Page 51 of The Arrogant One
I smiled. “Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know,” he growled.
“You’re telling me you can’t go a few hours without touching me?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. I’m fucking dying right now, Sadie. All I want to do is pull you against me and hold you in my arms and press my lips to yours.”
Deep within me, I was swooning, but I said, “You’ll get to,” and I tapped the air as though it were his chest. “Just not yet.” I waited. “Do we have a deal?”
It took several seconds, but he finally moved back a few inches. “Yes. Now, come in.”
I stepped into the foyer, and my stare immediately rose to the tall ceiling and heavy metal lighting and lowered to the artwork and the black floor beneath my feet. “Gosh, it’s even more beautiful on the inside.”
“You and my home have that in common.” Our eyes caught, and he grinned. “I’ll give you the quick tour.” He took my overnight bag off my arm, hung it on his, and pointed at the doorway we were approaching. “Home office is in there, where I try to spend the least amount of time, but the motherfucker sucks me in.”
I huffed. “I know that feeling.”
I took a quick peek at the black wooden desk and the accolades that were hanging—words too small for me to read—but what I did see was the large letter on the wall behind his chair. A giantW, made of what appeared to be metal and paintedblack.Wfor Wright. It made perfect sense. I could feel his gaze on me before I even glanced in his direction.
“Sexy office,” I told him.
He chuckled. “We will christen that desk—mark my words.”
“I have no doubt.”
I followed him into the living room and kitchen, spaces that were completely open, dripping in masculinity through texture and color and feel. Hues I wouldn’t have picked due to their hard edginess, but they were still designs and shades I was obsessed with.
“Did you build this house?”
He set the dish on the counter and placed my bag on one of the chairs and turned toward me. “I did. It was a hell of a process, too, knocking down the previous house that had been here and starting fresh.”
“You didn’t design all of this, did you?”
“I worked with an architect, a contractor, and an interior designer.” He moved closer, but not within reach. “I didn’t just tell them to do their thing. I have a strong opinion when it comes to the places I live. I don’t like frills. Fluff. And I don’t like a fucking mess of shit where there’s something on top of everything. I need my shit tight and clean and preferably very cold.”
“You’re the warmth in this space. You don’t need the structure or filler doing that for you.”
“An interesting way to look at it.”
I continued to study the room. “And the view—that’s full of heat as well.” I glanced back at him after consuming layers of the canyon and the homes that sat within it. “I’m assuming that’s the reason for all the glass?” It was everywhere; although this wasn’t a greenhouse in a sense, it gave that feeling—at least from in here.
“The view is what sold me on the lot. I wanted to be able to see it from anywhere inside this house. Walls are to block things out. Up here, I want to let it all in.”
I hugged my stomach. “I agree. Why waste something so breathtaking?”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s funny, my sister said the same thing when I showed her the blueprints.”
“Knowing how women think, I would say every date you’ve ever brought up here said the same.”
He shook his head. “You’re the first to see it.”
“Because you just moved in?” My brows rose.
“Because I don’t bring women into my home. Ever.”
I let those words simmer.
They shouldn’t come as a shock. He was a one-night-stand kind of guy. Men like that didn’t bring women home; they didn’t want their address and whereabouts to be known, and inviting them in would be revealing far too much privacy.
