He clears his throat like he’s clearing away the rasp in it. “But maybetoosoft. Besides, I don’t think my mom is a velvet person.”
I blink off the shimmery feeling. “Not everyone is,” I agree, focusing on the job. “Velvet’s an acquired taste.”
He glances at me as we pass another row of couches in warm earth tones. “I betyou’rea velvet person.”
I shoot him a daring smile—but a fun one, not a flirty one. “So you think I’m all about pineapple and velvet? What does that say about me?”
He smirks right back. “I guess the same thing being a neat freak who doesn’t use a couch says about me.”
I’m about to tease him again when he leans in slightly, his shoulder nearly bumping mine even as he looks my way. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
My breath catches. He holds my gaze, and my skin feels warmer than it should when I’m with a client. “I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like velvet,” I say.
“Good. Don’t be a liar, Skylar.” His voice is lower, smokier than usual.
I can barely move for several seconds. Then he looks away, like hehasto, as if looking any longer would be too dangerous. I force myself to refocus on the mission, ushering him along. We check out a few more couches, but Ford is noncommittal on most of them. He might be a man who likes control, but he also seems a little lost amidst too many choices.
Time for me to bring it home.
As if we just so happen to stumble upon it, I turn down another row, eyeing a rich brown couch several feetaway—chocolate-colored, with clean, simple lines. One that complements the painted walls in the home. “How about this one?”
Ford sinks down onto it, pats the cushion, leans back, crosses then uncrosses his legs, and pronounces, “I like it.”
“Good,” I say, pleased but not surprised. I had a feeling, so I told Bastian to put a hold on it. “Do you think your mom will?”
Ford seems to give that some thought. “I think she will. It’s a good one.” But he winces apologetically while dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Shedidask me to conference her in today and show her some things, but I figured we could do that after we pick out a handful of items. It’ll be easier that way.” Then, almost sheepishly, he adds, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, meaning it completely. But that also means we’d better keep moving.
Like explorers who leave no stone unturned, we cover the rest of the shop, checking out armchairs and kitchen chairs. Ford finds a few he likes, and I show him the ones I’ve picked out too.
We visit the kitchen area, rapping our knuckles on bistro tables and breakfast tables, until his attention snags on…a lamp with a base that looks like a sloth foot.
He beelines for it, like it’s the treasure he’s been seeking. Or an oddity.
“What in the ever-loving hell?” Ford says, running his hand along the metal carved to look like the animal’s toes. “I almost want to get this as a gag gift for one of my teammates.” He looks at the ceiling, seeming deep in thought.His phone buzzes in his hand, but he hits ignore before checking it. I can appreciate a man who lives in the moment.
“Bryant. This would be great for Wesley Bryant. He loved being pranked when he joined the team.”
I laugh. “Probably made him feel welcome.”
Ford blows out a breath. “It did…but would he really use it?” He sighs, then shakes his head, resigning himself. “I’ll have to think of other pranks.”
I pat his arm absently. “I’m proud of you for resisting getting something you don’t actually need,” I say, then glance down at my hand. Curled around his strong arm.
Holy shit. I just touched him.
And…he’s looking at me as if he likes the contact too.
The casualness of the touch goes up in flames.Poof.Vanishes. I’m standing here in the store, touching him, and I shouldn’t be. Really, I shouldn’t.
Touching him was a mistake. Not a big one. Just…the kind that lingers in the air a little too long.
I pull my hand away like I’ve been burned, swinging my gaze around, hunting for a distraction—then spotting one in the next room. “But maybe you want the billiard tables. For your parents’ house,” I say, pointing ahead.
“Oh sure. Maybe,” he says. “I do like pool.”
He turns into the next room, and I take a beat to just…breathe.
