Читать книгу The Millionaire's Christmas Wife - Susan Crosby, Susan Crosby - Страница 8

Denise thoroughly enjoyed her drive the next morning up into the gorgeous and green Sierra foothills. The farther away she got from Sacramento, the more her shoulders relaxed, which surprised her. She loved her city life. She had a prosperous business, good friends and a busy social life. She thrived on action and purpose. This trip was making her forget work completely.

Except, of course, there was something else to worry about—Gideon. She’d taken some risks in her life, but this was one of the riskiest, getting involved with a man embarking on a new enterprise that would take years of focus and concentration.

At five minutes to nine, she turned into Gideon’s driveway and followed it a long way back, not seeing the house until she’d made a couple turns. She had to laugh. He’d said his house had all the amenities of her condo, including underground parking. She guessed he’d meant the parking area under his deck, which stood probably twelve feet above the ground, the front of the house raised on thick beams. A silver-gray SUV was parked below the deck, Hilda next to it.

The structure itself, more cabin than house, melded aesthetically with the surroundings of oak and pine trees, evergreen shrubs and craggy rocks. Frost rimed shady spots.

She parked in a graded space off to the side. By the time she’d gotten out of her car, he was walking toward her. The quiet struck her—even the fact she couldn’t hear his footsteps. She shivered, wondering what the temperature was.

“Welcome,” he said, his breath billowing in the cold air, his gaze intense.

She wanted to hug him hello. Instead she said, “This is breathtaking, Gideon. I’m looking for the swimming pool, however.”

“You can see it best from the back porch, upstairs.”

“Lead the way. I can’t wait to see your library and fitness center, too.”

He grinned. “They may not match up with your own on-site amenities, but then I value privacy more than size.” He headed up the path that led to steps hewn of heavy timber. They crossed his front deck, where comfortable cushioned chairs and wooden side tables made the perfect place to sit and think, to enjoy the birds and squirrels in the branches above, or whatever other wildlife passed through the property. Deer, she supposed. Foxes.

Tall, thick trees blocked the wind, filtered the sun and scented the air with pine, a reminder, too, that Christmas was coming.

The cabin’s exterior was built of logs. She couldn’t guess how old it was, but it looked well maintained.

“The swimming pool,” he announced gesturing toward a small, sapphire-blue lake a couple hundred yards in the distance. Smoke rose from chimneys here and there in the landscape between his place and the lake.

“You swim laps, I suppose,” she said.

“Daily.”

“I’ll bet.” She rested her hands on the railing and took it all in. “It’s stunning. So is your cabin.”

“Thanks. I built it myself.”

She wondered why she wasn’t surprised. “That must be satisfying.”

“Beyond measure.” He eyed his house, looking pleased.

“You’re a man of many talents, aren’t you? Very of-the-earth.” Very macho, she wanted to add. She was more used to executives—the kind of men Gideon probably took on adventure treks into the wilderness. Men more like his brothers, actually.

“You’re wearing the ring,” he said, putting his hand over hers, rubbing the stones with his thumb. “I’m going to take that to mean you’ve decided to be my wife.”

Heat snaked through her. “Your pretend wife. You’re wearing yours, as well.”

He nodded, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, drawing her gaze to the lips that had kissed her lightly last night, leaving a desire for more.

“There are details to work out,” she said.

“Like?”

“Legalities.”

“Salary,” he stated.

She turned around and crossed her arms, leaning against the wood at her waist. “I don’t want us to have a contract through my business, but something personal.”

“I’m willing to deal. What are you looking for?”

“No salary.”

His brows went up. “Why not?”

“I know your intention was to hire me as a kind of figurehead, someone to show off, but I can be of much more help than that. I have contacts, you know.”

He hesitated. “Let’s talk about it over breakfast.” He led the way into his house, the front of which was almost entirely glass, allowing an incredible view from inside.

She smelled bacon, her all-time favorite food, although she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Logs crackled in a big, stone fireplace. The large, open floor plan included the kitchen, living room and dining room, its table set with very masculine black-and-brown dishes and placemats. A carved wooden bowl heaped with pinecones made up the centerpiece.

He’d already moved into the kitchen. She ambled over to the counter and eased onto a stool to watch him work.

He pointed to several bowls on the counter, filled with fresh ingredients—tomatoes, shredded cheese, sautéed mushrooms and green onions. “I’m making omelets. What’s your pleasure?”

“The works, thanks.”

“And salsa?”

“Perfect.”

He grabbed a piece of crisp bacon kept warm in an aluminum foil packet and passed it to her. His eyes were smiling, as if he knew, absolutely knew for a fact she was dying for a piece. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Love some. But I can get it.”

“You’re my guest. Relax.” He poured her a cup, added one sugar and a smidgen of cream, then set the mug in front of her. When she looked at him in surprise, he said, “I’m assuming your tastes haven’t changed since the wedding reception.”

He turned back to the stove, added butter to a hot pan and started fixing an omelet like a seasoned chef. She nibbled on bacon, sipped her coffee and enjoyed the show, which seemed effortless and efficient. He turned the omelet onto a plate, then quickly assembled another exactly the same. He poured warmed-up salsa over the top of each, added bacon and sourdough toast to each plate, then carried them to the table.

“You’re fun to watch,” she said, taking her seat. “Have you worked as a chef?”

“Sort of. I cook for my clients, but I generally use a small camp stove or an open fire pit for that. And I’ve always liked to cook. I learned very young because Noah, being the oldest, was given way too many chores as we were growing up, and he hated cooking, so I took over. I’m the grill master in our family.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

“You’re good,” she said, toasting him with a forkful of eggs.

“Do you like to cook?”

“Yes.” She looked around his living space then realized there were no photos out, no family in view. There were none in her place, either, except in her bedroom. “How close are you to your brothers’ homes?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“I went to both houses to pick up Tricia and Valerie for Valerie’s bachelorette party. They have beautiful homes.”

She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “I heard that all three of you were equal partners after your father died.”

“True. I sold my share to them after a year or so. The job required heavy-duty sales. I was good at it, but I hated it. Falcon Motorcars has done just fine without me. David and Noah have also done just fine without me on board, too. They took what our father started and made it a success many times over what he’d done with it. I expect this deal will do the same for me.”

“You’ll be a millionaire.”

He smiled slightly. “That wouldn’t be something new for me. I took my profits from the family business and made smart investments, thanks initially to Max Beauregard’s advice.”

She’d already figured out he was incredibly bright. “How long ago did you build your house?”

“Two years. After my divorce.” He stood and took their plates to the kitchen, then ran water over them in the sink.

She didn’t ask if she could help, just pitched in, and he didn’t refuse.

“Sore subject?” she asked.

“What? The divorce? No. It laid me low at the time, but after the fact I realized I’d married her for the wrong reasons. She admitted the same. At least I’d been smart enough to protect my inheritance with a prenup. I’ve always lived on what I made. When I was first on my own, I got myself into a couple of ventures that were disastrous. I even got Noah and David involved. They said they weren’t going to risk it anymore. It forced me to figure out what to do. And as soon as I got my adventure business running, it paid off. Marriage seemed like the next logical step.”

Denise appreciated his openness, particularly admitting to his failures. She never liked anyone to know about hers.

She found dish soap and started filling the sink with hot water, not seeing a dishwasher anywhere. “No children?”

“No.” He reached around her to drop some dishes into the filling sink, his chest brushing her back, triggering little explosions all through her.

She liked the sensation, way too much. If they were going to work together she should avoid contact with him now that she knew how much and how easily he affected her, but she hadn’t felt like this for a long time, if ever. She didn’t mind experimenting to see how far they could go.

She just needed to keep her heart intact, her life on schedule.

“When did you tell the Bakers you’re married?” she asked.

“A month ago.”

“What have you told them about me?”

“That you’re beautiful and brilliant. Obviously, I was psychic,” he said, smiling. “I don’t remember everything I said, exactly. Joanne asked a lot of questions. That woman believes more in marriage than anyone I’ve met.”

“Do we want children?” she asked.

He grabbed a dishtowel and a rinsed plate, his hip resting against the countertop. “Absolutely. As soon as possible. I’m thirty-two, after all, and you’re—I don’t even know.”

“Twenty-nine.” She wondered if what he’d told the Bakers was the truth or a story. “So, I’m not on the pill, after all?”

He met her gaze directly. “No pill. No condoms. Nothing.”

“Hmm. Am I giving up my business in Sacramento? Did you tell them your wife works?”

“I’m pretty sure I avoided the topic. As for our story today, we should probably say we haven’t decided yet. That you may get someone to run it.”

“Which means I’m scrapping my plans to open At Your Service franchises around the country, I guess.”

He whistled. “Is that your goal?You don’t think small.”

“Nope.” She wanted to create her own empire.

“Have you given yourself a time frame?” Gideon asked.

“I have a schedule.”

“Of course you do.”

She smiled. “San Francisco next year.”

“Will you move there?”

“Temporarily. It’s a good place for me to branch out, because I’ve already made inroads there. Los Angeles after that, probably.” She rinsed the last pan and passed it to Gideon, then wiped down the counter as he finished putting things away.

“And the real Gideon? Do you want children?”

“Definitely. I need a few years’ cushion to get the business going. How about you?”

“Also definitely. Just not yet. Not in the schedule.”

“Exactly. Mine, either.”

“So. I’d like to see your scale model,” she said, deciding to change the subject, which had gotten too personal.

“It’s in my office.”

They walked past a large bathroom on the left and an even larger bedroom on the right. She caught a glimpse of masculine decor, including a huge pine bed covered with a green-and-black quilt. At the back of the house was a room that stretched across the whole width. An office took up one side, exercise equipment the other. One wall was bookcases, filled top to bottom. The view through the large windows went on forever, the lake a shimmering gem, the forest beyond thick and luxuriant.

“Welcome to my library and gym,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “All the necessary amenities.”

“So I see. I’m surprised you don’t have a dog. You seem like a dog person.”

“I’m gone too much. It’s in my plans, though.”

“A teacup poodle, I suppose.”

“Fifi. You got me all figured out.”

She wandered to a large table on which sat his scale model. She took her time studying it. He waited silently, letting her review it on her own. “You built this model, too?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“How long have you been working on the project?”

“A year on this site specifically. It took some time to get environmental impact studies done and to analyze the economics of other sites similar to this. I’ve seen plenty of family resorts around the country and a few in Europe. I took the best of what I saw, then created what I consider is the perfect environment. But technically I’ve been studying this business for nine years. I believe I know what will work and what won’t. Except that I’m not an expert in hotel design like you, obviously,” he added.

“I don’t know that I’m an expert, either, but I know what I like, what I’ve always thought I would build if I had the chance. I got my bachelor’s degree in hotel management, but I started working in the Watson Hotels Los Angeles when I was fourteen. I was like a sponge.”

“Why aren’t you working for your father?”

“Long story.” She turned back to the model and traced a trail with her finger from top to bottom.

“Sore subject?” he asked, putting a hand on her back.

She wanted to turn into him and lay her head on his shoulder. Be held. Even after seven years the wound was raw. “Yeah. But dead and buried.”

“I don’t think so. Looks like we both have father issues. Do you see your dad?”

“We’re not estranged, but we’re not close.” She’d dogged his footsteps her whole childhood, adoring him, putting him on a sky-high pedestal, then he’d crushed her. Denise took a few steps away from the temptation of confiding in and accepting comfort from Gideon. “I’m ready to see the site in person, if you are. We can talk business as we go.”

“There’s an issue we need to address before we head out,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“The attraction between us.”

Just the thought kick-started her heart into a powerful rhythm. “You have ideas?” she asked.

He moved a little closer. “As much as I’d like to say we should ignore it and see if it goes away, I’m more realistic than that. We have to pretend we’re married. That alone will require that we look comfortable together, that we seem intimate. It’s easy to recognize people who are lovers, because they move into each other’s space easily.”

His words added fuel to her already burning fire. “Are you suggesting we become lovers as part of this deal?”

His smile was slow and sexy. “I wouldn’t turn it down. But no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you shouldn’t take a step back when I get close.” He moved within touching range.

She stood her ground. “In public.”

He didn’t speak, but he picked up her left hand and kissed her palm, his thumb pressing into the ring.

“Have you always been a romantic?” she asked.

“Yes.” He kept her hand in his.

“You’re a rarity.”

“Am I?”

“Everyone is so straightforward these days. And self-focused. Dates are more like negotiations.”

“You haven’t met the right men, I think.” He pulled her into his arms and started dancing with her without music. “We fit. That can’t be ignored. I noticed it right away.”

“You didn’t call me this whole month.” She hadn’t meant to say that, as if she’d been waiting by the phone for his call. She’d actually stopped doing that after two weeks…

“Not because I didn’t want to see you, Mrs. Falcon.”

She wondered when—or if—she would stop reacting to him calling her that. “That makes no sense.”

“This project has consumed me and will continue to if I manage to find a partner. You wouldn’t like my lack of attention. It would kill any hope of a relationship.”

“You see me as high maintenance?”

He stopped dancing but didn’t let her go. “I see you as a beautiful woman who deserves someone’s complete attention.”

“I’m busy, too. Maybe I would be happy taking what I could get.”

He ran his fingers across her lips until she parted them, then he kissed her. “If that’s true,” he said, brushing his lips back and forth against hers, “you’ve got the chance now to test your theory.”

He settled his mouth on hers, wrapped his arms around her. She couldn’t stop a needy moan from escaping, which made him deepen the kiss even more. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and moved his hands to her waist, sliding up her rib cage, his thumbs resting just under breasts. She moved against him, pressing her hips flush with his, enjoying his powerful body, the feel of his broad hands, the taste and heat of his mouth. She went up on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around his neck, wanting more. Now.

He nipped at her mouth then pulled away. “I’ll bet you’re very demanding in bed,” he said when she finally opened her eyes. He looked as aroused as she, as needy as she.

“Are you up to it?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“My assistant decided you’d be a good kisser.”

“And what’s your opinion?”

“That you exceeded expectation.” She didn’t know why she was being so honest with him. Maybe she shouldn’t flatter him, shouldn’t let him know how much he turned her on. She’d just slipped into the role of his wife—his adoring wife—as if born to it.

“Same with you.” He moved back a little more. “It complicates things. I knew it would.”

“Honesty works for me, Gideon. I can handle anything but silence. I hate silence. Tell me the truth, whatever it is. Don’t ever make me guess.”

“Deal. Shall we get on the road?”

She put a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should talk about what I want out of this arrangement, in case you want to change your mind.”

“Okay.”

“I want credit,” she said. “And a piece of the action if I’m the one to find you a partner.”

He stared at her for a good long time. She’d made her decision. Nothing he said would sway her. She could be a part of his success, if he let her. She didn’t know how much give he had, or even if he would compromise. He might accept her input on the hotel, but on anything else? She didn’t know yet.

“You’ve got about an hour in the car to convince me,” he said, then gestured toward the door. “After you, Mrs. Falcon.”

She took that as a hopeful sign.