Savas' Defiant Mistress

“Can’t help you,” he heard Danny Chang say. “Wish I could.” He stepped out of Frank’s office, then paused in the doorway and turned back. “I thought you had it sold.”

“So did I,” Frank’s tone was glum. “Cath is going to freak when she finds out the deal fell through. We want this house. How the hell am I going to put the down payment on the house if I don’t have it?”

Danny shrugged. “If I hear of anyone who wants one, I’ll send ’em your way.” He turned to go, then stopped and did a double take at the sight of Seb. “Hey, wanna buy a houseboat?”

Houseboat?

Did he want to buy a…houseboat?

Any other day Seb would have laughed. Today as the words registered, he found himself saying cautiously, curiously, “What sort of houseboat? Where?”

Danny and Frank exchanged glances.

Then Frank got up from behind his desk and came to the door of his office. “Not big. You probably wouldn’t want it. Two bedrooms. One bath. Pretty small really. On the east side of Lake Union. Bought it after I’d been here a year. I love it. But Cath—we’re getting married—and Cath doesn’t. She says she’s not into Sleepless in Seattle.”

Seb had no idea what he meant. He wasn’t into chick flicks. But a houseboat… “Tell me more.”

Frank’s eyes widened in surprise. And then, apparently deciding Seb was serious, he ticked off its virtues. “It’s perfectly functional. Fifty-odd years old, but it’s been well cared for. Pretty quiet place. Right at the end of the dock. Great views, obviously. My tenant was going to buy it, but the financing fell through. I just got the call.”

“Tenant?”

Frank shrugged. “I rent out the other bedroom. Helps with the payments. But nothing’s going to help with this,” he said grimly. “We’re not going to have the money for the down payment and we’re going to lose the house.”

And tenants could be moved. “How much do you want for it?”

Frank blinked. “Seriously?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

“Oh! Well, um…” Frank looked a bit dazed as he spit out a figure.

Not a bargain. But what price did you put on peace? Sanity. A lack of clutter and giggles and panty hose? Besides, he could always sell it.

Seb nodded. “I’ll write you a check.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS perfect.

Seb could see the houseboat as he came down the hill. It sat at the end of the dock. Other houseboats were moored on either side, but his was right at the end—two stories high of weathered grey wood and very crisp white trim, it looked snug and welcoming, just as Frank had said it would be.

As it was backlit by the setting sun, Seb couldn’t see all the details. But from what he could discern, it was the bolt hole of his dreams.

He couldn’t have made a better decision, Seb thought as he parked his car, then grabbed two of the duffel bags he’d packed and headed down the dock. He felt alive somehow, energized, actually smiling in anticipation.

Sure, it was a lot of money to pay for a month’s bolt hole. But what else was he doing with his money besides footing the wedding bill for his sister, paying college tuition for all of his sundry siblings and providing tummy tucks and face-lifts for his father’s ex-wives?

Besides, Frank had assured him, a houseboat was an eminently resalable item. His urgency to sell only had to do with his impending marriage and baby. He was sure his tenant would buy it whenever Seb wanted out, presuming the financing worked out then. And if not, there would be plenty of other interested buyers.

So, when—if—Seb wanted to sell, he might even make a profit.

But it wasn’t the profit that interested him now. It was the peace and quiet. The solitude.

If he’d needed any convincing that he’d done the right thing by his impulse down payment and promise to get the financing tomorrow, walking into his penthouse tonight had done it.

The panty hose were already everywhere. So were the crumbs and the sticky marmalade plates. The cell phones shrilled and his sisters giggled. There they were talking—all of them at once—and throwing their arms around him, hugging him, getting him sticky, too.

He had been prepared for that.

But he’d forgotten the music, the television, the shouting over each other to be heard. He’d forgotten the smells. The sickly sweet shampoos, conditioners, hair sprays, gels, mousses, not to mention umpteen kinds of perfume actually supposed to have fragrances.

His whole apartment had smelled like a bordello.

If he’d thought for one second he’d been wrong to jump at Frank’s houseboat, those few minutes had convinced him he’d done exactly the right thing. He could hardly wait to escape.

His sisters had been appalled when he’d slipped out of their embraces and headed for his bedroom to pack.

“You’ve got a trip? Now?”

“Where are you going?”

“When are you coming back?”

They’d followed him into his room. He could see makeup bottles scattered on the countertop through the door to his bathroom.

“I’m just giving you some space,” he said. “And trusting you with mine,” he added with his best severe older brother glower. It went from them to the open door of the bathroom where there were also wet towels on the floor. Then it went back to them. They smiled contritely.

“Keep things clean,” he said. “Pick up after yourselves. I’ve got work to do and I need to focus.”

“We won’t be any trouble,” they vowed in unison, heads bobbing.

Seb had smiled at that. Then he’d gathered up the few things he was sure he would need or that he really didn’t want them to break—like his grandfather’s old violin—and patted their heads.

“I’ll be back and take you to dinner on Sunday,” he promised.

As he left, Jenna borrowed money to pay the pizza delivery man.

“Sure you won’t change your mind, Seb?” she’d said, forgetting to give him the change.

Seb had shaken his head. “No.”

But now, as his stomach rumbled on his way down the dock, he wished he’d at least thought to snatch one of the pizzas.

No matter. He’d grab something after he settled in—and dealt with Frank’s tenant. A guy who rented a room on a houseboat ought to be delighted to be offered a studio apartment rent free. And maybe by the time Seb was ready to sell, he’d have his finances in order and could get a loan.

Seb found himself whistling just like Max as he stepped aboard his houseboat and turned the key in the front door lock.

“Home sweet home,” he murmured, and pushed open the door and stepped into a small foyer with a staircase leading up to the second floor on one side and bookshelves and a door on the other. Straight ahead, down a hallway he glimpsed the setting sun through the window. It drew him on. So did the music he heard.