Chapter 12
IVY
His home is a dream. Pristine.
A two-story mansion like the ones seen on dated episodes ofHomes of the Rich and Famous.
I’m pretty sure a gasp spilled out of my mouth when I walked in a few seconds ago.
Chase sets my suitcases onto the tiled floor. “Um, I’ll give you a quick tour?”
My eyes survey the spacious foyer. “Aquicktour? Chase, by the looks of this house, the tour could last hours.”
“Good thing the evening is still young.”
Leading me through the grand entryway, Chase begins the tour—of what I think should be named Palace Malibu—in an office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a fireplace, and a portion carved out for lounging. “Sometimes I read when I’m trying to purge my mind, free it from anything business-related.”
“Oh, what kind of books do you read?”
“I’m really into sci-fi mysteries and have discovered some cool indie authors along the way. Gotta support those creative entrepreneurs.”
We walk through more chicly decorated spaces, all with a windowed view of the ocean, including the one in the small powder room. We maneuver through a massive area tastefully furnished; the ivory-colored grand piano as its centerpiece makes me picture Chase sitting at the bench, pounding keys. Then a dining room, an elegant living room, and onto a deck, the ocean breeze hitting my face as we step out.
“This is where I come to chill. Sometimes with a glass of wine, other times with a cup of coffee. It’s rather peaceful: the waves, the sound of seagulls’ soothing caws, the crisp air. It’s mood cleansing.”
On the deck I’m speechless, its glass enclosure lending my eyes a colorful array from the sun glistening in the water as it dips below the horizon. The two of us briefly stand, admiring the sun as it sets, a treasured keepsake of how each day begins and ends gracefully.
“All right, let’s see the upstairs.” Chase gently cups my elbow, his touch taking my attention away from the hypnotic view.
Upstairs, the spread is just as dynamic as the floor below: four bedrooms, his master equipped with an ensuite bathroom, a tub the size of a jacuzzi. Then two more, each with its own private bath, and one room, its pink-splattered walls decorated for a teen.
Chase leans on the doorframe. “This one belongs to my sister, Maddie; she visits at least two times a year.”
“It almost reminds me of my room when I was a teen. The color pink never dies.”
He leads me down the hall to a room tucked away in the corner. “This one’s for guests,” he says, palming the door open. I get a glimpse of his bicep, its natural, hunky flex poking out from the short sleeve of his silk shirt.Swoonalicious. “I figured you and BB can crash here for the night, or, there’s also a guesthouse much larger than this, just off the outdoor living room and kitchen.”
BB squirms about in my purse when I walk in, her face popping out, nose on sniff-alert as if she needs to form her personal assessment. I mean, the room is larger than my entire apartment. Queen-sized bed, cozy chair, a mirrored wall, a roomy bathroom, and a floor-to-ceiling view of the ocean. There’s no need for me to be stowed away in a guesthouse. “This spot is perfect for me and BB, thank you.”
A parade of goosebumps march along on my skin when his eyes, piercing and mesmeric, lock on mine. I shiver.
“Are you cold? I can turn on the heater.”
“No, I’m fine actually,” I say, rubbing my arms, an unsuccessful attempt to rid them of the prickled trail of goosebumps.
“Okay then. I’ll bring your bags up, allow you and BB time to get settled.”
Plopping down onto the plush bed, I pull BB out of my purse, let her roam the queen-sized mattress, sniffing to discover a spot she deems suitable to rest. Of course, Little Miss Diva chooses to nestle atop one of the fluffy pillows. Whimpering, she spins round and round until dizzy enough to finally curl up in a little ball. I reach over, pet her fur, taking in the luxury and finesse of this guest room.
Being a fake fiancée to a billionaire apparently comes with perks.
A new wardrobe, a dream pad to crash in, and man candy—the best perk of all.
Chase is delicious. Lovelier than I’ve read about, a complete three-sixty-degree pivot from Stuck-Up Guy my precious BB attacked a couple of days ago.
My heartbeat fluctuates, a circumference of warmth wrapping around my core. If I were to ever catch the love bug, I’d choose a man like Chase Hunter to be the host of that virus.
“Here are your bags.” Chase reenters the room, setting my suitcases down by the closet door.
