17. Keats

17

KEATS

A rriving down the stairs after showering after the gym, I find Esme towering over the kitchen island. I know this look. She isn't pleased, but my dick sure as hell is. The last few days it's been an admin nightmare with figuring out how to process the fire.

"You have some nerve."

My eyes grow wide. "Clue me in."

She folds her arms over her chest. "You hired a contractor without me!"

A smug smirk spreads on my mouth. "I did." And I don't regret it.

She begins to fume. "You can't just do that. It's my house that's burnt to a crisp."

I approach her with an easy stride, still feeling satisfied with my actions. "Yes, and after the adjusters come from both insurance companies, then things will need to move. Contractors are booked out long in advance, and Steven is a great one. He helped with my home."

Esme gawks at me. "I'm fairly confident that I can pick who is rebuilding. "

I swing my finger up and wave it side to side as I tsk. "It's done, and it is one less thing that you need to worry about. Did you really want to interview potentials?"

Her mouth opens then closes. "I mean… I-I… well, okay, I have no clue what I'm doing, but that doesn't mean that you need to take control of the situation."

"Sure." I touch her cheek with my hooked finger before continuing my journey to the fridge. "Wine?"

Her mouth gapes open again. "Are you kidding me? What planet are you from where this is okay?"

"Planet earth." I open the door and search for that bottle of white we opened the other night.

"Maybe I hate Steven's process or he is too expensive or he simply pisses me off as much as Keats," she mocks.

Briskly closing the fridge door, I walk casually to the cupboard for two glasses. "Esme, you don't have much choice. His costs align with what you will probably get from the insurance payout, and he's making room in his schedule. Do you have any idea how many rich guys in this county want their houses renovated before the Arctic winter?"

She grumbles a sound but accepts the wine glass that I slide down the counter for her to drink. Esme drinks or rather gulps down a sip. "You might have a point, but still." One more growl for good measure, and damn it, I hate how adorable has become one of my top words lately.

But I sure as hell hope she doesn't figure out why I've made this gesture. Or maybe I do, ah hell, why not.

"I've made this easier for you, okay?"

She blinks a few times. "I just don't understand why you would take time to do this. It's like I need to be handheld and taken car—" She freezes mid-sentence as it dawns on her. "Taken care of," she rasps to herself.

Bingo. It's all I want to do, lately .

"Something like that," I state before enjoying my dry white.

She begins to step in my direction. "I mean, I guess I didn't want to search for builders… nor negotiate pricing." She rolls her shoulder back as if she doesn't want to make a big deal. She stares me down. "Or even try to understand what an adjuster does or how much I'll be getting." Her eyes soar up to me.

"Hmm. Imagine that. I'm not the bad guy." I clink our wine glasses in accomplishment.

"Doesn't mean you couldn't inform me beforehand."

"Meh, you would have disagreed, and then I would have had to throw you over my shoulder after our bitter argument."

At last, a half-smile cracks on her mouth. "You're probably right."

She stares at me and suddenly it's with admiration. "Thank you… I'm not used to someone taking care of me, and when my temper clears, then I can't help denying that, well… I like it a lot."

I shrug it off.

We observe one another, and the air shifts to calm, affectionate, and it seems she may float away happy.

But Esme sets her wine down and then removes my own glass from my hand. "Come on, Man Who Needs to Control Situations."

And she pulls me away before I can say a word.

My guestroom?

Huh.

Esme has mischief in her eyes as she hands me her camera and shows me the button to snap photos .

"Now turn around," she instructs. "And don't steal a glance."

"I'm only going along with this because the hockey season is over and there are no games to watch on TV." My eyes land on the floor where I notice her clothes are finding a new home.

"You may look."

Turning slowly around, I find Esme at the edge of the bed with a sheet not exactly wrapped around her, rather draped. Most of her legs can be seen and are in a provocative placement with one leg thrown over the other, exposing just enough of her ass that it's a tease. The sheet comes up between her legs, and she holds it barely around her breast. It's clear not a thread of sheet is covering her naked back. She's a sultry goddess with her hair down.

"What in the world are we doing?"

She crooks her finger and gestures me closer. "You can be the photographer for my boudoir shoot. The kind of photos that you hate to admit you love yet tease me about."

I smile tightly because I enjoy where her mind is at. "I'm on board with this."

Esme begins to crawl back, dragging the sheet with her in the sexiest way possible. "Then let's get started." Slowly, I approach the bed, not entirely sure what to do, and she notices. "Just take any photo you want. However, in this little session of ours, you will absolutely not see everything. A lot of skin, yes. Sacred parts, no." She lies back, and the sheet lowers slightly until her nipples can barely be seen.

"I believe I'm already enjoying this idea of yours." My knee dips into the mattress, and I shoot a photo from above as this beautiful woman is splayed across the bed. "Why in here?"

She rolls slightly to her side, creating an S shape with the sheet, her back and legs bare and just enough covering the front. "Better light. Perhaps, it also heightens the occasion, too. It might feel too ordinary in the bed that I seem to be sharing with you now."

Fuck, I'm getting hard. Esme puts effort into her different facial expressions that are new to me, yet it appears natural all the same. Her body moves tantalizing slow after I take photos in certain positions.

"How in the world do you do this and not, well…"

Her head falls back in laughter, displaying her elongated neck in the process. "It's a job, and the many reasons that women do this remind me that it's important to give them photos they will cherish. Besides, I think it's different when you do this with someone you are very familiar with…"

My head retreats back in concern. "You've done this before?"

Her big toe points into the mattress, giving me another view that's too enticing, but I'll stay professional for her. "No," Esme answers bluntly. "You're the first who gets to take photos of me like this."

I pause for a second to examine her and the sincerity in her eyes. "Lucky me then." Very.

She rises on her knees to come face to face with me, with the sheet fisted near the middle of her breasts. "I have a confession," she rasps before she gently with purpose removes the camera from my hands and sets it on the mattress next to us. Her eyes return to me with strong conviction.

"What might that be?" I whisper, completely mesmerized by her beauty.

Esme begins to dust my lips with her own, a mere brush but nothing more. "The mail…"

"What about it?" I chase her mouth, attempting to trap her lips. "Is this about the fact that even the mailman looking at you pisses me off?"

She wobbles once and lets go of the sheet, but it stays put as our bodies are wound together tightly. "I wrote the wrong address."

"And?" I do my best to capture her lips.

"On purpose." I feather my hands up her bare back until I cup her face. "Already two months ago, I did it." Her breath is heavy. "More than once."

The corner of my mouth curls. "I was hoping you were doing that," I admit softly. "Then and now."

There is a vulnerable gleam in her eyes when we look at one another, but it's only a few seconds before I crash my lips down onto hers.

I'm relieved and happy that it appears this relationship between us isn't one-sided.