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“Carter,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “This is… massive.”

“It’s just a house,” I mutter, an unfamiliar tension knotting in my gut. I’m used to the guys giving me shit for the place but seeing it through her eyes is different. This is my space. No one comes here.

She’s already out of the truck before I can help her, standing at the bottom of the steps, staring up at the facade.

“How many bedrooms?” she asks, facing me.

“Six.” I shrug, heading to unlock the door. “Plus an office, a gym, and a home theater I rarely use.”

“You have a home theater?” The awe in her voice pulls a smile from me despite myself.

I open the door, stepping back to let her in first. The entryway is grand, with high ceilings and exposed beams, a staircase curving to the second floor. Trixie steps inside, eyes roaming upward as she absorbs it all.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice echoing.

I flick on a few lights. She moves slowly, taking in the oversized leather furniture, the professional-grade kitchen, the wall of windows that opens onto the dark tree line behind the house. I watch her take it all in—I can see it in the way her eyes track the lines of the room, the way her stance softens, as if the image she had of me is shifting to make space for this.

“Can I look around?” she asks, already headed for the kitchen.

I nod, watching as she trails her fingers over the marble countertops, opens cabinet doors, peers out the windows. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes my chest feel too tight.

“I never would have guessed this was yours,” she says, turning to me. “It’s so… refined.”

I shrug, moving toward her. “I like nice things. Sue me.”

She laughs, the sound bright in the quiet house. “I’m not complaining.” Her eyes catch mine, and the playfulness intensifies into something hotter. “Show me the bedroom.”

Her words hit like a jolt. I close the space between us in three strides, hands finding her waist, pulling her close. She melts against me, fitting perfectly.

“Upstairs,” I manage, voice rougher than before.

I guide her to the staircase, my hand lightly on her back. She goes up ahead of me, her sundress riding up her thighs with each step. By the time we reach the second floor, my pulse hammers against my ribs, a low burn of desire starting deep in my gut.

“Which one?” she asks, glancing at the doors lining the hallway.

“End of the hall.” I steer her forward, my palm burning through the fabric of her dress.

When I push open the bedroom door, she stops, breath catching. The room is spacious, with a king-sized bed and floor-to-ceiling windows. I’ve made it comfortable, a retreat from the world.

“This is…” she starts, then shakes her head. “Not what I expected.”

I come up behind her, hands on her hips. “What did you expect?”

“Something more…” Her hands explore my chest. “Impersonal, I guess. Like the barracks. Not this.”

I lean down, brushing my lips against her ear. “I have layers.”

“So I’m discovering.” Her breath hitches as my teeth graze her skin. “Show me.”

Her invitation unravels me. I back her toward the bed, our mouths colliding in a kiss that’s hungry and urgent. She responds instantly, her tongue dancing with mine, her hands gripping my shirt.

When her knees hit the mattress, she sits, pulling me down with her. I follow, bracing myself above her, my mouth trailing over her neck, her collarbone. She arches beneath me, a soft sound escaping her lips, and my blood turns to fire.

“More,” she whispers, pushing my shirt up, her fingers grazing the skin of my stomach like they own it. “I want more, Carter.”

I yank my shirt off in one swift move. Her eyes go dark as midnight, tongue flicking over her lips. Fuck, that look’s a live wire straight to my gut.

“Your turn,” I tell her, my hand grabbing for her dress.