“Eyes up, Sunset.” He winks and reaches out and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me forward for a hug.
Professional!My brain barks like a drill sergeant.
I place a hand on his damp bare chest to stop the hug and then swiftly step out of his grasp. “I can’t hug you. You don’t have a shirt on.”
He looks amused. “Okay, come in and take a look around while I put on a shirt.”
I scoot by him, careful not to touch any of his perfectly sculpted nakedness. I pull a pad and paper out of my purse and force myself to concentrate on the apartment. The first thing I notice, after he walks by and I give his towel-covered ass a good long look, is the flooring.It’s wall-to-wall bamboo in a fabulous extra-wide plank. I walk down the long, wide hallway, glancing in the closet, guest room, powder room and small laundry room as I go. Everything is in great shape and decorated in classy neutrals except the guest room, which is a bold teal with a near-black trim.
“This building is hot,” I say as I enter the main living space and see the door to the master bedroom, where he must have gone to change. “Units rarely become available, and when they do, they sell quickly and above asking.”
“Good,” he calls back, and I wander through the stunning kitchen that looks like it’s never been cooked in. There’s a huge island, and I trail my fingers across the stunning quartz countertop as I pass by on my way to the balcony. “How many square feet is this place?”
I pull open the sliding glass door to the decent-size balcony. I’m mesmerized by the phenomenal views of Sutro Tower, so I don’t realize he’s right behind me until he speaks. “It’s just under fifteen hundred feet.”
I jump a little, and his hands land on my hips, as if to steady me. I turn. We’re less than a foot apart. “Can I get that hello hug now?”
His wet hair is curling a little bit at the ends. The white V-neck T-shirt he put on is clinging to his skin. He’s still damp, and he’s making me damp. I glance down. He’s not wearing pants. He’s only wearing underwear. Jet-black boxerbriefs that cling to the curve of his ass and the wide muscles in his thighs and the very round package…
Be professional!
I take a step back onto the balcony and hold my notebook and pen up in front of me like a shield. “I can’t hug you, you don’t have pants on.”
“So many rules, Zoey. When did you become a rules girl?” He grins.
I try to ignore it and ask, “And you’re the only owner?”
“Yep,” he says, leaning on the doorframe, with no intention of putting on pants, I guess. “I picked it for the view and the eco-friendly elements. Solar panels on the roof, and eco-friendly flooring, countertops and lighting.”
“Yeah, it’s still one of the top eco-friendly complexes in the city.” I tell him what I found as I Googled his building. Okay, and maybe I also Googled him so I could see that dick pic Morgan mentioned. I couldn’t find it, though. “It seems great all round. So why are you selling?”
“I want more space. And different space. I’m outgrowing this place, I guess.” He shrugs.
I don’t feel like he’s telling me the whole story, but I stop myself from questioning him more. The fact is, I’m just his Realtor, and I don’t get to delve into his personal life. But I want to delve into his underwear, which is worse than just probing him on his inner thoughts.
“It’s hot out here. Let’s go inside,” I say and fight the urge to fan myself like a southern belle. “You can go put on pants.”
He chuckles. “But you just said it’s hot.”
“Jude, who greets their Realtor in their underwear?” I blurt out and march through the kitchen to the large, open living room.
“Someone who has almost gotten naked with their Realtor,” he replies and walks around the island, leaning his firm ass against it and crossing his arms. “And someone who wants to take the ‘almost’ out of that statement.”
Grown-up Jude Braddock is bold, and I have to admit it turns me on. But that doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t a possibility right now. “Can we go over the listing please? Figure out price? Sign contracts?”
He nods, but there’s a flicker of disappointment across his face. For the next twenty minutes we stand at the island, me on one side and him on the other, because I don’t trust myself to stand right beside him, and we set a list price, and he signs the contracts to officially make him my client. He pauses before signing the last paper and lifts his eyes to mine. “You know this isn’t going to stop me from hitting on you relentlessly, right?”
I bite back a smile. “We should keep it professional, Jude.”
“There’s nothing unprofessional about the way I seduce a woman, Zoey,” he explains. “It’s actually a fucking art form.”
It’s funny how I try to keep swear words out of my vocabulary, but when Jude uses them, it makes me want to crawl across the island and put my tongue in his mouth. That’s the long-lost Zoey Quinlin coming back to life again. It feels good. Actually, it feels fantastic. He’s watching me watch him, and that tantalizing smile reappears.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because you are,” he tells me, and I lift a hand to my face. Crap. He’s right. I am. My revelation makes the smile on my face grow.
I bite the inside of my cheek to try to stop my wayward mouth, and I point to the paper his pen is hovering above. He laughs as he signs and slides the pile of papers at me.
