That would be the prudent way to proceed, especially when her edginess over the potential new situation with Brad and Sara was making her reckless to go along with horny. Best not to engage on that level at all.
He’d thank her later, when she hadn’t unintentionally smeared his heart on the interstate. Despite her fervent attempts, delicate with other people’s feelings she was not.
The way his smile spread didn’t convince her he was wholly on board with the platonic idea. This had to be a first. For once she wasn’t encouraging a guy to get naked, she was practically insisting he remained clothed.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
Chapter Three
Kim drove up the winding circular driveway behind Michael’s car, her eyes widening the farther they traveled. They’d left behind the city for the country, and she could smell it in the cool air, tinged with rain, wafting in through her car window. Hard to enjoy the breeze, though, when she had such a visual banquet in front of her.
In the rainy darkness, it was hard to make out much of the enormous property other than the sheer number of trees and the house. Sheesh, house wasn’t a big enough word to describe the place. She glimpsed enormous columns and the dense shrubbery guarding them. Lights beamed through every window, and holy Mary, there were a lot of them to go with the multiple balconies, turrets and thatched roof.
This was the closest thing she’d seen to a mansion around Fairdale. Definitely a far cry from the rambling fixer-upper she and Brad had inherited from their deceased mother. Michael’s Architectural Digest-special put the homes in her neighborhood to shame.
He parked at the base of a stoop that looked like it belonged to a library, not a personal dwelling. There weren’t any lions or gargoyles that she could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some gigantic animal head mounted over the fireplace.
Oh, a fire would be perfect on a night like this. Nothing chased the fall chill away like the warmth from crackling wood. She could picture it now. The soft rug, the kindling flames casting golden sparks over his dark hair. His broad chest on display, gilded by firelight. His abs rippling, her panties dampening—
Lord, she was in deep.
With effort, she pulled herself out of her daydreams and met him on the stoop. The overhead light cast the area beyond the porch in shadows,
emphasizing the seeming vastness of the property. She tilted her head back to note the scrollwork in a pane of glass above the door—it looked like some kind of crest—and endeavored to sound unaffected. “Nice digs.”
Michael chuckled and hitched the backpack up on his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Sure this isn’t a long-lost uncle’s place?”
To her utter relief, he only laughed. “My name’s on the deed, Kim. I promise.”
She liked how he said her name with that twinkle in his normally pitch-black eyes. For an instant they seemed to lighten, and he smiled.
Addictive smile. Gorgeous house. Waning conscience.
“You also promise you’re not a serial killer?”
“Yes. Just the occasional lady.” When she frowned, he laughed at his bad joke and waved for her to walk ahead of him. He leaned around her to open the door, his mouth hovering too close to her ear. “Enter my lair, beautiful spider.”
In spite of herself, she shivered. He obviously knew how to turn on the sexy when warranted, but she wasn’t some wide-eyed innocent. She couldn’t be lured.
She was almost sure she couldn’t be.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, reaching back to grab his hand to steady her shaky knees.
Again he laughed, soft and husky. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
Was it ever. A gigantic chandelier adorned the front hall, sending prisms over the glossy black marble floor. The spiral staircase hugged the wall to the second-level loft and a hallway full of doors, probably to bedrooms beyond her wildest imagination. A tall archway to her right led into a living room with a classic brick-fronted fireplace, a cathedral ceiling and regal jewel-toned sofas and chairs that somehow looked as comfortable as they were elegant. Large black-and-white photos of sights like the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben hung on the cream walls, offset by sconces that offered soft, romantic light.
And in front of the fire sat a plush red circular rug that made her want to stretch out and purr. While naked.
“So let me get this straight. You’re young, work as a nude model for an art class, have some other unknown job that requires early hours at least on Thursdays, drive a beat-up pickup and live in a mansion. Am I missing anything so far?”
Michael scratched the scruff darkening his jaw. “Nope. Seems like you’re on point so far. Except young is a relative term. And my pickup is not beat-up. It’s rugged. Remember that.”
She fought back a smile, unwilling to give him even one more inch until she figured out how he’d already taken a mile. “Are you a spy? A military operative? A real-life Christian Grey?”
“Who’s that?”