there’s outdoor space on every level.”
I take a breath and he studies me. Those eyes, I can feel them run over me as if he were touching me. I love it and I hate it because I have never wanted a man to touch me the way I want him to. I blink and he’s pressing a button on his phone.
“Tell Katherine to wait. This will only take another sixty seconds.” It’s hard not to wilt with relief at his words. He leans back, then nods. “I want a house, at least eight thousand square feet, with a minimum of five bedrooms and five bathrooms. I want space in the lot as well. I don
’t want homes all around me. Lots of light, none of the new contemporary houses with sleek lines and concrete floors. I prefer little to no need to remodel; however, I’m not adverse to it if the right home requires it. I want a pool, Dante tells me I’m delusional if I think I’m going to find a home with a pool. If I can’t find one then I want to be able to put one in. My max is twenty-five million, I’m willing to consider homes where I would need to purchase property around me to get the space I want, as long as the purchases necessary do not exceed the twenty-five million. Roosevelt is as far as I’m willing to go south and Ashland to the west. If you’ve hit Roger’s Park you’ve gone too far. You have two days. Thursday eight a.m., have at least five properties for me to view.”
I’m writing fast, there is no way I’m going to fuck this up again. “Thank you. Thursday. I’ll pick you up at your building at eight o’clock.”
As I get up, our eyes meet again only this time there’s nothing within his; they are so cold I shiver. Something tells me I might come to regret not letting him fire me, only just as fast I stamp it down, because despite the anger and his rudeness walking away from him, never seeing him again... No, I can’t do that either.
3
Enzo
The moment the door is closed behind Chloe Hutchins, a shuddering breath escapes me. Sonofabitch. I close my eyes as my head goes back. Bethany was right, she warned me, only I thought she was exaggerating. She hadn’t been. Chloe Hutchins is beautiful, so completely captivating I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I tried, I couldn’t for a single second she was in the room. Her body was every fantasy I had never had before, ripe with curves I wanted to bury myself in. Then she took a deep breath and those gorgeous breasts swelled, and my whole body went hard as I fought not to pull her across my desk and fuck her. I’m no saint, not by a long shot, but I deserve saint status for not fucking her like she wanted me to. When her eyes met mine it was there, the same desire, the same desperate hunger I was feeling, she felt it too.
It should help she was surprised, as mystified as I am by the instant attraction. It doesn’t. Those big round eyes weren’t simply gray; they were pewter, then quicksilver as they snapped and clung to mine. Shaking my head, I’m up, stalking the length of my office. Now that she’s not in front of me, fucking with my head, I can be objective. She is pretty, not beautiful. Her cheeks are too round; her nose is small and cute, not elegant; her chin gently rounded, not at all sculpted, and her mouth a small cupid’s bow. God her mouth, ripe and sparkling would look perfect around my cock. Fuck.
It doesn’t matter that individually, her features aren’t typically beautiful; they combine perfectly into fucking stunning. As if that weren’t enough, her body—Christ, my cock goes hard all over again. Goddamn, the dress she was wearing should be outlawed. The way it clung and caressed her curves had me wanting to tear it from her body to see what it hid beneath.