Page 66 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

His expression softened. “Don’t go naming it now.”

Mischief sprang into my mind, along with dozens of possibilities. “That’s an idea. How about Daphne?”

His scowl deepened. “It’s not a girl dimple. Are you changing or not?”

I inched toward him. “Don’t change the subject. What about Humphrey?”

“Clothes,Rosie. I’d like to leave soon. You need to?—”

“Oh, I know! Wilbur.”

Duncan’s smile faded. A steaming hot coal fell into his gaze, adding luster and warmth there that singed straight through me.

“Rose.”

The nickname was spoken in a private way, a way that made me want to keep it in a jar and hold it to my ear like a seashell. “I do need to go. Would you like to come with me?”

I drowned under the weight of that stare. He was so beautiful. Clean-shaven, cutthroat, genuine, mesmerizing.

“Yes,” I heard myself saying. “Thank you for asking me. And no, I’m not going to change into anything fancier.”

I’d just spent forty minutes getting ready for the day. I wasn’t about to redo it.

“You look incredible as you are. We leave in five minutes.”

Yet, neither of us moved. I was still close to him. So close.

“Is there something else you wanted to ask me?” I said, not sure how to handle more of him.

The side of his throat worked. “There’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

His gaze flickered to my mouth once more. “You know Hawk? Maddox?”

Disappointment surged, especially when he backed away.

Instantly, my thoughts strayed to the thing Pat said about him talking about me to his friends. Was it true? What did he tell them about me?

“Yeah. What about them?”

“They—you—They said I should?—”

“You’re never tongue-tied,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

He shook himself and stepped back. “Never mind. The house I’m buying? It’s that one you wanted to see.”

I was too addled to try and follow anything he said at this point. What did Hawk and Maddox have to do with this house?

Clive pulled off to the side of the road, and my suspicions rose. I gaped out the window. There it was, standing in all its majestic glory: the Queen Anne Victorian that Duncan had called The Painted Lady. The one that made me act like a total trapped baboon who’d just seen his first banana the instant I’d seen it.

“THIS house?” I said.

“What about it?”

“I was freaking out when we passed it yesterday—and you didn’t say anything aboutthishouse being the one you wanted to buy.”

He grunted. “I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

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