7. Esme

7

ESME

S plashing water onto my face, it doesn't help get rid of the flush in my body. In the mirror, I face my own astonishment.

Keats and I did it again.

This time, he had me in a trance that keyed into my inner inhibitions. Shamelessly, I submitted to him without much persuasion needed. Every little thing intrigued me, and I wanted more.

Cleaning up, I scold myself internally that we let the moment get between us, though I don't regret it.

It's when my feet land at the bottom of the stairs and the smell of pizza fills the air that I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. How are we going to play this?

Walking through the living room to the kitchen, I find Keats opening the box and then his gaze lifts up.

"Look at us being cordial and sharing a pizza."

It causes a short laugh to leave my mouth. "Or I just need carbs and think irrationally when in this state."

His sexy mouth smirks. The mouth that tastes of me, and the mere thought causes my pussy to pulse .

"You are a BBQ sauce on pizza kind of gal, I see."

Shrugging, I approach the counter. "With shredded chicken, onion, and maybe some corn and pineapple, it's perfect."

"Respect."

Our eyes linger for a few ticks, and it makes me nervous but not in a negative way; it's the I'm-afraid-I'm-blushing way. "Plates?"

"Not sure they're needed after I just fucked the snark out of you," he deadpans.

A warm wry smile spreads on my lips. "What a Keats thing to say."

To my surprise, he doesn't say anything and instead turns the box to offer me a slice.

"Your pictures?" He tips his head up to the wall behind me near the window.

Fondly, I smile. "Yeah, memories really. My Labrador dog growing up. Family from the rare times we spend holidays together. Places I love. I did a whole photography trip around Maine two years ago. That's what photos are for; to trap memories in a frame. It's like a cage of stilled time."

"That's… a good way of looking at it. Does that mean you keep pictures of your ex somewhere here?"

That entertains me. "Hell no. We ended like a year and a half ago. He wasn't very good in certain departments." I wince. Nor was it exciting to see one another even for dinner. I mean, he was a nice guy, just not riveting, and it was a short-lived relationship.

Keats huffs a laugh. "Wow. You have my admiration for being honest about that. Now I'm curious about your scoring methods."

I pick up a crumb of chicken that fell to the counter and throw it at him. "What about your ex? Seeking treatment after her time with you?"

A half grin forms on his mouth. "Well, she was delusional, so maybe. It was like two years ago now. Suddenly, she had this idea that we should backpack around the world and both get tattoos. A total 180 from me. No way was that ever going to happen. My office and laptop are my haven, and tattoos on myself are not a thing that I would ever consider. I cut the leash on that one quickly."

"Leash? Huh. That choice of words should be concerning. Then again, you are a career-driven guy and demand everything your way. Maybe a leash is needed."

He answers with his eyes dark and a smirk ghosting on the corner of his mouth. Dangerous too because he's tempting.

"And your desk?"

I glance over my shoulder to my corner. It's my computer with a large screen for editing and a cool keyboard that lights up pink. I like to keep my desk clean and surround it with candles and motivational quotes. I love Post-it notes and pens, too.

"My sanctuary. Don't you have a place like that?" I take a bite of the pizza.

"I tend to work off my coffee table or at the office."

We both chew on our food in silence. Is this awkward? Did I make a mistake asking if he wanted to stay? It just flowed out of my mouth because it seems we are treading toward neutral territory.

"For someone who loves to work, your work atmosphere could improve. Add a little ambiance."

"Maybe sitting on my floor at the coffee table is my ambiance," he challenges .

"You work too much."

His face is brimming with a wry grin. "You've mentioned that many times. Maybe my workload is the way I like it."

"Do you not experience stress?"

He shakes his head. "Long hours only give me more drive. You know what you sign up for when you enter law."

My shoulders bounce. "Okay. An opposite to me. I make my own schedule."

"Good for you. I guess working in a creative field that you only have inspiration when it comes?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Silence shadows us again, and I softly thrum my fingers against the counter. Hmm, what topic can I bring up?

"Your sister!"

Keats's eyes turn peculiar from my sudden outburst. "My sister?"

"Yeah, you mentioned your sister the other night. She visits you a lot."

He swallows and his face turns sullen. "Summer is… my little sister who I love."

"You mentioned she's married?" I wonder.

Keats scratches his chin with the back of his thumb. "Uh, was. Her husband passed away last year."

Instantly, I offer my condolences. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Well, she is actually now with her husband's brother. It's a long story," he explains.

Bringing my hand to my heart, I feel bad that I asked. But relief hits me when his lips curve up while he is thinking.

"I have a nephew. He's the cutest little guy. I just ordered some toys so I have stuff at my house when he visits. The kid can barely walk but his need to explore runs strong."

Swoon . This man seems to have a connection with kids, and I wasn't expecting that .

Clearing my throat, I try to bury that thought. "That's sweet."

Keats's eyes bug out. "Did you just say sweet in relation to me?"

I point my finger at him. "Don't get cocky on me now."

His tongue swipes to his inner cheek. "I wouldn't dare."

"I only see my family when I want. I'm not much for planning personal stuff. Work, for sure. I mean, I love planning, but the shoots have to be spontaneous in creativity. I'm the same when it comes to seeing family. I like to be spontaneous and don't plan visits until the last minute. No point in pretending that we're all close if we aren't. I guess you wouldn't understand that." Geez, why the hell am I being so open with him?

"I can't relate, but I understand, I guess. You're more a wildflower type. You seem relaxed with life except when it's me."

I throw him a pointed look. "And you seem structured in life except when it comes to me. Suddenly, you're unpredictable."

"Unpredictable… huh." His lips quirk out. "I've never looked at it that way. In work, I can throw in surprises with clauses, but ultimately, the opposing side knows that I will be cutthroat and take no bullshit. And when it comes to other things…" He adjusts his neck. "It can't be unexpected that I'm someone who likes control."

I gently shake my head, amused. "Great self-reflection there. All you have to do is admit that you are a stressful person and I'll give you full credit."

"I'm not stressed," he rebuffs.

I raise my fingers in measurement. "A little stressed… a little cranky too."

He looks unimpressed but then a droll smile appears .

We both nosh on a few bites of pizza in silence, and our eyes catch a few times, which is slightly unnerving because it isn't edged.

"You can't keep reminding me of my life choices. You have work, friends, hobbies. Am I missing anything on that list?"

"Just like you, I'm going through the wheels of motion of daily life. There is nothing wrong with life being content and simple."

Except, I don't have the type of excitement that makes life less boring. Something is missing that I haven't figured out yet. We're supposed to be happy if work is fun, friends are great, and you have hobbies to enjoy. But it feels too easy.

Anyhow. "Truthfully, you're doing me a favor. Leftover pizza in this house turns into breakfast."

Keats smiles gently. "Here I was thinking you wanted my company."

I roll my eyes and think of something funny. "I shouldn't admit this but sometimes I feel like this place is haunted." He doesn't burst out laughing and seems intent on further explanation. "I can't explain it. It's silly, and I don't believe that stuff. But sometimes when I return home, I swear all of the photo frames have been unstraightened or a pillow from the sofa is on the ground."

"Are you sure you don't have a stalker?"

"Nah. I'm too boring for someone to be interested."

"You must go through a lot of salt in this place then. Or do you prefer burning sage? Actually, I bet you haven't yet stocked up on an item made of iron. A horseshoe, perhaps?"

My face squinches. "You're familiar with scaring off spirits?" He doesn't answer, and I sputter a laugh. "Really? No…" It drags out as my face lights up because this is unexpected .

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" he asks, and I shake my head. "In college, some of my roommates were convinced there was a spirit in the place, and we went through everything in the book. Truthfully, after that little phase, the lights no longer flickered at strange moments. Or someone just replaced the lightbulb, I'm not sure. But actually, I would like to think that the presence of someone ghostly was no longer near."

My smile is from ear to ear, as he just threw a wild card at me of the things I never expected him to be interested in. "It could be my great-auntie, but I feel it's a different type of breeze."

"It doesn't have to be a bad thing. When my sister had Christmas at her house, the air was heavy, and I could have sworn it was because her husband who passed was there. How could he not be, you know? Or at least that's what I told her."

Observing him, he is no longer joking. There is a shade of vulnerability, and his facial expression is stoic. To be honest, I'm surprised that he is sharing this with me.

"I can't even imagine how hard it must have been."

He stares at the floor for a second before his eyes strike up and a bit of pep returns. "You should go to Hollows, it's not far from here. There is a candle shop there, and the woman who runs it knows her stuff. She has all of these herbs and oils."

"You're a regular?"

"Nah. But it is a nice little town. Almost thought of moving there until Oliver convinced me otherwise."

"Lucky us," I deadpan. I drop the crust onto the empty lid of the box.

He feigns shock. "You are one of those people who don't eat crust? That's criminal. "

"Let me guess. You have the handcuffs," I answer dryly.

The guy winks at me. "You know that answer."

My chest rises as I suck in a big breath. Will we go in circles of flirtation? It's foreign waters for us. Or has everything between us been foreplay all along?

"Did you see old lady Mrs. Tiller watering her flowers the other day in her pajamas?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, not this time. She told me once that at her age she deserves to live the way she wants and fuck those who judge. She actually loves the F-bomb. I guess she is healthy as a fiddle."

Keats lifts his shoulders up, unsure. "I think she has a daughter who checks in on her."

"The Labrador across the street escaped and stole spareribs that someone was having for their BBQ. Then the kids chased the dog down the street with a squirt gun. Except, Labradors love water, so it was a lost cause. It was cute."

He grins. "We're gossiping about the street together now? You forgot to mention the neighbor who ran their car into my mailbox, except it only seems to have been a nudge. My guess is she was trying to piss me off when she told me."

I click my inner cheek. "Oh, but it was fun."

Keats drops a half-eaten slice of pizza on the box. "Since we seem to be somewhat civil and have gone through our list of questions about each other, do I dare ask…" He seems to be struggling.

My face turns puzzled, and I grab another piece of pizza. "Uhm, not sure what you're thinking." And a lightbulb turns on in my head, causing me to bounce off my stool. "But I can't believe we forgot to open alcohol. I mean, how else will we digest the… recent events." I'm unsure if I phrased that right.

Strolling to the fridge in search of a bottle of wine, I feel eyes on me, even when I open the fridge. Why has Keats gone silent? Is he checking out my ass or something? Holding up a bottle of white, his response is a dangerous laugh under his breath.

"You might want something stronger."

Shrugging, my lips quirk out. "Why? I already made a few bad decisions tonight." It's impossible to hide my smirk.

His brows rise then fall, enjoying my comment. "The thing is, I kind of need a favor."

I stand still with the bottle of white in my hand. "Asking me for a favor is a bold move."

"Really?" He isn't impressed. "I literally carried a box upstairs and then made you come. I think a thank-you might be in order."

Setting the bottle on the counter, something sparks annoyance inside of me. "Seriously? We are doing tit for tat, and now I'm indebted? What in the world could you need from me?"

He circles around the island and approaches me with a cunning appearance and a glint in his eyes. "Agreement, and I have no issue with splaying your legs open again to get that."

Stop it, thighs, do not compress together to handle the sensitive pulse between my legs.

I've never denied that this man is hot as hell, have I?

"Good to know." My tone is flippant as our eyes latch.

"Since we don't involve emotions, you and I, then you're easy?—"

I'm quick to protest. "I am not easy."

The corners of his mouth twist as he plants himself in front of me and perches against the counter in a relaxed posed with ankles crossed. "I didn't mean it like that. What I'm trying to say is that I need someone to accompany me for a work function. As much as it pains me to say, you seem to be an option."

"Nope." My lips smack the P. An inkling inside me is leading me in the direction that I think it is. Something to do with said work function.

"Women tend to get a little clingy around me, with unrealistic expectations."

I roll my eyes. "Humble," I say, sarcastic.

He has the audacity to tap his finger on my hand clasping the unopened bottle.

"Come with me." I blink a few times as he observes me. "What a filthy mind you have. To the event, I mean."

Growling, I quickly return the bottle to the fridge, only to immediately walk to the other side of the kitchen to reach up into a cupboard for a bottle of vodka. This conversation is taking a turn.

Opening the bottle, I don't even bother with a glass, and opt for taking a swig. Keats stands there, not having flinched an inch, and patiently watches me, expecting an answer.

"I can reward you with an orgasm or two if you insist. I might even find a leash if you are a good girl."

That stoic confidence laced with humor isn't exactly a turn-off.

Wiggling my finger side to side in the air, I feel my body boiling, and I'm not sure if it's annoyance or… excitement.

"That's not what we are doing." My eyes slide to the side with my jaw joining the ride and return to see that Keats's neutral face remains, not quite believing me.

"When is this thing?" I'll humor us all with investigation.

He smiles brightly. "Next Thursday. Any dress will do."

"Can I still make your life hell?"

Keats stands, satisfied. "Wouldn't expect anything less. "

My chin lifts as I study him and internally debate his request. "This is a crazy idea. You know that, right?"

He strides my way with swagger. "It's the safest idea. We both want to throttle one another, therefore, no messy expectations."

"Doesn't this mean I have to pretend to actually tolerate you?"

He hooks his damn finger and slides it along me cheek. That caress, his touch, it sends pulses in all directions within me. "You were not the best actress the other weekend at the murder mystery…" Keats wobbles his head side to side. "But I'm sure you have the performance of a lifetime within you. Hell, we could even role play after if that's your thing."

He comes closer to me with one step. With purpose, he tucks my hair behind my shoulder and brings his mouth to my ear, no touch except his warm breath on my skin, sending ripples through my body. My nipples tighten, and if I'm not careful, I'll be the one to rip his shirt off and climb him like a tree.

"If I do this, then I hope you can keep your hard dick under the radar when in public. I would hate to be embarrassed."

I'm reluctant. I'm reluctant . Keep chanting it. Reluctance means it's a bad idea. Go with instinct, Esme.

His rumble isn't helping, nor is his teeth scraping once against my earlobe. "I have control. You know that," he rasps.

It's barreling up within me. Too fast. "Fine," I say tightly. "I'll do it."

Keats steps away with accomplishment and even swipes my hair back to my front. "So agreeable."

I rub my temples. "I'm already regretting this. You owe me new panties because I've already lost two because of you, and no." I hold my palm up to him. "There will not be any more."

He crosses his arms and now looks serious. "What if there is a sale at the store and you can get three?"

"No." My answer is hard.

"What if I accidentally buy three?" he volleys.

"No," I repeat, and I fold my arms over my cleavage which only perks my breasts up.

"And if your entire underwear drawer goes missing?" He's riling me, and it's working.

I gawk at him. "For someone who went to law school, you are not very smart. Hypothetically if my drawer goes missing then I won't wear anything under my clothes. I'm not sure your little mind and dick could handle that."

His low chuckle reminds me he is the devil. "This is when I would point out in cross examination that you've already experienced my cock, and since you were so full of it, then to call it small is a lie. Further, you get completely drenched for me. Running-down-your-thighs soaking. To go without panties wouldn't be a good idea."

"Your concern is so authentic," I reply in my cynical tone.

Keats claps his hands together once and seems rather chipper. "Three panties it is."

"This is your cue to leave." I don't break my stance.

He makes an effort to move. "You were hospitable tonight, little demon. Thank you."

"Did you do something to the pizza before I came downstairs? Is this some psychedelic experience?"

"Say no to drugs, Esme. Didn't you listen in sixth-grade health class?"

Ruefully I shake my head, realizing I'm seeing a side of Keats where he lets go. The stuffy neighbor that I knew has faded away .

"Get out of here," I say, but my face is relaxed.

He walks to the front door, and I follow. Opening the door, he gives me one last once-over. "Next week then… unless another box arrives and you need to be reprimanded."

"I'm going to throw something at you."

We both have one last stare of… I can't pinpoint what.

But it's different.

And scary.