“Shall I show Ms. Willow to her room?” Patrick asks.
“No,” I say, too quickly and with far too much force. “I’ll do it. We’ll have dinner in the dining room in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Patrick takes off toward the kitchen.
“Wait, so this is your house? I’ll be living under your roof?” she asks, sounding concerned. “I thought you said I would be provided with a place to live in after I was done with this job. One with a studio.”
“This isn’t technically my home. I don’t live here year-round. And your place, well, let me show you.” I lead her out past the pool to the small two-bedroom home behind it. It’s a smaller version of the main house but still twice the size of her apartment. Technically, the thing started as a pool house, but no one would call it that anymore. I unlock the door for her and then hand her the key as we step into the open floor plan designed in white leather and natural wood.
“It’s so light and airy,” she says through a smile.
I love how excited her voice sounds, like I’ve just proven Santa is real. “It’s yours.”
I show her the chef’s kitchen and then the second bedroom that’s been converted to a recording studio with state-of-the-art equipment. She doesn’t say a word, just sets her guitar case down and runs her red-tipped nails over the counters, the backs of chairs. I end the tour in her new bedroom.
She passes me as I set her luggage inside the closet, and I get a whiff of her scent. Creator, I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the swell of my inner dragon. Stupid. What did I think, I could stand in a room with her and a bed and be able to control my desire?
Claim her.
Sweat breaks out across my neck. I open my eyes and am relieved to hear her opening drawers in the ensuite bathroom. I take a step back and then another. Her scent fades with the click of the AC turning on. Another step and I’m safely outside the door. “If you need anything, Patrick can get it for you,” I call to her, as I make my way toward the door. “Just give him a list. I’ll need the keys to your old apartment for the movers. Anything you don’t want brought here, we can put into storage.”
I hear her testing a few of the drawers in the dresser.
“So, uh, I’m going to head back up to the house and let you settle in. Dinner will be in the dining room in an hour.” I’ve done it. I’m about to walk out the door without having done anything I’ll regret.
“Seb?” Zoe rushes from the bedroom, spots me near the front door, and hurls herself at me. Before I know what’s happening, her arms are around my neck, and she’s kissing my cheek. “Thank you. I still can’t believe this is real! Oh my god, thank you!”
It’s like I’ve been starving and the juiciest, most tantalizing steak has just leaped onto my plate. My arms wrap around her, one hand digging into her hair, my instant erection pressed against her belly. She feels it and looks at me, her eyelids fluttering.
Her breath is coming in pants, and so is mine. Our noses are so close, they’d touch if she flinched, and her lips… Oh god, those ruby-red lips. I long to taste them. I can smell her brand of lipstick. I can feel her breath on my mouth.
She’s not pulling away, but inner turmoil turns her blue eyes to steel. If I kiss her now, if I give in to the urges of my inner beast, she’ll assume this is part of the arrangement, some unspoken aspect required by a wink. I want her. Want her as my mate, if I’m being honest with myself. I’m not sure how that works with witches, but it’s a one-way door for someone like me. Which means I have to be careful. And starting in a place like this would only complicate things for both of us.
I release her and clear my throat. “So, uh, I’ll see you in the main house in an hour. Bring whatever you need to analyze the object. We’ll start tonight.”
“Okay,” she says breathlessly, her eyes lingering on my face, even though she must have felt what’s going on in my pants.
I slip out the door and draw in a deep, cleansing breath, relieved to put temptation behind me. And far too aware that, from now on, temptation will be my nearest neighbor.
Chapter Twelve
ZOE
I can’t help fidgeting as Patrick clears the dining room table. I’ve just finished one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten in my life, but the tension between Seb and me is palpable. It’s obvious why. When I hugged him, his body responded with an erection. It was a physical response to a stimulus he wasn’t expecting. Nothing to be ashamed of. Oh goddess, Sebastian York has noth-ing to be ashamed of in the erection department.
But now, everything is awkward.
Once again, I have followed my instincts and probably fucked myself. Clearly, my hugging him like that without asking first was unprofessional, but also, he liked it. No denying he liked it, right? And I did too. I wasn’t expecting it, but the moment I touched him, I wanted him. He must have felt my nipples harden under my shirt.
What I can’t figure out is, if I did turn him on, why didn’t he try to take advantage of the situation? I thought he was going to kiss me for a second. I wanted him to kiss me. But he didn’t.
Have I found the one mythical male who has ethical boundaries and won’t fool around with someone he’s working with? Damn. The one person I wouldn’t mind taking advantage of me won’t take advantage of me. My bad luck.
As Patrick is walking back to the kitchen, I feel compelled to say something to break the tension. “Has anyone ever told Patrick he looks exactly like the famous jazz pianist Tangelo Fox?”
Seb grins. “It’s a stage name. He goes by Patrick when he’s not touring.”
I laugh. “What?”
