More Than This (36 page)

Read More Than This Online

Authors: Shannyn Schroeder

She relished the feel of the length of his body pressed against hers. “What about
the bars?”
“It’s about time I gave Colin a chance to run things for a while.”
She stepped back with a smile. “Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s the last item on my list,
and I’m supposed to go alone.”
“I thought there was some flexibility in the list. You won’t go alone, but I can promise
you a hell of a summer romance.” He pulled her body back into his. He feathered kisses
over her cheek.
Her hand rested on his chest. His heart thumped as quickly as hers. “I don’t think
so. Summer’s almost over. We’ve barely started, and the romance is supposed to end.”
He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “Then let’s work on the item not officially
on the list.”
Her brain fogged and the outside world disappeared. God, the man could
kiss.
She managed a husky whisper. “What’s that?”
“Baby making. Practice makes perfect, you know.”
Then she finally said the words she knew he wanted to hear: “I love you.”
Comfort Cookies
¼ c. (½ stick) unsalted butter
3 oz. unsweetened chocolate
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate
3 eggs
1½ c. sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. flour
1½ tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1 c. semisweet chocolate chips
 
Preheat oven to 350°F. Melt butter, unsweetened chocolate, and bittersweet chocolate
in the top of a double boiler or in a heat-safe bowl (metal or glass) over a pot of
simmering water. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs, sugar, and vanilla together until mixture
thickens. Add the melted chocolate and mix well. In a separate bowl, combine the flour,
baking powder, and salt. Mix the dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture until
combined. Stir in chocolate chips. (Batter will be gooey.)
Scoop teaspoon-sized cookies onto cookie sheets. If using aluminum pans, line with
parchment paper (no paper needed on stoneware). Bake for approximately 11 minutes,
until tops are cracked and edges are set. Let cool on cookie sheet for a minute or
two, then transfer to a cooling rack.
Yield: 4 dozen cookies
Blue Smoke
1 oz. Bols Blue Curaçao
2½ oz. lemonade
2 oz. Stolichnaya Blueberi vodka
Wisp of absinthe
 
Combine all ingredients in a shaker cup. Add ice and shake until cold. Pour over ice
in a glass. To make the drink “smoke,” add a sliver of dry ice.
 
I’d like to thank Johnny Bellinger from Blues Bar in Mount Prospect, Illinois (
www.blues-bar.com
), for giving me permission to use this recipe, and Julie Plovanich for creating it
in the first place.
Keep reading for a special preview of Shannyn Schroeder’s next contemporary romance.
Look for it wherever eBooks are sold in July 2013!
CHAPTER 1
T
equila was not her friend. Indy Adams couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that one simple
rule last night. The drum beat behind her eyeball as a blatant reminder. When the
guys at the bar offered her a shot after closing, she hadn’t seen the harm.
Too many shots and a crappy night’s sleep later, she regretted every sip. She got
out of her car and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. If she’d
planned better yesterday, she wouldn’t have had to get up early to come to the office
now.
She pulled open the door, and a waft of expensive perfume smacked her in the face
and clogged her throat. Indy swallowed the gag and faced the exiting clients with
a perfunctory smile. The woman clicked by on her Jimmy Choos, followed by her husband
and Indy’s colleague Susan, real-estate superstar.
Indy ducked into the office hoping to avoid a conversation with Susan. The clock on
the wall showed an hour until her meeting with Griffin. He was finally ready to start
his house hunt. Correction, his mansion hunt. The thought of selling a million-dollar
house made her giddy. Her giddiness almost made her forget her hangover.
She knew that Griffin had only hired her because his best friend, Ryan, was marrying
her sister, but she’d take any connection she could. She’d met Griffin casually on
several occasions, usually at Ryan’s bar, but he’d put off the search and seeing houses
for months.
“Indy,” Susan said from behind her.
Shit, she really wanted to escape without this. Every conversation with Susan bordered
on hostile.
“I hear your big client is finally ready to buy. I’d started to think you’d made the
whole thing up.”
After locating the codes she’d left tucked in her desk, Indy faced Susan and her usual
pinched expression. “No, Susan, I don’t have to make up clients.”
“Well, after you gloated about how much money this one would bring in, you kind of
dropped off the map.”
“Well, I’m here and now I’m off to show houses.” She waved the paper and turned to
leave. She wouldn’t admit that she’d gone back to waitressing because she needed the
money.
“You’re not going to show a house to a millionaire looking like that, are you?”
Indy stalled in her tracks and turned cautiously.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t attract more affluent clients? You don’t
play the part. You have to act as though you belong in their world and you”—she paused
and pointed at Indy’s outfit from shoulder to hem—“clearly don’t.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” Sure, she wasn’t as buttoned-up as Susan,
but she wasn’t dressed for clubbing either.
“You look a little trampy, ready to flirt with whomever comes your way.”
Heat crept up Indy’s neck and burned her ears. “I don’t flirt with clients.”
Susan arched an eyebrow.
“I’m friendly. You might want to try it sometime.” Indy shoved through the door. Anger
gnawed her nerves like fire ants. She didn’t need to flirt to get the job done.
Once in her car, she studied her clothes. Would Griffin not take her seriously because
of how she dressed? Her stomach gave a little squish. She couldn’t honestly answer
the question. Griffin had always flirted with her, but he flirted with everyone in
social situations.
She checked the time. If she hurried, she could stop at home to change.
Forty minutes later, racing to get to her appointment, Indy felt a little panicked.
“I hope the man who invented pantyhose died a slow and painful death,” she cursed.
It must’ve been a man, she thought as sweat snaked down her back and nylon suffocated
her thighs. The damn air-conditioning on the car stopped working, and she hadn’t planned
to fix it yet since it was supposedly fall. Unfortunately, the Chicago weather didn’t
agree.
The remnants of her hangover made her regret the decision.
She whipped into the circle drive of the first mansion and saw Griffin’s silver Jaguar
already parked. Double damn. She parked behind him and got out. Her ten-year-old Taurus
sagged sadly behind the Jaguar.
I am so out of my league.
She tugged at the collar of her blouse. Her skirt skimmed the backs of her knees,
reminding her of church clothes. At least she was ready if the heat really did kill
her.
Griffin still sat in his car. The Winnetka house stood in front of her with a gorgeous
wide, pillared front porch. Selling a house in the wealthy Chicago suburb would be
her first.
Looking back at the Jag, she couldn’t quite reconcile the image of Griffin hanging
out, drinking beer at his friend’s bar with the millionaire video-game developer.
Indy threw back her shoulders and faked confidence as best she knew how.
She paused en route to his car. The door swung open and Griffin unfolded himself from
behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was drool-worthy.
His perfectly styled dark hair slicked back from his face. His jaw was surprisingly
smooth. He usually sported a dark five-o’clock shadow, and she’d figured it had been
intentional.
He spoke into his Bluetooth headset for another moment, acknowledging her with a slight
wave of his hand. His finely tailored suit revealed a fit body: broad shoulders and
trim waist. He shed his suit coat and rolled his sleeves in concession to the heat,
which should’ve made him look relaxed, but his face was solemn. She preferred him
in jeans and a worn T-shirt, drinking a beer at O’Leary’s.
Ending the call, he tossed the Bluetooth in the car before closing the door. Indy
approached with her hand extended. “Mr. Walker, nice to see you again. I’m sorry I’m
late.”
He grasped her hand and tugged playfully. “Call me Griffin. I’m not looking for a
dog and pony show, Indy.”
She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “I’m simply greeting you the same
way I’d greet any client.”
He removed his sunglasses and made no attempt to hide his appraisal of her. She’d
been scrutinized by worse. His expression held a hint of laughter. After raking his
gaze over her, top to bottom, he smiled. Small lines fanned from eyes nearly as dark
as his hair. The act removed the stiff businessman, and he became a drinking buddy.
“I’m not
any
client. We’ve known each other for months. We’re friends.”
Her tense muscles relaxed a fraction. Their previous encounters had paved the way
for a friendly acquaintance. He followed her to the house. Even in her two-and-a half-inch
heels, she had to look up to meet his eyes.
As she opened the door, chilly air brushed over her heated skin and caused a shiver.
“Would you like a tour, or just want to wander?”
After she asked, she looked at the décor and cringed. The owners hadn’t wanted photos
of the interior posted online. Now she knew why.
Everything
was white.
Griffin’s phone rang. He checked the screen and ignored it.
“You can take that if you need to,” she offered. “I can wait.” She was grateful to
have a few minutes to cool her body.
He stood in the middle of the foyer and turned in a slow circle. “No, I’ve seen enough.
Where to next?”
Indy’s stomach flipped. “You don’t want to see other rooms?” she asked carefully.
His eyes locked on hers. “No.”
“I realize the color scheme . . . or lack of one might be a turn-off, but that’s just
paint and carpet.”
“What else do you have?”
She fumbled with the clasp on her portfolio and pulled two listings from the pocket.
“Here are the other two I told you about. We can go to whichever you like next.”
“Let’s try this one.” He tapped the top page.
“Okay. Follow me.” She exited the house. Excitement and optimism seeped from her pores
like sweat. She’d hoped for a quick sale.
The next two showings went the same. Griffin walked in, looked briefly, and left.
In the driveway of the third house, she said, “Maybe if you tell me a little more
about what you do want, I won’t waste your time looking at houses that don’t work.”
His broad, charming smile creased at the sides of his mouth and showed the hint of
dimples. “You showed me exactly what I asked for. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Okay. I’ll keep you posted if I find other listings that might suit you.” Disappointment
gripped her.
“How about dinner?”
“Excuse me?”
“Can I take you out to dinner?”
She pulled her lips into a firm businesslike smile. So much for friendly acquaintance.
“I’m involved with someone, and I don’t date clients.”
At least not anymore.
He stepped closer, picked up her left hand, and looked pointedly at her ring finger.
“We already covered that I’m more than a client; we’re friends.”
“We might be friends if you’d stop flirting with me.”
“Flirting is something we both excel at. Besides, how serious could your involvement
with your married boyfriend be?”
Quinn and her big mouth. She’d definitely have a talk with her little sister. She
bit her tongue for a second and thought of Richard. “There’s enough seriousness in
life without me adding to it.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she feared she’d given him ample ammunition.
She tugged her hand from his grasp and twitched at his thumb’s caress across her knuckles.
Little jolts of pleasure shimmied up her arm. Damn, she hated the effect of charming
men. He released her hand and moved to his car without another word. His phone rang
as he drove off with his engine purring.
Kind of like her nerves.
Griffin had all the markings of a rich playboy. He was charming and arrogant, and
women swooned at the sight of him. But she wanted only one thing from Griffin Walker:
a big, fat commission.
A block from the last house, she pulled over. The itchy pantyhose drove her crazy.
She opened the door and looked up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. Reaching
under her skirt, she tugged the nylon from her body. Once she dragged it to her thighs,
she sat on the edge of the driver’s seat and rolled the pantyhose down. A slight breeze
kissed her skin and she sighed.
Just as she pulled them off and stood barefoot on the street, a revved engine caught
her attention. The silver Jaguar pulled up beside her.
Could the day get any worse?
“Everything okay?” Griffin asked through the open window.
“Yeah.” She balled the nylons into her fist and stifled a laugh. She didn’t care enough
to be embarrassed, but she scrambled for an excuse.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I pulled over to take a call.”
“With no phone?” His gaze raked down her body again and stopped at her bare feet.
“And no shoes?”
She sighed and held out her pantyhose. “You caught me. I couldn’t wait to get out
of my pantyhose. The heat was strangling me.”
His laugh echoed on the empty street and relief washed over her. Her own smile followed.
If Richard had caught her stripping off her pantyhose on the street, he’d be mortified.
“Next time, leave them at home. Your legs are sexier without them.”
“Flirting will get you nowhere,” she said and leaned against the door. Even to her
own ears, her remark sounded hollow. The air-conditioning tickled her arms and she
repressed a shiver.
One eyebrow rose above his sunglasses. “When something interests me, I go after it.”
“Even if it’s unattainable?”
“Nothing is unattainable.”
She straightened. “We’ll see.”
He slid his glasses to the top of his head. Dark brown eyes bore into her and no longer
held amusement. “Be warned. I always get my way.”
He pulled away. She wanted to be pissed, tried to feel indignant and angry, but failed.
She would do whatever was necessary to make Griffin Walker happy.

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