“Can you speak for him?” I ask, gesturing to Cillian, who’s up towards the front door.
Rory smiles. “Oh, that one? He definitely bites.” Then his smile softens. “Come on, love.”
Left with no choice, I follow him out of the car and into the mansion.
The interior is no less impressive than the façade. The ceilings are impossibly high, so much that I have to squint to see the polished rafters above. The floors at our feet are gleaming wood, rich and textured and scrubbed until I can practically see my own reflection.
The walls are simple—an understated white—but that only serves to make everything adorning them look more glamorous. Art and exquisite wrought lamps and tiny carvings all along the crown molding.
In the center of the main foyer, a chandelier dripping with jewels in sharp modern cuts reflects light in every direction.
It’s a marvel.
Cillian is standing off to the side, watching my fascination.
“Is this really where you grew up?” I ask in awe.
He looks around like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Seems a little over-the-top, doesn’t it?”
“Very.”
He nods. “You hungry?”
“What?”
“Are you hungry?” he asks slowly. “You probably haven’t eaten in a while.”
He’s right. In fact, I think it’s been longer. I want to be able to turn him down, but now that hunger is a conscious thought, my stomach rumbles.
“I can eat.”
His grin gets a little wider as he gestures for me to follow him.
He leads me through the broad curves of the house. And I realize that there seem to be few sharp angles that I can see. It’s like the entire place has been built in undulating hooks and arches.
Maybe it was necessary, given all the glass and granite that I can see.
The kitchen is predictably massive. There’s an insanely huge pantry off in one corner and the entire kitchen counter faces a set of white French doors. Beyond the open doors, a sloping garden ranges down towards a patio that overlooks the lake.
“Goddamn,” I breathe, moving towards the French doors.
A moment later, I feel Cillian at my shoulder. “I haven’t been able to appreciate this view in quite a while,” he admits. “In some ways, we’re seeing it together for the first time.”
“Did you miss it?” I ask.
“I missed the people more,” he tells me. “But yeah, I missed the place, too. More than I thought I would.”
I glance at his profile. There’s a light layer of stubble coating his jaw now. It makes him look a little more distinguished, a little more serious.
That is, until he turns to me and smiles.
Then the seriousness dissolves behind mischief and charm and I have to drop my gaze to keep from blushing.
“You’ve missed this view, too, huh?” he asks suggestively as he points at his own face.
“Ass,” I mutter, moving towards the kitchen island.
Laughing, Cillian follows me there and starts rifling around in the gargantuan stainless steel fridge. I could climb in there and curl up with room to spare.