Page 126 of Dominion
Melissa unclasped her hands from their hold around his waist. He immediately missed having her body notched against his back. He expected her to look annoyed about having her hair mussed or the trip being too frightening—she’d held him in a death grip the entire time—but she wore a smile when she pulled off the helmet. When she gave her auburn waves a toss, sending them cascading over her slender shoulders, he distinctly heard thechicka-bow-wowplay in the background of his mind.
Her eyes weren’t on him, though. She walked toward the cabin with eagerness plastered all over her face. “Wow. When you said cabin, I wasn’t picturing a full-on mountain retreat.”
One corner of his lips kicked up at her girlish enthusiasm. He hadn’t been prepared for this reaction. She skipped up the steps while he unloaded the food from the saddlebags. “When was this built?”
“I finished it last year.”
She whirled, her mouth open, her full lips forming a littleO. “You built this? Yourself?”
He tried to ignore the cascade of pride her awe provoked. “Yeah.” He reached past her and hit the code on the security pad to unlock the door, somehow managing not to shove her against it and press his ever-eager cock against her lush, jean-clad ass.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, rushing in the moment he pushed open the door. “This is so beautiful.” Her gaze swept over the oversized living room as she charged forward, checking out all the rooms. “I love the vaulted ceilings and the blend of rustic with high-tech. It’s just like a CJ Steele home. This is incredible. What’s the square footage, three thousand?”
“Thirty-two hundred.” He didn’t mean to, but he dropped the saddlebags with their clothes and food and followed Melissa as she rushed through the cabin.
“Four bedroom, two bath?”
“That’s right.”
“And this? Where did you find these carved supports?”
“I carved them.” His throat tightened. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much what she thought of the place.
“Who made this sink? It’s incredible.”
The sink was a hand-thrown and fired clay pottery beauty in shades of ochre and rust. “A friend of mine makes those.”
“Does Mr. Steele use these in any of his houses?”
A shard of irritation jabbed him. Her hero worship of ‘Mr. Steele’ was so at odds with her condescension toward him. Some stubborn part of him needed her to respecthim, the guy standing in front of her, not the real estate success she worshipped.
“Yeah, these sinks are in a few of his properties.”
“Cody.” She turned.
He fucking loved hearing his name on her lips, although he loved it more when she was screaming it at the height of a climax. He schooled his features, hoping to hide the dirty thoughts looping through his mind on a constant playback. “Yeah?”
“Do you own this place?”
“It belongs to the pack.” That wasn’t exactly an untruth. He’d built the cabin for the pack—a meeting place and a getaway for anyone who needed it. It had taken him four years, working weekends, but he’d loved every minute of it. Nearly every member of the pack had contributed their labor for it, too, which made it truly fitting as their home base.
“This property is worth a lot.” The awe in her voice should not please him so damn much. He didn’t want to impress her with money, after all.
“How much would you list it for?” He was curious about her skill as an agent. She said she’d lost a deal with him. Had she improved since then?
“Four ninety-eight for a quick sale. Five thirty if you wanted the perfect buyer.”
“The perfect buyer? Who is that, exactly?”
“It’s the person who will love your property as much as you do. The one who will take care of it, or improve it. The one who will give it a new story.”
He stared at her, fascinated. His agent sure as hell never talked about people loving his properties. There was no emotion discussed in any of his transactions. Yet, watching her face light up as she described this love for a property, he knew exactly what she meant. He loved every property he ever worked on. And it was, sometimes, hard to turn his back on them when he sold. He’d never considered finding the ‘right’ buyer as a means of easing that pain.
“How would you show me this property, if I were a client?”
One corner of her lips lifted and her eyelids drooped slightly, as if talking real estate was a form of foreplay for her. She returned to the front door and beckoned him over. He pictured her in the tight skirt and heels she’d been wearing on the day he met her, her long auburn waves done up in a French twist. No—scratch that—hair down for this fantasy, always hair down, tempting his fingers to wrap it in his fist and pull. He sauntered to her side.
“I think you’re going to be blown away by this place, Mr.—er—” She stopped, eyes seeking his face for help with her pretend game.