Mr. Temptation. Rachael Stewart

‘It’s bad enough that he did the rounds with my so-called friends. The sooner the divorce is final and I can cut all ties, the better.’

      He could sense Zara backing away, could feel the personal nature of their conversation putting her on edge. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, reining it back in. ‘I’m sorry to have mentioned him. I just want what’s best for you, and this isn’t it.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It’s impractical.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Kristus, Julia, you’re a tall woman—care to explain how you’re going to use that bathroom?’ He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. ‘Allow me to demonstrate...’

      He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall.

      He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder—‘See?’

      They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs—for fuck’s sake.

      He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘You think it’s so easy? You try it.’

      ‘I’d rather not,’ Julia blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.

      ‘Okay.’ He looked to Zara pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. ‘Why don’t you do the honours?’

      His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, ‘Sure, could you just hold this?’

      She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.

       Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.

      ‘It’s like this,’ she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest—she could tell him anything now and he’d fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away.

      ‘Just back up a little,’ she ordered.

      Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.

       But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head.

      ‘And you can remove this for more height, like so,’ she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. ‘Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath.’

      She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up—not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.

      ‘Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Zara.’ His sister gave him a smug grin. ‘See, big bro, that’s how it’s done.’

      ‘You’re welcome,’ came Zara’s response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn’t be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit—did she know where his head was at?

      And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.

      ‘Right, well, I think we’re done with this one,’ she said, unceremoniously shoving the shower screen in his face and almost sending him to his ass on the pink porcelain.

      ‘Shall we move on?’ she said, already heading out.

      ‘Yup.’ Julia nodded, smirking right at him.

      He screwed his face up in a childish gesture—whatever.

      ‘If you both go on down,’ Zara said, expertly ignoring their little exchange—thank fuck! The pair of them were doing his ego and renowned charm no favours at all.

      ‘I’ll join you shortly,’ she continued. ‘I just have to take care of an errand for the owner.’

      ‘Great,’ Julia said, moving for the front door. ‘I have a quick call to make so I’ll meet you downstairs.’

      ‘I’ll catch you up,’ he called after her, pushing the glass door back into place and wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought of that.

       Perhaps because you’ve never had to endure one before?

      He shook his head, brushing the entire incident off as he followed in Zara’s direction.

      ‘Can I have a quick word?’ he asked, entering the kitchenette hot on her tail. His intention had been to talk budget with Julia out of earshot but as Zara turned in the small space, hemmed in as they were by the cupboards and the breakfast bar, all thoughts of conversation evaporated.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes wary as they lifted to his, her hands coming to rest on the countertop either side of her as she backed up against it. ‘But first you need to stop looking at me like that.’

      ‘Like what?’ He knew the answer well enough, but how would she describe it, what she saw in him? She was good with words—she’d demonstrated it repeatedly throughout the day, when eloquently describing the features of each potential abode. And in truth, he could listen to her talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to criticise: he wasn’t ready for her job to come to an end; he wasn’t ready for her to complete a sale for his sister and vacate his life.

      He watched her eyelids flutter, her tongue flicking out to moisten that bottom lip he was so fascinated with. Was she nervous?

      ‘You know what.’ Her eyes dropped to his mouth, their depths revealing in their helpless nature, and his lips curled upwards. So she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she’d have him believe.

      Power surged, his ego with it. ‘What if I said I can’t help it?’

      Her eyes snapped back to his. ‘Then make yourself help it because this—’ she wagged a finger between them ‘—isn’t happening.’

      ‘No?’ He stepped forward and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a ragged breath.

      ‘No.’ She gave a small shake of her head, the move sending a lock across her forehead and he itched to push it back. ‘I don’t date clients.’

      ‘Technically,’ he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears, ‘I’m not a client.’

      ‘You’re as good as.’

      ‘I disagree.’

      ‘Whether you disagree or not, I don’t care,’ she rushed out. ‘I’m not falling into this trap.’

      His brow knitted together; she’d flummoxed him now. ‘Trap?’

      She paled, her words seeming to surprise even her, and then she visibly recovered, her chin rising, to say, ‘The kind of trap where I let this get in the way of my business.’

      He studied her face, her sincerity. ‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience.’ He didn’t like the idea one bit. Oh, the irony. ‘I take it you’ve not always been so averse to dating clients?’

      She