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I should’ve guessed it would go to his own personal pier. Several kayaks are tied up there, dwarfed by a ridiculously large yacht.
It’s not nice.
'Nice' is too tepid a word for this place when it’s bursting with class and character with plenty of space to roam around in.
Best of all, it’s not the fifteen-thousand-square-foot castle to one man so many rich people need to show off.
He can’t host a small town with a freaking ballroom like other billionaires Dad knew. This seems like just enough, a comfortable place that feels like a real home for a larger-than-life man.
I’m beyond impressed.
It takes a lot to impress a billionaire’s daughter, but somehow, he’s done it.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
At this point, I shouldexpectShepherd to subvert expectations.
After one last longing look around in the fading light while I rein Mol in, I follow the lights, padding my way to his kitchen.
Of course, it’s enormous. Stylish, too.
The wall tiles are soft earth tones surrounding sleek greenblack cabinets. A hulking island separates us from Shepherd, who stands in front of the range with his shirt sleeves rolled up.
So, he doesn’t just cook when he’s camping.
For a hot minute, all I can do is stare in awe.
I thought the otter trip showed me a generous slice of the real man.
Now, I know it barely scratched the surface.
There’s something about seeing him like this in his home, suit coat and waistcoat gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie discarded.
The top two buttons of his shirt are undone when he turns to face me.
Oh, boy.
My heart does that flippy thing again.
Molly also perks up and chooses that moment to lunge, and the leash slips from my now-loose grasp.
“Shit! Mol, no!” I gasp as my thirty-five-pound dog leaps at Shepherd.
It happens so fast.
I can only watch in breathless horror as he—catches her?
Yep.
Just grabs her and hoists this big, squirming fluffball in his arms, cradling her like a baby as she wiggles with joy and licks his face frantically.
My heart? The one that was fluttering a second ago?
It pretty much melted into jelly at the sight of him smiling slightly in that way he has, weathering her frantic face slurps.
“Welcome to the manor, girl,” he says.
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to the dog and not me.
