Was that supposed to scare me? “So, no one’s around to hear my screams?”
“Now you’re catching on. Come with me and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
We enter the living room and there is a beautiful black baby grand in the corner. I’m in love. “You play?”
He laughs at my assumption. “Not a note.”
I walk over and stroke the ivory keys. “It’s beautiful.”
“The interior designer thought it would be a pretty piece to take up some of the void since the room is so big.”
I toy with the keys, playing the chorus of a song I’d been working on before I left home. Its tune is perfect.
“It’s a shame it never gets played. I’m hoping it will get some use over the next few months.” The piano isn’t the only thing he hopes will get some action. “I’d love to hear you play.”
“We’ll see,” I say as I run my hand down the keys and walk away, even though I’m dying to sit down and put it to use. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Three months to be exact.
“The bedrooms are this way.” I follow him down the hall and he uses the tour to inform me that the previous owner, who died in a freak accident, now haunts the room I will be sleeping in.
Nice one. He wishes he could pull one over on me like that.
“I usually get along with ghosts and poltergeists pretty well, so I should be fine.”
He takes me across the hall. “If you decide to stay in the guest room and get scared in that big lonely bed all by yourself, this is where you’ll find me.”
His bedroom is gender neutral and contemporary. The bedding is a modern geometric pattern of mostly gray and white with yellow and black accents. Everything from the flooring to the ceiling coordinates. The bedroom is aesthetically appealing, but there’s nothing romantic about it, so it matches our relationship perfectly.
Every room in the house is spotless, and I wonder if it is Mrs. Porcelli’s doing or if he likes things orderly because he is some kind of neat freak.
I think we are finished with the tour of the house, but he takes me to one more room we haven’t visited. “Last stop.”
He opens the door to a room with wall-to-wall mirrors. The floor is covered with different kinds of exercise equipment, some I’ve never seen before. “Gee, someone likes to see himself while he works out.”
“The previous owner had a ballerina in the family and this was her studio.”
“Okay. That’s a little more acceptable.”
“You’re welcome to use this gym any time you want. It has surround sound for music or you can watch the idiot box.” He points to a cabinet against the wall. “The flat screen and receiver are in there. It has Bluetooth so you can play your own music or you can stream anything you like.”
There he goes assuming again. “You think I’m going to stay long enough to need a workout?”
“Since you’ve not given me an answer, that still remains to be seen.”
I walk over to an elliptical and step up. I make a few strides. “I exercise at home, but this isn’t what I do. Exercise equipment bores me.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “So what is your kind of workout?”
I slow the speed of my stride on the machine. “If you’re going to be like that, I don’t think I’m gonna tell you.”
“Please.”
I think for a minute, trying to decide if I want to tell him. “I dance.”
“Dancing is great exercise.”
I pick up speed again and stare straight ahead. I don’t want to see his face when I tell him. “I pole dance.”
Yep. That got his attention. “Pole dance? You mean, like a stripper?”
“Yes, but I don’t do it the way you’re imagining. It’s a beautiful art form when it’s done tastefully. I do it because I like it, and it’s a hell of a workout. Very strenuous. You use muscles you didn’t know you had. You’d be surprised what’s sore the next day.” I didn’t look at him, but I knew he was smirking.
He walks around to stand in front of me and I look down at him from the elliptical. “You only do it for exercise?”
I nod. “Yeah. No one knows I take lessons except my instructor and classmates. And now you.”
He licks his lips and rubs them together. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter, you go and tell me something like this and prove me wrong.”
I lift a brow at him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“How long have you done it?”
Hmm, I started my first year of college. “I guess it’s been about … four years.”
“You must be pretty good if you’ve done it for that long.”
I shrug because I’ve never been one to brag, but I’m damn good at it. “I guess. My background in gymnastics doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Gymnastics too,” he laughs. “So you’ve never danced on a stage in f**k-me pumps for a bunch of horny bastards?”
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. “You say that like you’re pretty familiar with the scene.”
He holds up his hand. “I’m pleading the Fifth.”
“That’s an American amendment. It doesn’t work for Australians.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Neither did you.”
He has a huge grin. “I may have seen a stripper on a pole once. Maybe twice.”
Damn liar.
I stop the elliptical and sigh loudly, as though he is wearing me down. “Yes and no.”
“Yes to what and no to what?”
“No, I’ve never danced on stage for horny bastards. But yes, I wear f**k-me pumps when I dance on the pole.”
“Now, you’re bloody hot in my book. What am I going to do with you?”
“I believe the answer to that question still remains to be seen, now doesn’t it?”
12
Jack McLachlan
I’m installing a pole in this gym. ASAP.
We have to stop talking about pole dancing and anything containing the term f**k me in it before I bend her over my weight bench. I put my hands in my pockets to disguise the hard-on our conversation has triggered. “Are you hungry? Good. Me too. Let’s go.”
She laughs as she steps down from the elliptical. I suspect she knows what she’s done to me. “Is something wrong, Lachlan?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m a bit peckish and ready for a bite of lunch.”