"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.

Gosh... This was wrong. She shouldn't be feeling or thinking this way about another man touching her. She loved Jack, right? Then why did she feel this way... This excited about another man touching her? When was the last time she felt this excited about Jack's touch?

"Fun?" he questioned softly, interrupting her thoughts, his hand following the contours of her neck and her head almost lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

"Not this sort of fun." She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

"You're going to have to clarify, because I'm talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less."

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. "And so am I."

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, "You're afraid of keeping it casual?"

She shook her head. If only that were her only problem. Why was she hesitating to tell him she had a boyfriend? "I'm not very good at it."

She stressed the 'it', praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame. Why admit that?

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. "I don't believe that."

"It's the truth," she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. Derek wasn't getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered. He was going to kiss her!

She almost leaned in, anticipating his kiss, but at the last moment, she lifted a hand, "I can't," she said.

He stayed where he was, and made no attempt to stop her as she moved immediately, backing away enough to escape the kitchen.

A few seconds later, he followed, "Look..." he began.

But his sister took that moment to return, "I'm taking it," Isabella said, a huge smile on her face.

Olivia managed to smile back at her friend, "Perfect," she replied, "Let's get started,"

_________

Olivia stood outside Jack's apartment door for a full thirty seconds before knocking.

She could hear movement inside - drawers opening, the faint buzz of a phone notification, the low murmur of a voice. He was home. Good. No more last-minute texts. No more "Something's come up."

She knocked. The door swung open a moment later.

Jack looked immaculate as always - pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair styled with surgical precision. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something crisp and expensive. He looked like a man who had never missed a meeting in his life.

"Liv," he said, mildly surprised. "I thought we were doing dinner tomorrow?"

"We were doing dinner yesterday... Or was it two days ago?" she replied evenly, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting to be invited. His place was spotless as always. Everything aligned. Cushions perfectly placed. Surfaces gleaming. It was like walking into a showroom.

Jack closed the door slowly. "I texted you."

"At eight-thirty."

"I had a client."

"You always have a client."

He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. "Liv, please, you know how my job works."

"And you know how mine works," she shot back, turning to face him. "Except I still manage to show up for us. I'm the only one showing up for us."

That landed. His jaw ticked. "Is this really what you came over for?"

"Yes." She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. "I'm tired, Jack." She gestured vaguely between them. "Tired of getting dressed up just to sit in my apartment with takeaway because you 'can't get away.' Tired of rearranging my schedule for plans that don't happen."

Jack rubbed a hand down his face, already slipping into calm-and-rational mode. It was one of the things Olivia disliked about him. He was always so... composed. As if he lived in his own little bubble where nothing bothered him except he allowed it to. It drove her crazy.

Now, to someone else, it sounded selfish and perhaps bitter to want him to be bothered, but Jack had a way of hurting or pissing her off, and then reacting calmly when she exploded due to his behaviour.

"It's not personal." He told her. "I don't do it on purpose,"

"That's exactly the problem."

His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't feel like I matter." The words escaped before she could soften them. "Gosh. Why do I have to explain this to you? I hate that I have to,"

Jack blinked, taken aback, then he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's dramatic, don't you think?" he asked.

She laughed once - sharp, humourless. "Is it?"

"Olivia, I'm building something here. For us. Do you think this promotion is just about me? It's about security. Stability. A future."

"And when exactly does that future start?" she demanded. "Because right now, I feel like I'm pencilled in between conference calls."

"That's unfair."

"Is it?" she almost yelled, "You cancel all the time. We barely spend enough time together because you always have somewhere you need to run off to. I've told you so many times about how I feel...About the things I want. I want romance. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to go out with him. I want unplanned and surprise dates... Why do I have to tell my man to do these things for me? Even when you do it, it doesn't feel right because I've had to ask you over and over again for it,"

Silence stretched between them, tight and humming before Jack straightened slightly, composure sliding firmly back into place. "You know I'm not the spontaneous type."

"No, you're not," she agreed sadly, her voice lower now. "You're predictable. Safe."

The word lingered longer than she meant it to and his eyes sharpened. "Safe?"

She hesitated, and for some reason, Derek's face as well as his voice echoed in her mind. Heat flushed her cheeks - anger at herself, not at Jack. Why the hell was she thinking about Derek at a time like this?

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did." He stepped closer. "Safe compared to what?"

"Compared to nothing!" she snapped, defensive now. "Why does everything have to turn into a courtroom cross-examination with you?"