I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up 3)

I grasp his chin in my free hand and push his face away. It’s the only way I’ll be able to end this kiss. We’re both panting. I tip my head back even as he tries to bring our mouths together again. And I want him to. The desire is visceral, a shimmer in the air, a heat in my veins, and a fire in his eyes.

That is what wanting someone is.

This is the pinnacle of desperate attraction. This is the chemical reaction that ignites and burns until there’s nothing left but ash.

This insatiable craving is why people ignore a two out of ten on a compatibility test.

“Enough,” I whisper. My voice comes out a smoky rasp, but there’s command in it and he yields.

He nods his head once, eyes darting to my lips, the longing making his lids heavy. “Never. But okay … for now.”

He releases my hand and he takes a step back as he smooths out my hair. “Sorry. That was … I…”

“You’re fine.” I’m not sure I am, though. My whole body feels like it’s been lit up and I’m on overdrive.

He glances down to where his very impressive erection pushes against the fly of his dress pants. “Well, that’s questionable.” He turns around, his broad back shifting as he rearranges things—I can see his reflection in the mirror across the room, though. His eyes roll up as he moves things around and his lip curls.

I don’t think I’ve ever had this effect on another person before.

The power is intoxicating.

His eyes meet mine in the reflection and his grimace turns into a grin, which matches mine. “Now who’s enjoying whose discomfort?”

I raise my hand, finger and thumb half an inch apart. “Me. But just a little.”

“Not interested in helping me resolve it, then?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to show you the rest of house now, and you’re not going to antagonize me into kissing you again.”

He nods his agreement.

“Great.” I put a little extra sway in my hips. “And Pierce?”

“Yeah?” He follows me out of the bedroom.

“Mint green.”

“What?”

“You said you wanted to know what color my panties are. They’re mint green.”

He grabs the top of the doorjamb and heaves a deep sigh. “Patterned or solid color?”

“Solid.”

“Cotton, satin, lace, or a combination?”

“Lace.”

“Thong?” He sounds hopeful.

“Cheekies.”

“Ah fuck.” He bites his lip. “Wanna give me a peek?”

I laugh. “Nope.”

“Never hurts to ask.”

CHAPTER 14

DANCING IN THE SAND

RIAN

It isn’t until after I’ve given Pierce the tour that Marley informs them we’re the selling agents. She was right, my paranoia was unfounded, but then, she wasn’t the one to inadvertently help our father swindle millions of dollars out of unsuspecting families. Surprisingly, they don’t try to negotiate the commission down.

Pierce refuses to put in an offer without having a private conversation with his brother. Lawson is ridiculously keen on buying the property, ready to throw out whatever figure is necessary. Pierce wants to make sure the minor renovations needed can be done in a time-sensitive manner so they can capitalize on potential summer revenue. It’s smart. Pierce is smart. Logical where his brother seems impulsive.

We leave them to discuss it with the expectation that they’ll call before four in the afternoon with an offer, otherwise we’re going through with the open house the following day. Marley and I lounge on the deck, anxiously watching the minutes tick by as we wait.

Pierce calls at 3:39. Not Lawson. Pierce. And he calls my phone, not Marley’s.

“You still haven’t answered my text messages from this morning,” he says by way of greeting.

“Is this a social call or a business call?”

“Both.”

“It can’t be both. It has to be one or the other.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“You have twenty minutes until your window of opportunity closes.”

“To get into your panties tonight?”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not really.”

“I’m talking about putting an offer in on the house. Your time is running out. We can’t do social until we’re done doing business, and social doesn’t include getting into my panties, FYI.” Such a lie. Although it won’t be the mint-green ones I was wearing earlier, those are already in the laundry pile, courtesy of the effects of that kiss we shared.

“Okay. Let’s clear up the business first. We can talk about your panties later. We’re putting in an offer.”

“If you’re putting in an offer, you should be talking to Marley, not me.”

“I don’t want to talk to Marley. I want to talk to you.”

I sigh and put the phone on speaker, dropping it on the table between our loungers. “I draw up papers. Marley presents offers. You have to deal with both of us.”

“You know what would make this even easier?”

“If you dealt with Marley?”

“If we came over there and discussed it in person.” I roll my eyes at Marley, but before I can respond, Pierce says, “We’ll be there in less than ten.”

“You only have nineteen minutes left to make an offer. You better get your rear in gear.”

“Get the paperwork started.”

“Don’t tell me wh—”

The call cuts out.

I huff, annoyed. “It better be a good offer.”

Pierce and Lawson come sauntering up the stairs to the deck like they own the place—which they do—a few minutes later. Lawson is wearing board shorts and the same open, button-down shirt as before. Pierce is no longer wearing a dress shirt and tie. Now he’s sporting a pair of board shorts and he has a T-shirt slung over his shoulder, Trip on his heels.

“Let’s make a deal, ladies.” Lawson pulls up two deck chairs.

Pierce gives me a slow perusal. “I was expecting the pink bikini, but I think I might like this one even better.”

I’m wearing my yellow polka-dot bikini. It’s superfun and has a cute little tie right between my boobs, which is where Pierce’s gaze snags as he takes a seat beside his brother. Trip sits in front of Pierce, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He’s so freaking adorable. The dog, not the man. The man is gorgeous. And he knows it, based on the way he flexes his abs when I accidentally caress them with my eyes.

“Bottom line, gentlemen.” Marley slaps the arms of her chair, apparently unfazed by everyone’s half-dressed state, including her own. “You need to put your best offer on the table. If they don’t like it, they’re going to hold an open house tomorrow and you’ll be out of luck.”

Lawson slaps the arm of his chair. I can’t tell if he’s making fun of Marley or they have the same mannerisms. “We’ll go ten over asking.”

“This place will go into a bidding war. It’s the only house for sale on this end of the beach since you’re not selling yours anymore, and there’s nothing comparable in Hamptons Bay,” Marley counters. “Everyone who was expecting to come to your open house will now be at theirs. But if ten over is your best, Rian will prepare the paperwork.”

I’m already typing away on my laptop, pulling up the documents—which are set to go apart from the dollar amount because I knew they were going to put in an offer, it was just a matter of how close they planned to cut it.