“How do you know?”
“I don’t want a relationship!”
“And again, why not? Because you are scared? Of what? Getting hurt? That comes with the territory, Keels.”
Keely released a small screech before bending down to pick up her coat. Without bothering to do up her open blouse, she jerked the garment on, muttering about stupid men, she was an idiot for coming here, she’d find what she needed somewhere else. Dare knew she wouldn’t; Keely would never leave him to go trawling.
She didn’t want sex. She wanted sex with him. And despite her fury, he knew she was intrigued by the possibility of “more;” she was just too damn stubborn to take the step.
But she would.
Because he knew he could out-stubborn her. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was worth it.
Dare was coming to believe she was worth pretty much everything and if he had to drag her to that realization, he would.
Keely reached for her bag and jerked it over her shoulder, looking like a furious warrior woman. Risking a slap, or a kick to the shins, he approached her and slowly, because he was the only one who was going to see her amazing breasts in her sexy bra, began to thread buttons through the holes of her shirt.
When he was done, he sent her a crooked grin. “Sure I can’t change your mind? I’m starving and am craving pizza.”
He knew pizza from the Italian place a block over was her weakness. As he expected, Keely’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Is it working?”
Keely responded by grinding the pointy heel of her boot into his big toe. It took all of Dare’s willpower not to grimace, not to react. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. When she released the pressure, he forced a smile. “Is that a no?”
“It’s a screw you, no!” Keely hissed, turning around with a snap, every inch of her curvy body radiating fury. “You’re going to pay for this, Seymour.”
“How?” Dare asked, intrigued. This should be good.
When she spun around, hair and eyes wild, the moisture dried up in his mouth. “I don’t know, but you will.”
He grinned, excitement coursing through him. “Can’t wait.” He reached for his jacket, trying to act sanguine despite his throbbing toe. “Sure you don’t want any pizza?”
Keely threw up her hands, flipped him off and stormed out of his office.
Yep, Keely was the woman his heart wanted. Dammit. Life was going to be hella interesting with her in it.
And she would be in it. Guaranteed.
The eight-foot door to Mounton House swung open and Beah smiled when Keely wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed tight. Keely always gave the best hugs, but because she was clutching an expensive bottle of champagne—Moët, courtesy of her Kuwaiti princess—and Belgian chocolates, another gift from another client, Beah couldn’t hug her back.
Keely eventually stepped aside and allowed Beah into the impressive hall. Beah was grateful because, while there were hints of spring back home in London, Boston was still damn cold.
“It’s so nice to have you back in Boston!” Keely said, tugging her inside.
Beah placed the champagne and chocolates on the hall table—eighteenth-century, French—and allowed her enormous tote bag to drop to the floor. “It’s just temporary, Keels. I’ll be back in London by the end of May. Thanks for letting me move in here.”
Keely snorted. “Like I would let you move in anywhere else, and it’s not like I don’t have the room. Especially now that the film crew have vacated the place.”
Beah remembered Keely and Joa had recently lent out the turn-of-the-century fifteen-bedroom house—complete with many reception rooms, two libraries, a ballroom, two dining rooms, a media room and servants’ quarters—to a director who was filming a horror movie. “Any problems with them?”
Keely shook her head. “A couple of broken glasses, a broken vase, thankfully nothing valuable.”
Keely picked up the champagne and the chocolates. “Let’s open these and have a drink.”
“Good plan,” Beah agreed, following Keely through the huge mansion to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Once there, Keely reached for two flutes—crystal, of course—and gestured for Beah to open the champagne. Beah, not wanting to waste a drop of the exceptional vintage, eased the cork out with a discreet pop.