“The artist likes to speak with potential buyers first.” The woman bit her lower lip and his cock tightened as he imagined biting it himself. “Get an idea of your situation and your passion.”
In other words, thought Travis, trying to focus on her words rather than her body, the artist was a money-hungry prick who liked to meet his buyers to work out how he could rip them off.
“Do you want me to call him for you?” she asked, her tone enthusiastic.
“That won’t be necessary.” He took another glance around. “I could go down to the local elementary school and get something more to my style.”
Shock flashed across her sweet face, and then she opened her mouth as if to say something, but bored with talking shit, he cut in. “Where’s Billie?”
She blinked and then crossed her arms over her impressive rack. “Who wants to know?”
So the little flower child had a backbone. He liked a smart mouth on a woman. He liked a good body and a pretty face too. All these things made for a more interesting lay. What he didn’t like was all this new age crap and this girl was the fucking embodiment of that, from her long skirt and bare feet to the T-shirt with a painted mermaid on the front and the actual flower in her hair. She was probably one of the artists. No doubt she also read tarot cards. Real fucking shame.
“Travis Sinclair.”
“And who exactly is Travis Sinclair?” She perched her hands on her hips, which inadvertently thrust her tits upward. Nice. His mouth watered.
“The new landlord of this place.”
Her eyes widened and it looked like she might be choking. “Oh.”
“And you are?”
She took only a moment to recover, then sighed and rubbed her lips together before finally replying. “I’m Billie Taylor. The tenant.”
“You’re Billie?” It was his turn for shock. And he hated to be shocked.
Was this Sophie’s idea of a fucking joke? He’d told her his intention to stay in a room at the old clubhouse, and she’d let him believe Billie was a man. No way he was staying at The Priory with Ajax calling the shots. It was bad enough that Travis couldn’t walk away from all this shit, but that wasn’t an option.
He wished he had it in him just to give Sophie his share of the inheritance, ride out of this fucking city and never come back. None of them actually needed the real estate—he and Micah had enough money now to never want for anything, and Leon had lived in a fucking bayou for the last decade. By choice. He wasn’t right in the head. And neither was Ajax, which was why giving Sophie his share wasn’t an option. Looked like she and Ajax were together now, which meant he’d be essentially giving his share to Ajax.
Not in this fucking lifetime.
“Yep. That’s me.” The blonde lifted her chin high and hit him with another smile, but this one wasn’t friendly at all.
Shit. When he’d checked out of his hotel on Canal Street a few hours ago he’d assumed their tenant was some burned-out, old artist dude. Having lived here most of his life, he knew there was plenty of that to go around. The idea of moving in with a hippie hadn’t filled him with butterflies and flowers, but he didn’t want to waste any more money on a hotel, and it looked like he wasn’t going to be able to cut and run as fast as he’d hoped.
Fucking Ajax wanted to keep the joint, revive the damn club, embrace the old brotherhood, and Leon was all for it. They’d spent all night after the funeral downing bourbon, reliving “fond” memories and making plans, and had gotten progressively more obsessed. Only Travis and Micah could see that the best thing for all of them would be to sell off the buildings Priest had left them and get the fuck back out of town. Tallahassee might seem boring in comparison to New Orleans, but it was safe. This place still set him on edge; it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Travis knew the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to lose his shit with someone and end up in jail. Again.
Realizing she was still staring at him, he straightened and then gestured beyond them to the door that led inside. Despite her coolness, her paltry attempts at hostility did nothing to calm the fire rising within him. “Then you can show me to my room,” he told her, indecent suggestion dripping from his tone.
“Excuse me?”
Her outraged expression only wound the coil of heat inside him tighter. He turned and headed over to where he’d dumped his bag on the floor. Billie wasn’t wearing any shoes so he didn’t hear her stalking after him, but he felt her. She was following him and if he played his cards right, he could turn what had been a shitty day into one that would blow both their minds. Leaning over, he hitched his pack over his shoulder and then turned, expecting to come face-to-face with her alluring anger, but almost tripping over a little gray dog instead.
“What the fuck is that?” And where the hell had it come from? He steadied himself against the wall, his fingers closing around the edge of some grotesque fairy painting, and peered down at the thing that had almost resulted in giving him a broken leg. It looked up at him, teeth bared, a low growl emanating from somewhere beneath rolls and rolls of wrinkles. Travis had never been big on small dogs, but he had to give it to this one—it had balls.
Billie smiled that saccharine smile again. “This is Baxter, and I think what he’s trying to say is you don’t have a room here.”
“Well, Baxter.” Travis glared down at the pathetic excuse for a dog. “That’s where you’re wrong. In case you misunderstood before, Billie,” he said, looking back to her, “I’m the new owner of this building. And, as it happens, I need a place to stay for a few weeks. Maybe longer.”
“That may be,” Billie said, standing her ground, although he noted a quiver in her voice, “but I already live here, so you’ll have to find somewhere else.”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head and made to move past Billie and Baxter.
She sidestepped so that she was in his way and Baxter bared his teeth even more, his growl growing deeper. “If you are my new landlord,” Billie said, her tone filled with disgust, “then you’d know I have rights as the tenant. You need to give me notice for an inspection and you definitely can’t just move in.”
“Sweetheart.” He leaned forward so he was invading her personal space. She smelled sweet, of some kind of strawberry shampoo or something that made his muscles tighten, but he ignored it. “No one tells me what the fuck to do. And if you can afford a lawyer, then you’re not paying us enough rent.”
“I…I…” Billie blinked, and her tits heaved up and down as she searched for more words.
He made no apology for looking, waited a beat, and when it seemed she didn’t have anything to add he tossed her one final question. “Can you afford a lawyer?”
Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.
He smirked his victory. “In that case, you, me and Baxter are roommates.”
—
Roommates? Billie gulped, watching as one of the hottest men she’d ever laid eyes on swaggered past her and headed through the alley of paintings into the courtyard, and then opened the door that led inside to her house as if he owned the place. And dammit, apparently he did. That thought made her feel sick to her stomach, just as the way he looked heated other parts of her body.
Sophie, the previous landlord’s daughter, had told Billie when her father died last month that she had nothing to worry about, that it wouldn’t affect her or her gallery at all. But today’s unwelcome visitor told her otherwise. Having Mr. Arrogant Sinclair getting under her skin 24/7 was very, very worrying indeed. And that was even before she considered what would happen to her and the gallery she’d worked so hard to set up if he decided to increase her rent or, worse, sell the building from under her feet. Just when she’d finally started to get her life on track something like this happened. Something like Travis bloody Sinclair.