By the estate agent who wasn’t expecting what came next…
I didn’t think twice when the viewing was booked in again. Same buyer. Same house. It happens all the time — people wanting a second look before making a decision.
What I didn’t realise was this one had nothing to do with the house.
He’d viewed the week before. Polite. Engaged. Gorgeous, but in that quietly confident way — not flashy, not obvious. The kind of man who makes you feel like the only person in the room when he looks at you. But I hadn’t given it much thought. Work was work, and I kept things professional.
Still… I’d noticed how he lingered a little longer in the kitchen when I’d leaned over to pick up the brochure. And the way he’d held eye contact when he thanked me for showing him round.
But nothing prepared me for how he was at the second viewing.
He arrived exactly on time, but everything about him felt different. More direct. Still polite, still composed… but his gaze was bolder. Like he already knew something I didn’t.
“I wanted to see it again,” he said, stepping inside. “Felt like I missed something important the first time.”
The tone of his voice sent a tingle straight to my stomach.
I unlocked the door, stepped aside, and let him in. “Well, you know the layout. But I’m happy to walk you through again.”
He nodded, but didn’t move right away. Just looked at me — a quiet, loaded pause. “I’d like that.”
The house was warm from the sun, the air a little thick, like it was holding its breath.
I walked ahead, giving the usual spiel. “Open-plan, lots of light, bifolds to the garden… you can imagine summer evenings, drinks out on the terrace…”
I felt him behind me. Close. Closer than last time. Not inappropriate. But present. Very present.
In the hallway mirror, I caught his reflection. He was watching me, not the house. And something inside me fluttered.
“You’ve made it sound even better than before,” he said softly. “You always talk about houses like you live in them.”
I smiled, turning slightly. “That’s part of the job — helping people feel it.”
“I feel it,” he said.
There was a beat too long between us. And in that silence, everything changed.
In the upstairs bedroom, he leaned against the doorframe while I talked through storage space and dimensions. I could feel his eyes on my back. On my neck. Down to the sway of my hips as I moved.
“So,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, “any thoughts second time round?”
He stepped inside.
“I do have one thought,” he murmured. “And I’ve been trying to ignore it since the first viewing.”
My breath caught.
He moved closer. Not touching me, not quite — but the heat between us was undeniable.
“You’re… very good at your job,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “But there’s something else here, isn’t there? Something we’re both pretending not to notice.”
His hand brushed mine — lightly. Just a graze. But the charge from that one touch made my skin sing.
“I came back,” he whispered, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The way you move through a space. The way you looked at me. I don’t know if I’ve crossed a line, but—”
“You’re not imagining it,” I said quietly.
He didn’t kiss me.
Not right away.
He just looked at me for a long moment, like he was committing me to memory. Then, slowly, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear — fingers lingering at the curve of my jaw. My heart was hammering.
“It’s not the house I want to explore,” he said, his voice a low promise.
And when he finally did kiss me — it was soft, slow, and deep enough to ruin me.
|
