Page 32 of Ravished By Her

Lacey came right over and opened my door for me.

I thanked her and got out, just now realizing that I should have gone back home and changed since I was still wearing the jumpsuit I painted in. Too late now. Lacey was still wearing her painting clothes, so I wasn’t the only one.

She unlocked the front door and I followed her into the house, slipping off my shoes as she did the same.

“Oh,” I said, looking around.

“Obviously, I didn’t decorate it,” she said. “I actually enjoy color, unlike the owners.”

The space was varying shades of beige and white, following the bizarre colorless trend that had the country in a chokehold. Sure, neutrals could be nice, but if you took it too far you just made rooms that were visual representations of depression. My apartment had been very neutral, but I’d still had art on the walls and seasonal pillows that I changed out and careful little bursts of color and fresh flowers.

Once you got past the beigeness of the place, it had good bones, good potential. To the right of the door was an open living room and kitchen that were open all the way to the second floor with giant windows that let in tons of light. There were little remnants of Lacey everywhere, though. A few baseball caps on the coffee table, what looked like some jewelry tools next to the sink, and her ereader on the table next to the couch.

“Would you like the tour?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, already calculating the square footage and value. “What are they selling it for?”

Lacey told me the number and I whistled. “They’re never going to get that.”

“Why not?” she asked as we headed to the left of the door and she showed me the primary with a bathroom before taking me upstairs to the other two bedrooms, one of which she was using as her studio.

“Only one bathroom? Good luck with that,” I said. I couldn’t imagine what the builders were thinking. This was obviously new construction and it was just foolish not to have more than one bathroom.

“And this is where I spend most of my time,” she said when we went into her workshop. There was a large window that faced the backyard, which had a little pond that was charming as hell.

“Wow,” I said, stepping closer to the worktable. There were piles of stones and metal and even a giant magnifier with a light for more delicate work.

“What are you working on now?” I asked.

“A custom piece. It’s an engagement ring,” she said, picking up a sketch from the table. “Sometimes I like drawing without technology. I think it taps into my brain in a different way.”

The sketch was absolutely gorgeous, complete with multiple angles of the ring and all the intricate detail.

“I took inspiration from Celtic designs,” she said, and I could absolutely see that in her drawings.

“What stone are you going to use?” I asked.

“It’s a black rutilated quartz,” she said, picking up a tiny stone and placing it in my palm. The stone was clear, but had black lines running through it like veins. Totally unique and stunning.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, dropping it into her hand again and realizing how close she was to me.

“They’re an interesting couple, so I was pleased to get to work on something like this.” She set the stone back down, but didn’t move away from me.

My body leaned into her, almost as if I couldn’t help it.

“Lunch,” she said. “We should have lunch.”

I nodded and she jogged down the stairs as I walked down a little more carefully.

She wasn’t into me, that much was obvious. She wasn’t into me and I needed to get a grip on myself so I didn’t make things between us uncomfortable.

“We can have the usual turkey sandwich, or something else. Whatever you want,” she said, opening the fridge.

“Oh, I’m fine with whatever you feel like making,” I said.

“Would you leave if I decided to make breakfast for lunch?” she asked, peering around the door of the fridge.

“Breakfast for lunch?” I asked. “You mean brunch.”

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