Page 111 of Swept for Forever
And the rugs. God, the rugs.
There were at least four, and all of them looked expensive in that I-care-about-textures way. Thick and soft, the kind that begged you to kick your boots off. It was almost funny. Dom, the no-nonsense, sharp-jawed man who could throw a punch with one eye closed, apparently had a thing for fluffy rugs. They took up more square footage than most of the furniture.
He didn’t say much as he led me down the short hallway.
The bedroom was just as spare as the rest of the house. There was a low platform bed with dark sheets and yet another plush rug underfoot. Dom clearly had a personal vendetta against cold floors.
“You and these rugs,” I commented, curling my toes into the plush pile. “Seriously, Dom. You decorating for luxury ski lodge vibes?”
He gave a quiet laugh. “I just like things soft underfoot. That’s all.”
Then he crossed to the closet and pulled the sliding door aside. “I cleared a few shelves and made some hanging space. Figured you might want somewhere to put your stuff.”
I didn’t answer right away. My throat did that annoying, full thing again.
It wasn’t just a closet. It was space for me, thought of in advance.
Then he tapped the wall beside it. “Thinking of knocking this down and making it a walk-in. You know…for all your shoes.”
I laughed. “All three of them?”
He arched a brow. “Three?”
“Sneakers, boots, and one pair of heels that are more decoration than footwear.”
“Let me guess. The red ones you wore to dinner?”
“One of my rare attempts at being a lady.”
“Worked on me,” he said, then shrugged. “I mean, I’m just saying. If you suddenly wanted to stockpile heels, I wouldn’t stand in your way.”
“What, you planning to take me dancing every night?”
“Damn,” he said, grinning. “Why haven’t I thought of that?”
I stared at him. All six-foot-something of casually sexy, furniture-minimalist, dance-plotting man.
I’d take him to every dinner I could find. Breakfast too. Hell, I’d invent meals just to show him off.
“You can use the ensuite. I’ll take the guest shower,” Dom offered.
“Oh, you go first. I’ll, um, invade your space and put my things out first.”
“Then invade away.” He swept an arm out in exaggerated welcome as he went into the bathroom.
I had a small suitcase filled with my own things this time. Actual clothes. Sure, the souvenir T-shirts were still a staple, but now I had more than just that one pair of hiking pants I kept pretending were versatile. I rolled out my tops, hung up what could be hung, and folded my jeans onto the shelf Dom had cleared.
But that wasn’t the only reason I had asked Dom to take a shower first.
I paused, one hand still resting on a folded tee.
The decision had settled into me on the way back to Buffaloberry Hill. No fireworks. No dramatic epiphany.
I’d been close to him before. Close enough to feel his restraint, and to know he would never push or take more than I offered.
That’s what made me want to give him everything.
When I’d said I’d come prepared, I meant it. And like any girl balancing on the edge of inexperience and curiosity, I’d done the responsible thing. I opened a hundred tabs about how to take a man with, well, generous proportions. Some tips were helpful, while some sounded like I’d need holy water and a chiropractor.
