The Ahern Brothers Collection, page 48
Chapter Ten
Sterling
Unlike many, I don’t sleep much. My mind is always busy. I like to draw at night to keep myself busy. Last night was different. Once June was warm enough, I fell asleep, with her in my arms. There’s something about the way her body molds against mine that gives me a sense of peace and calm.
What is it about her that makes me act differently?
So different that I had to break the only rule I have with hookups—and between us. No names, no repeats.
How am I going to explain to her how I found her? Talking about stalkers, I just behaved like one but it wasn’t my intention whatsoever.
I tried to forget her, to push away the urgent desire to seek her. But how can I when our time together was unforgettable? I needed to see her again—have her again. It was a great night, but we are different people. She seems like the kind of woman who is attached to her family and wants a future. I only care about … what do I even care about?
In the morning, she remains nestled between my arms. I talk myself out of waking her up with a kiss and trying to seduce her. She’s gorgeous and just waking up next to her is a treat and a temptation.
Why are you so special, gorgeous?
She confuses the fuck out of me. It’s not the lust; but the wish of remaining by her side. I want to wake up next to her every morning and be able to just slide inside her.
Can I make it happen?
Maybe, once we have a long discussion and we settle things between us. I’ll propose a new arrangement. But what if she says, fuck you or worse; I want more from you—or any man who wants to be with me. My head is about to explode with so many questions. Never in my life had I put so much thought into something other than my art, let alone someone.
Pushing away all this madness, I decide to start my day. Before I head to the gym, I leave a note on the nightstand.
Good morning, beautiful.
There’re some clothes on top of the credenza. Feel free to take a shower. Make sure to set the temperature to warm. I’m still concerned about last night. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll have breakfast waiting.
SA
Since the blizzard continues and I can’t get her flowers, I make a few flowers with paper and leave them on the nightstand. Again, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I turn toward my bed and admire June. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just perfect and hopefully mine for the rest of the year.
June
I can’t decide if it was the best dream of my entire life, a nightmare, or if it was some kind of hallucination. My head pounds and I’m hoping yesterday didn’t happen and I’m still in my apartment running late.
Lying to myself for a few more minutes only works for so long, but can anyone blame me?
I thought I was going to die. This bed makes me feel like I’ve landed in heaven.
The scent of the sheets and the softness is inviting.
When I have the strength to open my eyes, I realize the room is dark, the sheets are softer than mine, and there’s the familiar scent of cedar, citrus, and musk. It is sexy and definitely not mine.
Where am I and what happened?
Going through yesterday’s events, I remember exactly what happened. I went to the office, made sure my staff knew how to contact me and delegated my tasks. I flew to Denver, it’s freezing cold, and … I almost died.
All because I locked the car and my phone’s battery was drained. Did someone rescue me?
Not a smart move, Juniper Spearman. You were a few minutes away from dying. The cold had seemed mild at first. I prayed the management company would arrive soon. Until my face and hands felt numb. Next thing I knew the bitter cold had spread across my skin.
I haven’t prayed in my life so hard for a miracle—and it’s not even Christmas. Then, there was that dream with the little kids. A boy and two girls.
To add to my madness, the guy I slept with during Thanksgiving week was there too. It felt as if he came to my rescue.
I smell the pillow next to me and it smells like him. Either it’s Thanksgiving week or I’m in the twilight zone. I have no idea where I am. What in the world happened to me? Why am I just wearing my panties and a T-shirt? A shirt that just like the entire room smells like him.
My heart races fast because I really can’t remember much from last night other than my dreams. Those cute little babies were just adorable. I touch my belly and smile because in just a couple of days one of those kids might be growing inside me but wouldn’t it be wonderful if they’re at least twins?
Either way, I’m hoping for a Christmas miracle.
Dreaming about my future sounds amazing but I stop myself because I’ve no idea where I’m at and if I’m safe. I push myself up and sit on the bed trying to see if I recognize the place, but I don’t. There’s a note on the nightstand.
I read it a couple of times. Who is SA and since when do I go home with strangers?
There’s no phone in the room. I look around and other than guy’s clothing in the closet it doesn’t have any personal items. Do color pencils and charcoals count?
Taking a shower sounds like a good idea. I lock the bedroom’s door from the inside while I try to find something around that tells me who owns this place.
I don’t find anything. It’s like whoever owns it is an art aficionado. When I enter the bathroom, I’m impressed. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options where I can regulate the water temperature, pressure, and direction. There’s even a massage option.
This isn’t my finest moment. Nothing will top this shit. Not that anyone will find out what happened to me. Nope.
I can hear Alex saying, “Remember that time Junie almost froze to death trying to avoid us?”
He can be so irritating. I hate when he calls me Junie. As if he’s much older. We’re only eleven months apart.
After I’m done showering, I turn off the water, grab a towel, and step out on the mat. The floors feel warm. My body isn’t numb anymore, actually, I feel rested.
I finally take a better look at the luxurious bathroom. The white and black tile on the walls is elegant. Very classy. The shower is huge. I could practice barre or yoga before a shower if I wanted to.
I step into the bedroom and look at the clothes SA left on the credenza. The sweats and the long-sleeve T-shirt are a few sizes bigger than mine but they’re warm and comfortable. There’s also a pair of fuzzy socks. They’re soft and will do the job to warm my feet.
After I dress, the masculine scent becomes stronger. Whatever fragrance SA uses is rich, sexy, and sensual. Musk, cedar wood, a hint of sandalwood, and … something else. I hug the clothes, feeling different. Warmer that’s for sure.
They remind me so much of … my eyes widen when I spot a set of origami flowers laying on the nightstand. It’s the same guy from that night, but how?
My pulse accelerates. Not sure if it’s sheer panic because I can’t remember last night or anxiety because I’m seeing him again.
Going back into the bathroom, I find a brush inside the drawers and a hairdryer. This guy is ready for visitors because there’re baby products too. My heart skips a beat as I think about babies and children. They are the reason my heart is breaking and I’m not thinking straight.
God, what was I thinking yesterday?
Once I’m mentally prepared to face him, I need to know how I arrived here and what happened to me. This is worse than getting drunk and why am I not anxious and worried?
I head downstairs but stop in the middle of the staircase when I spot him. He’s in the living room. One hand holding a phone and the other combing his hair as he paces. Taking a better look at him, I realize it wasn’t a dream. The guy rescued me last night.
He’s still hot as fuck. His hair is brown, tousled, in need of a good haircut. His green eyes find mine and he grins at me. That smirk steals my breath away and makes my heart skip a beat.
The entire night we spent together replays inside my head. His searing kisses, the way his hands touched me. I had no idea that I’ve missed him. But I definitely want a repeat, not that I should. I’m not even sure why I have all these unknown emotions suddenly sprouting.
It was supposed to be just a once in a lifetime thing between us.
Why is he back in my life? And why am I here?
Chapter Eleven
June
“I’ll call you later,” he says to whoever is on the other side of the line and swipes the screen before he speaks to me. “How are you feeling?”
His voice is low, rough, and it slides through my ears like smooth bourbon. I could use a repeat of that night, but it won’t happen. It’s better if I stay away from him. Focusing on the now, I ask some of the questions I have.
“Where am I, and how did I get here?”
He takes a deep breath. “You were sitting on the porch of my rental house, freezing, and I’d say hallucinating. Almost unconscious. I brought you here to make sure you were okay.”
“You undressed me!” I accuse him.
He lifts his arms in surrender. “Just to warm you up, my bodyguard who is a former Navy SEAL and a paramedic knows what to do in cases of hypothermia and I just followed his instructions. Nothing happened though, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m pissed at him and myself. “Why not take me to the nearest hospital?”
He points to a large window that takes over the entire wall. We’re definitely in a building but I can’t see much outside, other than the big snowflakes falling down.
“It’s still snowing,” I say the obvious.
“Because of the blizzard,” he answers. “We were closer to my penthouse than any hospital. It was the logical thing to do.”
I have the feeling that there’s more to what he wants to say but I let it go. Because there’re a lot more questions I need to ask. Like … “How did you know where to find me?”
He exhales loudly. “I own the house you’re renting—and the Art of Real-State.” He smirks. “I had no idea when I first met you. Coincidentally, the next morning your background check arrived, and I realized you were the same person.”
“You canceled,” I interrupt. “You fucking asshole. I wanted to see the house and you … you’re unprofessional.”
“I gave you a free month.” He smirks and I hate that it’s so charming I can’t keep the anger at bay. “Listen, I thought it’d be best not to see each other. I wanted to keep things simple and … obviously I couldn’t. That’s why I sent you the email saying see you tomorrow. As soon as I was done with work, I went to meet you, and on my way to the house, I got your voicemail.”
He walks toward the kitchen which is big and too equipped for a single guy. What if he’s … I look at the socks I’m wearing. They’re clearly women’s socks. I should leave, I have a feeling that staying here any longer is going to end up in disaster.
“Here,” he says, marching back to the bottom of the staircase and offering me a mug. “It’s Earl Grey tea. I only drink coffee but have some bags in case my brother and sister-in-law visit.”
I look at the socks and lift one foot. “Hers?”
“Part of her Christmas present. They’re new and now yours,” he clarifies.
Okay, so he’s not married. June, don’t get any ideas. He’s hot but stay away from him. With a sigh, I go all the way downstairs and grab the mug. I take a sip of the tea. It’s not too hot or too cold. It’s bitter but not as much as black coffee.
When I look up at him, I wonder what I should do and most of all, how did I get myself into this mess? I’m not going to stay at his house. Not after finding out he owns it. I’ll demand my money back. But then what am I supposed to do?
“This is a disaster,” I confess. “Nothing has gone as planned, you know.”
“Planning is overrated,” he says casually.
“What are you talking about? The only way to make sure everything works properly is by planning. If not, look at what happens.”
He laughs. Even when his laugh is throaty, rich, and so hot that my body becomes too aware of him, I frown.
Control your urges, Juniper!
“You’re one of those,” he declares, and he sounds somehow disappointed. “How many journals do you have? I bet you use different calendars and color code every item on your list. Just like your clothes, meals, and activities. Well, planning didn’t work, did it? You almost froze.”
My ears heat up and I glare at him. “You don’t know me,” I protest.
He doesn’t understand that if I didn’t orchestrate my life, everything would be a string of disasters. Didn’t he listen to my airport story a couple of weeks ago?
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges me.
“It’s so not the point,” I argue because he won’t know why I do what I do. “We just met. So, what if I plan every minute of my day? Having a routine and knowing what to expect is helpful.”
He laughs again. “That’s not living.”
“Says you, because you’re what, an expert on life? The Dalai Lama of Colorado so to speak?”
He smirks. “No, but I know him. D and I are on the same level.” He winks at me. “He’s cool, you know. Not uptight. He’d tell you to chill and learn to experience life, not to structure it.”
“In those words? Ha!” I roll my eyes.
He shakes his head. “He doesn’t speak much, but I learned from him to enjoy the moment and learn to appreciate what I have.”
It’s not possible, is it? To know the Dalai Lama. I mean. He … who is this guy?
I look around his penthouse. The place is different from any apartment I’ve ever visited. Seriously, where am I? It’s not a bachelor pad, more like the museum of modern art. There’s no leather couch, big screen, pool table, or wine fridge filled with beers.
Nope, this one has a long couch, the fireplace. Oils hanging on the walls, sculptures on stands or just standing because they’re big. There’s a dog bed, dog toys, and clothes all over the floor. This looks like a mix between a gallery, a bachelor pad, a doghouse, and a teenager’s room.
He needs a cleaning crew. Where’s the dog?
I get closer to the art on the wall and I discover something interesting. “Sterling,” I say out loud and turn around.
Okay, so this guy is loaded if he has at least three paintings from the famous artist Sterling. His art is expensive. I’ve had a couple of clients asking me to get them some specific pieces from this guy and it’s almost impossible to get through to his assistant and even when you do, the answer is always the same, “check the website. Only those pieces are for sale.”
“You know him?”
I shrug. “Kind of. Not in person. I figure he’s some sixty-year-old guy who’s swimming in money because his pieces are expensive.”
“Never googled him?”
I shake my head. “I have enough with my clients to be dealing with others.”
“Others?” he asks, and I look at him.
He’s holding a bowl and his left brow is arched. “What does that mean by others?”
I wave my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Instead of talking shit about a pompous guy who thinks he’s Auguste Rodin or Michelangelo, I decide to change the subject.
“So, when can I occupy the house?” I ask.
He lifts the bowl and says, “Here, have some soup.”
“Soup at this time?” I ask, a little confused by his offer. “It’s …”
“Almost noon,” he answers. “Lunchtime. Look, I understand this isn’t part of your life plan, however, there’s not much we can do. Everything is closed.”
“Maybe I should just call my brothers, one of them is bound to live close by,” I say, not knowing where I am.
“Where do they live?”
I start looking for my phone. “Where is my phone?”
“Beck took it, it was dead and soaking wet,” he answers.
Well, how am I supposed to get out of here?
Chapter Twelve
Sterling
“At least eat your soup.” I point at the bowl. “When was the last time you ate?”
She takes a seat and her head falls slightly as she slumps her shoulders.
“Umm … my brother Jason lives close to the mountains and Jack owns a house located in one of the ritzy neighborhoods. Actually, it’s not too far away from the rental. Like a ten, fifteen-minute drive? It’s in what I call pretty lane street.”
I can’t help but laugh at the description of where her brother lives. She might be uptight but she’s still funny.
The cute pout and glare she’s giving me make me want to kiss her. Her voice between amusement and anger is just delicious. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not exactly, but it’s kind of funny the way you describe your brother’s house. There’s no such thing as Pretty Lane Street.”
“Well, I call it that because all the houses in the area are beautiful.”
Who the hell is this chick?
“The storm is coming down hard. You’re safe here and your brothers are better off staying at home. Once the storm is over, my bodyguard will get your car and you can call your family,” I suggest.
She yawns and closes her eyes. “Thank you, this … I just—”
“Drove in the middle of the storm and you weren’t sure what to do when you arrived at the property. It was cold, you were alone and frightened,” I finish her sentence. “I’m glad you’re here, and that I was able to reach you in time.”
She rubs one arm and looks at the table. “That’s not what I was going to say but yeah. How did you know I was scared?”
“Because listening to your voice mail terrified the fuck out of me,” I answer. “When I found you, I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was thankful to have Beck. He knows what to do in case of emergencies. I bet you were a thousand times more.”
She twists her lips and asks, “Why would you be scared?”
“Well, you were too cold and unresponsive. For a moment, I thought I might lose you.” I take a deep breath because it wasn’t a pleasant moment. “It was fucking frightening. I’m guessing when you found yourself alone in the middle of the storm it was bad. I wish I had been there sooner.”
Sterling
Unlike many, I don’t sleep much. My mind is always busy. I like to draw at night to keep myself busy. Last night was different. Once June was warm enough, I fell asleep, with her in my arms. There’s something about the way her body molds against mine that gives me a sense of peace and calm.
What is it about her that makes me act differently?
So different that I had to break the only rule I have with hookups—and between us. No names, no repeats.
How am I going to explain to her how I found her? Talking about stalkers, I just behaved like one but it wasn’t my intention whatsoever.
I tried to forget her, to push away the urgent desire to seek her. But how can I when our time together was unforgettable? I needed to see her again—have her again. It was a great night, but we are different people. She seems like the kind of woman who is attached to her family and wants a future. I only care about … what do I even care about?
In the morning, she remains nestled between my arms. I talk myself out of waking her up with a kiss and trying to seduce her. She’s gorgeous and just waking up next to her is a treat and a temptation.
Why are you so special, gorgeous?
She confuses the fuck out of me. It’s not the lust; but the wish of remaining by her side. I want to wake up next to her every morning and be able to just slide inside her.
Can I make it happen?
Maybe, once we have a long discussion and we settle things between us. I’ll propose a new arrangement. But what if she says, fuck you or worse; I want more from you—or any man who wants to be with me. My head is about to explode with so many questions. Never in my life had I put so much thought into something other than my art, let alone someone.
Pushing away all this madness, I decide to start my day. Before I head to the gym, I leave a note on the nightstand.
Good morning, beautiful.
There’re some clothes on top of the credenza. Feel free to take a shower. Make sure to set the temperature to warm. I’m still concerned about last night. Come downstairs when you’re ready. I’ll have breakfast waiting.
SA
Since the blizzard continues and I can’t get her flowers, I make a few flowers with paper and leave them on the nightstand. Again, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I turn toward my bed and admire June. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just perfect and hopefully mine for the rest of the year.
June
I can’t decide if it was the best dream of my entire life, a nightmare, or if it was some kind of hallucination. My head pounds and I’m hoping yesterday didn’t happen and I’m still in my apartment running late.
Lying to myself for a few more minutes only works for so long, but can anyone blame me?
I thought I was going to die. This bed makes me feel like I’ve landed in heaven.
The scent of the sheets and the softness is inviting.
When I have the strength to open my eyes, I realize the room is dark, the sheets are softer than mine, and there’s the familiar scent of cedar, citrus, and musk. It is sexy and definitely not mine.
Where am I and what happened?
Going through yesterday’s events, I remember exactly what happened. I went to the office, made sure my staff knew how to contact me and delegated my tasks. I flew to Denver, it’s freezing cold, and … I almost died.
All because I locked the car and my phone’s battery was drained. Did someone rescue me?
Not a smart move, Juniper Spearman. You were a few minutes away from dying. The cold had seemed mild at first. I prayed the management company would arrive soon. Until my face and hands felt numb. Next thing I knew the bitter cold had spread across my skin.
I haven’t prayed in my life so hard for a miracle—and it’s not even Christmas. Then, there was that dream with the little kids. A boy and two girls.
To add to my madness, the guy I slept with during Thanksgiving week was there too. It felt as if he came to my rescue.
I smell the pillow next to me and it smells like him. Either it’s Thanksgiving week or I’m in the twilight zone. I have no idea where I am. What in the world happened to me? Why am I just wearing my panties and a T-shirt? A shirt that just like the entire room smells like him.
My heart races fast because I really can’t remember much from last night other than my dreams. Those cute little babies were just adorable. I touch my belly and smile because in just a couple of days one of those kids might be growing inside me but wouldn’t it be wonderful if they’re at least twins?
Either way, I’m hoping for a Christmas miracle.
Dreaming about my future sounds amazing but I stop myself because I’ve no idea where I’m at and if I’m safe. I push myself up and sit on the bed trying to see if I recognize the place, but I don’t. There’s a note on the nightstand.
I read it a couple of times. Who is SA and since when do I go home with strangers?
There’s no phone in the room. I look around and other than guy’s clothing in the closet it doesn’t have any personal items. Do color pencils and charcoals count?
Taking a shower sounds like a good idea. I lock the bedroom’s door from the inside while I try to find something around that tells me who owns this place.
I don’t find anything. It’s like whoever owns it is an art aficionado. When I enter the bathroom, I’m impressed. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options where I can regulate the water temperature, pressure, and direction. There’s even a massage option.
This isn’t my finest moment. Nothing will top this shit. Not that anyone will find out what happened to me. Nope.
I can hear Alex saying, “Remember that time Junie almost froze to death trying to avoid us?”
He can be so irritating. I hate when he calls me Junie. As if he’s much older. We’re only eleven months apart.
After I’m done showering, I turn off the water, grab a towel, and step out on the mat. The floors feel warm. My body isn’t numb anymore, actually, I feel rested.
I finally take a better look at the luxurious bathroom. The white and black tile on the walls is elegant. Very classy. The shower is huge. I could practice barre or yoga before a shower if I wanted to.
I step into the bedroom and look at the clothes SA left on the credenza. The sweats and the long-sleeve T-shirt are a few sizes bigger than mine but they’re warm and comfortable. There’s also a pair of fuzzy socks. They’re soft and will do the job to warm my feet.
After I dress, the masculine scent becomes stronger. Whatever fragrance SA uses is rich, sexy, and sensual. Musk, cedar wood, a hint of sandalwood, and … something else. I hug the clothes, feeling different. Warmer that’s for sure.
They remind me so much of … my eyes widen when I spot a set of origami flowers laying on the nightstand. It’s the same guy from that night, but how?
My pulse accelerates. Not sure if it’s sheer panic because I can’t remember last night or anxiety because I’m seeing him again.
Going back into the bathroom, I find a brush inside the drawers and a hairdryer. This guy is ready for visitors because there’re baby products too. My heart skips a beat as I think about babies and children. They are the reason my heart is breaking and I’m not thinking straight.
God, what was I thinking yesterday?
Once I’m mentally prepared to face him, I need to know how I arrived here and what happened to me. This is worse than getting drunk and why am I not anxious and worried?
I head downstairs but stop in the middle of the staircase when I spot him. He’s in the living room. One hand holding a phone and the other combing his hair as he paces. Taking a better look at him, I realize it wasn’t a dream. The guy rescued me last night.
He’s still hot as fuck. His hair is brown, tousled, in need of a good haircut. His green eyes find mine and he grins at me. That smirk steals my breath away and makes my heart skip a beat.
The entire night we spent together replays inside my head. His searing kisses, the way his hands touched me. I had no idea that I’ve missed him. But I definitely want a repeat, not that I should. I’m not even sure why I have all these unknown emotions suddenly sprouting.
It was supposed to be just a once in a lifetime thing between us.
Why is he back in my life? And why am I here?
Chapter Eleven
June
“I’ll call you later,” he says to whoever is on the other side of the line and swipes the screen before he speaks to me. “How are you feeling?”
His voice is low, rough, and it slides through my ears like smooth bourbon. I could use a repeat of that night, but it won’t happen. It’s better if I stay away from him. Focusing on the now, I ask some of the questions I have.
“Where am I, and how did I get here?”
He takes a deep breath. “You were sitting on the porch of my rental house, freezing, and I’d say hallucinating. Almost unconscious. I brought you here to make sure you were okay.”
“You undressed me!” I accuse him.
He lifts his arms in surrender. “Just to warm you up, my bodyguard who is a former Navy SEAL and a paramedic knows what to do in cases of hypothermia and I just followed his instructions. Nothing happened though, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m pissed at him and myself. “Why not take me to the nearest hospital?”
He points to a large window that takes over the entire wall. We’re definitely in a building but I can’t see much outside, other than the big snowflakes falling down.
“It’s still snowing,” I say the obvious.
“Because of the blizzard,” he answers. “We were closer to my penthouse than any hospital. It was the logical thing to do.”
I have the feeling that there’s more to what he wants to say but I let it go. Because there’re a lot more questions I need to ask. Like … “How did you know where to find me?”
He exhales loudly. “I own the house you’re renting—and the Art of Real-State.” He smirks. “I had no idea when I first met you. Coincidentally, the next morning your background check arrived, and I realized you were the same person.”
“You canceled,” I interrupt. “You fucking asshole. I wanted to see the house and you … you’re unprofessional.”
“I gave you a free month.” He smirks and I hate that it’s so charming I can’t keep the anger at bay. “Listen, I thought it’d be best not to see each other. I wanted to keep things simple and … obviously I couldn’t. That’s why I sent you the email saying see you tomorrow. As soon as I was done with work, I went to meet you, and on my way to the house, I got your voicemail.”
He walks toward the kitchen which is big and too equipped for a single guy. What if he’s … I look at the socks I’m wearing. They’re clearly women’s socks. I should leave, I have a feeling that staying here any longer is going to end up in disaster.
“Here,” he says, marching back to the bottom of the staircase and offering me a mug. “It’s Earl Grey tea. I only drink coffee but have some bags in case my brother and sister-in-law visit.”
I look at the socks and lift one foot. “Hers?”
“Part of her Christmas present. They’re new and now yours,” he clarifies.
Okay, so he’s not married. June, don’t get any ideas. He’s hot but stay away from him. With a sigh, I go all the way downstairs and grab the mug. I take a sip of the tea. It’s not too hot or too cold. It’s bitter but not as much as black coffee.
When I look up at him, I wonder what I should do and most of all, how did I get myself into this mess? I’m not going to stay at his house. Not after finding out he owns it. I’ll demand my money back. But then what am I supposed to do?
“This is a disaster,” I confess. “Nothing has gone as planned, you know.”
“Planning is overrated,” he says casually.
“What are you talking about? The only way to make sure everything works properly is by planning. If not, look at what happens.”
He laughs. Even when his laugh is throaty, rich, and so hot that my body becomes too aware of him, I frown.
Control your urges, Juniper!
“You’re one of those,” he declares, and he sounds somehow disappointed. “How many journals do you have? I bet you use different calendars and color code every item on your list. Just like your clothes, meals, and activities. Well, planning didn’t work, did it? You almost froze.”
My ears heat up and I glare at him. “You don’t know me,” I protest.
He doesn’t understand that if I didn’t orchestrate my life, everything would be a string of disasters. Didn’t he listen to my airport story a couple of weeks ago?
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges me.
“It’s so not the point,” I argue because he won’t know why I do what I do. “We just met. So, what if I plan every minute of my day? Having a routine and knowing what to expect is helpful.”
He laughs again. “That’s not living.”
“Says you, because you’re what, an expert on life? The Dalai Lama of Colorado so to speak?”
He smirks. “No, but I know him. D and I are on the same level.” He winks at me. “He’s cool, you know. Not uptight. He’d tell you to chill and learn to experience life, not to structure it.”
“In those words? Ha!” I roll my eyes.
He shakes his head. “He doesn’t speak much, but I learned from him to enjoy the moment and learn to appreciate what I have.”
It’s not possible, is it? To know the Dalai Lama. I mean. He … who is this guy?
I look around his penthouse. The place is different from any apartment I’ve ever visited. Seriously, where am I? It’s not a bachelor pad, more like the museum of modern art. There’s no leather couch, big screen, pool table, or wine fridge filled with beers.
Nope, this one has a long couch, the fireplace. Oils hanging on the walls, sculptures on stands or just standing because they’re big. There’s a dog bed, dog toys, and clothes all over the floor. This looks like a mix between a gallery, a bachelor pad, a doghouse, and a teenager’s room.
He needs a cleaning crew. Where’s the dog?
I get closer to the art on the wall and I discover something interesting. “Sterling,” I say out loud and turn around.
Okay, so this guy is loaded if he has at least three paintings from the famous artist Sterling. His art is expensive. I’ve had a couple of clients asking me to get them some specific pieces from this guy and it’s almost impossible to get through to his assistant and even when you do, the answer is always the same, “check the website. Only those pieces are for sale.”
“You know him?”
I shrug. “Kind of. Not in person. I figure he’s some sixty-year-old guy who’s swimming in money because his pieces are expensive.”
“Never googled him?”
I shake my head. “I have enough with my clients to be dealing with others.”
“Others?” he asks, and I look at him.
He’s holding a bowl and his left brow is arched. “What does that mean by others?”
I wave my hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Instead of talking shit about a pompous guy who thinks he’s Auguste Rodin or Michelangelo, I decide to change the subject.
“So, when can I occupy the house?” I ask.
He lifts the bowl and says, “Here, have some soup.”
“Soup at this time?” I ask, a little confused by his offer. “It’s …”
“Almost noon,” he answers. “Lunchtime. Look, I understand this isn’t part of your life plan, however, there’s not much we can do. Everything is closed.”
“Maybe I should just call my brothers, one of them is bound to live close by,” I say, not knowing where I am.
“Where do they live?”
I start looking for my phone. “Where is my phone?”
“Beck took it, it was dead and soaking wet,” he answers.
Well, how am I supposed to get out of here?
Chapter Twelve
Sterling
“At least eat your soup.” I point at the bowl. “When was the last time you ate?”
She takes a seat and her head falls slightly as she slumps her shoulders.
“Umm … my brother Jason lives close to the mountains and Jack owns a house located in one of the ritzy neighborhoods. Actually, it’s not too far away from the rental. Like a ten, fifteen-minute drive? It’s in what I call pretty lane street.”
I can’t help but laugh at the description of where her brother lives. She might be uptight but she’s still funny.
The cute pout and glare she’s giving me make me want to kiss her. Her voice between amusement and anger is just delicious. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not exactly, but it’s kind of funny the way you describe your brother’s house. There’s no such thing as Pretty Lane Street.”
“Well, I call it that because all the houses in the area are beautiful.”
Who the hell is this chick?
“The storm is coming down hard. You’re safe here and your brothers are better off staying at home. Once the storm is over, my bodyguard will get your car and you can call your family,” I suggest.
She yawns and closes her eyes. “Thank you, this … I just—”
“Drove in the middle of the storm and you weren’t sure what to do when you arrived at the property. It was cold, you were alone and frightened,” I finish her sentence. “I’m glad you’re here, and that I was able to reach you in time.”
She rubs one arm and looks at the table. “That’s not what I was going to say but yeah. How did you know I was scared?”
“Because listening to your voice mail terrified the fuck out of me,” I answer. “When I found you, I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was thankful to have Beck. He knows what to do in case of emergencies. I bet you were a thousand times more.”
She twists her lips and asks, “Why would you be scared?”
“Well, you were too cold and unresponsive. For a moment, I thought I might lose you.” I take a deep breath because it wasn’t a pleasant moment. “It was fucking frightening. I’m guessing when you found yourself alone in the middle of the storm it was bad. I wish I had been there sooner.”
