Page 52 of Christmas Kisses

Numerous whiffs produce the same results. I don’t understand a single gripe. I smell fresh. Luxurious. I’d even go as far as sexy. But again, since I have days to work my magic, I murmur, “I guess another shower wouldn’t hurt. It isn’t like this part of the world is on water restrictions.”

She gleams like my reply humors her before a stern mask slips over her beautiful face. “Wash your hair too. The plastic on the couch is to deter stains. It’ll do little for oil slicks.”

Ouch.

I should have stayed naked. She’s less picky when she struggles to veer her eyes from my abs.

While standing, I run my fingers through my thick mop, feigning my ego wasn’t scalded by her diss. “It was a long flight. Not everyone has the funds to buy a first-class ticket, and even if I did, not all planes have showers.” I flew first class, and my preferred airline has showers. I just can’t disclose that right now.

Guilt features on Angel’s face for half a second before she shrugs it off for nonchalance. “While you shower, I’ll order in. Is there anything in particular you’re craving?”

“You pick,” I reply, returning the ball to her court.

The more control she believes she has, the faster our exchange will move on to the skits Jimmy assures me is where the real magic happens.

Don’t ask me why, but my eyes drop to Angel’s tiny towel at the end of my sentence. I know why I’m looking. I just don’t want it explained to me since it will most likely see me wanting to sue myself—my thoughts have never been more corrupt.

Liaising with leaseholders sexually is not a part of my contracts. It specifically states that it is off the agenda duringandafter their tenancies. So why do I keep looking at Angel as if she is a snack I can’t wait to devour?

Because according to Mrs. Richler, Angel doesn’t have a lease.

Needing a moment to think, I jerk my head toward the kitchen. “My wallet is on the counter. I cashed a money order at the airport, so there are plenty of funds for dinner.”

This is part of the integrity I mentioned earlier. Giving her underhanded permission to snoop through my things announces that I have nothing to hide. It will lower her defenses and have her eating out of my pants in no time.

Palm. I meant to say palm.

“Okay. Great.” Angel twists to face me, her smile heart thumping. “Enjoy your shower.”

The purr of her last sentence raises my suspicion. It seems more uneased than genuine.

I guess that can be expected. Her Airbnb advertisement announces that she invites strangers into her home on a regular basis, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be a little apprehensive.

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need. Just don’t forget to wash your hair. I don’t want to have to call Greenpeace.”

Laughing, I enter the hallway while working my belt through the loops of my trousers.

After I enter the bathroom, I guide my pants down my thighs while striving to gauge Angel’s response to my business attire. She doesn’t seem the type to dig a suit, but her cheeks were as flushed when she exited the bathroom as when I let her into her apartment in only a towel, so my theory could be a little awry.

As I twist the faucet, I recall how there were no pictures or knickknacks on the dining room buffet or the living area mantel. A lack of personal belongings usually announces severed ties between family members, but I don’t get spoiled, entitled brat vibes from Angel, so I doubt that is the case.

She appeared physically hurt when Mrs. Richler mentioned her mother rolling in her grave. She loved her mother. I just need to work out if that love extends to her father, and if so, where is he?

It’ll be impossible to push her into the arms of her loved ones if she doesn’t have anyone to lean on.

While stepping over the rim of the clawfoot tub, I take a mental note to bring up her father during dinner. Her whitening cheeks when Mrs. Richler mentioned her mother means I can’t direct my focus toward her anytime in the next twenty-four hours. I need to regain some of the ground I lost when I couldn’t help but ogle her tight body. Reminding her of what she has lost won’t do that.

Thank god I packed gray sweatpants. Even a trained undercover CIA agent would struggle to hide her interest when cock-hugging sweats are whipped out.

Once the water temperature is pleasant, I step under the spray. The bathroom is an adequate size but dated. None of thedécor inside Angel’s apartment matches the extravagance of the foyer and numerous hallways, hence the lower price tag.

I plan to renovate and flip it, but I can’t put a penny into this project with a non-paying lodger. Not a single investor will drop millions on a crash pad they can’t use. That’s why, as much as Angel fascinates me, I have no choice but to move her on.

This is purely business. It isn’t personal.

I just need my dick to get the memo. He’s still aching over the image of her clothed, so I won’t mention his response when her semi-naked frame pops into my head.

---