baby. He was sure his tenant would buy it whenever Seb wanted out, presuming the financing worked out then. And if not, there would be plenty of other interested buyers.
So, when—if—Seb wanted to sell, he might even make a profit.
But it wasn’t the profit that interested him now. It was the peace and quiet. The solitude.
If he’d needed any convincing that he’d done the right thing by his impulse down payment and promise to get the financing tomorrow, walking into his penthouse tonight had done it.
The panty hose were already everywhere. So were the crumbs and the sticky marmalade plates. The cell phones shrilled and his sisters giggled. There they were talking—all of them at once—and throwing their arms around him, hugging him, getting him sticky, too.
He had been prepared for that.
But he’d forgotten the music, the television, the shouting over each other to be heard. He’d forgotten the smells. The sickly sweet shampoos, conditioners, hair sprays, gels, mousses, not to mention umpteen kinds of perfume actually supposed to have fragrances.
His whole apartment had smelled like a bordello.
If he’d thought for one second he’d been wrong to jump at Frank’s houseboat, those few minutes had convinced him he’d done exactly the right thing. He could hardly wait to escape.
His sisters had been appalled when he’d slipped out of their embraces and headed for his bedroom to pack.
“You’ve got a trip? Now?”
“Where are you going?”
“When are you coming back?”
They’d followed him into his room. He could see makeup bottles scattered on the countertop through the door to his bathroom.
“I’m just giving you some space,” he said. “And trusting you with mine,” he added with his best severe older brother glower. It went from them to the open door of the bathroom where there were also wet towels on the floor. Then it went back to them. They smiled contritely.
“Keep things clean,” he said. “Pick up after yourselves. I’ve got work to do and I need to focus.”
“We won’t be any trouble,” they vowed in unison, heads bobbing.
Seb had smiled at that. Then he’d gathered up the few things he was sure he would need or that he really didn’t want them to break—like his grandfather’s old violin—and patted their heads.
“I’ll be back and take you to dinner on Sunday,” he promised.
As he left, Jenna borrowed money to pay the pizza delivery man.
“Sure you won’t change your mind, Seb?” she’d said, forgetting to give him the change.
Seb had shaken his head. “No.”
But now, as his stomach rumbled on his way down the dock, he wished he’d at least thought to snatch one of the pizzas.
No matter. He’d grab something after he settled in—and dealt with Frank’s tenant. A guy who rented a room on a houseboat ought to be delighted to be offered a studio apartment rent free. And maybe by the time Seb was ready to sell, he’d have his finances in order and could get a loan.
Seb found himself whistling just like Max as he stepped aboard his houseboat and turned the key in the front door lock.
“Home sweet home,” he murmured, and pushed open the door and stepped into a small foyer with a staircase leading up to the second floor on one side and bookshelves and a door on the other. Straight ahead, down a hallway he glimpsed the setting sun through the window. It drew him on. So did the music he heard.
Unlike the cacophonous racket he’d left behind with his sisters, this was a Bach minuet, light and lilting, rhythmic, orderly.
The lingering tension in Seb’s shoulders eased. He’d wondered how he would convince Frank’s tenant that he needed to move. The Bach reassured him. A tenant who played Bach would see the logic and good sense in Seb’s offer to put him up rent free.
He made his way down the hallway and into an open living area and stopped stock-still at the sight of a rabbit hutch—complete with two rabbits—on a window seat. There was an aquarium on the bar that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. There were three half-grown kittens wrestling on the floor and one attempting to clamber up a cardboard box that had been strategically placed to keep it inside while the door to the deck beyond could be left open.
But none of it was quite as astonishing as the sight of a pair of long bare very female legs halfway up a ladder out on the deck.
“You’re back?” the female said, apparently having heard Seb shutting the door. “This is way too soon. Go away and come back in half an hour.”
Seb didn’t move. Just stared at the legs. Felt wholly masculine interest at the same time he felt stirrings of unease.
His tenant was female?
And Frank hadn’t bothered to mention it?
Well, maybe to Frank it hadn’t made any difference. He had been spending his time at his fiancée’s afterall.
“Cody?” The woman’s voice said when Seb didn’t reply. “Did you hear me? I said, Go away.”
Seb cleared his throat. “I’m not Cody,” he said, grateful his voice didn’t croak as his eyes were still glued to those amazing legs.
“Not…?” Bare feet moved down the ladder one rung at a time until the woman could hook her arm around one side of the ladder and swung her head down so that she could see him.
Seb stared, transfixed.
Neely Robson?
No. Impossible.
Seb shut his eyes. It was just that his irritating meeting with Max had had the effect of imprinting her on his brain.
When he opened them again he would, of course, see some other stunningly gorgeous woman with dark honey-colored hair and legs a mile long.
He opened them again.
It was Neely Robson.
They stared at each other.
And then, almost in slow motion, she straightened up again so he could no longer see her face—only her legs—and for an instant he could tell himself that he’d imagined it.
Then slowly those amazing legs descended the ladder and she came to stare in the open doorway at him, the paintbrush in one hand as she swiped her hair away from her face with the other.
“Mr. Savas,” she said politely in that slightly husky oh-so-provocative voice.
Did she call Max “Mr. Grosvenor”? Seb wondered acidly.
“Ms. Robson,” he replied curtly, keeping his gaze resolutely
