Page 46 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

When we’re done in the hills, he doesn’t head back to my place. He takes us west through town toward The Flats at the base of Beverly Hills. We pull up at a large gray metal gate and wait for it to slide open. Tall walls of the same color surround the property with trees reaching high above. A gravel driveway deposits us in a courtyard, surrounded by a tall stone building, which is also gray. It stands two stories high, and there are no windows on the street side. Just the large glass front doors and an abundance of wisteria vines.

If a modern-day fairy-tale prince turned grumpy beast were looking to relocate, this would be the place. No questions asked.

He turns off the engine and takes off his helmet. The sudden quiet seems to match this mansion looming over me. It’s a mood.

“Quite a fortress,” I say in a small voice. “Where are we?”

“My home.”

“Okay.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“I have no idea.”

He holds out a hand to help me dismount. Gravel crunches beneath my black ankle boots, breaking the silence. Then an insect chirps and a bird sings. Soon this is followed by the distant hum of traffic. We are, after all, still in the city.

“What did you think of the ride?” he asks, climbing off the bike.

“I loved it.” I grin. “Though I think I swallowed a bug.”

“Extra protein. Good work.”

“Thanks.”

“Come inside,” he says, nodding to the large glass door surrounded by a cool aged steel frame.

“You’re inviting me into your sanctuary?”

“You don’t want us being seen together by the press. Eating here seemed like a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea.”

He flashes me a smile. There and gone in an instant. One day he’s going to smile for long enough to get used to the feel of the thing. What a day that will be. Showing me his home seems to suggest a new level of trust between us, which is nice. He unlocks the front door and disables the security system of the huge and silent house. It’s an interesting mix of industrial and luxe, with gray concrete walls and dark wood floors. The only sound is the echo of our footsteps.

“Can I take your jacket?” he asks.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t hesitate. I undo the zipper and his hands are there, reaching around from behind me. The backs of his fingers graze against the thin material of my tee, sending a shiver through me. Everything low in me clenches. This is ridiculous, what with all the time spent on the bike pressed up against him. I wouldn’t blame his new lady friend if she hated me. I get so messy around this man. He makes every moment feel momentous. It sure puts my average attraction and affection for Josh in its place. Which would be the trash. No one should settle when it comes to love or lust.

Alistair takes the jacket and hangs it on a rack beside his own. I can only hope he didn’t feel my reaction. My body needs to calm the hell down.

“How high are these ceilings?” I ask, to distract myself.

“Sixteen feet.”

“Wow.”

He hangs back, watching my face with interest as I look around, obviously proud of the place. Which he should be. Him wanting me to like his home makes all the warm feelings rush to the surface. The non-horny ones for a change.

The entryway opens onto a sprawling combined living-and-dining space. Floor-to-ceiling windows look onto a back patio with more wisteria wrapped around pillars, the green of a lawn, and the blue of a pool beyond. In the seating area, a flat-screen the size of California hangs above a large fireplace. There’s not much furniture—just a long white sofa (always a brave color) and an antique wood dining table with a dozen or so seats. A couple of boxes sit in a corner, along with several large unframed paintings. The only real hint of personality is a gaming unit sitting on the floor beneath the TV. It feels like more than a strict dedication to a minimal decorating style. Alistair just is this buttoned-down and hidden from view.

“It was built in the sixties by a gallery owner,” he says. “She wanted to be close to everything but still be able to lock out the world and have total privacy.”

“I can see how that would appeal to you. This place must have been beautiful when it was full of pictures.”

“I have some pieces I keep meaning to hang,” he says, nodding to the collection of boxes in the corner. “Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

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