“After I’m done here,” she purrs and puts her arm around my neck.
John downs his whiskey and pours himself a double, exhaling sharply as he leans back in his seat. “You fellas got yourselves a great place here, I’ll give you that,” he says as a means to build conversation.
I’m just trying to pass the time and wait for Deanna to get bored. Judging by the smirk on her face, I’ve got a feeling she’s just getting started, and I can feel Vincent’s eyes drilling a hot hole into my temple.
“We do, Mr. Quincy. And we worked hard for it. We’ve built it up year after year,” I say.
“You’ve done a fine job,” John replies. “When I got the invitation, my executive directors threw the biggest hissy fit I’ve ever seen. Apparently, they’ve been emailing your offices for months.”
“We’re extremely selective.”
John laughs. “Oh, yeah, only the cream of the crop, right?”
“Mm, only the cream.” Deanna giggles, hips swaying back and forth in my lap. I know she’s trying to stir a physical reaction, but it’ll never happen. There’s only one woman who can turn me on these days, and right now, she’s probably in the kitchen, putting together our Valentine’s Day menu. “But being so selective pays off—for us and for our clients.”
“I can’t argue with you there, ma’am,” John says, melting under her gaze.
Damn, I could hand him a sale contract right now, and he’d probably sign on the dotted line without even reading it. Ignoring Deanna’s ass rubbing against my groin, I take another sip of my whiskey.
“Mr. Quincy, I read somewhere recently that you were considering a few changes in your real estate portfolio, the personal one, I mean,” I say.
Vincent clears his throat. “Rumor has it you might be willing to sell.”
“I am considering a sale or two, but much like you gentlemen, I am highly selective as to who I sell my lands to,” John replies.
“Which lands are we talking about?” I ask.
In the meantime, Deanna tries to kiss my earlobe, and I tilt my head away, giving her a single warning look. She doesn’t like it very much, but she doesn’t insist either. She knows what it means.
“The ranch in Happy Jack,” John says. “It requires too much upkeep for a ranch I see maybe once a year, if I’m lucky. Most of my business and affairs are still in Texas. Arizona was a stretch for me; I knew it when I bought the land, but it was such a good price and the property was so valuable, I kept telling myself I’d make it work, but it’s become more of a hassle than a joy, to be honest.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply. “Happy Jack is prime real estate for any self-respecting rancher, for sure.”
John eyes me curiously. “I’m surprised you know anything about it? You’re not from there, are you?”
“No sir, I’m born and raised in New Hampshire,” I reply with a cool smile. “I moved here after the guys and I came back from serving in the military. We’ve made a good home here in Portland, too, but I’ve always wanted a ranch somewhere in Arizona’s greener parts.”
“Oh, we could do a hot summer Haus of Sin chapter there,” Deanna suggests with a giggle. “Glamorous ranch edition. I could get some custom whips made for the occasion.”
She’s thinking too far ahead and completely out of her reach.
“We’re interested in a private ranch,” Vincent says, throwing cold water on Deanna’s suggestion, “not another business venture. Just a place for ourselves and our lady.”
“Your lady?” John’s eyebrows pop up.
At the same time, Deanna’s face tightens into a hard frown. She knows who Vincent is talking about; she just doesn’t like it. But that’s not our problem, nor our concern. Deanna should be grateful Vincent allowed her to keep working at Haus of Sin after the breakup, instead of trying to weasel her way into our bed. Then again, she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last woman, to try and ruin what we’ve got going with Raina.
“Who’s the lucky woman?” John asks.
“Once we’re sure we’re building something serious and long-lasting, you’ll be the first to know,” I reply with a polite nod.
As if summoned, Raina walks in with a black leather folder in her hands. The chef’s uniform is supposed to fit her loosely, but she tied the apron a little too tight just above herwaist, emphasizing her generous hips. It does a number on my body.
“Sorry to disturb…” Her voice trails off as soon as she sees Deanna in my lap.
At the same time, I stir and almost throw Deanna off me. Fortunately, because Deanna’s ego cannot stand a rejection, she pops up and rushes to sit on the armrest of John’s lounger.
“Yet here you are, disturbing,” she says with a cruel snicker.
