ChapterTwelve
“Don’t get drool on my floor. The cleaning service doesn’t come until next week.”
Mal heard Hunter’s jab, but she couldn’t manage to close her mouth as she took in the grand spectacle and sheer awesomeness of his house. He held her arm steady as she struggled to take off her muddy boots, mostly because she was too busy gawking and craning her neck to see up as high as she could. He was right; the house wasn’t little at all. It was huge.
He sighed, still holding onto her arm. “I’m not going to get you to change first before I show you around, am I?”
Mal grinned wildly at him. “No way, pal.”
His smile turned quizzical, and her stomach fluttered. He shook his head and released her arm. “All right, come on.”
He led her around the stairs, which were a gorgeous hardwood. She craned her neck up to see where they led but couldn’t get a glimpse. He took her down a hallway toward the far side of the house, the floor beneath her feet perfectly smooth and polished wood that was a dark, almost cherry stain, and her damp socks slid none-too-gracefully along them. She traced the walls aimlessly with her fingers for a sort of balance, her pulse still racing with the excitement of being here—in Hunter’s house. She swallowed a large, almost burning lump in her throat and turned her gaze ahead, only to gasp once more.
He’d brought her to the dining room, which was large, open, and had glass windows from floor to ceiling on two sides.
“Dining room,” he said unnecessarily, gesturing with one hand. “Doors lead out to the outdoor grill and firepit you saw before.”
She went to the windows, tempted to put her hands and face on them like a kid at a candy store. The view was spectacular. She had known that from the pictures he’d allowed her before they’d come in. But to live here and see it all the time? Over a bowl of Froot Loops? That was unreal.
He stepped back and pushed a door open behind him. “Kitchen; a bit much, but we like food, so we went all out.”
Mal turned and poked her head in. He wasn’t kidding. It was a restaurant quality, stainless steel kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances. Eight chefs could fit in there, no problem.
“Who cooks?” she asked him, tilting her head.
He raised a brow. “Me. And Mom and Dad and Uncle Sam… We all do, but when we’re all here, we hire someone to come in.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured in disbelief, turning to go back down the hallway. Really, she was putting on a show for him. She was ridiculously impressed with this place. It was just the right mix of rustic and modern, well-furnished and well-maintained without reeking of excess, and the place even smelled like Hunter. Warm. Rustic. Clean. And just that barest hint of all-natural earthiness that somehow soothed her and scorched her all at once.
Hunter stepped around her and opened another door they had passed before. “Office,” he said simply, waving his hand dismissively.
She peeked in and smiled. One half of the room was certainly an office, the other half had a couch that probably folded out, and those killer tall windows with the perfect view. And a balcony.
She nudged her head toward it. “For when you’re lost in thought?” she asked.
He shrugged with a small smile. “Fresh air is good for thought, don’t you think?”
“And a couch for naps?”
“A good nap does wonders for me.”
She snickered and let him pull her back out.
“One more,” he told her, “then we go upstairs, and you get dry.”
She rolled her eyes with a snort.
He laced his fingers through hers, and she could feel him holding his breath. Then suddenly, they were in the massive great room, which was open to the second story, and had those grand windows covering most of the two external walls. The same wood floor throughout the house was most prominently displayed here, and the third wall was entirely made of stone with an expanded natural fireplace at the base.
Several couches and chairs and rugs were spread about the room. A few end tables and desks were here and there, and massive bookshelves filled to their limits took up the only wall space not occupied with windows or stone. It was, without a doubt, the best room she had ever seen.
Hunter chuckled and tapped her chin, now gaping once more. “Grotesquely extravagant?” he suggested softly.
She shook her head slowly. “It’s perfect,” she breathed.
He squeezed her hand tightly. “Come on,” he said after a moment. “We’re dripping on the floor.”
She looked down and saw, much to her dismay, that he was right. “Oh, good night,” she muttered, mopping it up with her socks. “I am so sorry. This floor is real too, and I’m ruining it.”