Hot Property

by

Lacey Diamond

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Lacey Diamond on Smashwords

Hot Property

Copyright © 2010 by Debra Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the
rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above
publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Chapter One

It was a mystery to Betsy that her legs went
a bit wobbly upon first seeing the stranger who waited for her in
the dining room. It could have something to do with the
intoxicating scent of his cologne filling the room. Or just the way
he held his head as he picked over the literature on the table.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t just stand there gaping at him.

She took a few shaky steps toward him and
thrust her hand across the table. “Hi there, I’m Betsy
Alexander.”

The man’s steely gaze swept over her, making
her feel self-conscious. Ignoring her hand, he said. “You’re the
one handling the open house?” The coldness in his tone was
compatible with the steely eyes that commanded an answer.

Betsy cleared her throat. “Yes, I am.”
Something within saved her from shrinking and she stood tall. God
knows he still towered over her. “I was just about to lock up. But
I’d be happy to show you the house.” Truthfully, she’d be happier
if he’d just leave.

“Well lead the way then.”

What arrogance, Betsy thought as she moved
into the hallway, tempted to look over her shoulder to see if he
followed. But unnecessary since the scent of his cologne grew more
powerful as it swirled down around her, making her feel half
dizzy.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the home is
immaculate,” she began as she climbed the open staircase to the
second floor. To the bedrooms.

A fierce ‘oh no’ screamed within her. What
if he’s a rapist? A serial killer. She wasn’t aware that she was
practically running up the steps. At the landing, she quickly
whirled around to see where he was and crashed into him where he
stood on the top step.

His strong hands caught her around the
elbows. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. When he released
his breath, time seemed to freeze while Betsy’s heart beat
frantically. Yet, she could have sworn she stopped breathing.

She got a glimpse of an amused smile and
warmer eyes before he quickly let go of her and wasted no time
stepping around her onto the landing and took over the lead.

His move suited Betsy just fine. She didn’t
think she could handle more of the unnerving sensations she’d
experienced with him behind her as she climbed the stairs. Certain
his blue eyes were taking in every inch of her curved hips,
outlined by the light colored material of her skirt, which ended
just above her knees. She had no doubts he’d given her nylon calves
a close look as well.

It was her turn to get a good look at him as
he strode down the hallway. His short dark hair appeared
professionally cut and styled. Not a strand out of place. His broad
shoulders were covered with a mint green colored short-sleeved
shirt that revealed deeply tanned muscled arms. Khaki trousers
covered the nicely rounded buns and long legs.

She watched him open the door to the master
bedroom and disappear inside. His absence made her remember why she
was here and she dashed through the doorway crashing smack into him
once again.

Betsy grunted from sudden impact before
glaring up at him, certain her face shaded red to match the
background in her printed blouse.

Skylar’s hands grasped hold of her arms a
second time. “Do you make a habit of banging into people to get
their attention, Miss Alexander?”

“Of course not.” She jerked away from him,
from those accusing eyes. A second later she wondered how he knew
she was a Miss. She distinctly remembered introducing herself as
Betsy Alexander.

“Then perhaps you should consider having
your eyes examined.”

He stepped around her and back into the
hallway.

For one brief moment, this bold, arrogant
and downright rude man had Betsy contemplating why she stayed in
this business. She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. If she
didn’t get moving the last potential buyer for Stephanie’s house
would get away.

“Did you see the half bath in the master
bedroom?” She rushed down the hall to catch up to him.

“I saw it,” he answered sharply and opened
another bedroom door and took a quick peek inside.

“Have you noticed the hardwood floors were
recently refinished?”

He lunged for the stairs. “I’ve noticed,
Miss Alexander.”

His hasty descent of the steps told Betsy
his annoyance with her had increased. She carefully watched her
feet that were fitted into a pair of high heels as she followed him
down. So not to break her concentration, she didn’t speak again
until they reached the landing. After all, she didn’t dare miss a
step and tumble into him a third time.

“The living room is to your right.”

“I’ve seen enough,” he said and continued in
the direction of the front door.

It would’ve been easy for Betsy to watch him
leave. But she couldn’t permit her dislike for the man to get in
the way of making a sale.

“You really should see the kitchen. It’s
absolutely the best room in the house,” she said, prepared to
continue at the same desperate pace when she saw him stop cold.

He cocked his head in her direction. “Do you
ever quit, Miss Alexander?”

Betsy’s face flushed. Only this time it
wasn’t from embarrassment. Her temper had flared at an alarming
rate. “I suppose I don’t. At least not until I’ve successfully
provided a buyer for my seller.”

She couldn’t believe she’d let the words
fly. The nasty overture in her tone blew any chance of making a
sale. If she were to offer an immediate apology she might be
forgiven. But she couldn’t do it. Even with the knowledge that it
would cost her dearly, she refused to give him the satisfaction of
seeing her squirm.

“You can save a future sales pitch, Miss
Alexander. I was just taking a look at the place as a favor to my
investor friend.”

“Investor friend?”

“That’s right. I’m not in the habit of
buying someone else’s work.”

Her eyes reflected confusion.

“I build my own houses if that will
help.”

“I see.”

An uncomfortable silence grew between them.
He smiled stiffly. “I owe you a thank you for your time.”

She wasn’t about to let him off that easily.
“I’d settle for the name of your investor friend.” A bold request
she quickly explained. “I mean I’d be more than happy to set up a
private showing for him.”

Skylar’s eyes narrowed with puzzlement.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Stephanie told me after today you
would no longer be representing the house.”

Too stunned to speak, Betsy could only stare
at him.

“That’s what I thought.”

Betsy could’ve sworn she saw a glimmer of
regret in his eyes.

“Look, it doesn’t make any difference to me
if he buys the house through you or Stephanie.”

Of course it didn’t. He wasn’t the one on
the verge of losing a sizeable commission from the sale.

“If you can convince her she needs you to
put the deal together, you can get his name from her.”

“Thank you for that piece of information.”
Betsy was far beyond caring that her voice was loaded with
hostility.

But it certainly didn’t appear to offend
him. If anything, he found it amusing when she heard him chuckle as
he went out the door. “Have a good day, Miss Alexander.”

If she had something in her hand at that
moment she would’ve hurled it at him.

“Have a good day,” Betsy imitated him as she
stomped down the hallway and into the dining room to finally
collect her things. “Well I intend to, Mr.—”

She snatched up the sheet of paper she’d
left on the edge of the table. It was standard practice for
everyone viewing a home during an open house to sign in leaving
their name, address and telephone number. But as Betsy scanned the
list of names there wasn’t a single one she couldn’t put a face
with. The mystery man hadn’t signed in.

***

Skylar slid behind the wheel of his pickup
and took a deep steadying breath. He’d made it outside without
buying a house he had no intentions of owning. But Betsy Alexander
sure didn’t make it easy. The scent of her lingered in his nostrils
and he sniffed to get one last sweet smell. He savored the scent a
moment, then turned the key in the ignition and shook his head.
What was he thinking? He was too busy to get involved in a romance,
what with his latest project gearing up.

She really was something special though, he
decided as he pulled away from the curb, smiling.

***

“Calming breaths,” she repeated to herself
in an attempt to ward off an anxiety attack as she locked up the
house and headed for her late model sports car she couldn’t afford.
But in the real estate business one had to look the part of being
successful.

A few adjustments to her lifestyle and she’d
managed the monthly car payments. The steady diet of peanut butter
and jelly sandwiches would seem like a gourmet meal next to the
bread and water she’d need to survive on if the bank called her
loan.

She drove across the bridge to the small
community on the other side of the Susquehanna River where housing
was more affordable and lifestyles were more relaxed. She parked in
front of the two story old house she had called home the past five
years and remained behind the wheel to study the house. The place
needed a facelift. But she’d planned to leave that to her tenant,
the soon to be new owner. Or so she’d thought. That plan might not
happen now.

“Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself
isn’t going to improve the situation.” The words to herself got her
out of the car and into her downstairs apartment.

In a matter of minutes she’d changed into a
tank top and jeans. This time when she went out into the late day
sunshine she swung her leg over the seat of her motorcycle. Almost
the instant she mounted her ride all the tension and worry slid
away from her.

Betsy gunned the throttle, enjoying the feel
of the wind in her face. Before long she could taste-smell the
clean air of the countryside. Another mile and she’d be at her
destination. The fifty acres of farmland she’d found for sale on
one of her riding trips several months ago. The land she’d dreamt
about making her own.

On the hilltop in the center of the fifty
acres, she’d build her dream house, nothing extravagant, but not
too shabby either. Most important of all, it would be brand
spanking new.