It was GQ, damn it.

But something about Bree Murphy and her Goth clothes suddenly made him feel . . . unmanly. Not a good feeling, given the dreams he'd been having, which all involved her running her fairskinned fingers with those black nails over his chest, down his navel, and landing on his . . .

Ian dragged himself back to reality. "I won't take up a lot of your time, I just wanted to discuss this house with you. You're the owner, correct?"

Bree frowned at him. "Yes. Why?"

A blonde came down the hall and gave the women a pointed look. "Maybe he would like to sit down and have a cup of tea."

"Oh, that's not necessary," he protested, when Bree gave the woman a look of horror. "I just need a minute."

"No, no," Bree said, looking flustered and embarrassed and damn adorable. "We should at least sit down. This is my other sister, Charlotte, by the way."

"Charlotte Murphy-Thornton," the blonde said, sticking her hand out and giving his a firm shake.

"Ian Carrington."

Charlotte's type he understood. She was the kind of woman he normally interacted with. She was dressed in a twin sweater set in a shade of green that flattered her complexion, and she wore tasteful gold jewelry, enough for a flash, but not so much that it was gaudy.

If he was going to lust after a Murphy sister, Charlotte should be the one. They were a logical fit. Of course, his client Amanda had told him Charlotte was newly married, and there was nothing logical about what he was feeling anyway because he wanted Bree in all her black. And then out of all of her black. Naked. Dark hair tumbling over her bare flesh.

He was insane, absolutely completely out of his normally practical mind. And horny. With no explanation for either.

Charlotte and Bree led him down the hallway to the kitchen, and Ian fought the urge to look at Bree's sexy backside. He lost. It was a good view, and he didn't want to miss it. She was wearing a long, stretchy black skirt that hugged her curves in a way that made him sweat.

Abby patted him on the arm as she walked next to him. "It's okay, you can't help it. It's destiny."

"What?" The youngest Murphy sister definitely freaked him out. He had no idea what to make of her.

"It will all make sense soon," she told him.

He could only hope. Because so far his preoccupat-ion with Bree made no sense whatsoever, nor could he figure out why all his sexual dreams involving her took place in a Christmas setting. It was weird as hell, and said questionable things about his psyche.

"What about the house?" Bree said, after they were all seated at a vintage table.

It was painted in a soft shade of pink that surprised Ian. He wouldn't have expected that to be her choice in decor. Then again, he really knew very little about her at all. He needed to remember that. Own it. Eat it, damn it. There was no reason to be attracted to Bree Murphy.

"I have a client who would like to make an offer for the house." There. That sounded professional and completely lacking in lust.

"An offer? What does that mean?" Bree was looking at him with total suspicion, her fingers playing with the edge of a rich blue place mat.

"Someone wants to buy the house?" Charlotte asked, her lip curling up in horror. "Grandma's house?"

Ian didn't know the particulars, but he did know that Bree had inherited the house from her grandmother. He had assumed she would be reluctant, but he was obligated to make the offer for his client. And it had given him a legitimate excuse to ring Bree's doorbell. "Yes." Ian pulled out the contract that detailed the offer and passed it across the table.

"It's a generous offer."

Bree took the paper, glanced down at it, and blanched. "Who the hell thinks my house is worth this much money?"

"My client does." Ian leaned back in his chair and tried to project casual. It was likely he wasn't succeeding because Bree was glaring at him, and all he could think about was leaning over the table and kissing her. Running his hands down her sides, raking his fingers through her hair, and licking every inch of her. It made focusing on real estate damn difficult.

"What's his name? What is he going to do with the house?"

"You're not going to actually consider this, are you?" Abby looked at Bree in disbelief.

"No, absolutely not. But I'm curious who this person is and why he wants my house."

All Ian heard was that she wasn't interested. "If you're not going to accept the offer, I don't see any reason to tell you his plans for the property." Then they could disregard what had supposedly brought him there initially and move straight to his asking her out for dinner, which was what he planned to do now that he realized there was no possibility of his attraction dissolving on sight. It had actually increased now that he was sitting close enough to touch her, and he would have thought that was impossible.

She obviously wasn't feeling the lust, if that sniff of disdain was any indication. "Why the hell can't you tell me who he is? What difference does it make? Is he some kind of pervert? A drug dealer? Was he planning to turn my granny's Victorian into a whorehouse?"

"Uh . . ." Ian was momentarily caught off guard. A whorehouse? Did they even have those anymore? "No.

I believe he intended to use it as a private residence since that's the way its zoned, but it's not really my job to grill him on his specific intentions."

"What is your job anyway? I thought you were a lawyer. Why are you selling real estate?"

Ian shifted in his chair, annoyed. He wasn't there to present her with his resume. "I'm not selling or buying real estate. I am a properties attorney. My client uses me to do his contracts instead of a real-estate agent."

"Why?"

Ian wasn't exactly sure how to explain that he worked for millionaires, who had no patience for real-estate agents, but he was saved from having to answer when something brushed against his leg. He glanced down and saw a black cat. Big surprise that Bree would make that her pet of choice. But he liked cats, so he reached down and scratched behind the feline's ears and was rewarded with a purr.

"Abby, get Akasha!" Bree said, nudging her sister.

"You know she hates men."

Ian glanced down at the cat, who was nuzzling his pants and weaving in and out between his legs. "It's fine. I don't mind."

"She'll bite you. I'm serious. She hates men."

Ian kept scratching, and the purring kicked up a notch. "She seems to like me." And damn if he didn't feel a little sense of triumph over that.

"She does," Abby said, eyes wide. "Bree, do you know what that means? It means—"

"That you need to stop talking," Bree said, glaring at her sister. "Akasha is probably just waiting for the right minute to sink her claws into his leg."

Bree jumped out of her seat and got down on the floor next to him, reaching for her cat. It was an interesting twist on the current situation, and Ian didn't move, curious how the moment would play out.

He just sat there with Bree moving closer and closer to his knees as she crawled around on the floor, reaching for the elusive cat, who darted away from her and around the back of Ian's chair.

"Akasha!" Bree frowned. "I'm really sorry, she really doesn't like men and I really need to get her before she—"

Bree stopped talking when the cat jumped up on his lap, kneaded her paws into his thighs, and sat down. Ian scratched Akasha again with one hand and used the other to play a little tug-of-war with the sprig of greenery in her mouth. It looked like mistletoe, oddly enough. Ian stared at it, a little unnerved. Funny how much mistletoe had factored in all of his sexual dreams about Bree. They always started with mistletoe, either hanging in a doorway, or in Bree's hands, teasing him to kiss her. And he always did, and it went to really happy and horny places after that.

It was crazy that the cat, the black cat, belonging to the self-proclaimed witch he was so attracted to, was chomping on mistletoe. In fact, it was disturbing enough that Ian decided it was time to leave.

"So you're not interested?" he asked her, very aware of the fact that she was on her knees right in front of his knees and under different circumstances, that would be a beautiful thing.

"Uh . . . what?" Bree looked up at him in confusion, her pale cheeks tinted pink again.

He thought it was damn cute that she blushed.

Witches shouldn't blush, but he liked it when she did.

"The house," he prompted. "You're really not interested in selling it?"

"The house. Right. Yes. I mean, no. No, I am definitely not interested in selling it. Sorry." She snatched the cat off his lap.

Only Ian was still holding the mistletoe, as was the cat, and Bree wound up effectively stretching Akasha out to her full furry length between the two of them.

She gave him a pointed look, so he dropped the mistletoe.

She stood up and cuddled the cat against her chest.

Ian didn't think a dinner invitation would have any chance whatsoever of being accepted, so he stood up as well. "Thanks for your time. I'll let my client know you're not interested."

"Thanks." Bree's mouth opened like she was going to say something, but then she closed it again.

The silence hung awkwardly for a second while they stared at each other for no apparent reason other than that Ian was having a hard time making his feet move him to the door. He really needed to come up with another excuse to see her. Tomorrow. But his brain wasn't cooperating and creating any plausible reason. Just when he was about to give up and save face by exiting, Abby stepped between them, breaking Ian and Bree's eye contact.

"You don't need a reason, Ian," Abby said. "You can totally stop by tomorrow."

Ian started. Had the kid read his mind or what?

His feet lost their paralysis, and on that note, he waved good-bye to the women and got the hell out of there.

Chapter 2

"Abby, what are you doing?" Bree stood in her front hall watching Ian Carrington head down the snowy walk to an expensive-looking black car. "Are you just trying to embarrass the hell out of me or do you have a death wish?"