Page 52 of The Innovator

“Yes.”

I’d been thinking about her while buying necessities at the local market for my much-needed vacation. So when I returned from my shopping trip and noticed her car, I thought it was a hallucination. This woman had visited me in dreams and every time I had a private moment, so I wasn’t surprised if I had hallucinated.

The mounting workload, the bodyguard’s death, my indecision on visiting Derek, and this urgent need for Natalie . . . Too much was going on, and I couldn’t trust my thoughts.

I needed solitude to think. The Fortress was my place to recharge. To see her appreciating my personal space and mesmerized by my tree house did something peculiar to me. The needle inside my inner compass shifted toward her.

Though the shift was subtle, it was noticeable to me.

She was a spark of newness—an ember in the dark thrumming with potential—an idea that hadn’t fully formed yet, but I sensed its power. I’d felt this force many times when I’d been immersed in the zone of creation. I didn’t know why, but seeing Natalie admiring my work ignited the ember in me.

Her presence transformed the energy of the place. What had once been quiet and simple had become more vivid. The flowers were brighter, the air seemed cleaner, the birds sang louder. I sounded like an idiot, but I didn’t care. It was like designing a room in a house that suddenly offered a new purpose than originally planned. That was the only logical explanation I could come up with.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, admiring her minimal clothing of shorts and a tank top. There was so much exposed skin for my curious eyes.

“What areyoudoing here, McDimple?” she asked, lifting her chin with a slight defiance that made me want to grip it for a closer examination.

I could have told her this was my property and moved on, but that twinkle in her eyes and the way she addressed me motivated me to hold back.

When I didn’t reply, her lips twisted into a wry grin. “Don’t tell me you’re stalking me. There are laws against that kind of thing, you know.”

Desire swelled in my shorts from her challenging smile. I escaped the city—and her—to come here, but it seemed the universe had a different plan for me. Was this fate forcing me to decide? We had a bet going on, and I’d been so close to losing it by kissing her.

To an outsider, the bet may have appeared silly and inconsequential, but to me, it was paramount. I wanted this woman, and for me to hold back this long without having her said something about me—she affected me like no one else. She could control me by not controlling me. That made no sense, but it was how I felt. She didn’t force me to do anything, and yet I’d been stretching out this challenge longer than necessary. Did I fear that once I kissed her, I’d no longer have a link to her? It was a stupid concern, but I couldn’t help the vulnerability that whispered I wouldn’t be the same man after one night with her.

Once again, fear kept me at bay, but I couldn’t resist this powerful attraction to her.

Natalie fascinated me like a design concept I’d never encountered.

I stepped closer, looking down at her beautiful face. “It’s more like you’re stalking me. After all, this is my property. You’re trespassing. I should call the authorities.”

Her mouth dropped open. “This . . .thisplace isyours?”

“Yup. Built four years ago. I was part of the construction team.”

“You mean, you didn’t just design the tree house but youbuiltit with your hands?” She walked up to the front door and ran her fingers down the wooden beams supporting the intricate portico. Her fingers traced the length of the wooden beam, and a tingle ran down my cock as though her fingers were on it.

I stepped onto the porch, placing my hand on the support beam just above hers. “This is my sanctuary, my personal space, so I put in the sweat and labor. There was no deadline, so I worked on it whenever I could.”

Her pretty pink lips formed into a slight pout, and the memory of our powerful kiss surfaced. I’d been desperate for her mouth, and I wasn’t sure if I’d survive the next few days with her near me.

“I’ve only met architects who designed but stayed away from the hard labor.” She glanced up at the metal accents around the porch.

“That depends on availability and what the building means to the architect. I don’t usually have time to take part in the construction, nor do I want to. There are skilled men and women who are better at it. But to be a brilliant designer, you must understand how the pieces connect, how they come together. You become the creator externally and internally.”

What the hell are you talking about, Grayson?

I hadn’t spoken with depth in a long time, and I wasn’t giving a speech at some conference regarding my designs. This was her influence on me. Grayson Wu had been a man who saw things with depth, but then he found it easier to skim the surface. Digging deep meant stirring up unwanted memories. Who wanted dirt and debris, anyway?

Her curious blue eyes warmed on me. Something about Natalie made me feel at ease. I was a bundle of chaos, but meeting her here had rocketed me into a whole new galaxy, an unfamiliar territory that terrified and fascinated me.

She broke the gaze and looked at the wall, the floor, and the front door. “A great designer is one who can speak and understand his masterpiece. And you can only understand when you immerse yourself in its journey, right?” She gestured to the surrounding plants. “A gardener who plants seeds without gloves knows the true meaning of growth. He knows the textures, the scent, and the softness of the soil when water is added, the sound of tiny pebbles grinding together, the warmth of sunlight baking the surface—all the things the seedlings need to grow. But a gardener who wears gloves loses part of that raw connection. Do you agree?” She looked at me, and my chest tightened at the truth of her words.

That was an artist’s statement. Only an artist, a writer, a creator of things could comprehend the meaning with such eloquence. My eyes slid to her neck, where her pulse thumped against her skin.

Without thinking, I placed my index finger over it. “Creativity is sex with and without a condom. Everyone approaches it differently.” I smiled. “There’s wisdom in sex.”

“There’s wisdom in everything.”

---