3

“For the record,” Derek added when he saw their reaction, “my preference is definitely for the former.”

And then Olivia laughed. Really laughed. He really was charming. Good-looking. Dangerous.

No. No. No.

… And besides, she reminded herself, she was already in a relationship. With Jack Stewart. 

__________

Derek was grinding his teeth. His arms folded across his front. His body rigid as he leant back against the door that housed what Olivia had referred to as an ample bathroom for this size of apartment, in this desirable area.

He’d say this: desirable or not, you could certainly save time going for your morning constitution while brushing your teeth over the sink. And the shower-over-the-bath—you had to be some kind of contortionist to use it. Why was he the only one seeing these issues?

At least this third property was an improvement on the previous two. It had natural daylight for starters, and no pounding pub or store adjoining.

He watched them cooing over the open-plan living space now—the strategically placed sofa that permitted the perfect view of the park across the road and the minute television that was as big as it could ever be in the space available—and bit into his tongue.

He wasn’t sure what was more painful: The fact he’d been forced to take the estate agency’s car when his state-of-the-art car was at the ready, seriously, what sense did that make? Absolutely none. Or the fact that his opinion, when he chose to voice one, was counting for nothing, despite what his sister had said to the contrary earlier. Or was it the fact that any fleeting look or touch from Ms Agent herself and his body stirred. Yet she’d made it ever so clear it wasn’t happening, not in a million years.

He was now at the point where he was convincing himself his little sister was far more the agent’s cup of tea. Or indeed, her choice of cocktail, the drink suiting her fire so much better. The attention she was lavishing over Isabella, totally OTT in his opinion, and yet his sister was lapping it up.

“So, come on, what do you think?” came Isabella's on-the-spot question.

They both turned to him expectantly, his sister’s skin annoyingly aglow and happy—she liked it…really liked it. Ah, skit. He cleared his throat and pushed away from the door, heading to stand between them, careful to keep his eye on the window and the view beyond.

“It’s…nice.” He had tried to sound enthused, but the reality was his comment stank, its tone utterly tepid. Funny enough, just how he was feeling.

“Nice?” his sister pressed.

“The view is good; the location is convenient and—” he shrugged “— nice.”

“What about the actual apartment?”

He turned and let his gaze sweep the living area, the dining table for two and the kitchenette; he didn’t even want to think about the bathroom.

“You need to stop frowning so much,” Isabella piped up. “Gives you wrinkles, you know.”

“You’re clearly not impressed,” Olivia remarked and guilt nagged at him. It wasn’t down to her ability, or lack thereof, to sell the place; she was doing her job plenty well enough.

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “I just want what’s best for Izzy, and this isn’t it.”

“Why?”

“It’s impractical.”

“Why?”

“What the hell, Izzy, you’re a tall woman—care to explain how you’re going to use that bathroom?” He threw his hand in its godforsaken direction and she frowned, his point failing to register. “Allow me to demonstrate…”

 He strode for the bathroom and pulled open the door. Doing his damnedest to ignore the sickly pink decor and vanity ware. He waited for them to appear before climbing into the bathtub, contorting his body to fit between the glass shower screen and the sloping wall. He straightened as far as he could, his head slightly bowed as the shower head met with his shoulder—

“See?” 

They saw, all right. Their eyes glittered, their lips quivered and then they had the audacity to erupt in almighty belly laughs—for fuck’s sake. 

He dropped his gaze, dislodging himself from the enclosure with as much dignity as he could muster. “ You think it’s so easy? You try it.”

“I’d rather not,” Isabella blurted, her hand over her mouth as her eyes still danced.

“Okay.” He looked at Olivia pointedly, ignoring how her amused gaze lit him up inside. If she thought the apartment was so good, she could bloody well demonstrate. “Why don’t you do the honours?”

His demand appeared to sober her up, her eyes flicking between the pair of them and her professionalism winning out as she said, “Sure, could you just hold this?”

She thrust the portfolio into his chest and stepped inside the room. He realised the error of his suggestion immediately. He should have first left the confined space before goading her to enter, to get up close.

Head out of your pants, head out of your pants, head out of your pants.

“It’s like this,” she said, eyes flashing defiantly, their bodies chest to chest —she could tell him anything now and he’d fall for it, but, to his surprise, she raised her hand and pulled at the shower screen, the damn thing moving towards him as she stepped away. “Just back up a little,” she ordered.

Back up? He was pressed into the edge of the toilet as it was. He spread his legs, the position oddly vulnerable and erotically acquiescing. He watched, fascinated, as the access opened up, creating space to permit her entry, all graceful and easy as she climbed inside.

But, ha, the shower head still looked ridiculous as it brushed the tip of her head, despite her height.

“And you can remove this for more height, like so,” she said, reading his mind and slipping it out of its rest. “Which also makes it great for cleaning the bath.” She gave a sweep of the area but in truth all he could think about now was her wet and naked and all soaped-up—not even the sickly pink backdrop could dampen the heat spreading below his waist.

“Perfectly demonstrated, thank you, Liv.” His sister gave him a smug grin. “See, big bro, that’s how it’s done.”

“You’re welcome,” came Olivia's response, his eye swiftly returning to her and the imaginings he shouldn’t be having. She slotted the shower head back in place and slipped him a sidelong glance through the glass screen. Her fingers froze over the contraption, her eyes widening ever so slightly, her pupils following suit—did she know where his head was at? And then the moment was gone, a shutter falling over her expression as she gave a small cough, her eyes snapping away.