Chapter 12

Back at my place, it took a good many elevator trips to move her belongings, which helped mitigate the adrenaline dumping from my bloodstream, but at last, I left her alone to arrange things in the guest room. Yes, I’d almost headed for my bedroom with that initial mound of dresses over my arm and dragging a large suitcase, but gonna sound stupid: a queen deserved her own space.

A repeat of—wow, only forty-eight hours prior—every sound as she moved items seemed so much louder. Yet, I once again tried to concentrate. A battle won, yes, but Arturo didn’t appear smart enough to realize he’d lost his wife, nor be the type to let things drop. However, that rematch lay in the future.

Nope, my mind focused on a bigger struggle: dad. He’d be waiting the following morning. Parker would’ve told him I had a new roommate, the “hooker” who’d visited before.

“Can’t do anything about that,” I muttered, scanning the spacious apartment from the kitchen.

Very spacious apartment. Too spacious. Way too spacious. With a nod, I lifted my phone and attacked the next challenge: the search for furnishings. Also, I glanced at the fridge, still empty. Bachelor-mode must end ... had ended. Could’ve stopped at a grocery store, but I wanted her home.

That’s right, home. For the first time, with her curvaceous silhouette occasionally flitting beyond the open doorway, my place felt like ... well, a home.

Besides, ordering furniture acted as a distraction. While the sun dropped toward the horizon, her perfume also sank, setting wispy anchors deep behind my nose, and the brief glimpses of her almost dragged me into her room. We hadn’t ... hmm, played in her bed. With a shake of my head, I furrowed my brows and leaned into the phone.

“Oh, that’ll do,” I said, my attention once more on anything but her.

The success? A matching couch and chair for my single armchair. Another pair of victories arrived soon after: a decent enough table and chairs. Next, I wore a grin, selecting barstools to line the bare kitchen counter.

More successes flowed as my fingers scrolled and tapped. One more chaise lounge for the balcony. A small but sturdy table. After scanning a bare wall, I found a compact, yet elegant, mirrored sidebar of blonde wood, plus a set of slender, tall stools.

“More rugs?” I scanned the sole splash of color before my chair and nodded. “Walls?” Again, a nod, and my fingers moved on the screen, uncovering endless tapestries and art prints.

As I leaned further over the counter, the list grew, then expanded. Plates. Glassware. Fancier cutlery. Or at least a complete set. The mismatched stuff in the cupboards dated from my college dorm years.

Better towels. Softer. Higher thread-count sheets. Also, softer. For her bed? Why bother? With a shrug, I peeked at my bedroom. Yeah, I wanted her in mine. So, my bed needed much better sheets.

“Silk?” I whispered before nodding once again. “Plus, more pillows.”

Suddenly, my heart raced. Silence. When I looked up, the world wobbled. Quiet footfalls accompanied the silhouette, backlit by the soft glow of the guest room lamps, approaching the open doorway. The hand with my phone lowered, letting it slide to the surface. All that houseware shopping faded away as the pulsing in my skull grew louder.

With both hands gathering dark hair into a ponytail, her lithe figure stepped into the main room. From lacy strands hung a white crop top thin enough sharp-tipped dark circles said she was both braless and aroused. Gone were the jeans, replaced with loose pink shorts, more like a pink strip, baring most of her thighs.