I did as he said, stepping out of my heels and leaving them by the door. I padded across the floor, taking it all in. Despite the lack of furniture, the space was inviting. Probably because a slow song played in the background, and the light from the fireplace made the room glow. Otherwise, though, it was empty. And as Hunter had said, it was very white, including the kitchen. The fixtures and finishings were very high-end.
I walked through the entry around to where the space opened up into the living room and kitchen. Thanks to the blueprints, I knew there was a bathroom and utility room on this floor, as well as a guest suite, but my attention was focused on the kitchen.
“Gorgeous.” My voice was full of awe as I trailed my fingers across the huge slab of Calacatta marble. Hunter beamed with pride.
It really was a blank canvas for me to design, and my fingers tingled from the possibilities. And the view—sweet baby Jesus, this house had an amazing view. Despite how giddy I was about furnishing and decorating and plans, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the glittering skyline long enough to consider all the possibilities.
And were those—I stepped closer, looking out on the patio and pool area—candles?
“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the patio. “Let’s eat.”
“You cooked?” I asked, admiring the impressive spread. Cheeses and bread, a beautiful salad, steak with elegantly plated vegetables.
“I wish I could take credit, but I had it delivered from Bouchard’s.”
I glanced between him and the food, my mouth gaping open and closed. “Bouchard’s?” I scoffed. “You’re kidding.”
Bouchard’s was one of the most exclusive, expensive restaurants in LA. It was known for its authentic French cuisine, and if you wanted a reservation, well, good luck. There was a waitlist three years long, and that was no exaggeration.
“Oh, so you just pulled up Uber Eats and ordered dinner from one of the nicest restaurants in the city?” I joked, knowing it was impossible. There was no way a restaurant like Bouchard’s would deliver.
“I figured you’d object to a weekend trip to France. So, I decided to bring France to you.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the delicacies on the table. “You’ll just have to pretend Griffith Observatory is the Eiffel Tower.”
My mouth dropped open, and I stared at him for a moment. He was serious. And if he was trying to impress me, it was working. It wasn’t the fact that it was an expensive meal from an exclusive restaurant. It was the fact that he’d listened to me. He’d not only paid attention, but he’d ordered French food because he knew I dreamed of visiting France.
It was a little cheesy—okay, a lot cheesy—which surprised me. But I secretly kind of loved it.
“So—” I waited as he pulled out a chair for me. “How on earth did you pull this off?”
I eyed the food hungrily, not even sure where I wanted to start. The delicious cheese and bread platter was calling my name, as was the wine.
He lifted the decanter, pouring some of the red liquid into my glass. “Nothing’s impossible when you’re determined.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I sensed he was referring more to his intentions toward me than securing dinner from Bouchard’s. “And not everything can be bought.”
A look of surprise flashed through his eyes so quickly, I almost thought I’d imagined it. I was going to respond, but then I took a bite of the bread topped with fig spread and cheese, and I moaned.
“Wow. This is amazing.”
He chuckled. “This is the first course, but I have my eyes on dessert.”
And the way he was looking at me told me he wanted to eat me for dessert. My core flooded with heat, the sensation spreading throughout my body and flowing over my skin.
“I think you selected some great pieces today,” I said, needing to change the subject. I used my napkin to dab at the corner of my mouth. “And now that I’ve seen your place, I have an even better idea of what to look for.”
He nodded, leaning forward with a mischievous look in his eyes. “But you haven’t even seen everything I want to show you yet.”
“True.” I took a sip of my wine, letting the velvety flavors roll over my tongue. It was delicious. “I have a number of measurements I need to take.”
“Mm. There’s only one measurement you need to know, and I’m sure you already have a pretty good guess based on the magnums.”
I swallowed down the rest of my wine in one gulp, nearly choking on it.Wow. Ballsy.He was attacking from all sides—turning on the charm and busting out the dirty talk. At this rate, I didn’t know how long I would survive without combusting. My underwear was already soaked.
“How do I know those weren’t for someone else?” I asked, setting down my glass. “I mean, those tampons obviously weren’t for you.”
He chuckled as he cut into his steak. “The tampons were for my sister, but the condoms were definitely mine.”
I melted a little, knowing he’d bought tampons for his sister. I decided to ignore the reminder of his size. I needed to get things back on track. We were trying. Or, at least, I was trying, and he was mostly resisting.
