know.”
“Well, I am the tenth Earl of Amberlin.” He brushed invisible lint from his shirt.
“There is that.” She grinned at his self-deprecation. “It’s got to have perks.”
“Yeah. I get to act pompous whenever the mood strikes me.” Then his expression softened, deepening. “And I suddenly have a large family I care very much about.”
She wondered what she’d feel like if she had no one. A world without her mom and Belle was hard to imagine. Her dad, though . . .
Who was she kidding? She’d hate it if anything happened to him. He may drive her crazy, but she loved him.
Shaking her head, she said, “Is your family twisted like mine?”
“Isn’t that redundant? The word family is a synonym for twisted.” He leaned back, stretched his arms overhead. “Whenever I start to get worked up, I think about how boring life would be without them.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tight, because his voice couple with the sight of his taut biceps was too much for her starved senses. “I’ll have to try that,” she said faintly.
“What are you doing?”
Like a plant to the sun, she caught herself leaning toward his voice. “I’m picturing a boring life, because I’m worked up.”
He chuckled. “By your family?”
The “Or me” hung in the air. She shivered, feeling the vibration of his amusement dance on her skin. She opened her eyes and found him close.
Tantalizingly close.
He looked into her eyes and said, “We should discuss changing the branding of your products.”
She jerked back like he’d physically poured ice water over her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”
“You’d sell more product if the packaging were sleek and sexy.”
Sleek and sexy were so not in her mission statement. “You know who wants to make more money? My friend George. Maybe you guys could talk.”
Sebastian frowned. “You’ve mentioned George before. You appear to be good friends.”
“We are.” She frowned, too. “Why are you acting so strange?”
“I’m not,” he said tightly.
“But you are.” She stepped away, wondering if his gravitational pull was affecting her. “Look, if you don’t want to help George, just say so.”
“If I talk to George, will you at least look at the thoughts I had?” he asked.
She didn’t want to, but she nodded. “I don’t promise anything.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled. “Do I still get the shaving cream?”
She walked over to the table and picked up what she’d formulated for him, with coconut oil specifically to moisturize his skin. She may have poured a little extra care and attention into it. She liked his face.
Before she could analyze that more, she handed it over. “On the house.”
He held it up and studied the label. His grin was slow and lit his entire face. He pointed to the devil. “Is this supposed to be me?”
“If the horns fit.”
“Did you draw this?”
She crossed her arms to keep from doing something stupid, like touching his smile. “I used to draw.”
“You’re good,” he said, studying the caricature.
“At doodles.” She shook her head. “I’m not good enough to make a living at it. My mom didn’t pass that on to me.”
“Your mom’s an artist?”
“A successful one, but it’s a recent career. She only started painting ten years ago, I think.”
“You named my shaving cream Tempt Me.”
She shrugged.
“Is that a wish or a command?”
“Neither.”
“Are you sure?”
She really wasn’t. She pushed back and stood. “Aren’t you leaving?”
He followed suit, tossing the bottle in the air and catching it. “I can’t wait for this.”
“The shaving cream?” she asked, walking him to the door.
“That, too.” With a wicked grin, he left her apartment.
“So that just happened,” she muttered, staring after him. If only she knew what that was exactly. She put a hand on her wildly beating heart, wondering when she’d find out.
Chapter Eight
‡
S ebastian was crossing Fillmore Street when
“Well, I am the tenth Earl of Amberlin.” He brushed invisible lint from his shirt.
“There is that.” She grinned at his self-deprecation. “It’s got to have perks.”
“Yeah. I get to act pompous whenever the mood strikes me.” Then his expression softened, deepening. “And I suddenly have a large family I care very much about.”
She wondered what she’d feel like if she had no one. A world without her mom and Belle was hard to imagine. Her dad, though . . .
Who was she kidding? She’d hate it if anything happened to him. He may drive her crazy, but she loved him.
Shaking her head, she said, “Is your family twisted like mine?”
“Isn’t that redundant? The word family is a synonym for twisted.” He leaned back, stretched his arms overhead. “Whenever I start to get worked up, I think about how boring life would be without them.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tight, because his voice couple with the sight of his taut biceps was too much for her starved senses. “I’ll have to try that,” she said faintly.
“What are you doing?”
Like a plant to the sun, she caught herself leaning toward his voice. “I’m picturing a boring life, because I’m worked up.”
He chuckled. “By your family?”
The “Or me” hung in the air. She shivered, feeling the vibration of his amusement dance on her skin. She opened her eyes and found him close.
Tantalizingly close.
He looked into her eyes and said, “We should discuss changing the branding of your products.”
She jerked back like he’d physically poured ice water over her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”
“You’d sell more product if the packaging were sleek and sexy.”
Sleek and sexy were so not in her mission statement. “You know who wants to make more money? My friend George. Maybe you guys could talk.”
Sebastian frowned. “You’ve mentioned George before. You appear to be good friends.”
“We are.” She frowned, too. “Why are you acting so strange?”
“I’m not,” he said tightly.
“But you are.” She stepped away, wondering if his gravitational pull was affecting her. “Look, if you don’t want to help George, just say so.”
“If I talk to George, will you at least look at the thoughts I had?” he asked.
She didn’t want to, but she nodded. “I don’t promise anything.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled. “Do I still get the shaving cream?”
She walked over to the table and picked up what she’d formulated for him, with coconut oil specifically to moisturize his skin. She may have poured a little extra care and attention into it. She liked his face.
Before she could analyze that more, she handed it over. “On the house.”
He held it up and studied the label. His grin was slow and lit his entire face. He pointed to the devil. “Is this supposed to be me?”
“If the horns fit.”
“Did you draw this?”
She crossed her arms to keep from doing something stupid, like touching his smile. “I used to draw.”
“You’re good,” he said, studying the caricature.
“At doodles.” She shook her head. “I’m not good enough to make a living at it. My mom didn’t pass that on to me.”
“Your mom’s an artist?”
“A successful one, but it’s a recent career. She only started painting ten years ago, I think.”
“You named my shaving cream Tempt Me.”
She shrugged.
“Is that a wish or a command?”
“Neither.”
“Are you sure?”
She really wasn’t. She pushed back and stood. “Aren’t you leaving?”
He followed suit, tossing the bottle in the air and catching it. “I can’t wait for this.”
“The shaving cream?” she asked, walking him to the door.
“That, too.” With a wicked grin, he left her apartment.
“So that just happened,” she muttered, staring after him. If only she knew what that was exactly. She put a hand on her wildly beating heart, wondering when she’d find out.
Chapter Eight
‡
S ebastian was crossing Fillmore Street when
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