Even when he hasn’t voiced an opinion, Tanner’s facial expressions are as open as if he had. I’ve learned he loves to hear about practical things – the double-paned glass, water pressure, effectiveness of the current solar paneling – and that’s why I make sure to brush up on my memorization of those qualities before each business day of tours with him begins. Although this morning it was hard to think of anything except being alone with him.
I keep looking for something to dislike again, like I did at our first meeting and for most of the days afterward. But I very much approve of his taste in general. I like reading his face and detecting how he really feels about these homes. When he became disgusted with the staff quarters, my admiration soared rather than fizzled out.
Aunt Rachel called him ruthless, and he might be. He’s definitely shrewd, but would a ruthless man care about those rooms?
I don’t think so.
“What are you thinking about?” Tanner asks, a sea of wine bottles shelved behind his perfectly tailored suit.
Embarrassed I smile, “Oh, nothing. I guess I daydreamed for a moment.”
“You have a little dust bunny here.” He reaches out and gently lifts something from my cheek, showing it to me.
Wiping my face out of reflex I tease, “Sounds funny hearing you say dust bunny.”
His forehead crinkles with amused curiosity. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know, you’re just so…stuffy.”
A loud laugh explodes from his lungs and he rakes his hair. “I think you mean sophisticated and proper.”
“No, I mean stuffy,” I insist, secretly loving his smile and the sound of that surprising laugh.
He chuckles, struggling to regain his lost composure. “Stuffy…never been called that before.”
“To your face maybe.”
He laughs again, shoulders shaking and teeth dazzling-white. “Emma, you’re too much.” Our eyes lock and something shifts in his stare. A few times I’ve felt this intense chemistry between us today, and each time I walked away.
But I don’t move this time.
His thick eyelashes narrow as he decides how to play this. He walks closer, gazing into my eyes and searching for the answer. Should I kiss you, he seems to be asking himself. I stay right where I am, holding my breath. The seconds pass with neither of us making a move. His lips part. I stare at them. He licks them and I begin to pulse. He steps back and walks away, running a hand through his hair.
Are his fingers shaking?
They are!
I almost ask why he didn’t follow his instincts but something in mine tells me that’s not a smart move. He’s older than anyone I’ve dated or even been attracted to. It all feels forbidden for the obvious reasons and the not so obvious, too.
“I have that appointment to make,” he grates, waiting for me to join him. I reach the stairs and he goes ahead of me. He pauses, realizing it’s rude, and flattens his body to the wall. “Ladies first, Emma.”
I pause on the same step as he, turning my head to turn up the heat before I turn off the lights. His nostrils flare and his eyes have promises of orgasms. God, I want to touch him so badly, my fingers actually float toward him without my consent. I make a fist and look away, walking up.
The impending separation is weighing on me. I’d booked him for the entire morning and had hoped that might turn into lunch, which was silly of me. Trouble is that silliness leads to disappointment. The rest of my Saturday will be spent thinking of him, I know it.
“It’s a pity we couldn’t see the backyard this time, what with time running out.”
He glances to his car like he wants to be in it, and away from me. “I don’t plan on buying this property.”
“When can I show you another?”
His lips go thin like Andy’s did. It strikes me for the first time that I’m in Andy’s shoes right now. I want more than someone wants to give me. The thought is sickening so I start walking to my car, saying in an off-handed way, “I can see your schedule is grueling so I won’t pressure you into anything.”
“Tomorrow I’m free from ten until eleven o’clock only. Take it or leave it.”
My heart pounds as I pause and meet his eyes. “I’m in church at that time tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. It’s Sunday and I will be at church.”
Tanner’s eyebrows rise and he holds back his surprise, poorly. “What faith?”
“Catholic.”
He nods, hand sliding in his pocket as his phone vibrates. I expect him to answer it, but he doesn’t. “All of you practicing?”
“No, not all. Most aren’t. But I started going to church on my own not too long ago.”
“Why?”
With impatience I puff my chest. “None of your business, Mr. Hamilton.”
His eyes narrow at the challenge. “I want to know.”
“And?”
“And I want you to tell me.”
Chuckling like he’s crazy, I walk away and call over my shoulder, “It’s good to want things. Keeps things interesting.”
When I get in my convertible I pull my hair into a high bun to avoid knots, because I plan to go very fast and burn emotional steam. It’s so hard not to look over but I can’t help noticing from my peripheral vision that he hasn’t moved.
I meet his concentrating stare.
He’s trying to figure me out.
Turning up the radio, my cousin Gabriel’s song comes on. Oh dammit! I was supposed to be at his concert last night! Totally forgot about it, how is that possible? He rarely has them in town and he’s going to Canada next. Dammit, I’m such a jerk.
I turn the volume to very, very loud.
Tanner is still watching me.
“Goodbye Mr. Hamilton. Don’t be late for that appointment you have waiting for you.”
I drive away.
CHAPTER 15
T ANNER
P ulling out my phone I call Dan. Before he speaks I tell him, “Wait an hour, then phone Emma for an appointment tomorrow, Sunday, after 2:00 P.M. to see the properties.”
“I thought you were slated to
