It’s like my words are a punch to his gut by the way he looks at me. “It doesn’t matter. I want your stay here to be a comfortable one. You can do whatever you want here.”
“Well,”—I stare at the black camelback couches with red pillows—“if I’m being honest, I might lighten it up a tad. Looks like a gothic vampire threw up in here.”
This makes Draven laugh, erasing the permanent brooding expression. “I’ll get you the interior designer’s number in the morning.”
I nod, trying to ignore the wild fluttering in my stomach from the sound of his laughter. Redecorating will be a pleasant distraction and a productive way to spend my time, although I can’t let it interfere with my studies. “I’m sure you have a garden here. I’d like to see it. If you don’t mind showing me.”
“I plan on showing you everything, Allison.” The way he says it sounds sensual coming from his lips, and a slideshow plays of all the things I would like for this man to show me if things were different. But they aren’t, so I hit pause on the porn playing in my brain and try to drag it out of the gutter. “Great, lead the way.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the grand hall. I like when he holds my hand. It makes me feel safe. I’m aware I should not enjoy the contact. But I do.
On our journey through his home, he tells me the castle was built for an emperor of the time, and how he’s updated it with everything from track lighting to central heat and air.
We walk through an arched opening into a formal dining room. Gold and black floral-patterned wallpaper covers the walls, and there is another stone fireplace on the far wall. It’s sophisticated but like the rest of the house, dark. The showpiece isn’t the vintage dining table but the birdcage chandelier hanging above it.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, looking up at the brass fixture. “What made you choose it?”
“Reminds me of how we all feel trapped sometimes, I guess.” He stares at it with somber eyes, then shutters the expression.
“That’s very poetic,” I whisper.
His gaze moves to me, and we stare at each other in silence for a beat before he continues the tour. In the hallway, we come to an antique credenza, holding pictures of Draven with his family and friends.
I stop.
“Who’s this?” I ask, looking at a photo of a smiling Draven standing next to an older man with the same dark hair and dark eyes.
“It’s my father,” he says, with a solemn tone.
It’s obvious his dad is no longer around, and I brush my hand down his arm. “I’m sorry. You two look a lot alike. I’m sure he was a wonderful man.”
“He was.”
As I look at the picture closer, I notice their old-fashioned suits. They’re both wearing knee britches and neckerchiefs beneath their long jackets. “Was this at a fair?” I ask, wondering if they entered one of those antique booths to get their picture taken.
Draven’s head snaps toward me. “Yes, something like that.”
“I love those,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood. “There's a picture of me out there somewhere on top of a piano with a feather boa around my neck, holding a Smith & Wesson.”
He grins. “Now that I’d like to see.”
We move along, our hands coming together again, until he reaches a set of French doors and pushes them open.
The minute we step onto the back veranda, I’m hit with a sense of majesty. The grounds are spectacular. A maze of flowers and greenery draw me forward with their beauty.
We take the few steps down to the earth, and their fragrant scent envelops me. “What’s this flower?” I ask, pointing to a deep burgundy, almost black, flower near the end of a row of bushes.
“It’s a chocolate cosmos.”
I lean down to inhale its aroma. “Mm. Sugary and sweet.”
He moves closer, bending to where our noses are practically touching, and stares into my eyes, sniffing the flower. “Smells forbidden. Touch it.”
I raise my head, bringing my hand to feel the soft petals. “Like velvet.”
“This flower is a depiction of passion, desire, and sensuality,” he whispers, his voice as smooth as the flower's texture.
“It’s unique.” I swallow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a flower this color before.”