Flirt With Me by Kristen Proby

Chapter 3

~Maeve~

“You’re two different people.”

I turn and frown at Hunter as I unlock the door of the house we’ve come to see.

Myhouse.

“What do you mean? Are you saying I’m crazy?”

“No.” He chuckles and closes the door behind him after we step inside. “It’s interesting to see you in both of the places you work. They’re so different. You’re so different in them.”

No one has ever noticed that before. It’s not like my family hangs out with me while I sell houses. I have to turn my back to him and take a deep breath. It would help keep my libido in check if he didn’t smell so damn good.

“I would think that the real estate market would be good enough here for you not to need the second job,” he continues.

That has me turning back to him. “I don’t need it. Working at the pub has always been a family thing. Shawn and Lexi are famous writers, but they still man the kitchen. We don’t do it because we have to, but because we love it. I enjoy my family, Mr. Meyers.”

“Hunter.” He steps closer to me and reaches out to brush my hair over one ear.

“The truth is, there’s more than enough real estate business to go around. The island is popular and expensive. And, given that it’s not getting any bigger, there’s only so much of it to go around. I’ve seen it change dramatically since I was younger.”

“Does that bother you?” he asks.

“It used to.” I shrug, prop my hands on my hips, and turn to look out the killer windows that have an incredible view of the ocean. “But then I realized that I could be miserable here, hate the change and the new people moving in, or I could embrace it, love it, cultivate it.”

“And now you sell homes here.”

“I do. I love my island. I was so young when we moved here, it’s really all I know. Okay, enough about me. You should wander through and have a look.”

Please hate it. Please, please, please hate it.

“Why don’t you show it to me?” he counters and holds his hand out for mine.

“Sure, if you’d rather. I just like to give prospective buyers a chance to look at their own pace.” I find myself with my hand in his as we wander through the house. “Well, as you can see, the view is okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” He shakes his head. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

I shrug, not wanting to tell him how much I agree. “If you like that sort of thing.”

I turn and gesture to the kitchen and living space.

“The owners updated the kitchen just a couple of years ago, so you have your pot filler above the stove, a deep farmhouse sink, and all of the bells and whistles, including a built-in coffee maker.”

My dream coffee maker.

“The house is only about four-thousand square feet, so it’s smaller than some of the others you’ve seen.”

“I don’t need anything huge,” he says as he follows me up the stairs, and I hear him inhale sharply when we get to the top. “I like this space.”

I glance around at the second living space. The staging company has it set up with a pool table, a wet bar, and a gaming place for the kids.

I would clear all of this out and make it a fabulous reading and relaxing space.

“There are three bedrooms on this level, including the master. The master suite is situated on the entire left side of the house.”

I guide him through French doors that lead into the master bedroom, and step to the glass doors that open to the balcony beyond.

“Wow,” he says as he steps outside with me and stares at the waves crashing below. “This is incredible.”

“The waves are a little loud,” I point out.

“I would keep the doors open and fall asleep to the sound of it.”

So would I.

“It would get awfully cold in there.” I gesture with my thumb to the bedroom.

“I’ll just get a heated mattress pad and a nice, thick blanket, and it’ll be fine.”

I ignore that comment because that’s precisely what I would do. Instead, I walk back inside to show him the rest.

“There are two separate master closets,” I inform him. “A his and hers, so to speak, which I think is odd.”

Or, you know, absolutely amazing.

“I think it’s nice,” he says, checking them out. “I have a lot of gear that I don’t want mixing with other things, so it would work well.”

Well, crap.

I follow him into the master bath and wait as he looks at the walk-in shower and the amazing tub with a view of the water behind it.

My heart sings when I walk through this house. This bathroom is everything. But I don’t want him to think that.

“The tub is kind of small,” I point out. “You’re a big guy. You’d need more room.”

He eyes the tub dubiously. It sits in the corner of the room with wide windows that look out to the water.

I’ve daydreamed about the bubble baths I’d take in this room.

“I think it looks plenty big.”

I climb inside and sit. “See? It’s barely big enough for me. And you’re much bigger than I am.”

He taps his finger to his lips, and then, to my utter shock, he just climbs right in with me.

“We both fit.”

I stare at him, blinking. “It’s a little tight in here.”

Before I can get out, Hunter tugs me into his lap and cups my face. “What is it about you?” He murmurs, his eyes on my lips.

I can’t help but lean into him. God, he just feels so good.

“This is kind of inappropriate,” I whisper. I don’t sound convincing even to my ears.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my client.”

He sighs and watches his thumb as it makes circles on the apple of my cheek.

“You know, I can respect that you’re trying to be professional,” he says softly. “I get that. But we’re both adults here, Maeve.”

He lifts his eyebrow, and I nod in agreement. “True. We are.”

“And it’s not like I’ll be your client forever. Just until I find my house.”

I can’t help but nod. He’s not wrong. I don’t have to worry about a long-term working relationship with this man.

“That’s true, too.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. Not my lips, like I expected. No, he kisses my forehead. And somehow, that’s almost more intimate than the meeting of lips.

I swallow. Hunter takes a deep breath.

“Should we continue the tour?” I ask.

“Good idea.” He lifts me off of his lap and helps me out of the tub. “Where are the other bedrooms?”

“There are two on the other side of the house, and there’s a mother-in-law apartment above the garage.”

“Rachel will love that,” he mutters.

Rachel? Who’s Rachel?

He’d asked me if I was taken yesterday, and we’ve flirted like it’s our job. Hell, just thirty seconds ago in the tub, I would have sworn we’d had a special moment when all this time he’s had a woman in his life named Rachel?

Why are men so horrible?

But I don’t say anything as I follow him, staying quiet as he checks out the rest of the house.

“Let’s have a look at the garage,” he suggests.

“Sure.” We walk downstairs and out the back door, under a short breezeway that leads to the garage. “There are three bays for vehicles in here. There’s also an extra two acres of raw land for sale next door in case you want extra space for something like a shop.”

“Or a gym.” He nods and walks through the garage. “I like the built-ins. Let’s go upstairs.”

“The entrance is on the outside of the building.” I lead him around the perimeter of the garage to the staircase on the backside. “There’s a one-bedroom apartment up here, complete with a kitchenette.”

And it would be absolutely perfect for my office space.

Or a guest house for my parents when they’re here from Ireland.

He just nods and follows me back outside, then waits for me to lock the apartment before joining me in the kitchen.

“Listen, I have to get back to the city this afternoon,” he says and tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. “I have to get Rachel from my parents’ place. But I’d like to come back on Thursday afternoon to keep looking. Do you think any of these places will sell in the next few days?”

“That’s hard to say.” I wish I could come up with the twenty-five grand I need for the down payment on this place. “I can tell you that the homes in this price range don’t move quite as quickly.”

“Good. I just need a couple of more days here before I decide.”

“I can set up showings for Thursday afternoon, and anytime on Friday,” I offer, elated that he didn’t automatically buy this house. It’s by far the best of all of the properties I’ve shown him.

His phone buzzes, he checks it, and then scowls. “I’ll kill her.”

“Do you often think about murdering your wife?”

He blinks up at me, that scowl still on his face. “Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend, then.”

“Rachel is my daughter.” Worry and anger still line his face. “And she’s testing my damn patience.”

His daughter.

This sexy, cocky, arrogant yet endearing man is a father.

He’s distracted as he takes one more look around the house and then starts walking toward the front door.

“I have to get back. But I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Sure, okay.” He’s leaving. Why does that make me sad? I barely know this man. But I like him. I like him a lot.

He opens the door, pauses, and then hurries back to me, his face full of determination.

He cups my face, tugs the lip I didn’t know I was biting out of my teeth, and swoops down to kiss me.

It’s the kind of kiss that reaches down and makes a girl’s knees weak.

He’s surprisingly gentle but in control.

Determined.

And when he pulls back, he presses those talented lips to my forehead once more.

“Have a good week, Mr. Meyers.”

“Hunter.” He tips my chin up and grins down at me. “My name is Hunter, Maeve.” He winks and then walks away again.

“Thursday,” he tosses over his shoulder, and then the door closes behind him.

“Whoa.” I press my fingertips to my lips and lean on the kitchen counter. “Holy hell, the man can kiss.”

I make my way through the house, turning off lights and making sure the doors and windows are locked.

I love this home. I have since it was built about ten years ago. I’ve daydreamed about it.

And then, last Christmas, I was invited to a cookie exchange here with some friends and got to tour the inside.

It’s everything I always dreamed of and more. That view off the back of the property is what every fiction writer thinks of when crafting a story full of intrigue and mystery.

There should be ghosts walking these cliffs.

Perhaps that’s just my Irish roots talking.

“You have other things to do today,” I remind myself. There’s no time for dillydallying in someone else’s house.

The truth is, I could ask my oldest brother, Kane, for a loan for what I need to buy this house, and he’d give it to me in a heartbeat.

But I don’t think it’s right to ask for help with this sort of thing. I’ll earn it. And, chances are, the house won’t sell before I’m ready to buy anyway.

I close and lock the front door, climb into my car, and take off toward my house. I have just enough time to have a snack before my showing this afternoon.

I have no time for thinking about a man named Hunter, who makes me think about all kinds of sexy things.

“You need more creamer,”Maggie, my only sister, says as she rinses the carton and tosses it into the recycling bin. “You’ve been really moody this week.”

“I have not.” I frown at her as she brings her cup of coffee to the table and sits with me. She arrived on my doorstep this morning with fresh cinnamon rolls.

Because Maggie and I often work evenings at the pub, breakfasts are our best time to catch up.

“You’re not usually moody,” she continues. “So something must be up. What’s going on? Does it have anything to do with the hot boxer that came into the pub and made googly eyes at you?”

“First of all, he’s not a boxer. He’s a former MMA fighter. Second of all, he didn’t make googly eyes at me.”

Except, he totally did.

“You weren’t watching from where I was,” she says. “Trust me. His eyes were googly.”

I won’t even mention that his mouth was warm and soft on mine. Maggie would take that information and run with it in directions I’m not even willing to entertain.

“Are we going to the cemetery today?”

My sister scowls. “Why in the hell would we do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because this is the second anniversary of your husband’s death. I mean, shouldn’t we take flowers or something?”

“Are you drunk?” She scoffs and takes a bite of her breakfast. “Hell, no. He was a lying, cheating piece of shit. The only reason I’d go to his grave is to spit on it.”

“But you’re not bitter or anything.” I laugh as she glares at me. “Okay, I get it. I just didn’t know how you’d handle it.”

“With coffee and sugar. And with you.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve moved on from all of that, thank God.”

“With Cameron?” I feel my lips twitch, but then her eyes fill with tears, and I suddenly feel like a complete jerk. “Whoa, what happened with Cameron?”

“Nothing.” She wipes a tear. “It’s so dumb. And you keep changing the subject, which is really annoying. Tell me about the hot fighter.”

“I don’t know much about him,” I insist. “He’s from Seattle, has a kid, drives the most expensive car I’ve ever seen in person in my life, and kisses like the devil.”

“Wait. Back it up. You kissed him?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you that part, but you cried, and I needed to give you something to cheer you up.”

“You kissed him.”

“Actually, he kissed me. It was nice.”

“How nice?”

I frown.

“Was it nice enough to do it again?”

“He’s a client—”

“Oh, please.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Don’t pull that on me. We all know you’re professional and blah blah blah. But are you going to do the hot guy?”

“You’re so romantic.”

She just watches me, waiting for an answer.

“He hasn’t asked me to do him.”

Still, Maggie watches without her face changing.

“He’s so…”—I wave my hand in the air—“cocky. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You have three brothers, all of whom are cocky.”

“Not like this.”

My phone pings at my elbow, and I look down to see a text from Hunter.

Hunter: I found some other houses I’d like to see this weekend. I’m sending links.

Me: Sounds good.

“Is he flirting with you?”

“No, he’s just telling me that he found some other houses to look at.”

But my phone pings with another message.

Hunter: Let’s have lunch before we start on Thursday.

I grin but reply with: I can’t.

I set the phone aside and stare at my sister, who’s just watching me with smug green eyes.

“What?”

“You’d totally do him.”

My phone pings once more, and when I open the message, it’s a selfie of Hunter, pouting. Then another text comes through.

Hunter: Please?

I laugh and reply.

Me: Pouting doesn’t work on me. But I guess I can shift my calendar. You’re buying.

“Okay, let’s be honest here,” Maggie says. “You like him. You should see the dumb look on your face right now.”

“You’re so sweet, Mary Margaret.”

“I think it’s nice,” she insists. “But be careful with this one because he’s super famous and probably has a legion of girls he’s left behind.”

“He has a kid.”

She nods. “Yeah, I Googled him. Read the Wiki. She’s only fifteen. I mean, do you want to be a stepmom?”

“He’s literally only a client right now,” I remind us both. “No one has said a word about sex or being a damn stepmom. I might sell him a house, that’s it. End of discussion.”

“Except you kissed him.”

“Do I have to marry every man who kisses me? Because if so, I’d have to marry Clifford Buckley from the eighth grade.”

“And that would be unfortunate because poor Cliff doesn’t look so hot these days.”

“So, he has a fifteen-year-old daughter,” I murmur and sip my coffee. “I wonder what the story is there.”

Maggie looks like she’s about to spew a bunch of information, but I hold up my hand, stopping her.

“No. It’s none of my business. And if it ever becomes my business, I want to hear it from him. Okay?”

“Okay.” She props her chin on her hand. “When’s he coming back?”

“This week. I don’t even know if he’ll buy something. Maybe he’s just one of those lookie-loos who want to see everything but then decides to go elsewhere.”

“That would be annoying.”

“Happens more than you think.”

I sigh, and my phone pings again.

Hunter: I managed to get away tomorrow afternoon rather than Thursday. Does that work for you?

I grin. Today’s Tuesday. It’s only a day early if he comes tomorrow.

But I’m excited to see him again.

Still, I don’t want to seem too eager.

Me: I can shuffle some things around for you.

I watch the three dots dance on my screen.

Hunter: I’ll see you tomorrow. Dinner?

Me: I really can’t.And don’t pout. I have to work.

There’s no reply, and I can’t help but grin when I set my phone aside.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Maggie says, catching my attention.

“Like what?”

“With little hearts bursting above your head. You’re not usually one to crush on someone.”

“Maybe I just don’t tell you about it when I do.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “No, you’d tell me. I hope this guy doesn’t turn out to be a jerk and a half.”

“Maybe just three-quarters of a jerk.”

Maggie smirks. “That would be less than most guys.”

“You know, Cameron’s always been a nice guy, Mags. What in the world did he do to you now?”

“It’s not that he did anything,” she admits. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“Then why are you miserable?”

“Because he’s done nothing at all,” she repeats. “And it’s damn annoying.”

“Maybe you need to light a fire under his ass.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long minute and then shrugs one shoulder. “You know, just once, I’d like to be the priority without asking to be. I want him to chooseme. Not because I ask him to but because he wants to. I want to feel important.”

“Yeah, but he’s not a mind reader.”

“And that’s the worst part. Because if he doesn’t just instinctively want to be with me, to make me the number-one spot in his life, then there’s no room for me at all. I’ll never be with someone who loves everything else in his life more than me again. I can’t do it, Maeve.”

“No.” I reach over and link my fingers with hers. “No, you can’t. You’re right. When was the last time you spoke with him?”

“It’s been a few weeks.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

But I know it is.

“I might go on a date with someone else.”

I blink quickly, surprised. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to figure that part out.”

“Good for you.” I squeeze her hand and then let go. “Go get them.”