“Something like that,” he muttered.

She stilled. She had a half-smile on her face, but there was clearly something wrong. “What? Looking for a new bachelor pad?”

The joke was there, but it was riddled with underlying truth. “Why don’t you take a look inside?”

“What’s wrong with your other place?”

“Besides the fact that you won’t step foot in it?” he countered, walking around the car to her.

And she hadn’t. Not one foot. He’d even gotten new sheets. Not that she seemed to care. She hadn’t been there since she had stormed out on him the night Gigi had come downstairs.

“I…would. You haven’t asked.”

“You would, but you wouldn’t like to,” he corrected her.

“There are a lot of memories there,” she said. “Not all of them are that pleasant.”

“Like Gigi coming down the stairs?”

She closed her eyes and blew out through her nose. “Like Gigi coming downstairs.”

“Are you ever going to forgive me for that?”

She opened her eyes and answered, “I do. I do forgive you for that. I know nothing happened, but it’s hard, Clay. It’s hard when we had ten years of a relationship that was based on an understanding…not trust. I want to trust you. I want to go back to your place. I want to accept Gigi as your friend. I just…I’m not entirely there yet.”

“Okay,” he said, not pushing her. “Well, maybe this will help. Maybe if we have a place without memories, it’ll help.”

“You’re probably right. I’m just letting my own insecurities rule me. I’m working on it.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Can I show you the place now?”

She nodded. “Please.”

Clay punched in the code that the real estate agent had given him into the lockbox. The key dropped out of the bottom, and he let them both in.

Andrea walked in first to the partially furnished townhouse. The agency liked to put enough furniture into the space so that people could get a realistic view of what it looked like. Or at least that was what the realtor had told him when he asked.

“Hmm,” Andrea said. She turned in a circle in the foyer and looked three stories up to where a skylight cast afternoon light into the room.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, closing the door behind him. “Give me the rundown.”

“All right,” she agreed.

Then she started telling him everything she liked about the space starting in the living room, moving to the dining room and then the kitchen. Her eyes lit up.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“You like it?” he asked, following her inside.

“Like it? No. I love it.” In awe, she ran her hand across the granite countertops and to the large center island. Her eyes flickered up to his, and then she bent forward at the waist. His eyes landed on the ample amount of breasts spilling out of her top and then to her ass that was perfectly level with the counter.

“Good, sturdy island. Good size. Good height.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. He strode toward her and grabbed her hips. Yeah, perfect fucking height. He was definitely going to have to break this in.

She straightened, sliding her ass against his dick, and he just gripped her tighter. Fucking hell. He wasn’t going to get through the rest of the tour.

She giggled and then started toward the stairs, leaving him alone and horny.

Goddamn it. He loved this woman and all her torture.

He followed her all the way up to the top of the steps. She skipped the second floor and went straight to the third.

“Most important things first,” she told him over her shoulder.

Then, he followed her into the large master bedroom, which she observed with little interest. Then, she strode right on into the walk-in closet, just like he’d known she would. It was huge, and by her gasp when she entered, he was pretty sure she hadn’t seen anything like it, except for in one of those Sex in the City movies.

“What the hell would you need all this space for?” she asked, looking around, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Your suits will only take up this much space.”

Clay shrugged, his eyes alight with mischief. “Always room to grow.”

She furrowed her brows and then strode out of the room and scrambled down the stairs to the second floor. There were two bedrooms and a third room, which was clearly meant to be an office. It had a large bay window with a window seat.

Her lips trembled slightly for a second, and then she gave her opinion of the room. “You’d put in built-in shelves for your law books, of course. A mahogany desk about yea high,” she said, gesturing to just above her hip.

She turned to face him, and he could see she was wary. Very wary. Confused and excited and cautious. She couldn’t seem to decide what to do with her hands, but she didn’t break his stare.

“I had other plans for this room.”

“Oh?” she whispered.

“This room has the best view and the best light.” She swallowed hard as he approached her. “I thought it should be your studio.”

Andrea stilled entirely. “What?”

“The walls are empty. I want you to fill them. I know you love painting just as much as you love collecting even if you pretend like you have no interest,” he told her. “You’d put your easel there.” He pointed at a corner. “The light reflects there best in the morning, which is when you’d work. I’d bring in a long table to fill some of the space and a settee for you to work on when you can’t sit at a stool any longer.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“Because I know you. I know every little thing about you, and I love you for it all. I’d love you if you never once let me see your paintings. If you kept them hidden away in that spare room in your apartment. Locked away and contained, like you’ve always treated the rest of your life, Andrea. I’d even put a lock on this door for your privacy. I know you, love. You must realize this by now.”

She nodded softly but didn’t say anything. She seemed struck with awe.

“Move in with me,” he said softly.

“What?” she asked.

“Move in with me, Andrea.”

“You’re serious?” Her mouth was hanging open. She seemed shocked that this was what he wanted.