He laughs and shakes his head. “One more thing. In my house, I’m in control, Miss Gibson. Don’t forget that.”
With an aggravating, delicious wink, he disappears into the hallway. And I’m left reeling in the guest room. Just as I asked.
Dammit.
Chapter Fourteen
Holt
“I’m absolutely stuffed,” Blaire says.
She rests her head against the side of the leather armchair. Her dark hair splays against the material as she closes her eyes and sighs happily.
I finish the rest of my manicotti and then place the empty container on the coffee table between us. The meal was excellent, but the conversation was even better. Who knew that discussing criminal litigation over dinner could be so fun?
I pick up my wine and settle back on the sofa. Blaire looks right at home with her legs curled up under her. There’s a peace on her face—a look of pure contentment—that’s as lovely, or even lovelier, than when she’s smiling or laughing.
The cool, outside air breezes in through the open French doors. It’s offset by the soft warmth of the electric fireplace next to my companion.
“I could fall asleep right here,” she says, opening her eyes again.
“Do it then.”
She smiles a sleepy smile. “I’ve already been rude once today.”
The fireplace crackles next to her as she reaches over and picks up her wine glass. She takes a long sip and gazes around the room filled with some of my favorite items.
“This is my favorite room in your house,” she says. “Well, this is my favorite of the rooms I’ve seen so far. I’m not sure how many others there are.”
“This happens to be my favorite room as well. And I’ve seen all of them.”
She grins at my joke. “What makes it your favorite?”
“I don’t know. I think it just represents all the things I hoped this house would feel like when I bought it.”
“Which is …?”
I blow out a breath and take a sip of my wine.
Gazing around the room, I try to figure outwhyit’s my favorite part of the property. I’ve wondered this a number of times and never boiled it down to a simple answer.
“It has a good vibe,” I say, figuring that’s a good enough answer. But I should’ve known better.
Blaire presses her lips together. “Good try.”
“What do you mean good try?”
“I mean, that answer is insufficient.”
I laugh. “Remember that whole conversation we had earlier about you not making me feel like I’m at work?”
“Remember that whole conversation when you told me you wanted me to feel like we’re friends?” She cocks a brow. “So answer my question. Why is this room your favorite?”
I set my glass back down and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “This room reminds me of my grandmother’s library when I was a little boy. It had tray ceilings and these grand bookcases that she had stuffed with books. I’d stand in front of them and just revel in the colors of the spines. And she had this yellow birdcage with two finches with little orange faces.”
Blaire’s face softens. “That sounds wonderful.”
“It was. She was such a powerhouse and emitted this energy thatjust captured you when you got close to her. It was crazy. But then you stepped into her house, and it … it had this calmness. This tranquility, I guess. As though she left all the craziness of the world at the end of the driveway.”
