The doorbell tolled through the 1960s architecturally styled home, and I subconsciously wiped a palm down my black linen pants. Gripping a red iPad case, I shifted my Coach tote higher up on my shoulder. It was cool under the covered portico, but nerves made me sweat.
“Get a grip,” I whispered down to my pink toenails peeping out of black sandals. I sucked in a lungful of air and consciously made an effort to slow my heartbeat. I was about to do a breath check when the door popped open. My eyes zoomed up to meet Ian’s lash-fringed azure gaze. He wore jeans and a snug black T-shirt that outlined the perfection of his chest, and his feet were bare. He held a cell phone to his ear.
“Sophie, excellent timing! C’mon on in. Listen mate, my new decorator showed up, so I’ve got to bugger off.” Ian stood aside to allow me to enter. “Of course she’s beautiful, but she’s also trouble.” Ian winked at me. “She told me so herself. Gotta dash. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”
My cheeks burned.
“Go find your own decorator, mate. Sophie’s mine.” He chuckled and hung up. “Cheeky fellow.”
The air shifted, and as I passed by, his musky male scent played havoc with my senses. However, the shocking design calamity that met my eyes as I walked through the foyer into the main living space was enough to draw my attention away from the marvelous male specimen sending me a heart-dropping smile. The kitchen had been recently renovated. It held modern stainless appliances, European style cabinetry with clean lines, and recycled green and gray glass countertops. It flowed into a large great room with vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a stunning vista of rocky hills. Unfortunately, the vile color combination was tough to get past. The kitchen was painted neon orange, and when combined with the aqua and red striped wall in the great room and the lime green in the dining room, it was enough to give an epileptic a seizure.
With straight-faced tact I asked, “So, Ian, did you choose the paint colors?”
I always asked new clients this question before making any sort of observations about the current décor. Early in my career, I made an off-hand comment about an unattractive ocher yellow in a client’s kitchen; I was mortified when she told me she had chosen it. The client wasn’t best pleased with me, and her manner remained chilly throughout the rest of the job. It was a learning experience I refused to repeat.
“Lord luv you, no. After a while, the color gives me a headache. Clearly it’s the reason I’m desperate for your help.”
“It does seem to be a bit over the top. I wonder what kind of furniture the former owner put with these colors?”
“Wouldn’t know.” Ian shrugged. “The house was empty when I looked at it. I got a great deal because it had been sitting on the market for a couple of months.”
I nodded. “I imagine the color palette was a deterrent to buyers.”
“I bought the house because the kitchen was new and because of what’s out back. Let me show you.”
Ian lightly gripped my upper arm. Tingly feelings shot directly to my belly. He led me through a nine-foot sliding door to reveal a kidney-shaped pool with attached hot tub and splashing river rock fountain. The curved terracotta stained concrete patio was stamped to resemble tile, and it was complemented by an outdoor kitchen complete with grill, sink, double burners, and granite countertops. The kitchen was shaded by a second floor deck. Palm trees and native landscaping completed the resort-inspired oasis. The only furniture on the vast courtyard consisted of a green plastic table with two chairs and a ratty aluminum lounger set up near the pool. How did it hold together under Ian’s weight? The new patio seemed at odds with the modernist architecture of the 1960s home, with its sharp lines and blocky construction. However, upon further consideration, the curvature of the pool and veranda softened the angular edges and created a pleasing juxtaposition.
“It’s beautiful.” I wandered over to the pool, disturbing the water with my fingers. “I assume you want to design an outdoor space for entertaining?” I shaded my eyes as I looked at him.
Ian scratched his five o’clock shadow. “Yes. Do you think we can do something like that?”
“Of course.” I smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. Why don’t we go back inside and talk about what you want, and I’ll look over the house and see what we can do.”
Ian led me back into the great room. I took a seat on the well-worn couch as he headed into the kitchen.
“Do you want a beer?”
“No, thank you.”
“Soda? Orange juice?” He bent over, searching the fridge, while I sat mesmerized by a pair of well-fitting jeans that outlined his fine backside. Ian caught me staring and shot a roguish grin over his shoulder.
My face burned and I dragged my eyes away. “Orange juice will be fine.”
While Ian fixed the drinks, I steadied my nerves by getting down to business. I pulled a notebook and pen out of my case, fired up my iPad, and began a rough sketch of the space. Furniture was sparse. Besides the couch, the great room comprised of a stained wooden coffee table, a pathetic standing lamp, and an enormous flat screen TV that sat on a squat, unattractive stand in front of the fireplace.
“Does that fireplace work?”
“I think so.” Ian handed me a drink. The couch shifted as he took his seat, and I slid closer to him.
I cleared my throat and put on my professional façade. “I assume the first thing you want is paint.”
“Absolutely.”
“I see the kitchen cabinetry and appliances are new. Do you want to leave them?”
“Yes.”
“As for the great room, you need paint, furniture, lighting, and possibly a built-in for your TV.”
“Sure.” Ian took a long drink of beer, and my eyes followed his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down.
“Curtains?” I whispered, cleared my throat, and tried again. “Curtains?”
He nodded. “If you say so.”
I smiled. “Let’s take a moment to figure out your style, shall we?”
“Like I told you at the party, I don’t really have one.”
“Well, the kitchen is fairly stylized. Looking beyond the hideous color, do you like its clean, modern lines?”
Ian squinted. “Sure.”
“Okay, tell me about this couch; this is not a modern style.”
“It’s comfortable.” He shrugged.
“So you like the comfort of the couch. Do you prefer material or leather sofas?”
“Material. I think.”
Either Ian was a man of few words, or decorating was simply beyond his scope of concerns. “Of the things in this room, your TV is likely the most expensive item, so it’s important to you?”
Ian glanced around the striped nightmare. “Everything can go, but the TV stays.”
I nodded. “And the couch?”
“You can chuck the couch, but you have to replace it with something comfortable. Not leather. Too slippery.”
“Is the sofa an important item to you?”
“Hell, yeah! I want to be able to kick my feet up and watch the game with my mates.”
The room remained silent as I scribbled some notes. Ian was either going to be one of the easiest clients I’d ever dealt with or one of the hardest. If he truly didn’t care, I could design whatever I thought would look good, and he’d go with the flow. It was the clients who didn’t know what they wanted that became a challenge. Invariably, there would be a learning curve as they discovered their options. Then they’d spend weeks waffling back and forth and basically becoming a designer’s nightmare. “Okay, let’s assess what type of relationship we’re going to have.”
“We’re having a relationship?” Ian sat forward with wiggling eyebrows and a cunning grin.
It took all my willpower not to roll my eyes at the immature come-on. Instead, I pushed him back with a firm hand. “A professional relationship. Now, after I present my recommendations, some clients don’t want to speak again until the renovations are complete. Others want to shop with me, pick out their tile, paint color, etcetera. Some clients are in between. How involved do you wish to be?”
“I want to pick out the sofa.”
“The sofa? That’s it?”
“That’s all I need.”
I evaluated him for a moment. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, but he was turning into a designer’s dream by providing free reign. If only he would keep his flirty, delectable self out of my way, I just might be able to turn this place into something worthy of the cover of House Beautiful. The creative juices were already flowing, and the home’s potential had me figuratively rubbing my hands in delight. “Hmm … okay, let’s get started. Can you help me with some of the measurements?”
We spent the next half hour measuring the room dimensions and the exterior patio before heading upstairs to the master bedroom. “Let me guess, more stripes?”
Ian cringed. “Bright yellow and black. It looked like a bloody bee. I couldn’t stand it so I put up this white. Two coats,” Ian held up two long fingers, “and you can still see the black paint.”
I laughed.
A pair of sliding doors led out to the upper deck, which was empty of furnishings. I poked my head into the en suite. “What was the bathroom painted?”
“Black. All of it.”
What were the first owners thinking? “It must have been like living in a cave.”
Ian snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Exactly!”
I sat on the bed. The mattress was comfortable, not too firm. “Your mattress seems to be in good shape.”
“It better be. I just spent a bleedin’ fortune on it.” He stood, arms crossed, examining me as I took notes and measured.
“What do you want in your bedroom?” I asked with pen poised.
Ian’s eyebrow quirked and his grin was playful. “You.”
I rolled my eyes at the blatant flirtation. Seriously, did this guy just think I’d strip and go for it right now? “I mean, what kind of design do you want? Calm, neutral oasis, Moroccan vibe, Old-world Tuscan? Or do you just want me to come up with something?”
“Hmm,” he scratched his chin, “I might like the Tuscan thing. Can you swing that?”
“Honey, I can do anything,” I answered in a distracted tone and drifted around the room, scratching fervently on my notebook.
“Anything?” Ian’s warm voice murmured over my shoulder, startling me.
The pen sailed across the room as my shoulder made contact with Ian’s granite jaw, shooting pain down my arm. His teeth closed with an audible snap.
“Yeowch!” I rubbed my shoulder and turned. “Oh, Ian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were there. Are you okay?”
Ian shifted his chin back and forth with a rueful grin. “No problem, luv. All my fault. I guess I snuck up on you. How about you? Okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
We stared at each other, rubbing our injured parts. A crackle of tension sliced through the air, and a chill zipped down my spine. My nipples hardened to pebbles, pressing against the thin silk of my white blouse. Ian’s light manner abruptly changed, his gaze shifted to my breasts, and his eyes darkened. Nervously, I licked my lips and my breath hitched. Ian’s gaze returned to clash with mine, and he stepped toward me. His movement snapped me out of my erotic trance. This isn’t a date; it’s business. I gave myself a mental head-shake. Pulling the notebook to my chest, I hustled out of Ian’s bedroom.
“Why don’t we finish up downstairs?” I spoke over my shoulder.
It was a few minutes before Ian followed. He retrieved his half-empty beer from the coffee table and chugged it before joining me on a stool at the kitchen counter, where I had materials spread out for his review. I showed him samples of my work and determined that he liked a variety of styles with clean lines; however, not at the expense of comfort. Then we talked about his budget and my fee schedule.
Closing the iPad cover, I wrapped up the consultation. “So, here’s what happens next. I’ll come up with a design plan for you to review, and if you like it, we’ll move forward. It’ll take about a week. How does next Friday look?”
Ian pulled a phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his apps. “I should be free Friday any time after six.”
“How about six thirty?”
“Six thirty it is.” His thumbs tapped in our appointment.
I packed up my materials and then Ian escorted me to the front door.
“I’ll see you Friday.” I offered my hand.
Ian’s large warm hand enveloped mine, and with a light tug, drew me closer. The yeasty scent of beer drifted past my nostrils, as he leaned in to brush a delicate kiss upon my cheek. A breath whispered against my ear. “I look forward to it, Sophie.”
“Umm … me, too,” I mumbled.
I was already out the door when I turned back to find Ian scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. The look disappeared in a blink, and I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“Yes?”
“Um … I … uh … I just wanted to ask, how many other designers will you be interviewing?”
His eyebrows scrunched into puzzlement. “Why would I interview other designers? I thought you were my designer.”
“Well, some people like to have multiple decorators present them with ideas. Like an audition.”
“Nope. I want you. That’s it.”
I blinked. There were so many meanings underlying such a simple statement. “Okay then. I look forward to working with you, and I promise I won’t let you down.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, Sophie.” He said my name like it was a caress.
As I exited Ian’s gate, I let out a hoot of glee and called Poppy on my Bluetooth.
She answered on the second ring. “What’s up, girl? How was your meeting with Mr. Hottie?”
“He hired me,” I squealed. “He’s not even interviewing anyone else. I’m it!”
“Of course you are. You’re the best. He’d be crazy to want anyone else.”
“I’m so thrilled. This could be my ticket into the big leagues. If I do an awesome job, maybe he’ll introduce me to his friends. Maybe he’ll give me a recommendation.”
“That’s fantastic! I’m sure he’ll recommend you. So, tell me about Ian.”
“What about him?”
“What was he like? Dish.”
“Oh, him.” I swished my hand. “He’s a big flirt. Don’t get me wrong, he is super hot and he makes my knees weak, but you know his type. He flirts with everything in a skirt.”
“He didn’t flirt with me,” Poppy said in a sad voice.
“Sure he did. He’s gorgeous, and I bet every woman who crosses his path falls all over him. No wonder Tanqueray was so possessive at the party. She probably spent the night fending off every woman in sight. I kind of feel sorry for her. He’d be a hard man to pin down.”
“Was she there?”
“No.”
“Does she live there? Was any of her stuff there?”
I paused to review the house in my mind. Only one toothbrush in the bathroom, no Tampax boxes, no women’s clothes hanging in the closet, and no scent of perfume lingered in the house. “I don’t think so. At least I didn’t see signs of a woman living with him, but the house is pretty Spartan.”
“So, it must not be too serious.”
“Maybe not.”
“Tell me about the flirting.”
“Oh, you know, little innuendos, that kind of thing.”
“No, I don’t know. Details.”
“He told his friend on the phone that I was beautiful and to go find his own designer. You know … flattery. And there was a moment … ” I mumbled.
“A moment?”
“It was nothing.”
“Tell me about the moment.”
“We were in his bedroom … ”
“His bedroom.” Poppy drawled.
“Yes.” I firmly tamped down her innuendo. “As in, he wants me to decorate his bedroom.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Then … I don’t know… there was a moment of … tension.”
“Sexual tension?”
I let out a deep sigh. “Yes.”
“Whoop, there it is! What happened next?”
“Nothing!” I bellowed.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“Just what I said. There was a moment and nothing happened. I went back downstairs to work up some ideas.”
“I think he’s attracted to you.”
“I think he’s into Barbie doll, and flirting is his natural form of communication with women.”
A deep sigh blew at me. “If you say so. When is your next appointment?”
“Next Friday.”
“Be sure to wear something sexy, like a push-up bra, and put your red platform pumps on. They make your legs look long.”
“Poppy! It’s a business meeting, not a date. Besides, he’s with Tanqueray.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
• • •
A decidedly randy grin split his face as he watched Sophie’s car roll away from the gate. She’d looked even better to him today than when they’d first met at the party. The sexy sandals she wore made her taller, and he’d enjoyed watching her backside as she’d minced around his house with her serious demeanor and cute glasses, taking notes and scribbling down measurements. For the most part he didn’t give a damn about what she decided to do about fixing up his home. As long as the noxious colors were neutralized and a comfortable couch set up so he could have a place to kick back and watch the game, he’d be happy.
He closed the door and returned to the living area where her empty drink sat on the kitchen counter. A red lipstick mark made a U shape along the rim. He fingered the glass. When they met at the party there’d been so many people pulling him in different directions, he’d been surprised when the planner flagged him down to introduce Sophie. He never considered hiring an interior designer; he just figured he’d hire some painters, buy some furniture and maybe a picture or two to spruce up the place. However, when her friend thrust Sophie’s curvaceous body forward with all of that wonderful hair tumbling around her shoulders, and he looked into her nervous blue eyes, his body had immediately reacted, and he suddenly realized an interior designer was exactly what he needed. She’d intrigued him even more when she’d been forthright and honest about never seeing his show. So different from the ego strokes he was accustomed to hearing from most people.
She was different from most of the girls he usually dated. First of all, she had curves where a woman should have them, and they clearly weren’t fake. It was a trait he’d been admiring the entire evening. He hoped it meant that she ate like a normal person. He was weary of dating rail-thin women whose idea of a meal consisted of water and two bites of salad and a cigarette to dull the appetite.
Secondly, she’d successfully dodged all of his advances. Even in his bedroom, when the sexual tension had crackled between them, her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes gazing hungrily at him. For sure, he thought he’d get a kiss from those luscious red lips, but something spooked her, and she’d skittered out of the room like a ghost crab on the beach. It would be his mission to find out why she fled at the slightest provocation, even though he could tell she was attracted to him.
He wiped the lipstick from the glass with his thumb. She was smart too; calculating measurements in her head and talking about different architecture and design features that sounded like Greek to him. Although, that Tuscan thing she mentioned seemed intriguing. She ran her own company and seemed to be fairly successful, not an easy task. Clearly, Sophie was going to be more of a challenge than he’d expected. Unlike women in his past, she didn’t throw herself at him, nor take advantage when he made it abundantly clear that he was interested. Wooing women came easy to him, in large part, because of his looks. He was confident it wouldn’t take long before Sophie wasn’t just decorating his house by day, but keeping him warm in bed at night. After all, he could be as stubborn as the next Irishman; he’d just have to change his tactics a little bit to get what he wanted.