His words, though tossed out casually, send this weird sensation zipping through me.
I turn away to hide my reaction, running my hand along the back of his fancy leather couch. “Here I was expecting the typical bachelor pad clichés—tiger skin rugs, mirrored ceilings, maybe a sex swing . . .” I tease.
He chuckles. “Come on, Lexi. I’m not trying to be the next Ron Jeremy.”
With that massive cock of his, he might as well be.
“Can I get a grand tour and see for myself? Just to make sure you’re not hiding any Playboy bunnies or playrooms,” I say, mostly kidding. But with this guy’s reputation, you never know.
“Be my guest.” Taking my hand in his, he guides me through the sprawling space.
As we stroll deeper into the apartment, the sleek masculine style gives way to something more human—family photos and glimpses of his life beyond the billionaire persona.
There’s a photo of him and Killian as kids, decked out in sports gear, grinning in front of what’s unmistakably the building that would one day become the flagship NexiHub. He might play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s proud of what they’ve built together.
The place isn’t giving off an overly sentimental vibe, but I spot at least three picture frames of his niece artfully blended into the sophisticated style.
“Has she forgiven you yet?” I nod at a photo of a young, grinning Connor with a tiny ginger girl on his shoulders—so cute it tugs my ovaries.
His mouth quirks. “We’re getting there. Apparently, the secret formula is losing to her inFortniteand a sugar overload. Works like a charm.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. She’s got me wrapped around her little finger and knows it. Even as a sassy teenager.” There’s a warmth to his voice that suggests this playboy might just be a big softie.
“Can I open doors?” I ask, bouncing on my heels.
He chuckles. “Go ahead, make yourself at home.”
I swing open the first mystery door, expecting a bedroom. Instead, it’s a cedar-lined sauna with lava rocks. “Ooh, nice!” I squeal.
Connor grins, almost sheepish at my excitement.
The next room has a huge stainless-steel tub filled with ice water. I stop short, shooting him a look. Oh great, is this his version of aDexterkilling bath?
“My ice bath,” he explains, like that’s a perfectly normal thing for someone to have next to their living room. “Good for recovery after workouts.”
Curiosity overpowers common sense, and I dip a finger in, instantly regretting it. “It’s freezing!”
“You get used to it. The cold reduces inflammation, gets the blood flowing.”
We continue down the hall as I take in this glimpse into his elite world. It feels like being onMillion Dollar Listing.
“How many bedrooms?” I ask breezily, trying to sound as if I tour multimillion-dollar apartments every day.
“Seven.” He says it like no biggie.
My breath catches as we round the corner to see this incredible, sprawling painting of a lush green landscape with mountains. “Is that Ireland?”
“Yeah, the Ring of Kerry,” he confirms with a hint of nostalgia. “Mom took us there when we were kids. Only trip we ever went on as a family back then. She’s Irish.”
“Ireland’s been on my bucket list forever.” I smile, feeling uncultured and immature. “I haven’t traveled much yet. My friend went years ago . . . I was supposed to go too . . .” I trail off, wondering why I’m even bringing up plans that never panned out.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, you’ll make it there. If you start putting yourself first for once.”
And then, the master bedroom. My pulse revs as we step inside.
This isn’t just a bedroom; it’s a shrine to raw sensuality. Deep red bedding, dark gray walls, a mix of leather and wood, and that bed—pure masculinity, dominating the room. Everything’s arranged with military precision.
