“That’s tragic.”
“That’s life in 1890.” I open another hidden panel. “But it makes for good ghost stories. Staff swear they’ve seen a woman in white walking the third floor.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Nope. But I’ve heard weird shit. Doors closing on their own. Cold spots. Could be ghosts. Could be hundred-year-old architecture settling.” I grin. “Either way, it’s cool.”
We end up in the oldest part of the estate, where the original structure meets the mountain itself. The walls here are stone, carved directly from the rock face.
“This was Blackwell’s private retreat,” I explain. “He had a sauna and bathing area built right into the mountain. Natural hot springs.”
“Natural hot springs?” Her eyes light up. “Are they still functional?”
“Dad restored them. They’re incredible.” I push open a heavy wooden door. “See for yourself.”
The room beyond is something out of a dream. Rough stone walls. Wooden benches in a traditional sauna. And beyond that,visible through glass doors, a hot tub built into the natural rock with steam rising from the water.
“Oh my God.” Samantha moves toward the sauna. “This is amazing.”
“Right? Blackwell might have been paranoid and weird, but he had good taste.” I flip a switch, and the sauna heats up. “Want to try it?”
She turns to look at me. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Who said anything about a swimsuit?”
Her cheeks flush. “Kai?—”
“Come on. When’s the last time you did something spontaneous?” I’m already pulling off my shirt. “Live a little.”
She watches me strip down to my boxers, and I see desire war with hesitation on her face.
“The door locks,” I point out. “Nobody comes down here. It’s just us.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” I step into the sauna in just my boxers. “Coming?”
She stands there for another moment, then laughs and starts undressing. I turn away to give her privacy, adjusting the temperature controls. The heat is already building, dry and intense.
She joins me wearing just her bra and panties, and even in the dim light, she’s gorgeous.
We sit on opposite benches, and the heat wraps around us. “This is incredible,” she says, tilting her head back. “I can see why Blackwell built this.”
“Guy knew how to live.” I pour water on the heated rocks, and steam hisses up. “So what do you think of the estate? Now that you’ve seen the real parts.”
“I think it’s one of the most interesting places I’ve ever been.” She looks at me through the steam. “And I think your father is crazy for taking on a restoration this massive.”
“He’s always been crazy. In the best way.”
“What about you? Are you crazy?”
“Absolutely.” I grin. “But also in the best way.”
She laughs, and the sound fills the small space.
We talk for a while, letting the heat seep into our muscles. She asks about growing up here, about Donovan and Dad, about the business. I tell her stories that make her laugh. About the time I crashed a snowmobile into the frozen lake. About Donovan getting stuck in one of the secret passages when we were kids. About Dad finding us trying to make a zip line from the roof.
“You were a nightmare child,” she says.
