Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) (27 page)

His tone made Lacey’s eyes widen.
Definitely too defensive.
He must suspect something
. Every instinct told her to escape him as
quickly as possible, except for that primal instinct that wanted to tear open
his shirt with her teeth.

“She seems like such a lovely woman,” she said instead,
trying to shake his half-naked image from her mind.

“She is. And you’re a real estate agent?”

“Mmhm.” Lacey’s hands trembled as she fumbled through her
purse looking for her keys. He was definitely onto her. She could see the
potential listing slipping through her fingers, and her name being blacklisted
from the best funeral home in town.

“I might need to buy property one day.” His voice was so
smooth it could butter toast. “Can I have your card?”

“I, uh, actually think I gave my last one to Mrs. Baker. I
wasn’t really expecting to do business at a funeral.” She let out a little
laugh.

He seemed taken aback.

Lacey babbled, “I can’t believe I slipped and fell at her
husband’s funeral. Talk about making a scene.”

“Those were slick floors for such high heels.” He looked
down at her shoes and pointedly let his gaze linger a little too long on her
legs. “And you were definitely walking too fast.”

Lacey bristled, quickening her pace. “I wouldn’t have fallen
if I hadn’t walked into someone. You, if I remember correctly.”

When he smiled, she couldn’t help wondering how his teeth
got so white. They looked positively…delicious.

“I’m very sorry if I had something to do with your fall,
then. How can I make it up to you? Dinner?”

“No, thank you. It really wasn’t your fault.” She averted
her eyes to avoid getting sucked into the vortex of his sexual magnetism. It
was a losing battle.

“Well, I’d love to take you to dinner anyway. It would make
me feel better to check up later on that bump on your head.” He gently brushed
his fingers along the side of her head. A jolt of electricity raced up her
spine.

This man was dangerous. Given the choice between a night
with him and a multimillion-dollar real estate listing, Lacey was strangely
tempted by her carnal side.

He continued tracing the side of her cheek. “But if you have
someone in your life who will check on that—” he paused, “—bump,
I’d understand.”

Her breathing quickened. Her knees weakened. Feeling
lightheaded, she steadied herself against her car. “No one checks on my bumps.”
Ugh. Did I really just say that?

Smiling slightly, his hand stilled against the side of her
face. Gently, he brushed her hair behind her ear, then more forcefully plunged
his fingers into her long locks. First one hand, then his other. As he toyed
with her hair, his head lowered so close to her own that the feel of his warm
breath against her forehead fully awakened her once flat-lined libido.

Instinctively tilting her head upward, she locked her gaze
on his tempting mouth, the subtle curve of his lips, his clean shave that still
smelled a bit soapy, the perfect cleft in his chin that she longed to touch.
She leaned into him, aching to be sandwiched in between his steel-hard body and
her car.

His mouth only inches from hers, her lips opened slightly
and her eyes began to close—just as she spotted her hair clip in his hand
and heard him click it shut.

She pulled back from him, mortified.

He was grinning. “Your hair clip. Remember?”

“Of course,” she barely whispered, raising her hand against
the makeshift ponytail that now stood out from the back of her head. She hoped
he hadn’t noticed how close she had come to plastering her lips against his.
But from the smug look on his face, he apparently had.

“So. Dinner at eight then?”

Her lips yearned to say “yes.” Yes to dinner and anything
else he might suggest. But a sudden breeze blew in from the water drawing
Lacey’s eyes away from him and out to the Chesapeake Bay. She rallied her
defenses, narrowing her gaze on the waterfront homes in her view and picturing
“For Sale” signs in front of every one of them.

“No, thank you,” she said, quickly hopping into her car.

As she pulled away, she glanced out her window to see his
stunned face as he stood in the parking lot alone.

***

Air. Air. I need cold air.

Her body still smoldering, Lacey frantically pressed the
buttons of her car’s AC as if pushing them multiple times might get the air to
cool faster.

She glanced again in the rear view mirror as the image of
the man became nothing more than a speck in the distance. She could still see
him though—as clear in her memory as if his face was hovering above her
dashboard.

His supremely sexy face.

She felt hot. Too hot to drive. Too hot to do anything but
jump into the Severn River as she crossed the Naval Academy Bridge heading into
West Annapolis.

What had just happened? Had she really been that close to
planting her lips on that man? On his lips…or any other body part he had
readily available? No woman would kiss a man she had just met at a funeral.
Especially when she’s there on business.

Of course, few women went to funerals for business. But that
was beside the point.

“There’s no one to check on my bumps?” she repeated to
herself with self-loathing. Just once, she’d love to come up with a clever
reply the way her friend Maeve always did around men.

Glancing at the clock on her dashboard, she noted that she
could make her next funeral. Then she replayed the last few minutes of the
previous funeral in her head, wondering if she should go at all. Clearly she
was off her game.

Lacey changed lanes, narrowly missing a car in her blind
spot. Letting out a breath, she pulled into the parking lot of the Navy
Stadium, deciding to cool down before driving further. Maybe it was the effects
of that fall. Maybe she really should go to the doctor.

Maybe she should just go home and have a drink.

Resting her head on her steering wheel, she started to laugh
and then surprised herself when tears started to fall. Could it be PMS? She
quickly visualized a calendar in her head. No. She couldn’t even use that as an
excuse.

What a wreck she was. Swept off her
feet—literally—by a man with a bod like the statue of David, and
she completely loses it.

The stress of the real estate business here in Annapolis was
obviously killing her. Or maybe she was breathing in too much formaldehyde at
all these funerals.

Or it was the lack of sex. That’s what Maeve would tell her.
Hell, that’s what every cell in her body was screaming right now.

Suddenly, she was laughing again, nearly hysterically at the
memory of herself falling flat on the floor in the middle of a funeral home.
She didn’t know if she should feel humiliated, angry, or—remembering the
final thirty seconds in the parking lot—turned on.

Yep, she was definitely turned on.

That, she decided, is exactly the type of man she had to
avoid until this newest career of hers takes shape. Just a little time off from
distractions, she had convinced herself. With a string of pathetic dates still
fresh in her memory at the time, a temporary hiatus from men hadn’t seemed like
much of a sacrifice.

Of course, she hadn’t been counting on meeting a guy who
looked like…
that
. The man radiated sex from his pores.

No, no, no.
Letting out a breath that would have
made her yoga instructor proud, she attempted to mentally purge his delectably
yummy image. She was not going to spend her thirties the same way she had
killed time in her twenties—dabbling in dead-end jobs, distracted by
whatever or whomever crossed her path.

Just once, she wanted a business card with a boast-worthy
tagline:

Lacey Owens: Ranked #1 in Real Estate Sales in Annapolis.

And finally, she had come up with a foolproof plan for
making it reality. It was a plan even worthy of Vi. She just had to stay
focused.

With a sigh, she pulled an obituary from a file she had stashed
in her back seat, and punched another funeral home address into her GPS. She
might just be able to make it.

***

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