More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

I should probably shut my mouth, but she has to know she’s capable if she’s going to use these maneuvers on Griff. God, I don’t want to think about that. At least I don’t have to look at it.

Keeley gives me a giddy clap. “I had you going.”

She still does.

“Don’t do that again unless you mean it.”

As we roll to a red light, I zip a hot stare across the space between us. My eye fuck must have some impact on her because her breath catches.

“What do you mean?”

“Tease me again, and I’ll have you in my bed, stripped down, and taking the pleasure I give you so fast you’ll be dizzy, sunshine.”

Neither of us moves or speaks for a long minute. Is she reconsidering her no-sex policy? I’m praying to any god I think may help me get laid when I hear an impatient honking behind me.

I jolt. The light has turned green. Keeley is now leaning away, arms crossed over her chest and staring out the windshield.

The moment is gone.

I curse under my breath as I step on the gas. The car lurches forward. The rest of the ride is silent.

After another strained ten minutes, we reach the house I’m previewing for an overseas client. He’s a Chinese banker looking for a place to entertain clients supposedly. I don’t really care if he uses this as a party hotspot or a love shack. He wants a luxury waterfront showplace, so I’ll find him one.

When we reach the house, I stop the car in front of a plantation-style estate. On the first level, a lush lawn leads to a huge stone patio, which gives way to wide wooden stairs. At the top, benches line the lanai, along with lush plants and a couple of cozy rockers. A beautiful dining room table sits squarely under the shade of the patio roof with a swaying ceiling fan providing an extra nudge for the gentle trade winds licking across my skin. The view of the ocean is full frontal and 180 degrees.

I don’t see doors at the threshold of the house. Instead, the opening has been widened to accommodate a floor-to-ceiling accordion glass door. The effect brings the outdoors inside, right into the adjacent, open-concept living room.

In keeping with custom, we kick off our shoes before we head inside. Two huge bamboo sofas with thick tropical-print cushions sit perpendicular to the entrance. A matching block table separates them. At the apex, a wide chair designed for reading the day away while overlooking the palm-tree-and-Pacific heaven has been positioned like a throne. Every wall is white, except one covered in well-stocked bookshelves. Skylights abound. Ceiling fans turn in lazy circles, dangling on downrods from the soaring ceilings above.

A simple wooden guitar hangs on the wall beside a hall tree on our way to the adjacent bar area. The little space is kitschy. The cabinets are bamboo. Someone hung a grass skirt as a border with old forty-fives of Elvis tracks as decor. But somehow it doesn’t look old or dated. Surprisingly, it’s neutral and functional.

On the far wall, the kitchen gleams white with a few rustic exceptions. There’s a wooden island, a giant eat-in kitchen with an old-fashioned oval table, but a sleekly modern hooded stove, double ovens, and clean white subway tile lining the walls.

The place oozes charm.

“It’s…amazing.” Keeley looks around, completely wide-eyed, blinking, oohing and aahing, brushing her hands along every surface.

She’s in love.

I don’t blame her. Besides being beautiful, the house is cozy. A person could live here, relax here, while away their days in sheer bliss.

“If your client doesn’t buy this, he’s crazy. If I had the money, I absolutely would.”

I shrug. “I think he’s looking for something more modern. Something he can show off, rather than a place where he can hide away.”

I snap off a few pictures of the view, the dining, entertaining, and kitchen spaces.

“You done in here?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Is she suddenly in a hurry?

“Good.” She grabs my hands. “Let’s go see the rest.”

I laugh as she tugs me back into the entertainment space, then through wide double doors and into an airy bedroom. More white. More plantation-cottage vibe. Flowing white drapes flap in the breeze as they frame the open French doors. Other than flowered prints on the bed in neutrals, the room is soft and simple and comfortable. Multiple windows overlook the green expanse of grass and the ocean beyond.

A door at the back of the room leads to a bathroom with double sinks framed in marble and open shelving in the cabinets beneath, punctuated with bamboo baskets instead of drawers. Double mirrors, hanging pendant lights, and a bright atmosphere add the perfect touches. I like it.

Around a corner, I find a softly shadowed hallway, a huge closet, a king-size soaker tub, then another doorway. When I push it open, I find a giant walk-in indoor/outdoor shower made of gray lava rock. The walls on three sides protect anyone from seeing in, but whoever built this place was smart enough to cut an open window with a direct view of the palms and the ocean. There’s even a pedestal for bath items. Five shower heads line one wall that must be six feet long. A whole football team could probably shower in here at once and never touch.

“Oh, my gosh…” Keeley’s bare feet patter along the stone floor as she drinks it all in. “Can I just die here? This is…”

“Stunning,” I finish for her.

“Yeah. But not stuffy. Why would anyone sell this place?”

I shrug. “Hawaii is more of a destination than a residence for some people. They buy a house, thinking they’ll come here more often than they do. A few years slide by. They realize they’re paying taxes, maintenance, whatever…and just not finding the time or energy to come here enough to justify the money.”

“That’s crazy. If this place was mine, I’d forget ever going back to Phoenix. I’d live here and never leave.”

I see what she means. It’s secluded. Quiet. A stroll in gives me a sense that I should relax more, worry less, share this world with someone important. I glance Keeley’s way.

Dangerous train of thought…

“Well, we can’t stay,” I remind her as I grab snapshots of this bedroom and bathroom area. “Let’s see about the rest.”

On the other side of the main living area is another bedroom, similar in size and color to the first. This one is set up as a children’s room with two double beds, a big TV, and a pair of comfy chairs with a library of books and DVDs. The bathroom is smaller but stylish. More than adequate for a guest or two.

“So cute,” she remarks. “If I’d had this bedroom growing up…” With a shake of her head, she glances out over the expanse of the ocean. “I would never have sneaked out and found trouble.”

“You were a bad girl?” That surprises me.

“Terrible,” she assures. “When I was thirteen, my best friend, Betsy, and I toilet-papered the house of the cute boy down the street, then we took his bike, which he’d left on his front porch, for a joyride all the way to the end of the block.”

“Did you return it?”

“We did,” she concedes with a teasing grin. “But it was almost midnight.”

“Scandalous.” I shake my head as if I’m very disappointed.

“Totally. I followed that up at fifteen by sneaking out to study with some kids in my biology class at the all-night pancake house down the road.”

“You were worried about your g

rade?”

“No. There was another cute boy. He dared me to sneak out my window.”

I pause. If I dare her to lose those shorts and muss up one of these beds with me…

“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” She shakes her head.