“Um...” He looked away, swiped a hand through his hair. “I have some coffee left. Want some?”
“Sure.”
The invitation slightly cautious. Maybe even a tad reluctant. She knew he was a guy who liked to be in control, and giving her an impromptu tour of his bachelor pad hadn’t been on his schedule this morning.
But suddenly her heart was beating like a teenager’s who’d been invited for a ride in the hot bad boy’s muscle car.
He vanished into the door and left it open; she followed him inside.
It was basically a studio, a large main room and a kitchen, maybe a thousand square feet, if that. Cozy, though. And snug. It was lit by a long transom window that ran nearly the length of one side and another window that faced the road.
A truly gigantic bed, a California King, covered with a basic white box-stitched comforter that appeared to be about five inches thick, so fluffy was it, was sandwiched between two walls with only a few inches to spare on either side. About eight pillows clearly punched into softness bulged at the top, divided into two stacks. She actually liked a crapload of pillows, too. It was the crack of dawn but he’d made his bed quite tidily.That’s what the military will do for you,she thought.
She wondered what he would do if she tipped herself facedown onto the bed. A little rush of lust made her head swim, imagining it.
It was funny, though, what just a few seconds’ worth of hovering in the doorway of someone’s house could reveal. And she found herself gathering up these details the way she’d hoarded everything he’d told her about him once before.
The little kitchen was pristine and remained 1930s vintage, which was probably about when this cottage was built. The tiled counters were salmon pink edged in burgundy, the white cupboards edged in scallops, the sink a deep farmhouse variety. A few pots and pans hung from hooks. The fridge was old but handsome, eggshell-colored with rounded corners. She’d be willing to bet it was temperamental.
Along one wall was a bookcase featuring a Kindle, an iPad, and a laptop, all charging, and a series of mysterious little black oblong boxes, all stacked. She didn’t see any photos or artwork.
A shotgun was hung over the door.
“Gosh. I like what you’ve done with the place.”
He snorted.
There were only a few actual books on the shelves:The Big Book of Animal Husbandrywas one of them, and it was indeed pretty big. Propped on cinderblocks it would have made an excellent coffee table.
“So sweet of you to go looking for husbands for all of your animals.”
“Ha ha.”
He seemed a little tense about her exploration, but he was letting her do it.
“I liked it better when you could see the books people thought they ought to read lined up in their living room, likeZen and the Art of Motorcycle MaintenanceandSiddharthaand stuff like that, and when you get closer to them, the ones they actually read in their bedroom. The Ludlum books and whatnot.”
“I haveallof the those on my Kindle.”
“What are all those little boxes?”
“That’s my art installation.”
“They look like tie boxes.”
He sighed. “That’s because they’re tie boxes.”
She looked up at him. “Are... ties inside the boxes? Is this a fetish?”
“Why, feeling inspired?” He’d perked up.
She ignored that but gave him a little smile just to give him something to wonder about. “Do you sneak off to a job as a stockbroker when I’m not looking?”
Too late she realized that “stockbroker” was basically the opposite of everything he’d ever wanted to be. But he was tracking her pretty intently with his eyes. As if deciding how well she went with his décor. Or perhaps planning a sly way to get her to sit down on his bed.
He hesitated. “Where do you think I got most of my money?”
She paused before she followed that up with, “Wheredoyou get your money?”
