Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

“I’m so freaking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She rubs at her eyes.

“You’re sorry?” I ask with a cool voice.

“Yes.”

I can’t explain what possesses me to react the way I do, but I grab the side hose and spray Dahlia like we did countless times as kids.

“Julian!” She holds up her hands, making the water splash everywhere.

I ignore her cry as I blast her face with cold water, ruining her makeup and hair in the process. A mix of mascara, eyeliner, and blush runs down her cheeks.

I drop the hose. “I accept your apology now.” My gaze flickers toward her soaked T-shirt. The black fabric clings to the curves of her breasts like a second skin, emphasizing the—

“What the hell?” I sputter while choking on water.

“You look like you need to cool down.” Dahlia sprays me with enough water to soak my hair, white button-down shirt, and the front of my pants. The water feels cool on my skin, but a blast of warmth pours through me as her gaze follows as it trickles down my arms.

El que se enoja pierde: Who gets angry loses.



Her tongue traces her bottom lip as she focuses on my abs pressing against the wet fabric.

I follow her gaze. “Like what you see?”

“Consider me unimpressed.” Although the faint blush creeping up her neck gives her away.

I grab my shirt by the soaked hem and lift it to wipe my dripping face. Dahlia’s eyes widen as she is given a full view of what lies beneath the drenched fabric.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Cleaning up the mess you made.”

Her gaze flickers over my abs before following the angled muscles that disappear beneath the band of my jeans.

“Still unimpressed?”

She squints. “Even more so now that I got a better look.”

“You’ve always been a lousy liar.”

“And you’ve always been a terrible flirt.”

“You’ve got something…” I swipe at the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb. Her sharp inhale is loud enough to be heard over the rapid beat of my heart.

She tilts her head back, giving me a better look at her hooded eyes.

My fingers tingle as I clasp her chin and lean in until our lips hover a few centimeters apart. “For someone intent on acting like she doesn’t find me attractive, you desperately look like you want to be kissed.”

Her eyes snap open as she shoves me away. “God! I can’t stand you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

She tosses a dish towel at me. I catch it a second before it lands in the puddle forming by our feet.

“I’m going to grab a bag of rice to soak our phones, and the mop to clean up this mess,” she announces with flushed cheeks.

“That’s a good idea after how you drooled all over the floor.” I smirk.

You’re playing with fire, my head warns.

Wrong. I’m playing with something far more dangerous.

Dahlia Isabella Muñoz.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Dahlia


When Julian texted me a few days ago to schedule a walk-through of the Founder’s house, I thought he meant I would be meeting with his team to check out the work that needed to be done and compile a list of all our pending tasks.

Instead, I’m surprised to find Luis Senior’s old pickup truck parked in the driveway and Julian standing on the ornate wraparound porch. He leans against one of the intricately carved beams that support the fish-scale shingled ceiling above his head.

“I thought the McLaren was fixed?” I ask.

“It is, but there is no way I’m driving that car during the winter, especially not after our little incident.” He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his slacks.

I am quickly distracted by the mansion. It looks so much grander in the daylight, with turrets shooting toward the sky and a west-wing tower that is so tall, it casts a large shadow across the lawn. The stained-glass window above the door and the colorful yet faded paint scheme add a personal touch.

The home is stunning, regardless of the obvious neglect and lack of upkeep. I’m overwhelmed by ideas of how I could update the exterior—

“Dahlia.”

I look up to find Julian staring at me with a strange expression. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Ryder and the crew are dealing with a septic tank that burst at one of our sites.”

My nose twitches. “Gross.”

“For once, I’m glad it’s not me.” His eyes run up the length of my body. “You look…interesting.”

My hands ball up against my sides. “I see why you don’t compliment others often.”

His brows scrunch. “Why?”

“You genuinely suck at it.”

He frowns as a faint blush creeps up his neck. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he grumbles.

“It only took you thirty years to finally admit what I’ve been trying to prove all along.”

He frowns hard enough to reveal a few wrinkles.

I have an extra bounce in my step as I walk up to the house in my non-industrial booties.

His phone rings before he has a chance to say something. He checks the screen before showing me the caller ID. “Do you mind if I take this?”