Standing on the front porch because the unidentified smell practically made his eyes water, he called the realtor and made an offer, deliberately low balling the price. The neighborhood was on its way up, and the property could be a good investment, but no one, including him, would see it the way Claire did, and who knew what they’d find when they opened the walls. Claire was bouncing on the balls of her feet next to him while he made the call, and her grin turned to a scowl when she heard his offer.
“They’re never going to go for that,” she warned after he’d hung up. “They just aren’t that motivated and they have to know the neighborhoods getting better all the time. In six months, without doing anything, this place could be worth more than what they’re asking.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but it’s not like they have a line of people waiting to make an offer on the place. Hell, they’d have a hard time getting most people through the door.”
“No vision,” she said, shaking her head. “Most people have no vision.”
“Thankfully for us. You watch. I may not get what I offered, but I’ll get damn close. Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”
“Why do I feel like Little Red Riding Hood every time you say trust me? All right, Masters, if you’re so sure of yourself, bet me. If you get within five K of your asking price, you win; anything else and I do.”
He’d offered twenty K less than the owner asked, knowing they’d probably counter. With the property in as bad shape as this one, he wasn’t really worried about offending the seller. But five K meant they’d have to agree to drop the price by fifteen. He thought for a few seconds and then saw the smug expression on her face when she thought he’d hedge.
“Done,” he said, watching her eyes go wide and the smile curve her full lips. “What are the stakes?”
Claire rocked back on her heels, looking so pleased with herself; he had a moment’s trepidation. “Handcuffs,” she finally said.
“That’s hardly a wager, sweetheart,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “I’ll cuff you right now if you want. You don’t have to win a bet to get me to tie you up and make you come. That would be my pleasure.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it. If I win, I get to use the cuffs on you.”
Fuck. He’d never been cuffed before, and he intended to keep it that way. And if the mischievous glint in her eye was any indication, his Claire had a slightly sadistic side. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t back down. He’d just have to do everything in his considerable power to make sure that he won.
“Done.” This time the grin lit her face, and part of him wanted to give her anything she wanted if it made her that happy. “Not so fast, sweetheart. You haven’t heard my stakes when I win.”
“What do you want?”
He saw the apprehension seep in around her eyes. She was worried he’d ask for the same thing and despite the progress they’d made, it didn’t look like something she was willing to give.
“Move in with me.” Holy fuck, where had that come from? The words came out of his mouth before he thought about them. He had an instinctive urge to backpedal, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he realized he didn’t want to get out of it. Claire living with him, beside him every night, in his arms every morning was the prize he wanted and never thought he’d deserve. If he had to win the right, so be it. He’d take it however he could get it. “If I win, you move in with me.”
Her eyes went owlish with shock. She opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again. He watched the emotions war across her face – love, fear, worry, desire – and waited to see which would win out. After a few seconds, she nodded and something deep inside his chest relaxed for the first time maybe ever.
“Okay,” she said, sounding as shocked as she looked. “If you win, I’ll move in with you.” She squared her shoulders, and he saw the force of will he’d grown to love. “But I’m keeping my apartment.”
He held out his hand for her to shake, smiling like a kid on the kind of Christmas mornings he wished he’d had growing up.
“Deal,” he said, more determined than he’d ever been to make sure he won.
CLAIRE SHOOK HER head to try to clear it. She’d made what she thought was going to be a playful bet with Luke about the house, and somehow she’d ended up agreeing to move in with him if she lost. She glanced over to where he sat in the driver’s seat, but he looked completely at ease. He didn’t show any of the outward signs of being freaked out that she was feeling and trying unsuccessfully to hide.
He talked her into leaving her truck at her apartment and going with him, making some crack about it being practice for when he won their bet. Confirmed bachelor billionaire playboy Luke Masters hadasked her to move in with him. Surely the sky would soon be filled with a plague of flying pigs. A couple of weeks ago he couldn’t sayI love you,and now he wanted to live together. He went from zero to sixty faster than his pretentious French sports car.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he said, giving her an easy grin. “I can hear you thinking over here.”
“Fuck, Masters,” she said not sure what to say or how to begin to explain what she was feeling.
“Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen, but I should probably feed you first. Although with the way we smell, we better make it take out.” He took the exit ramp into the city and she saw the moment when he realized they shouldn’t go to Comme Ci. He knew she’d seen Eric since that night, and she knew he had. Eric was the one who told her how messed up Luke had been by the split. But she didn’t think any of them were ready to be in the same room together. Not yet. It still felt like an open wound, even if most of it – hell, all of it – was between her and Luke.
“Maybe not take out,” he said finally. “If I promise to help, are you up for cooking tonight, Lucy?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.” And it would be. She loved to cook, but she didn’t take the time very often to actually do it. She loved playing Lucy to his Ricky, too. It gave her a little thrill to think of making dinner for the two of them, which just illustrated how totally screwed she was.
He found a grocery in an upscale neighborhood before they got downtown and pulled the Jag into an empty space near the front.
“What are you hungry for?” she asked when he came around the car and took her hand.
“What can you cook?”
“Anything you want,” she said, slanting her eyes to the side.
He grinned and pulled her to him pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Is that so?” he asked as they walked through the doors into the produce section, arms around each other like any ordinary couple on their way home from work. Except there was nothing ordinary about Luke, and it wasn’t her home they were headed to. At least, not yet.
She wanted it to be. As scared witless as she was about slipping back into playing house with Luke, a much larger part of her wanted it more than anything. She wanted to build a home with him.
“You name it; I can make it. I can make anything you want, Masters,” she said with more swagger than she felt.
He pulled her tighter against his body, tucking her into the shelter of his arm. “I don’t doubt that a bit,” he said nuzzling her ear and breathing in the scent of her hair. “But we’re getting a shower first.”
