Faked - Karla Sorensen Page 0,33

I tried not to laugh at the disgruntled look that Claire tried to hide.

The room, just like the rest of Richard's place, was, oh ... could I even think of the right word.

Overwhelming.

Though his place was hidden from the road, on the tip of West Vancouver, with trees crowding the lot and blocking the view of the house from the road, once we'd stepped inside, everything about it was overwhelming. And incredibly, mind-numbingly ugly.

Claire and I stood in our bedroom, absolutely speechless.

"It's ..." Her voice trailed off when her eyes landed, wide and round and shocked, on the bed dominating the space.

"It's terrible."

She let out an airy laugh. "I think Richard Harper is overcompensating for something."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

Her slow nod had me laughing.

It looked like a turn of the century French brothel puked up over every surface. Ornate gilded gold was everywhere, on furniture and picture frames and mirrors. Deep, jewel-toned upholstery had me blinking in disbelief, just like I had been from the moment we walked in the door.

"I don't know what I expected," she said. Her hand gestured weakly at the king-size, four-poster bed, complete with blood-red velvet curtains that would completely enclose the sleeping space. "But it wasn't this."

I peeked inside our bathroom and let out a low whistle. "Close your eyes real tight before you walk in this room, princess. It'll make your eyeballs bleed."

"Rich people are strange," she said, then glanced over her shoulder at me. "Isn't that what you told me?"

"Something like that." I scratched my head and slung my duffel onto the couch framed in the large span of windows. Windows that would fully be covered by the heavy black and gold striped fabric, so overpowering in pattern, I almost felt claustrophobic looking at it.

"That couch looks comfy."

I glanced back at her, caught the smirk on her face, and shook my head. "You trying to tell me something?"

The moment we walked in the room, I knew I'd be spending the night on that damn couch covered with a horrible, horrible floral pattern. It would be small and uncomfortable, and I'd do it, because as much as I wanted to kiss Claire, do all manner of things, if she was amenable, I'd never forced my attentions on a woman, and I sure as hell wouldn't be starting with this one.

Besides, I'd caught the look in her sister-in-law's eyes when she told me she'd destroy me, and I abso-friggin-lutely believed her.

Claire didn't answer me because she probably knew all of the things I was thinking.

"At least give me one of the good pillows," I told her. Holding up the small one from the couch, one of those weird pointless ones shaped like a hot dog, I tossed it in her direction. "Because I am not using that."

She caught the pillow with a smile and climbed up onto the gargantuan bed. "I think I can manage that since he's given me, oh, let's see ... fourteen on this one."

I looked away so that she didn't catch me checking out her ass, but come on, she was on all fours on a bed, and I was already struggling to keep my hands off her. That was why the pillow hit me in the side of the head.

Her peals of laughter were so damn adorable, I'd probably let her throw a concrete block at my head if I could hear them all night.

"Shit," I muttered. I was in trouble with this one, and I knew exactly why. My lifestyle didn't lend itself to being around women like Claire. Don't get me wrong, I had friends who were girls in Whistler. Snowboarding chicks were strong and badass, and I counted plenty of them as friends. I'd never slept with any of my fellow competitors, just the snow bunnies. The visitors to the mountain who had no trouble with the bartender for a night.

But Claire was different.

Smart, sweet, no-nonsense, and way, way too good for me. Claire checked every box on the hypothetical list that I never paid too much attention to in my head—the Keeper list, which is why it wasn't hard for me to pretend with her for one night.

Looking down at the couch, I tried to figure out a way to convince Richard that he needed a full-week immersion into learning about the community center because I'd gladly give up seven nights of sleep to that embroidered nightmare if I got more time with Claire.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Claire said.

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