Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) (19 page)

"Excuse me." He places a hand on the small of my back and this simple, innocent touch draws out the vivid memory of our naked bodies heaving in sync.

I move forward, refocusing my sights on the loft before me. A lightness tears through my insides. There is something very charming and feminine about this place. It's quaint and familiar in a way I can't pin point.
 

I love the slanted roof, the feeling of being in an attic, but with the ceiling being high enough to not render the space as claustrophobic. The windows are huge and because of the angle of the walls, they are more like skylights.
 

There's so much light streaming in that the place is incredibly bright. Daylight reaches every nook, causing the gray paint on the walls to nearly glow. The place feels bigger than it should. There's not an inch of square footage wasted.

The muted color of the walls makes the white trim and around the windows and doors pop. Off toward the right, the kitchen is an oasis of white tile and oak cabinets.
 

I can already see myself living here.

"Well?" he asks, turning to face me.

"It's…nice." Still rooted by the fear of being disappointed, I try to not sound too enthusiastic. Try to pretend I'm not already envisioning a future where I'm curled up on the couch or leaning over the counter top island, sipping on coffee.
 

He motions to either side of the room, toward the large windows. "This side faces west. You can see the ocean. That side, obviously, faces east. You get direct sunlight streaming in all day."

I walk over to the closest window on the right side of the room and look out. Sure enough, there's the ocean. Less than a mile away and in perfect view beyond the Pacific Coast Hwy.
 

I'm practically swooning.
 

Owen walks past me, possibly a little closer than necessary, leaving his crisp scent trailing behind him. When I look at him again, he is in the kitchen, behind the countertop island.
 

The kitchen is small, but it's open to the living room and there's enough room between the island and the appliances to move around comfortably.

"The countertops are new." He runs a hand over the white tiles. "The refrigerator broke down a few days ago and my father decided to get all new appliances. They'll be delivered next week. A dishwasher will be installed, as well. Lucky for you, because I had to wash everything by hand."

"Wait, you lived here?"

"I rented it from Lucas my first year of college, then I moved on campus and he moved in after he and my mother sold their house. They're divorced."

Though the place is empty and without decor, there's a sort of shabby chic air to it that makes me think of a fashionable old lady.

"Can't imagine you got laid very often here," I say.

"You'd be surprised." He pats the kitchen counter absentmindedly, but it's clear what he's implying.

I glare at him. "Oh, that's gross. Is this your sales pitch?"

He shrugs. "You're the one that brought it up."

I laugh and his lips curl up in what has to be his very first smile that I've seen today. I'm surprised by the way the unfamiliar edge in his gaze dulls away as though he suddenly remembers we aren't strangers.
 

One joke, that's all it took.
 

I cast my eyes away to take in the details of the walls. Vertical lines are visible from underneath the layers of paint. "You painted over the wood paneling?"
 

"I did."

I imagine what the place must of looked like with exposed wood paneling and it suddenly transforms in my imagination into a sort of man cave.
 

"How do you feel about the tenant painting over this gray?"
 

He doesn't answer right away, seems distracted as he looks down at my lips. I swear he nearly leans into them, before turning the movement into a short shake of the head. "What's wrong with the color? It's neutral."

"I'd paint it something lighter, to contrast with my dark furniture."

He raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised by my detailed plans.

"A paint job would be fine," he says, almost reluctantly. "As long as you let me help you. I don't want it getting all on the ceiling and trim."

I make a point to roll my eyes, showing him how uptight I think he is. Without preamble, I turn to follow the short hall leading to an open room.

He follows after me.
 

The bedroom is a decent size. I could fit my queen-sized bed in here and have enough room for my nightstands. The room has a more pronounced attic-feel than the rest of the place. The walls touch at the top like a pair of cupped hands. I envision my bed, there at the end, cradled by the walls. The room has recess lighting like in the living room but natural light pours in from the large window on the far wall.
 

For a moment, I'm overwhelmed by the refreshing novelty of the loft. Laced in the air is the smell of hardwood floors, fresh paint.
 

The smell of new beginnings.
 

A surge of excited energy courses through me. I've always lived with a roommate. Partly because it's more affordable, partly because I always liked knowing someone was there. But for the first time in my life, I envision myself living alone. I'm romanticizing the idea of living here, I know it. Even knowing it, I can't stop myself.
 

A place just for me, myself, and I.

After everything in my life felt like it was slipping away, I suddenly see a light breaking through. The thought of it fills me with butterflies and I feel like I'm in love. In love with my life. With the possibilities before me. In love with the idea of a fresh start. Starting from scratch.
 

New job, new friends, new everything.
 

I peer back and see Owen leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, watching me as I stand in the center of the bedroom with my hands on my hips.

Suspicion seeps into me, a sudden apprehension that crowds my excitement into a corner. "Why hasn't this place rented out yet?"

He looks unsurprised by my question. "Haven't found the right tenant."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "The right tenant?"

"A place like this doesn't get family oriented people, for obvious reasons. I get more of the college kid. And that's not going to work."

I keep my expression serious. "God forbid someone has a little fun on your watch."

He stares at me, narrowing his eyes.
 

"How do you know I'm not a wild party animal?" I ask, taking a few steps toward him and lowering my voice. "How do you know I'm not going to tear your place apart in a crazy binge of sex and drugs."

"Is this
your
sales pitch?"

I grin at the way he's unfazed by the crazy things that come out of my mouth. I've missed him.

He reaches behind him, pulls a wad of folded papers from his back pocket and hands them to me. "Here's an application."

I walk past him without taking it and enter the bathroom, which I've yet to explore. It's small but functional. The tile over the tub is a vibrant white, as is the porcelain sink. Owen's right behind me, still holding the folded papers.

His gaze rises up from below and I know he was consuming my curves with his eyes.
 

"What's funny?" he asks at the short laugh I let out.

"It just occurred to me—it might be awkward…renting from you."

He taps the papers on an open palm like a baton, still watching me. "This isn't my place. It's my father's place. You'd be sending the payments directly to him. I'm the property manager." He pauses. "Did you really decide to stay? Or are you trying to trick me into bed again?"

"Both."

He brushes a thumb along his bottom lip in a seemingly unconscious gesture I find utterly seductive.

 
"All right, look. You want the place? It's yours. Pending a deposit, of course." He throws the application over his shoulder and it lands in a soft thud in the hallway as he takes a step closer.
 

I'm half sitting on the bathroom sink, eyes flashing to the papers on the floor behind him. "Am I meant to fetch that?" I ask, amused.

"No. I'm done talking business." He tucks my hair behind my ear and my lips part in the wake of his touch.
 

"Now what?" I try to keep my tone cool and unaffected, but the air feels thick with him.

"Now, I ask you out on a date."

"A date?"

"Yes, tomorrow night. Unless you already have plans for New Year's."

New Year's. I was supposed to be back in San Francisco by now. And even after I contemplated staying, the days have been such a blur I haven't had the time to consider any plans.

"What about Landon?"
 

"He'll spend it with my sister, she's throwing a party at her house. His cousin and some of their school friends will be there. Trust me, he'd much rather be around them than me."

"And your sister won't be mad at you for bailing?"

"Not when I tell her I've got a hot date."

"All right," I say, smiling. "It's a date."

He grins, looking into my eyes as I stare into his and try to get a grip on the flurry in my stomach.
 

"I've got to be honest." His breath is warm and soothing on my face. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again. But the sound of your voice has been playing in my head, on a loop. I can't get it out."

"Is that so?"

"There's a very specific sound I'm dying to recreate."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," I say with exaggerated confusion. "Is there something you can show me? You know, to jog my memory?"

"Something like this?" He pulls me up against him and I gasp. He's solid and inviting, and the way his bulge presses into me through our clothes is enough to shatter my pretenses. Still, I manage to tilt my head back and smile coyly.

 
"Sorry. It's not ringing any bells."

I glimpse the wicked smile that flashes across his face before he spins me around and bends me over the sink, bringing my nose inches from my own reflection in the mirror. "How about we let your face tell us when you're close to remembering?"

I take a sharp breath, heart pounding against my ribcage, enthralled by the unchecked desire flooding the man in the mirror. His fingers weave over the buttons of my blouse as he lowers his face onto my neck, kissing me there, waking all my nerve endings, and setting them off at once. He peels away my blouse and lowers his lips to my back. Everywhere his lips touch is blanketed by static energy, making me squirm as I relish in the sensation.
 

He unhooks my bra and the straps fall over my shoulders almost on their own accord. The spot on the back of my neck he's kissing must be a pleasure center, because when he sucks on it, I cry out in surprise. My eyes shut tight, heightening the effect of his touch, his hands over my bare breasts, thumbs flicking my hardened nipples.

Lowering a hand down my abdomen, he hooks it between my legs, over my jeans. I gasp at the way his palms press against where I'm already throbbing with need.
 

"Take them off," he says, tugging on the front of my jeans before pulling away from me to peel his own clothes off. I yield to his request, pulling my panties off along with my jeans.

When I straighten up again, he presses his bare chest to my back and my skin flushes. I'm primed for his touch, wet and on edge, knowing the delicious pleasure that's coming and already reeling from it.
 

He lowers me over the sink again, bringing my forearms to rest on the cold porcelain. I watch his reflection as he straps a condom on himself; the sight of his gorgeous body behind me is enough to make my mouth water.
 

"Don't go easy on me," I beg, breathless.
 

My words elicit a hungry groan from him. His hands close over my waist, eyes holding mine in the mirror. He enters me, filling me slowly until his pelvis is pressed against my ass. I throw my head back and sigh, feeling myself squeezing his shaft. As I go to catch my breath, he starts his breathtaking, rhythmic pulsing. Pure ecstasy surges through me, my moans echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Eyes forward," he growls, voice strained.
 

I meet my reflection in the mirror; my eyebrows are turned up at the ends, eyes slightly narrowed and lips quivering with each breath I take. I cast my sights up to his reflection. He's biting his lower lip, staring right back at me, muscular arms securing me in place as he claims my body with delicious vigor.

His hands move up my back to close over my shoulders for leverage as he picks up his speed, driving up my need for him to an overwhelming level. Until I'm alternating between panting and moaning, my ass burning from the contact of his body slapping against it. I'm quivering from the electrifying sensations he's delivering.
 

Before I know it, I'm moaning out his name in a plea. As though the sound of it describes what he's doing to me. Describes the raw, intoxicating energy coursing through me. My body is fueled by this incredible powerhouse of a man, owning every inch of me until I'm buckling under him.
 

He curses under his breath, his rhythm falling off track momentarily, as though hearing me moan out his name pulls him to the edge of control.
 

Is that the sound he was dying to recreate?

My sights are on the sink, but Owen grabs and handful of my hair and pulls my head back firmly so I can meet my own reflection again, the sounds of his body slamming into mine are rivaled only by my wild moans.
 

My body tenses up, fingers close over the edge of the sink as the orgasm thrashes across me like a rope, coiling and beating until agony falls away to release. I sigh his name in a hoarse whisper and Owen finishes in a long, rough stroke, followed by a groan that sends a shiver of delight up and down my spine.

I wonder how I ever thought I could leave him behind.