Page 86 of Desperate Actions

Santos dips his chin, ever the professional.

“Mrs. Ramirez, a pleasure meeting you.”

He doesn’t stare too long, doesn’t let his gaze linger, and I appreciate that more than I should.

Because apparently, I’m a possessive asshole who doesn’t like other men looking at my woman.

“Should I go in and wait for you?” Aella asks.

I shake my head.

“Stay with me.”

Because I want her by my side, always.

Santos runs down the security updates, listing the new additions to the system, the extra guards rotating shifts per my orders.

It takes four minutes.

But by the time I dismiss him, my palms are itchy, my blood pumping, because I need to get my Pixie inside.

Now.

I usher her to the main entrance, opening the door, leading her through a brief tour of the first floor.

“Want me to show you around?” I ask.

She nods quietly, and just takes everything in—the soaring ceilings, the intricate crown molding, the custom-built bookshelves.

But it’s the kitchen that gets her.

She stops, her fingers trailing over the sleek marble countertops, the state-of-the-art appliances, the enormous island, and the massive double farmhouse sink.

“Wow.”

Her voice is breathless, awed.

“This kitchen is beautiful.”

My soul fucking sings.

Because she likes it.

I know she bakes.

I like to cook, too.

So when I designed this space, I made sure it had everything we’d ever need.

“Does this wall open?” Aella asks, stepping toward the massive set of windows facing the backyard.

I smirk.

“Yeah. It’s too cold to eat outside right now, but check it out.”

I press a button, and the entire glass wall recedes into the structure.

Aella gasps, her hands flying to her mouth as the patio comes into view.

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