“What’s happening to me?” I ask the empty room, but gaining no answer from it, I follow him down to the first floor, where the realtor is waiting.

Wrapping his arm around my waist as soon as I reach his side, he tells Don, “We’ll take it.”

“Are you sure? This is kind of small.” Don frowns looking around.

I have no idea in what world five-thousand square feet is small, but the way he’s looking at me and Sven gives me the impression he really believed this house was far too small for anyone to live in.

“How long until we can close?” Sven asks, ignoring Don’s comment and pulling me closer to him as I struggle with his fingers, attempting to remove them from my waist.

“The average closing time is about a month right now.”

“See if we can rent it from them until closing. Also let them know that if they agree to my terms and can close within the next week I will add ten-grand on top of asking price.”

“Sven,” I hiss, swinging my gaze up to his.

“You love this house, Mags.”

“You can’t just throw money around, Sven.”

“Sure I can.” He shrugs then turns me with him toward the front door. “Send the offer and get back to me by the end of the day,” he tells Don while leading me out of the house.

“I’m pretty sure you may be insane,” I tell him as we drive back toward downtown.

“The most important thing my father taught me is you never let an opportunity pass you by, and this is one opportunity I wouldn’t dream of missing out on.”

“That makes no sense,” I tell him, studying his profile.

“One day, Mags, I guarantee you that it will,” he says quietly, pulling on a pair of sunglasses and turning up the stereo.

Looking from him to the windshield, I wonder why I feel so relaxed, why I’m not stressed about this, and why I actually feel happy.

Chapter 5

Maggie

The morning after

I’M PRETTY SURE he’s trying to torture me, I think as Sven comes into the kitchen, using his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and chest. Tearing my eyes from him, I wait for my toast to pop up while silently praying he puts the shirt on. It’s been three weeks since we moved in together, and every day feels like torture. Not that things have been bad. Things have actually been really great. But working together, having meals together, and seeing Sven half dressed in the mornings and at night is messing with my head.

“Morning,” I hear him say, but I don’t turn to look at him as I reply quietly,

“Morning,” while staring at the toaster, hoping I can make it through one morning where I don’t drool all over him.

God, give me strength.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good.”

“Are you mad?” he asks sounding concerned.

Tugging my eyes from the toaster, I look at him then regret it when my belly dips and my mouth floods with saliva. Sven in a suit is a sight to behold. Sven in jeans and a tee is mouthwatering. But Sven shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep, and his eyes soft on me is completely unhinging.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” He grins then takes a step toward me and places his thumb on the corner of my mouth and swipes it under my bottom lip. Watching his eyes grow darker, I feel my pulse speed up. “Toothpaste,” he grunts, dropping his hand away from me but staying in my space.

Licking my bottom lip, I take a step back and wipe my mouth, feeling my cheeks heat. “Thanks.”

“I have a couple friends coming into town tonight. Do you mind picking up some groceries?”

“Not at all.”

“Meat, Mags, not tofu.” He smiles, and my belly does that dip-drop thing again and gets warm.

“I already know that,” I grumble back, rolling my eyes at him. Then I turn back toward the toaster and take my bread out, pulling down the peanut butter and slathering both slices. Taking my plate with me, I go to the table in the breakfast nook to sit down then take a moment to appreciate him while he moves around the kitchen.

“Do you want coffee?”

Feeling my cheeks heat, I pull my gaze from his abs and raise them to meet his eyes.

Busted again.

“Orange juice,” I mumble, covering my hand with my mouth as I chew. Nodding, he pours me a glass of juice then comes to sit across from me, holding his cup of coffee in his hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replies, studying me, and then runs his hand over his jaw. “So tell me about your modeling. Why did you stop?”

Great. This is something I had hoped he forgot about since he never asked me about it after Ace brought it up. Apparently, I couldn’t be so lucky.

“My first job was actually for a friend of mine, who designed her own clothing line when she was in college. She asked if I would do some pictures wearing her clothes for her website. Two months after she launched her line, I got a call from an agency and they wanted to represent me. I really didn’t take it seriously at first, but then I got my first paid job, and like they say, the rest is history.” I take another bite of my toast.

“Why did you stop modeling?”

“I didn’t exactly stop. I just haven’t had a job in a few months. When things happened with Morgan, I knew I couldn’t risk leaving her alone, so I told my agency that if the job was out of town to pass it on to someone else.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he questions, taking one of the slices of toast off my plate, taking a bite, and then setting it back down.

“It was fun. When I was younger, I loved it because it gave me a chance to travel, but I don’t think I would have done it for much longer. Staying in hotels and being away from home was getting old.”

“Do you have any of your pictures?”

“A few, but not really. I’m sure you could Google me and see some.” I shrug then watch horrified as he pulls out his cell phone from the pocket of his sweats.

“What name did you use? I tried searching before, but nothing ever came up.”

“You tried looking me up before?” I whisper.

“Yes.” He raises a brow smirking.

Sighing, I mutter, “Star Laurence, my middle name and my grandmother’s name.” Typing into his phone, his hand holds the cell tight in his grasp as he swipes his finger across the screen.

“Jesus,” he sits back in the chair then looks me over.

“What?”

“You’re half naked.”

“What?” I ask, grabbing his phone from his hand then paling when I see that he’s come across some of the photos for a plus-size lingerie line I did a year ago. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, I exit out of the web browser, set his phone down on the table, and then take my plate to the sink. “I’m gonna go get ready. What time are you leaving?” I ask while avoiding looking at him.

“Mags, you looked beautiful.”

Looking up at the sound of his quiet words, I wonder what I should say.

“Honestly, beautiful,” he says earnestly.

“Thanks,” I whisper, dropping my eyes from his, focusing all my attention on scrubbing my plate.

Putting some more soap on the sponge in my hand, I wash out my cup then jump when I feel his arm slide past me so he can set his mug in the sink. “I’m gonna leave for the airport in about an hour.”