Page 7 of Brooke
Sometimes Brooke missed her at night. Before, when they’d all been sleeping at Nanine’s house over the restaurant, she used to knock on Thea’s door. But now her friend didn’t live with them full-time and they weren’t at Nanine’s, but in this fabulous house Kyle had bought for PRG. While she adored it and the space it gave her with every fiber of herbeing, she did miss the close confines of Nanine’s house sometimes.
“Hey!”She turned with everyone else to see Sawyer standing in the doorway, wearing his paint clothes and a disgruntled expression. “The buzzer rang. We need to install the call box in the kitchen since none of you heard it. I was on my way to myatelierto paint. We have a visitor. The one you told us to expect unexpectedly, Brooke.”
Her whole frame froze. No, no, no, no! Not now. Notthisunexpected!
She’d written Axel into her day planner from ten to four o’clock all week; she’d never imagined he’d show up at nine thirty. This was Paris! She grabbed another dish towel and patted her bangs hastily. Dean gave her a knowing smirk as she threw aside the towel, straightened her shoulders, and prepared to face their guest.
Axel Erikson appeared behind Sawyer, filling the space like the giant he was at six-seven.
She put her hand on the counter when she swayed in shock. She’d seen photos, of course—Brooke was a woman who did her research—but there was no preparing for the man himself.
God, even in a tailored suit, he had shoulders like a lumberjack. He looked like he cut down logs in a Nordic forest, hauled them to a cabin by a glacier-fed lake, and then made them into the rough-hewn furniture he was famous for.
She could imagine him making a fire—without matches!—and sitting on a freshly cut stump as the greens and magentas of the Aurora Borealis highlighted the carved angles of his massive jaw, wide brow, and deep-set eyes.
Those gorgeous glacier blue eyes met hers and held. Her knees turned weak, making her grip the counter more firmly. He’d hunt for his food, maybe make friends with a wolf because they understood each other. Heck, he probably wrestled with grizzly bears for fun.
Silent. Strong. Self-sufficient.
That was the towering man before her. She’d bet he didn’t merely walk. He would hike with those powerfully muscled legs, his carriage always upright, scanning the horizon for some new decorating or landscaping idea.
Her gaze took in his massive chest, her mouth going dry at its sheer expanse. He would have hair on that gorgeous chest under that perfectly ironed white shirt. Because no esthetician would consent to wax the most perfect masculine chest in history. It would be a disgrace. Like dismantling the Eiffel Tower, something they’d planned to do after the World’s Fair in 1909.
His mouth still hadn’t moved. Neither of them had said anything, and it had probably gone on for a long time now. Too long? Or was all of this happening in an instant? She couldn’t tell, and her imagination wasn’t done with him.
Not when it felt like he was looking straight at her.
He probably tasted like mountain spring water, she decided, and his smell would be of the forest. Earthy with a touch of pine. She wanted to sniff him and find out, but her insane perusal continued, as if she were having an out-of-body experience.
His large hands hung by his sides, huge and strong, like he could shape mountain peaks with his fists and part rock faces to bring forth rivers.
Still, silence.
Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. His glance left her and took in the space around him. He wasn’t aloof, she decided. He was an observer. His entire countenance was taking everything in as those quiet moments passed. She wondered what he was seeing.
He had the power to make sense of a space and transform it into pure artistry, unlike anyone else in the world.
Suddenly all she could hear was water running in thekitchen. No one else was moving either, she realized. They were all just standing there, waiting for the master to speak.
She’d prepared herself for him to be quiet and stoic, having heard how much he valued calm and space on a job. Rumor had it he didn’t respond to calls or emails until he finished his concept, something she respected. Axel Erikson was known for being a visionary in interior design. He suffered no fools.
And yet…his Viking features were suddenly anything but stoic. Amusement tugged at his lips and spread into a spellbinding smile.He had a sense of humor?
No one had mentioned he had a sense of humor. No one!
Her knees gave another full-on tremble. She hadn’t been prepared for this side of him. All her research had provided her with a certain picture of a man, and he wasn’t meeting it. Right off the bat. Her insides might as well have been falling off the proverbial cliff.
Brooke Adams had not properly prepared for the biggest moment of her life.
Someone cleared their throat—Kyle?—but it didn’t spur their visitor to speak.
That was fine with her. Her eyes were devouring his form and taking in more details as her heart continued to thunder in her chest. He looked very polished in an ice blue Armani suit with a white dress shirt that suited his cool skin tone, riveting blue eyes, and short-clipped blond hair.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that he very much looked like her Viking fantasy man, Ivar, the one she imagined to, err… Get her sexy on. A rare bolt of heat seared her cheeks. God, she shouldn’t be thinking that.
Only her heart didn’t seem to care. No, her excited heart decided to play with matches and start a fire she didn’t know how to snuff out. Her entire body blazed with heat as Axel’s gaze returned to her. He stared back at her, his eyes as clearblue as glacier ice. But they weren’t cold. No, they seemed expansive and cleansing somehow.
Okay, she was really losing her mind now. As a last resort, she dug her fingernails into her palms as the stare-down between them continued.
