“I’ll have to give you a proper tour, then.”
My stomach flips at the thought of this powerful, rich man giving me a private tour of his domain as he gives me those lustful looks that I can’t miss. I wonder what it would be like to walk along the beach with him barefoot, with the wind in my hair. I can’t help but stare at the tattoos on his hands, leading up under his suit jacket. He has short, roughly cropped black hair and appears to be around 7 feet tall. I can’t tell, but this man is one hunk of a CEO, and I can’t help but be naturally nervous, unable to speak.
We turn off the main road onto a private drivethat winds uphill through lush tropical foliage. The vegetation gradually parts to reveal a mansion.
My jaw drops as we approach.
The house is massive, a modern masterpiece of glass, stone, and wood that seems to emerge organically from the hillside. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the sunlight, giving glimpses of spacious interiors. Multiple terraces extend from different levels, and an infinity pool gleams at one side, appearing to spill directly into the ocean view beyond.
“Is this... where you live?” I ask, unable to keep the awe from my voice.
Ryker’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Yes. Home sweet home.”
He pulls into a circular driveway and stops the car in front of imposing wooden double doors. Before I can reach for the handle, he’s out of the car and striding around to my side. The door opens, and he extends his hand to help me out.
I stare at his offered hand for a moment, then place my fingers in his. His palm is warm and calloused, his grip firm but not painful as he helps me from the car. I try to step out gracefully, channeling every wealthy woman I’ve ever seen in movies, but my heel catches on the car’s threshold.
I pitch forward with an undignified squeak, bracing for impact with the pavement.
Instead, I collide with a wall of muscle.
Ryker’s arms wrap around me, steadying me against his chest. My hands instinctively flatten against his torso, and I can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my palm.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair.
I look up, and time seems to stop. This close, I can see flecks of amber in his dark eyes, can count the stubble along his jawline. His scent envelops me. It’s not a regular cologne. He smells like coconut, and it’s alluring to me.
I don’t knowhow he’s emanating this strong scent, but it makes the flutter in my belly worse, and my pussy throb like hell.
“Sorry,” I whisper, unable to look away from his face. “I’m not usually so clumsy. Thanks for catching me.”
“I don’t mind,” he says roughly as his arms tighten a fraction around me. For a wild moment, I think he might kiss me, and even wilder—I think I want him to.
“Okay, thank goodness,” I say, letting out a breathy giggle.
A sound from inside the house breaks the spell. Ryker straightens, releasing me slowly, his hands lingering at my waist as if reluctant to let go.
“Let’s get you settled,” he says, his voice back to its commanding tone.
I follow him up the steps to the front door, my legs feeling strangely unsteady.What on earth was that?I’ve never reacted to anyone like that before. It must be stress or the effects of staying a virgin for too long.
A doorman opens the door, and I’m immediately impressed by the extravagance.
As I step inside, I gasp at the soaring ceilings and beautiful silver decor lining the walls. The giant windows show a stunning view of the glittering ocean beyond.
The decor is minimalist, but it obviously looks expensive to me.
“This is the living room. I’ll show you the room that you’ll stay in,” Ryker says, leading me up a silver-lined staircase as my heart pounds like crazy. All this doesn’t feel real to me.
We pass through a hallway lined with abstract art pieces that probably cost more than I’ll make in a lifetime, then stop at a door near the end. Ryker pushes it open and gestures for me to enter first.
The bedroom is larger than John’s entire apartment. A king-sized bed with crisp white sheets sits against one wall, facing another of those incrediblefloor-to-ceiling windows that frame the ocean like a living painting. A seating area with a plush sofa occupies one corner, while a desk and chair sit in another. Two doors lead off the main room. One door leads to what looks like a walk-in closet, the other presumably to a bathroom.
“I’m staying here?” I ask, disbelieving as my voice comes out as a squeak.
“Is it acceptable?”
“It’s bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived,” I admit, then immediately regret revealing so much about my circumstances. My face reddens, but he acts like he didn’t hear what I said.
