Did he have to be heading to the same floor?

Olivia had had enough of arrogant assholes in her life and now she was stuck in a lift with a self-professed one. She couldn't deny he'd amused her with his honesty and self-deprecating introduction though.

But he was trouble. She didn't have to be told. She just knew it.

He wasn't like Jack. He wasn't smooth and perfect, clean-shaven and pristine. No, this man was all about the stubble and the bedhead hair. Like a sun-kissed surfer plucked from the ocean, jazzed up and dumped in the city. The jeans and sweatshirt hugging his imposing frame looked laid-back but they screamed designer from top to toe. And the way he had her pulse tripping over itself, he was just as dangerous. On every level.

"Now that you know so much about me," he suddenly said, his voice thick and exciting her far more than was fair, "how about you let me take you for a drink?"

Olivia almost swallowed her tongue, the portfolio digging into her side as she turned rigid. "No, thank you. I'm busy." she replied.

"Not right this second," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief and amusement and holding her own. "But at a mutually agreeable time, of course?"

Of course. She mentally rolled her eyes. Would he just get the hint?

Her resolve was good, but she wasn't immune. She could feel the temptation well enough and the sooner she got free of it, the better. She was in a relationship for God's sake and she sure as hell wasn't a cheater. She dragged her eyes away, forcing them on the intricate pattern twisting through the gold lift door ahead. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Care to tell me why?"

Because I'm not a fool, Olivia thought, but aloud, she said, "I know you."

The lift announced the arrival of their floor and he spoke over it. "You do?"

"Obviously not you exactly," she said, relief sweeping through her as the lift doors opened and she stepped out.

Purposeful, she turned left towards Isabella's and hoped he would take the hint or a different direction at least. He didn't.

"Obviously," he reaffirmed, falling into step behind her. "I'd definitely remember if I'd met you before."

Her tummy gave an annoying flutter and she squashed it. She was going to have to be more specific. Brutal even... "What I mean is, I know your type."

"My type?"

"Hell, yeah, great in the sack, perfect bedroom material..." she sent him a scathing look "...but beyond that...well, we don't go there, do we?"

His step faltered. "Wow, hung, drawn and quartered."

She could hear his surprise, feel his unease, and victory surged warm in her veins. Her harsh assessment had hit its mark, hopefully enough to send him running. And if that didn't, the hint of her being the relationship kind should do it.

"You have quite the opinion of men." He added.

She gave a derisive laugh and turned a bend, the sanctity of Isabella's hotel room now only a few strides away.

"So, you're either an anti-male lesbian-" it was her turn to falter mid-step "-or you've been burned before. Which is it to be?"

A lesbian... She laughed with reignited vigour. It wasn't the first time she'd been mistaken as such. She found it quite flattering actually, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"Typical arrogant male-just because I'm not interested in you per se, I have to be a lesbian." She'd arrived at Isabella's door and to emphasise her point, she faced it and rapped against it. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

He wasn't moving away. If anything, he was settling in right alongside her-what the fuck? She didn't have time to ask what he was playing at; the door swung open to reveal her rather disgruntled-looking friend and client.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Izzy." Olivia said.

Izzy frowned, "You should be," she said, shrugging a tan leather jacket over a white T and looking from Olivia to her unwanted companion. "The pair of you."

Pair of us?

Olivia looked at him and he gave her a bemused shrug. "Seems you can't get away from me that easily."

"Oh, good God, Derek, don't tell me you've hit on my estate agent and friend already?" Isabella's eyes flashed furiously, and Olivia observed that their colour was strikingly similar to his.

"I wouldn't call it hitting on, exactly," he said, with another one of those annoyingly casual shrugs. "We were actually just discussing sexual tendencies."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Isabella looked at Olivia, cheeks flushing, eyes bright. "Seems I owe you an apology,"

"You do?" Olivia's voice sounded faint, her brain rapidly piecing the situation together.

"This animal," Isabella said, gesturing to him in mock disdain, "Is my brother. My older brother, to be exact. But seriously, Derek, what the hell?"

"Brother?" Olivia repeated, her eyes sweeping to the man himself, who she now knew as Derek, the realisation that she wasn't going to evade him any time soon setting off a troubling dance in her chest.

She recalled that Isabella had told her weeks ago that her brother was moving back into town after years of being away, but she hadn't mentioned that he was back already or that he would even be here with them today.... Or that he was so damn attractive and charming.

"In my defence," he said, a curious frown creasing his brow, "She brought it out in me."

"That's your excuse?" Isabella said incredulously, delivering a playful shove that barely moved him, his eyes remaining fixed on Olivia's every bit as curious and heated and very, very interested. "If I didn't value your opinion so much, I'd tell you to just go and leave us to it."

"Seems that makes two of you today," he said, his penetrating gaze reaching inside Olivia's mind and triggering a replay of all that she had said with embarrassing clarity. "It's a bloody good job my ego is big enough to take it."

"No one's ego can be as big as yours, weirdo," Isabella said. "It's just lucky your heart is also as big."

"And don't you forget it," he said, looking at his sister with open affection now, freeing Olivia at last, to breathe, to think, to get with it... "So, are we going to take this show on the road? Or are we going to stand here and do more Derek-bashing?"

Isabella gave a giggle and, God help her, Olivia smiled, the move easy. Too easy.

"For the record," Derek added when he saw their reaction, "my preference is definitely for the former."

And then Olivia laughed. Really laughed. He really was charming. Good-looking. Dangerous.

No. No. No.

... And besides, she reminded herself, she was already in a relationship. With Jack Stewart.

__________

Derek was grinding his teeth. His arms folded across his front. His body rigid as he leant back against the door that housed what Olivia had referred to as an ample bathroom for this size of apartment, in this desirable area.

He'd say this: desirable or not, you could certainly save time going for your morning constitution while brushing your teeth over the sink. And the shower-over-the-bath-you had to be some kind of contortionist to use it. Why was he the only one seeing these issues?

At least this third property was an improvement on the previous two. It had natural daylight for starters, and no pounding pub or store adjoining.

He watched them cooing over the open-plan living space now-the strategically placed sofa that permitted the perfect view of the park across the road and the minute television that was as big as it could ever be in the space available-and bit into his tongue.

He wasn't sure what was more painful: The fact he'd been forced to take the estate agency's car when his state-of-the-art car was at the ready, seriously, what sense did that make? Absolutely none. Or the fact that his opinion, when he chose to voice one, was counting for nothing, despite what his sister had said to the contrary earlier. Or was it the fact that any fleeting look or touch from Ms Agent herself and his body stirred. Yet she'd made it ever so clear it wasn't happening, not in a million years.

He was now at the point where he was convincing himself his little sister was far more the agent's cup of tea. Or indeed, her choice of cocktail, the drink suiting her fire so much better. The attention she was lavishing over Isabella, totally OTT in his opinion, and yet his sister was lapping it up.

"So, come on, what do you think?" came Isabella's on-the-spot question.

They both turned to him expectantly, his sister's skin annoyingly aglow and happy-she liked it...really liked it. Ah, skit. He cleared his throat and pushed away from the door, heading to stand between them, careful to keep his eye on the window and the view beyond.

"It's...nice." He had tried to sound enthused, but the reality was his comment stank, its tone utterly tepid. Funny enough, just how he was feeling.

"Nice?" his sister pressed.

"The view is good; the location is convenient and-" he shrugged "- nice."

"What about the actual apartment?"

He turned and let his gaze sweep the living area, the dining table for two and the kitchenette; he didn't even want to think about the bathroom.

"You need to stop frowning so much," Isabella piped up. "Gives you wrinkles, you know."

"You're clearly not impressed," Olivia remarked and guilt nagged at him. It wasn't down to her ability, or lack thereof, to sell the place; she was doing her job plenty well enough.

"It's not your fault," he assured her. "I just want what's best for Izzy, and this isn't it."

"Why?"

"It's impractical."

"Why?"

"What the hell, Izzy, you're a tall woman-care to explain how you're going to use that bathroom?" He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. "Allow me to demonstrate..."

He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall. He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder-

"See?"

They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs-for fuck's sake.

He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. " You think it's so easy? You try it."

"I'd rather not," Isabella blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.

"Okay." He looked at Olivia pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. "Why don't you do the honours?"

His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, "Sure, could you just hold this?"

She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.

Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.

"It's like this," she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest -she could tell him anything now and he'd fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away. "Just back up a little," she ordered.

Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.

But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head, despite her height.

"And you can remove this for more height, like so," she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. "Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath." She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up-not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.

"Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Liv." His sister gave him a smug grin. "See, big bro, that's how it's done."

"You're welcome," came Olivia's response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn't be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit-did she know where his head was at? And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.

"Right, well, I think we're done with this one," she said, unceremoniously shoving the shower screen in his face and almost sending him to his ass on the pink porcelain. "Shall we move on?" she said, already heading out.

"Yup." Isabella nodded, smirking right at him.

He screwed his face up in a childish gesture. Whatever.

"If you both go on down," Olivia said, expertly ignoring their little exchange-thank fuck! The pair of them were doing his ego and renowned charm no favours at all.

"I'll join you shortly," she continued. "I just have to take care of an errand for the owner."

"Great," Isabella said, moving for the front door. "I have a quick call to make so I'll meet you downstairs."

"I'll catch you up," he called after her, pushing the glass door back into place and wondering why the hell he hadn't thought of that.

Perhaps because you haven't been thinking straight since you saw her? He shook his head, brushing the entire incident off as he followed in Olivia's direction.

"Can I have a quick word?" he asked, entering the kitchenette hot on her tail. His intention had been to talk budget with Isabella out of earshot but as Olivia turned in the small space, hemmed in as they were by the cupboards and the breakfast bar, all thoughts of conversation evaporated.

"Yes," she said, her eyes wary as they lifted to his, her hands coming to rest on the countertop either side of her as she backed up against it. "But first you need to stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

He knew the answer well enough, but how would she describe it, what she saw in him? She was good with words-she'd demonstrated it repeatedly throughout the day, when eloquently describing the features of each potential abode. And in truth, he could listen to her talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to criticise: he wasn't ready for her job to come to an end; he wasn't ready for her to complete a sale for his sister and vacate his life.

He watched her eyelids flutter, her tongue flicking out to moisten that bottom lip he was so fascinated with. Was she nervous? Was it because of him?

"You know what." Her eyes dropped to his mouth, their depths revealing in their helpless nature, and his lips curled upwards. So she wasn't as unaffected by him as she'd have him believe. Good to know.

Power surged, his ego with it. "What if I said I can't help it?"

Her eyes snapped back to his. "Then make yourself help it because this -" she wagged a finger between them "-isn't happening."

"No?" He stepped forward and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a ragged breath.

"No." She gave a small shake of her head, the move sending a lock across her forehead and he itched to push it back. "I don't date clients."

"Technically," he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears, "I'm not a client."

"You're as good as."

"I disagree."

"Whether you disagree or not, I don't care," she rushed out. "I'm not falling into this trap."

His brow knitted together; she'd flummoxed him now. "Trap?" he repeated.

She paled, her words seeming to surprise even her, and then she visibly recovered, her chin rising, to say, "The kind of trap where I let this get in the way of my business."

He studied her face, her sincerity. "You sound like you're speaking from experience." He didn't like the idea one bit. Oh, the irony. "I take it you've not always been so averse to dating clients?"

She hesitated, her teeth worrying over her lower lip and teasing at his concentration. Was she going to evade giving him an answer? Or should he just kiss her and be done with the whole conversation? He was veering towards the latter when she spoke.

"Not my clients, no, my ex-business partner...we...we were together." She dragged in a breath and straightened, her focus coming back,

"It was a long time ago... And hence why this just isn't happening."

He faltered, his brain telling him to agree, to move past the pull that was driving him to distraction. She's so not your type. She seems like a bag of emotion. She's not safe in your hands.

Instead he found himself saying, "You're overthinking it. As much as Izzy loves me, she clearly loves you too. She's your friend and already bought into your skills as an estate agent, as have I, for that matter. Nothing between us will sway her to go elsewhere."

You idiot, why pursue her? She doesn't fit with your no-strings rule. This woman goes in for attachment. Worse still, she's been burned by it already and probably still suffering.

But then, if that's the case, maybe she's ready for the no-strings alternative. Maybe she's ready to become your type.

"You have my word," he pressed gently.

You bastard.

___________

Olivia lifted her eyes at his soft declaration and immediately regretted it.

He hovered just above her, his wolf-like gaze burning into her own, the rush of warmth it inspired sending her toes curling inside her Louboutins. She held his eye; was he for real? "Your word?"

He made an affirmative noise deep in his throat, almost enticing a reciprocal one from her as it strummed at the heat swelling down low.

"I'm willing to bet you're just as caught up in this attraction as me," he said huskily. "And if that's the case, you'll realise this is about a bit of fun; no harm, no foul, no jeopardised business arrangement."

"You reckon?" She sounded breathless, out of control.

No, no, don't let this happen. He nodded and raised his hand, her breath catching as she anticipated his touch, wanting and dreading it all the same, knowing that it was wrong and when it came she would lose herself in it, in him. So why the hell wasn't she discouraging him more and moving away? What was happening to her?

"I'm not very good at...fun." She threw his description back at him, desperately clinging to what she knew to be true even as the heat of his hand brushed beneath her jaw, his touch so light it was barely there. And she wanted it there. Wanted every one of those fingers pressed into her skin as he kissed her.