Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (4 page)

Chapter 4

If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do,

chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces.

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice,
act 1, scene 2

It was the house from her vision. How was it possible?

“Ready to go inside?” Ryan asked, his hand wrapping gently around her forearm.

Overwhelmed with emotion, her throat thickened and she couldn’t speak. Instead, she nodded and forced her feet to move, allowing Ryan to lead her to the concrete porch while his fingers warmed her skin through her suit jacket.

He stuck the key in the lock and turned the doorknob then pushed on the door. Nothing happened. His tongue puffed out one cheek as he concentrated on opening the door.

“It must be stuck,” she said.

He peered at her from over his shoulder. “You think?”

“The porch feels slanted. Maybe that’s why.” She’d swear her left leg was now a few inches taller than her right.

“Thanks for the diagnosis, but since we don’t have the supplies or the time to fix the porch, could you help me?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.

“You don’t have to get huffy.” She moved next to him and rested her hands on the door.

His lips tugged up and his eyes sparkled. “Huffy?”

She pretended to be offended, standing tall and folding her arms across her chest. “Are we going to do this or are you going to continue teasing me about my word choices?”

“Huffy is a great word. I’ll use it every chance I get. Now will you help me? Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely . . .” She leaned her entire body against the door.

Mmm, he smelled good.

He nodded. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

She shoved, propelling all her weight forward. The door gave way right before it fell straight back into the house and they lost their balance, falling with it, landing hard on their stomachs.

“Honey, we’re home,” he called out after a moment, cutting the tension.

She laughed. No question, the house needed some work.

“Are you okay? You didn’t break anything, did you?” she asked as she stood, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“I’m good. You?” At her nod, he rolled over on his back and stared up at her. “No one could ever argue that we don’t know how to make an entrance.”

He gave her a sexy smile, which set off all sorts of little tremors in her lower belly. She bit her tongue and stretched her feet, doing her exercises to distract her from the arousal pulsing between her thighs. His eyes darkened from caramel to chocolate as they tracked her motions, confirming her earlier suspicions about his foot fetish.

She immediately stopped. “Can I help you off the floor or are you enjoying the view?”

His eyebrows rose and he smirked.

“I meant the house. Not me,” she stammered, her cheeks growing hot.

He leaned onto his elbows. “I am enjoying the view, but I think I can get up without assistance.”

He stood and edged toward her. His hand lightly brushed her cheek causing her heart to race. “You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your face.”

“Thanks.” She stepped back, tripping over her heels. Her hand shot out and grabbed his shirt as an anchor before she fell on her butt. The heat in his brown eyes singed her, a burn she felt from her head to her toes. Her breath shuttered, betraying how he affected her. Darn oxygen. She swallowed hard and released her hold on his shirt. “Why don’t you give me a tour?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably.

Her plan to sway him to her way of thinking did not include falling into bed with him. While she enjoyed their banter, she couldn’t give in to their attraction. She’d never turn into her mother.

“Follow me and stay close. Judging by the door, who knows what awaits us.” He took her hand and pulled her further into the grand foyer, a large entranceway with gray marble tiles resembling cobblestones, and a sweeping staircase, which appeared as though it went all the way up to the princess locked in the tower.

She didn’t want to be rude and pull her hand away, but she didn’t want Ryan to get the wrong idea. Not to mention her girly parts already had a grand design on what they wanted to do with Ryan, despite what her brain was saying to the contrary. That’s what she got for placing sex on the back burner while she put all her energy into her career.

She stopped underneath a crystal chandelier and jerked him back a step. “Ryan?”

He turned on his heels. “Portia?”

She intended to tell him how much she treasured having him as her friend in a city where she didn’t know anyone and how much she appreciated having him as part of her family. But instead, “I’m not going to sleep with you,” tumbled out.

That wasn’t what she meant to say. Why’d her mouth always jump two sentences ahead of her brain? Ryan’s face gave away nothing. What was he thinking? “I mean, I’m not saying I think that you want to, or I want to, it’s just—”

“Not a good idea.”

She blew out a breath. “Yes.”

She was relieved, right? Then why’d she suddenly feel as though a bowling ball had lodged in her stomach?

He looked amused, a grin on his handsome face. “You’re right. We’re practically cousins.”

“Right. We’re family and it would be—”

“Awkward?”

“Yes, awkward, if things—
when
things—end, we don’t need any complications. We both have goals in mind for this house, and I wouldn’t want you—I mean, either one of us—to use sex to change the other’s mind.”

Judging by the burning sensation, a red blush stained her cheeks, neck, and chest. She’d always suffered from the nervous condition, and had to apply layers of foundation to her skin before a performance or she’d look like a dancing tomato by the end of the first act. Plus her mother and sister could always tell when she lied by the color of her skin.

She squirmed under his gaze. Oddly, his nostrils flared, drawing her attention to what an aristocratic nose he had. Didn’t he have a single flaw?

After what felt like minutes, he finally shook his head, laughing. “You don’t have to worry about me. I promise not to touch you. Ready for more of the tour?”

The last time she was this embarrassed, she’d fallen off the stage doing a
Grand Jeté en Avant
, baring her pantiless ass through ripped tights. Not that anyone present cared about seeing her naked ass.

Uncomfortably warm, she removed her jacket. “Ready.” She followed closely behind him, not checking out his butt or muscular thighs, or how his muscles rippled as he walked.

She’d have to schedule a date with her battery-operated “friend” for later tonight. She refused to call it her boyfriend or give it a name. It wasn’t as if they had a commitment. She’d drop it faster than a lit firecracker if she could substitute it for the real thing.

They walked past the staircase and into what she guessed was the great room, although the house was so big, who really knew what her uncle had called this space. The two couches were white—
who’d
ever sit on a white couch?—
trimmed with dark wood which matched the hardwood floors. Her hands trembled as she rubbed them along the smooth wood at the top of the couch. How much was it worth?

“It’s too bad we can’t sell the furniture until the end of the ninety days. This stuff would take in a fortune at an estate sale.”

Okay, so she’d thought the same thing for a split second. The furniture wasn’t exactly her taste, but she wouldn’t sell it. Everything in this house was part of her legacy. “How could you think of selling something that belonged to your uncle? Don’t you have any sense of tradition?”

He considered her question for a moment then shrugged. “No.”

She didn’t believe him. Someone who spoke fondly about skating on helipads with family, and aunts who baked apple pie couldn’t be that heartless, could they?

A drop of liquid hit the top of her head. She looked up at the ceiling and spotted a foot long water stain directly over them. “Ryan? We’ve got a leak.” Her gaze lowered to the warped floorboard under their feet. “And we’ll have to replace this plank.” She brushed her foot along the board and stepped out of the way of the leak. “Know anything about home repairs?”

Squinting, he tipped his head back to examine the ceiling. “A little. Enough to figure out how to identify the problem. If it’s the entire roof, we’re in trouble because that costs thousands. But if it’s a few shingles or a burst pipe, then I might be able to do the work.”

He scratched his chin, which had already begun to grow a five o’clock shadow despite the early hour of the day. His motion drew her attention to his hands—his very large, masculine hands, dark with a sprinkling of hair. Those capable hands could lift and hold her high over his head as they danced a
pas de deux,
a duet
.
As sure as she knew her own name, she knew he’d never drop her.

“I have a friend I can call to take a look, but first, let’s see what else this house has in store for us,” he said, walking across the long room.

They made their way into the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. It had the potential to be beautiful, but it had obviously been neglected. The stainless steel appliances were scratched and in the middle of the kitchen over the island, a range hood was dented, and the oak cabinets and pantry doors were falling off their hinges. A sliding glass door spanning half the length of the kitchen was draped in the ugliest dark green crushed velvet curtains she’d ever seen.

Yet changes must have been made at some point because the rest of the kitchen appeared more modern with dark gray granite countertops, a light gray marble backsplash, and gray marble tile.

It smelled as if someone had mixed raw fish with an egg and left in to bake in the sun. “Ooh, what is that smell?” she asked, pinching her nose. A scan of the area immediately identified the cause—a stack of dirty dishes in the sink. She reluctantly crossed the kitchen and discovered plates and bowls caked with moldy food.

Ryan laughed. “My uncle was a typical bachelor. He didn’t do his own dishes. He expected the maid to do it for him. Same with all the cleaning.” He leaned back against the counter, his face growing serious. “His move to the home was sudden and my family must have forgotten to call the service for a final cleaning. It was a crazy, emotional time.”

She wanted to ask how it affected Ryan, but the moment her lips parted to speak, he walked out of the room. Releasing the grip on her nose, she followed his lead. First chance she got, she’d clean the kitchen. They wouldn’t be able to handle that smell for long.

Stepping into the next room, she gasped in horror. Black marks caused by smoke damage streaked along all four walls and a chandelier sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

Ryan stood motionless, staring at the wall as she came to stand next to him. He jerked when she touched him lightly on the shoulder.

“What happened here?” she asked, dropping her hand to her side.

He glanced down at her hand and back up to her face. “My uncle started a fire. He didn’t expect it to get out of hand.”

“Why wasn’t anyone with him? You mentioned he had round the clock care.”

Ryan’s face contorted and he inhaled loudly through his nose. He didn’t answer, but returned his glare to the wall.

Fine. He didn’t owe her an explanation. She’d obviously crossed some invisible boundary. She might as well get used to doing the neighborly act like he’d suggested and give herself the tour of the house.

She moved to leave, but his hand clamped down on her shoulder. Pivoting, she caught a brief flash of sadness in his eyes before his hand slid to her waist. His gaze smoldered as he focused on her lips and tugged her in closer. His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear, dampening her panties. His eyes sparkled with wicked intent, but at the same time, he smiled unnaturally tight.

She inhaled sharply and pressed her hand against her belly. Was he going to kiss her? That would be . . . bad. “What’s there?” she asked, pointing across the hallway to a closed door.

He flinched, his smile melting. “That? At one time, it was a ballroom. They threw a lot of parties,” he said, shrugging as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a ballroom in your house.

She stepped away, moved past him and threw open the door to the ballroom, banging it on the wall and causing the plaster to crumble.

Long and rectangular, with two walls covered by floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the room definitely possessed potential. On automatic pilot, she elongated her spine and glided into the room in a ballet walk. The mirrors were cracked and the light oak floor required sanding, but someday, she could use the space as her private dance studio.

Well, after she fixed up the leaks, floorboards, hinges, and cleaned the entire seven thousand square foot home. She sighed as she considered the amount of work needed just to bring the house into a livable condition.

But, fixed up, she could almost imagine this room would look like the same one she’d dreamed about on the bus to Detroit. The one where she’d danced with Ryan.

Her heart pounded so fast she felt lightheaded. How was it possible? All these years she’d thought her mother was crazy, but what if there was some truth behind her assertion they were Muses?

Staring at her fractured reflection in the glass, she slid her feet into fourth position and raised her right arm above her head and held her left arm in front of her.
Swan Lake
played in her head as she whipped her body around in
Fouettés.

A quiet knock rapped on the door behind her.

Ryan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. “Ready to go see the bedrooms?”

Ryan had met this woman only three hours ago and she was already burrowed deep below his skin. What was it about her that tempted him to share the darkest mistakes of his life? His heart had skipped two beats as Portia spun around on one leg with the grace and beauty of a bird taking flight.