“So why did you frame this poster? What is it you like about it?”
“I like the black-and-white,” he said, considering. “And I thought it was kinda cool. The image is simple, but you keep wanting to look at it, figure it out… kind of like an ink blot or something.”
“What do you feel when you look at it?”
That gave him pause. Like maybe he’d never thought about that before.
“I guess… I just remember how we felt when we made it,” he said. “I guess it reminds me of that time. A time before managers and record companies and fans and everyone else having a say. It was just us, these four kids in a band. We had these huge dreams, all these things we wanted to do. And we really thought we’d do them. We were exploding with the music. With all our crazy ideas. With hormones…” He glanced at me, then studied the poster again. “It was this gorgeous, innocent time in our lives. We were standing on the edge of this massive abyss. The unknown… And we were so damn ready to dive right into it. We had no idea what was in store for us… and we couldn’t wait.”
“Do you feel that way now?”
His blue eyes met mine. “Really wish I did.”
“See,” I said, “that. That thing you feel when you look at this, that thing you felt when you made this poster, that’s what I want you to feel when you walk in the door after I’m done with your home.”
He just stared at me.
And the look in his eyes?
It was back again. That look he’d given me that first night in the rain. That unnerving combo of smoldering and broken and… searching?
It felt, somehow, like he was delving deep inside me with that look… when we weren’t even talking about me.
“I, um, took the liberty of using this poster as inspiration,” I went on, stumbling a bit under the force of his gaze. “I assumed it had meaning to you, and visually it’s the most interesting thing in your home right now. And the black-and-white suits you, I think. We can do black-and-white, if that’s what you like, steel and wood, modernize the furniture, make it more livable for you and the friends you want to entertain here. And when we get that TV stand out of the way, I see a music nook for you. Right by those big windows in the corner, with that view.”
I headed over to the windows again while he stood there, watching me as I laid it out for him.
“We can put in a couple of window seats, here,” I told him. “I found these great benches, solid wood but with a low profile so they’re not blocking too much window. We can throw in some cushions, stands for your guitars, a small shelving unit against the TV wall, if you need a place for notes or whatever… I offer organizing services, too, if you like. I’ve got some fantastic organizing systems I can put into cupboards and closets so that there’s a place for everything. That way, we can clear away the little piles of clutter off the floor… all those music magazines and your guitars. Get them out of your bedroom, and leave the bedroom for what it’s meant for.”
“Sounds good,” he said, and his eyes definitely darkened when I said that last part. Then he looked at my mouth.
I totally didn’t mean sex. I meant sleeping. Leave the bedroom for sleeping. Why didn’t I say that?
“I, uh, feel like bedrooms are often overlooked, especially by bachelors,” I said, really trying not to blush. “Some guys just treat it like a place to crash. But the fact is you spend a third of your life sleeping in there, so it should be comfortable, right?”
I gestured toward the bedroom and he followed me in.
He still had little piles of magazines, clothes, everywhere. But I noticed the women’s lingerie was gone.
I shouldn’t have cared either way. Professional.
But yeah, I noticed.
“First,” I told him, “I’d recommend a declutter. It’s cool if you want to play guitar in here, but let’s have a place to put the guitars away in your music nook. I’d clear out this old table you have, put in a set of bedside tables with matching lamps.”
I glanced at him. He said nothing, but he was still listening.
“It may sound cheesy,” I went on, “but it’s nice to do all these things in sets of two, even if you’re single now, so that there’s room to bring the relationship you want into your life. I mean… if you want that.”
“What if I need three?” he said.
“Three… what?”
He stared at me with that blank but somehow smoldering look he’d perfected into a gorgeous art form. “Three of everything.”
“Uh… Oh.”
Okay. Was he still fucking with me?
Or was he really that accustomed to his sexual encounters involving two women at once? Like stereotypical rock star slut style?
“Um, we can do three. I’d have to give a little thought to how to fit it all in…”
“I’m kidding.”
Was he? I couldn’t tell. He didn’t even smirk.
I felt the traitorous blush creeping up my face again and cleared my throat. “You seem to like it dark in here. You tacked a blanket up over the window. Hard to enjoy the view that way.”
“Hard to sleep when the sun’s in my eyes.”
“Do you often sleep when the sun’s up?”
“As much as possible.”
“Then I suggest we get in some high-quality blackout curtains that can be opened when you’re not sleeping. And as for the bed, a queen would fit better in this space—”
“It’s gotta be a king,” he said.
“Sure. If you prefer a king. I’ve picked out a few styles for you to choose from.”
I met his eyes again and he just stared at me.
I ducked out and led him back toward the kitchen. “I brought the paint samples for you to look through, too. I’ll leave them with you.” I leaned on the kitchen bar, where my tablet lay, and swiped the screen. “And I have the beds here for you to see.”
I didn’t look up when Ashley moved into place beside me. He leaned on the bar next to me, his shirt sleeve brushing my arm—and tingles skittered all the way up my arm and down my body.
My nipples hardened deliciously. No, torturously.
I shifted subtly away.
My God. I couldn’t remember my body ever responding to a man like this—even when I was in bed with one and very yummy, naked, intimate things were being done to me.
Just standing next to him…
My clit had started throbbing. I was trying to ignore the fact, but that was pretty much impossible.
I’d never had my clit throb during a client meeting before. Definite first.
What the hell would happen if I actually touched him…?
Nope. Not going there.
Professional.
He scrolled through the images of beds I’d collected in the Pinterest board, and I just tried to keep breathing. It was weirdly hard to get it right, standing so close to him. Something that was a primal biological function, totally involuntary, suddenly seemed complicated. My heart rate was definitely up. My breathing was more shallow, yet somehow heavier, all at once.
How to breathe silently, instead of sounding like I was panting in heat?
And how to do it without smelling him? Because the smell of him was driving me crazy. Like just breathing in his scent was going to make me wet. He didn’t smell like cologne or anything. Just a slight hint of soap and fresh laundry… and his skin.
God, it sounded so loud when I swallowed. He was gonna think I was drooling.
Maybe I was. Just a little.
I didn’t even need to look at him. He was invading all my senses. I could feel my undeniable attraction to him, threatening to overwhelm me…
And I couldn’t help wondering if he was really attracted to me.
Me, and not just my resemblance to my sister.
He was, wasn’t he?
He’d definitely flirted with me via text, trying more than once to turn the conversation sexual. He’d definitely checked me out, several times.
And he’d cleaned up his p
lace a bit.
Coincidence?
There were no dirty dishes this time. The underwear and condoms were nowhere to be seen. He’d even put on jeans and an unoffensive Beastie Boys shirt, with three-quarter sleeves that covered his rudest tattoos.
Compared to the first time I’d been in his home, he looked practically ready for church.
“You’ve got a lot of cool stuff in here,” he said, his voice low and quiet as he perused the images I’d pinned for him.
“Thank you.” It was pretty much the first positive thing he’d said to me throughout this entire process. “Do you have a Pinterest account?”
“No.”
“If you wouldn’t mind opening one, I can share this board with you. It’s an easy way to share ideas, and you can browse and approve things as I price them out for you.”
“Sure.”
“Great.”
He’d stopped scrolling. He stood next to me, stock-still.
Had I just landed this job?
I stared at the screen, but I couldn’t really see it. All I could see was his arm, right next to mine. His hand, right next to mine. The lovely lines of his muscles and his tanned skin, the silver ring on his pinky finger.
He wore jewelry, and he wore it well. And I liked that about him.
That alluring combo of ruggedness and beauty…
“We didn’t finish talking about the bedding,” I said, still not looking at him. “Assuming you want full bedding for the new bed?”
“Yeah. I’ll need that.”
“Then I’ll make some final recommendations on the bedding for you. I’ll add them to the board. And that’s about it, I think. Those are the major items.” He didn’t say anything, and finally, I looked at him. “I can work on the other details as we go,” I practically squeaked out. “And I’ll source some blackout curtains. I mean, if you actually hire me.”
His face was incredibly close to mine. And I just couldn’t get over his eyes. Black eyelashes. Blue irises. Like perfect blue. Mine had about four different colors in them up close. His were just… blue.
And his lips…
I looked away. I hadn’t actually glimpsed his tongue piercing again, not since the first night we met, but the idea of it was driving me crazy.
I’d never kissed a guy with a pierced tongue before. Much less fucked a guy with a pierced—
Bucket list.
Did it make me a terrible perv that I kept thinking of him that way?
No. Any guy who pierces his dick is not gonna mind you thinking about it.
That’s what I kept trying to tell myself, to make myself feel better about perving on him.
“And what if I want to put in a St. Andrews cross and a swing?” he said.
I swallowed again, loudly.
What…?
“Are those… sex things?”
“They are,” he said, and when I looked at him again, he was looking at my mouth. “But I was kidding. The new bed will do.” Then he smirked, just a little.
Because he sensed my discomfort, didn’t he?
Was this fun for him? Flirting and watching me squirm…?
“Uh, look…” I said, just barely clinging to my professionalism. Right now, it was my life preserver. Without it, I’d already be drowning in his blue eyes and very possibly begging him to take off his pants. “I should probably be happy that you seem to want the works here. But honestly, beds aren’t cheap. Are you sure you want a whole new king-size bed? The one you have is perfectly fine.”
“Honestly?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “My last serious relationship was a three-way relationship. We had a lot of sex in that bed. I fell in love with both of them, and they fell in love with each other. Then they broke up with me. Still think I should keep the bed?”
Holy shit.
“Um, no. I think I should help you torch it in the back alley.”
He smiled.
And oh my God…
I realized, as he smiled, that it was the first time he’d ever truly smiled at me.
Too. Gorgeous.
I looked away.
I had so many questions whirling through my head.
Was he trying to intimidate me, telling me about this three-way relationship? Trying to scare me away again?
Or was he just being straight with me? Honest?
And when was this three-way relationship? Did this have anything to do with the bras I’d seen in his room…?
“Um… were you serious about wanting three bedside tables?”
“I don’t know.”
When he didn’t go on, I met his eyes again.
“What would you recommend?” he asked, holding my gaze… And it definitely felt like he was asking me about a lot more than bedside tables.
If so, it wouldn’t be the first time a client had asked me to weigh in on his or her personal life.
When I went into peoples’ homes, into their bedrooms, it was often because they were rebuilding their lives. Making changes. Starting over, even. And that usually didn’t begin with new lamps and a bedspread. It began with more personal changes.
Changes in relationships were often a part of that.
I’d often found myself in the role of amateur therapist in my clients’ lives. Listening to relationship woes. Offering my humble opinions. Championing the changes they were undertaking.
When they asked for that.
And I knew I could easily slip into that role, right now, with Ashley Player. If that’s what he was asking for. I could be the compassionate listener, offer sympathy and support and advice or whatever else my client asked of me.
It would definitely provide an excuse to get more personally involved, while still treading the line of professionalism…
But I stuffed that urge down. Because it would be wrong.
And an incredibly slippery slope… to other things.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the Cardinal Rule of Sisterhood flitted by.
Thou. Shalt. Not.
“I think two would fit very nicely in the space,” I said.
“Two it is, then.”
“Great.”
I reminded myself that I was here to redecorate his apartment for him. I was here to snag him as a client.
That was all.
Thanks to the whole drunken mess with him and my sister at a ski resort… that was all it could ever be. Professionalism aside, I wasn’t going to touch a guy Daniella had touched first.
Even if she told me it was okay.
Because, unfortunately, I just wasn’t sure if I’d ever believe her.
Ever since Jackson… the Cardinal Rule was sacrosanct. It had to be.
And I wouldn’t be the one to break it.
I glanced up, and Ashley hit me with his blue eyes again. “You have great taste,” he said.
“Thank you.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I probably need someone like you in my life.”
I wish.
I looked away and my knees kind of quivered as I tucked the tablet into my purse.
I did wish.
I wished he’d hire me. I’d love to have a rock star client. Would really make things interesting after the last several divorcees I’d redecorated for.
That part had nothing to do with my attraction to him.
Right?
It didn’t matter that Ashley Player had a gorgeous, lickable body and the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen on a man and a pierced tongue I wanted to feel all over me, naked. I needed him as a client far more than I needed him as a lover.
There were just so many reasons not to reach over and touch his strong forearm right now.
At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as he walked me to the door.
“I’ve left the paint samples in the kitchen for you,” I told him. “They’re all labeled for the various rooms. You can just take a look through when you have time, see if any of them grab you.”
“Thanks.”
When I shook his hand, the feel of his slightly rough, warm skin against mine made me die a little inside.
And I felt a hollow sense of disappointment in myself.
Because while it was incredibly important to me to be loyal to my sister—and to my professional integrity—this was exactly my weakness in life: doing for others, even if it meant depriving myself of what I really wanted.
And what I wanted, as his hand slipped from mine, was Ashley Player.
As my lover, not as my client.
We stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. I didn’t mean to stare.
But why was he staring?
I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth.
“So,” he said, “I guess you’re hired.”
And I totally freaked out.
“You really don’t have to decide that now,” I backpedaled, and he frowned. “There’s no pressure to commit here. Just think about everything we talked about, okay? Take a look at the paint samples and, um, sleep on it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You did all this, and now you don’t want to get paid?”
“I’m in no hurry.” I should’ve been. I should’ve been looking to close this deal. But I didn’t.
Really, why did he look so surprised?
Threesomes, sex swings… St. Andrews cross? He might as well have just had someone tied up in the bedroom when I walked in.
He wanted to scare me off, right?
Well, it worked.
“Just… think about it,” I repeated.
Then I bolted out the door.
Holy shit, was I an idiot.
As I jabbed the button for the elevator, I told myself I was crazy, actually, for even feeling conflicted about this at all. It didn’t even matter that he might end up my client and I was torn about wanting to jump his bones.
It didn’t matter that I was attracted to him.
He’d hooked up with my sister. That was all that mattered.
And actually… he didn’t just hook up with her.
As far as I knew, he’d gotten a tattoo of her name somewhere on his body, and asked her to marry him.
Maybe I could work for him. But no matter what, I couldn’t let myself forget those little details.
Chapter Eleven
Ash
Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1) Page 14
