This was very much an indecent proposal, but as I’d done during the drive over, I reminded myself once again that it was one I’d agreed to.
When the door was opened, I expected to see someone he employed allowing me entrance. A bright smile and starched uniform. Seeing Christian standing in bare feet wearing light-colored drawstring pants and an ice blue shirt that matched his eyes unbuttoned halfway down his chest, I was immediately taken aback.
Even his hair was slightly disheveled, evidence he hadn’t shaved in at least two days drawing and keeping my attention.
His smile was knowing, my appearance expected, yet that didn’t stop him from allowing his gaze to fall ever so slowly to my heels.
“Vanessa. Welcome.” He quickly noticed the bags I’d struggled to drag from the car, stepping outside to retrieve them.
“I can do that. I don’t need your help with anything.”
“Nonsense. You’re the lady of the house,” he countered, pushing my hand away and snagging them before I had a chance to ignore his polite gesture.
“Feeling chivalrous tonight?” The sun had finally set, twinkling stars and the slight remaining golden glow highlighting the distance from the city limits.
His laugh was more genuine than I was used to. “Hardly. I’m certain you’ll remind me of that every chance you get. Come in. I’ll turn down the music.”
I stepped just inside, immediately taken by the simplistic yet stunning designs. They were also of a Japanese origin insimplicity yet beautifully decorated. I finally closed the door behind me, feeling completely out of place.
Vulnerable.
In truth, scared to death.
He placed the bags by a set of curved stairs. I allowed my eyes to follow the ornate railing, the combination of dark wood and metal rails exquisite. Within seconds, the volume of music diminished, allowing me to hear more trickling water. I took a few more steps until I was able to see the source of the sound.
I hugged my purse close, fighting nerves and the continued anger from dwelling over the conversation with my father. With my nerves on edge, I knew I could fly off the handle easily even though I’d reminded myself for the last time I’d made this choice.
There was a waterfall neighboring a huge ficus tree, enclosed by rocks and other foliage, the tall branches and bright green leaves fully surrounded by panels of glass. The atrium was complete with a bridge crossing the water, colorful flowers creating a peaceful respite. I was immediately drawn to the room, the artistry of the furniture and artistic sculptures and paintings nothing I would have expected seeing in Christian’s home.
I stood in front of the fountain, uncertain what to think or how to react.
“You seem surprised.” His deep voice reverberated in the oversized room, the husky tone creating far too many tingles.
“Perhaps a little bit.”
He laughed as he walked closer, the live wire crackles of electricity when he did more annoying than anything. Yet I tooka deep breath, which was a mistake. His fragrance mixed with the beautiful scent of the colorful flowers and I was on sensory overload. As he moved beside me, he handed me a glass of wine.
“I’m curious how you believed I lived?”
“I don’t know. Maybe everything gilded in gold.”
“Hmmm… That would be my mother and father. My father has a throne in his office made entirely of twenty-four carat gold.”
I tilted my head toward. “Are you serious?”
“Do you really think I’m serious? My mother and father are card-carrying deadheads. You should see the photographs from when they met. At Woodstock and they toured the country following the Grateful Dead for months. When they returned to Miami, they married.”
“What? That’s not possible. How did he go from that to being…”
“A ruthless, hardnosed son of a bitch?”
I almost choked on the single sip of wine. “Well, yes.”
He turned, leaning against the railing, allowing me a much better view of his marvelously sculpted chest. “Don’t worry. I used to wonder that all the time. That’s because my grandfather was a carbon copy. He allowed my dad to sow his wild oats, but the day after he and my mother were married, my father was issued a warning. Either buck up and come to work for him or lose his trust fund and any concept of an inheritance.”
While he appeared amused, I could see more than just a hint of irritation in him. “Is that what your father did to you?”
The question wasn’t well received, his smile immediately fading. “The difference is that I don’t have a trust fund, nor do I need an inheritance.”
