‘A drink—champagne?’
‘I shouldn’t, I’m working.’ Not once had she succumbed to alcohol in his presence. Heaven knew where her lowered inhibitions would take her, where her loosened tongue would end up...
‘But I’m the client and if I say it’s fine...’ He raised his brow in enthusiastic encouragement and laughter erupted through her.
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Nonsense, I’m about to secure you two massive sales—you deserve a celebratory drink.’
About to... He’d chosen.
Back came the panic, her insides quivering, and she tried to suppress it.
It’s good for the business, it’s good news, focus on that.
‘Does this mean we don’t need to have these viewings this afternoon?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
‘No,’ he said, pressing a button in the panel alongside him and causing the table to retract, unveiling a fridge beside her. He bent and opened it, his arm brushing her lower leg and sparking a frisson of excitement, but it died as it hit the chill she couldn’t stop from spreading.
What did he mean by no?
If he was done, then they were done?
She watched him, her emotions holding her silent and still. He extracted two glasses and a bottle of champagne with a stopper in place.
He’s already opened it—he’s already planned this. They really were done and he wants to celebrate it.
So what? You still have tonight—that’s not a property viewing, that’s a date.
That has to count as something of a future after this viewing is all done with.
She was clutching at straws, but she had to, the alternative something she couldn’t bear to think on...
He settled into the seat opposite her and offered her a glass. ‘We definitely need those viewings.’
Okay, so he hasn’t decided.
Or has he?
Christ, she was a confused mess.
She took the glass and waited for him to pour it, the bubbles taking an age to die back so he could top it up, and once he had she didn’t wait for a toast, she took a swig and prayed the alcohol would do something to sort her out. ‘So why the celebrating now?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m trying to give you a rational reason for enjoying a drink that works to your professionalism.’
Thank Christ for that.
Her head swam, her lips wrapping around the glass once more as she took another healthy sip. ‘What I’m really wanting to do is enjoy a drink with you, spend an afternoon viewing, an evening schmoozing, and then take you home to my bed.’
Her pulse rocketed. ‘Your bed?’
He met her gaze head-on, his darkened depths penetrating her own. ‘Yes.’
Her heart soared—they’d done many a thing, but sharing the night wasn’t one. ‘Sounds perfect.’
She took a sip, smaller this time now that the panic had subsided, and he mimicked her, their eyes locking above their glasses, the air turning hot and thick.
How are you ever going to let this go?