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“Come in,” I tell her. “It’s even better from the deck.”
I unlock the door and hold it open for her, and she walks inside. I follow her in and lead her through the lobby, then into the main living room. It’s strange having someone else in the house with me. I’m so glad the first person to come here is her.
She inhales as she walks past the black leather sofa and recliners, past the dining area and the huge kitchen, and over to the far wall, which is all glass, overlooking the ocean.
I undo the sliding doors and pull them all the way back, and she goes out onto the deck. The view is absolutely magnificent. The breeze tugs strands of hair from her bun, but the air is warm, and the smell of the ocean mixes with the jasmine growing in my garden, the amazing scent of summer.
I love this view, but I can’t take my eyes off her. I’ve pictured bringing her here so often, but I never thought it would actually happen.
Her gaze comes back to me, and she smiles. Then her brows draw together, and she reaches out and strokes my cheek. “You’re covered in blood.”
“I’ll go and clean myself up,” I say. “Give me a minute.” She nods, and I walk back into the living room. “Make yourself a drink if you want,” I call out. “Or I’ll make us one… whatever.” I stride toward my bedroom, cursing under my breath. Pull yourself together, dude.
I go straight through to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Christ, it’s a good job the police didn’t stop me on the way home—I look as if I’ve committed murder. I switch on the shower, strip off, and take thirty seconds to scrub myself clean, then come out, dry myself, and put on clean track pants and a tee, all in the space of about five minutes.
When I walk out, barefoot, hair still wet, she’s just boiled the kettle, and she’s pouring hot water into two cups.
“You have fruit tea,” she says. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I’m civilized,” I protest.
She laughs, squeezes both the bags, and takes them out. “Where’s the rubbish bin?”
“Over there.”
She disposes of the bags and stirs the teas. “Mum said I should limit my coffee intake, and I’ve already had one cup this morning.” She pushes one mug over to me. I take it, not caring what’s in it. She made it for me, and I love it already.
We sip our tea, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching each other. Then we both start laughing.
“I didn’t expect this,” she says. “I thought you’d have carried me off to bed over your shoulder like a firefighter.”
I smile. “It’s only nine thirty. We’ve got all day.”
She gives a delightful giggle. Then she says, “Will you show me around?”
“Sure.”
“This kitchen is gorgeous.”
“The chef loves it,” I say, and grin when she laughs.
“Do you never cook?” she scolds.
“Nope. Far better things to do than that.”
She opens a few cupboards, looks in the fridge, murmurs approvingly at the sight of champagne, then sighs as she obviously realizes she’s going to have to limit her alcohol intake, too.
She follows me into the living room. “A PlayStation and an Xbox.”
“All the mod cons.”
“I like the dining suite. Did you have an interior designer?”
“No, it’s all my choice. I quite like furniture shopping.”
She smiles, and we slowly walk across the room, sipping our tea.
We go into the corridor leading to the rest of the house, and I show her the gym, the laundry room, the spare bedrooms, and the main bathroom, with its amazing sunken bath that overlooks the ocean.
