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Her nerves settled back a bit as she took in the beauty around her. “Is this your home?”
“Sure is. Would you like to see more, angel?” Phoenix looked at her intently.
Wanting to get a peek at the inside, she couldn’t resist his offer. “Yes, but we need to hurry.”
She didn’t wait for him to open the truck door. Instead, she slid to the right and exited the vehicle. Phoenix was out of the truck’s cab and by her side in a flash. He put his arm around her shoulders. He wasn’t like the men she’d known in New York or DC with their modern sense of how to treat a woman. Not Phoenix. His manner was of a former era where women were spoiled rotten, cherished, and protected. She leaned into his powerful body and released a relaxed breath.
He stated softly, “I can’t wait to hear what your opinion is of my place, sweetheart.”
Jessie took in the sights, sounds, and smells. Everything looked soft and dreamy with wildflowers, trees, shrubs, and visible distant snowcapped peaks of the Jarbridge Mountains. The tones that found her ear were light and harmonious with birds chirping and the tinkling of the water in the creek moving over rocks. The air smelled so clean, with the aromas of the recent misty rain that paired beautifully with Phoenix’s scent of leather and forest.
“Show me.”
“You got it.”
Walking up to the front of the home, one had to appreciate the mastery of geometric design. Being made of glass, the front door could’ve been on any number of ultramodern skyscrapers in New York. Phoenix opened it and motioned her to enter.
The entire building epitomized the open-concept plan. Kitchen, living room, and bedroom flowed together into one contiguous form. Three sides of the house had floor-to-ceiling glass walls, providing an uninterrupted view of the beauty outside. The interior was simple but aesthetically pleasing.
“How do you like my house, angel?”
“Very much. It’s radically different from Jackson’s place.” It made sense to her as a kind of extension of Phoenix’s personality. So serious and intense. “You actually built this yourself?”
“I did, all fifteen hundred square feet of it.”
She’d learned a few days ago from Phoenix and Jackson that the Wilde brothers were each given some land to build on when they turned sixteen. At eighteen, they were expected to move into it, kind of a rite of passage in their family.
The two houses she’d seen so far impressed her beyond measure. Phoenix had the talent to be an architect. His choice of materials for the interior softened the place, creating a comfortable retreat. When her eye settled on three bronze sculptures, she gasped. They were lit perfectly, highlighting their unique sweeping forms. Must have cost him a fortune.
“Those are beautiful, Phoenix.” She turned to face him.
“Thanks.” He stared at the sculptures with pride.
“Where did you get them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think of Wilde, Nevada, as having artists that can create something like this.”
“You’re wrong. My town has more to offer than you can imagine.” He pointed to the one in the middle, a silver metal cube about three feet in height, width, and depth. “What do you think of that one? It’s the newest in my collection.”
Its form looked exquisite, perfect even, except for the jagged hole that ran through its metal core. The piece appeared evenly balanced between smooth on the exterior and rough in the interior. Clearly, the creator had shaped it with an intentional dichotomy in mind. Amazing.
“So who is the artist? Do they have a gallery here? I want to meet them.”
He shrugged. “You’re looking at him.”
Her jaw dropped. “You?”
“Afraid so. Kind of a hobby of mine.”
“Some hobby. It’s beautiful. They all are. Does this one have a title?” Artistic talent had always been a turn-on to her. With it embodied in such a hunky cowboy, oh, my God!
“Flawed Box.”
“I love it. You’re so talented.” Her heartbeats sped up and her temperature rose. “I know some art gallery owners in Manhattan that would die to see your work. Do you have more? If you’ll let me, I’ll call—”
Phoenix grabbed her, planted his mouth on hers. His lips felt both tender and demanding. Her toes curled, and her nerve endings fired. Sure, the man could sculpt, but compared to his kiss, the pieces might as well have been uncooked macaroni glued to paper. His kiss was devastating. When his tongue shot into her mouth, heat welled up in her. Her body melted into his. The kiss went on and on, and cravings swept through her.
