Show Stopper (Chicago First Responders #1) - B.J. Harvey Page 0,1

my purse off the hallway table and moving to the front door.

“You didn’t say no,” she calls as I’m halfway out.

“I didn’t say yes, either,” I retort, giving her a quick wave before leaving. Having a sister with the best of intentions may actually be the death of me.

Three hours later, I’m waiting in the kitchen for the clock to tick past one p.m. so I can open the front door and hopefully welcome in a hoard of potential buyers for this listing—a three-bedroom duplex near Palmer Square.

It has enormous potential, but when I took the deceased estate listing, I knew it could go either way in terms of being an easy sell or one of those tricky properties that sit on the market for a while. I’m always up for a challenge, though, so I jumped at the chance.

It’s been a slow start, but with effective but inexpensive staging that the daughter of the former owner was more than happy to front up for, a few well-placed vases of fresh fragrant flowers, and the gentle scent of a French vanilla candle wafting through the air, I’m confident that today’s showing—albeit, the third for this house—will be a well-received one.

A car door closing on the street outside grabs my attention, and after a quick look in my compact mirror, I take a deep breath, stow away my purse in a kitchen cabinet, and walk through to the front entryway, swinging the door open, signaling that the house is open for viewing.

The first couple of parties are the real estate equivalent of tire kickers—people who aren’t in the market to buy, but like to have a good look. I can usually pick them a mile away, but a telltale sign is when they’re hesitant to leave their details on the call sheet. I still treat them as potential buyers though because you never know when they might decide they’re ready to commit to a new property, and you might cross paths with them at another time in another house. If that happens, you already have that name-recognition/first-impression in the bag. That’s my theory, anyway.

With ten minutes to go and no more parties coming through, I begin to think the showing is a bust when the roar of a car outside grabs my attention. Deciding I’m not ready to write this day off just yet, I go to the front porch, ready to greet what could be another potential buyer.

Which is fine if you’re not wearing four-inch Jimmy Choo heels and a knee-length pencil skirt, and you trip on the first step with a huge smile plastered on your face. I scream as I go flying off the front stairs, my arms flailing and my eyes clenched shut as I brace myself for impact, expecting the worst.

Except I don’t hit the ground. Instead, there’s a loud muttered “damn” just before I hit a wall of someone, the two of us crashing backwards as we both fall down in a tangle of limbs onto the front lawn. The stranger lands first, a loud groan escaping him followed by a low grunt when I land on top of him at my most unladylike best.

We lie there unmoving for a few moments until my eyes snap open. Mortification hits. I lift my head and look down at him, my lips parting to say thank you when I’m rendered speechless by the concerned—and absolutely mesmerizing—deep chocolate gaze shining back at me.

“Are you okay?” he asks roughly, and I swear, I have a mini-orgasm from the sound of his voice alone. I stare down at him, rendered mute for what seems like hours before the man looks around us then returns his amused gaze to mine.

“Well, that didn’t go quite how I planned,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Now I’m all for public displays of affection, but I’m not sure if this was the kind of showing you had in mind. Not that I’m complaining at having a beautiful woman lying on top of me.”

That snaps me out of it.

“Shit,” I say, rolling off and away from him and scrambling to my knees. He jumps to his feet as quick as a flash and leans down, placing his hands on my hips. He lifts me back to my feet as if I weigh nothing.

As soon as I’m back upright, blood flow must return to my brain because I finally regain my ability to think straight. “I’m so sorry. It’s lucky you were here to cushion my