Chapter 10
LUCA
Once we enter through the opening gates, I park in front of the pack home. Adelaide swings off the bike and turns toward the house. Her mouth parts at the sight.
I get off the bike, remove my helmet, then take the one she peels off and hook both of them onto the handlebars. I enjoy the look on her face because, honestly, it’s worth the ride all by itself.
“You live here?” she asks.
I grin and grab her bags from the compartment under the seat. “You like it?”
She looks at me, then back at the house, and then back at me again like maybe I’ve personally committed fraud. “You said you were all surfers and work at luaus.”
“All true.”
She waves a hand at the property. “You left out… all this mansion by the beach.”
Fair. The place is a lot at first sight.
Wide and low and built to make a point without trying too hard.
Dark timber and stone walls, huge windows facing straight out to the ocean.
Gates already shut behind us and cameras tucked into the corners.
There’s a beach beyond the back deck, on a quiet stretch too.
No crowds or noise, just sand and water.
“We like privacy,” I add.
“This isn’t privacy. This is the kind of place where rich people disappear their enemies.”
“Good security isn’t a crime.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Right.”
I start along the path at the side of the house, her bags over one shoulder now, and she follows me.
Since the bike ride, her scent has been swallowing me, and it’s close to impossible to think about anything else but her.
Fuck.
I have to remind myself to keep walking like a normal man and not some half-feral idiot trying to breathe deeper without being obvious about it. My cock gives a slow, heavy throb just from having her this close again, and I nearly swear out loud.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Actually, no. I know exactly what’s wrong with me.
Her.
I punch in the code and push the door open. “Come on.”
Adelaide steps inside and pauses to take it all in. The main room opens straight through to the deck and the beach beyond it, glass doors that fold back to the sea. Wooden floors, low furniture, in soft neutral colors that Ace claimed made the place feel calm.
Adelaide stands just inside the doorway, staring out at the water. “Okay,” she says.
I shut the door behind us. “Yeah.”
“This is not a surfer house.”
I chuckle as. “That feels discriminatory.”
She turns toward me. “Luca. This place has better lighting than most boutique hotels.”
“Natural light is free.”
She snorts and walks farther inside in her flip-flops.
Her hair is still a salt-tangled mess from the beach.
Shorts low on her hips, hugging that cute ass.
Little top doing absolutely nothing to help me think.
I’m watching her move through the room and trying not to picture her here in the morning, at night, and maybe in one of my shirts.
Dangerous line of thought.
“So,” she says. “Is one of you secretly loaded?”
“That sounds like a question designed to get lied to.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
I grin. “You ask a lot of questions for somebody who didn’t want help this morning.”
“And yet here I am, standing in a beachfront Alpha compound.”
“Home,” I correct.
“Suspiciously nice home.”
I step up beside her, not too close, just enough to look out at the beach with her. She’s got her hands on her hips, and the ocean behind the glass is throwing light across her skin. I swear to God she looks like she belongs in this house more than half the furniture does.
I clear my throat. “Tourists don’t come this far down. It stays quiet.”
“That explains the Bond-villain gates.”
I can’t stop chuckling.
Then her attention shifts to the kitchen, and her whole face changes.
The big island bench, hanging lights, open shelving, and industrial range. Ace’s coffee setup that looks like it belongs in a laboratory.
She points. “That is an absurd amount of bench space.”
“Yeah. It’s amazing to cook on.”
She walks into the kitchen slowly, glancing around. “This is ridiculously beautiful.”
“You hate it, don’t you?” I tease.
She stares back over her shoulder, green eyes bright. “This kitchen is everyone’s dream.”
The worst part is standing here with her scent in the air and my body reacting like a damn traitor, and all I can think is that we’re in so much trouble with her moving in.
She drifts farther into the kitchen, fingertips sliding along the dark stone island as she goes. It’s big enough to easily sit six, stools tucked along one side. Her gaze lifts to the copper pots hanging overhead, then tracks to the range.
She stops. “Six burners?” she says, turning to me. “Who are you people cooking for in here, entire villages?”
I lean against the counter and watch her take it all in, grinning. “We love to cook up a storm.” The built-in appliances, the shelves at the back stacked with jars and oils and spices, the walk-in pantry.
“So you do cook,” she says, still eyeing the kitchen.
I lean a shoulder against the doorway. “We all do.”
She drags her hand along the edge of the island. “No, I mean properly cook.”
I grin. “Is there another kind?”
“Show me the rest,” she says.
“Right this way.” The hallway runs long through the house, sun spilling in from the back rooms. I push open the first door.
North’s room.
She leans in, takes one look at the perfectly made bed, the dark, clean lines, the complete lack of anything unnecessary, and lifts her brows.
I fold my arms. “Say it.”
She glances at me. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was just thinking that his room looks like it would judge me.”
I laugh as we move on.
Ace’s room is next, and the second I open the door, she lets out this quiet little sound that’s almost a laugh. Books stacked everywhere. Surfboard against the wall. A desk covered in notebooks and paper and enough half-finished projects to make the whole room feel like his brain spilled into it.
Her mouth twitches. “This feels exactly right.”
“Don’t tell him I agree.”
She steps a little farther in, looking around. “No, this is charming. In a mildly chaotic, probably-loses-his-keys-twice-a-week sort of way.”
“That’s generous.”
“You’re protective of him.”
I shrug like that didn’t land a little too close. “Anything for my pack.”
“Mmm.”
We keep strolling, and I open my door and step aside so she can scan it.
She leans around me, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushes my arm, and I catch that scent again that tempts me and makes me want to drag her inside and shut the door.
Jesus.
My room is simple. Dark walls, big bed, and not much out of the drawers or cupboard. Just what I use.
She tips her head. “You really hate clutter.”
“I hate useless things.”
“That sounds intense.” Her gaze moves over the room again. “It suits you.”
I don’t ask what that means. Mostly because I’m not sure I want the answer while she’s standing this close.
We keep going down the hall, and then she pauses at the last open doorway before I say anything. The reading room.
Shelves line the walls, a big chair by the window and a mahogany desk tucked under it. Plumeria tree just outside, white and yellow flowers bright against the glass. It’s the calmest room in the house by a mile, and Ace knows it. It’s why he claims it most of the time.
Adelaide remains in the doorway and just stares. “I love this room.”
“Most people do.”
She steps inside slowly, turning in a circle like she’s already rearranging her life to fit it.
“I could sleep in here. Let’s make this my room.
” She faces me with the most irresistible smile, a glint in her eye, and for a smidge of a second, I consider how I can squeeze a bed into the room for her.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her. “In the chair?”
She frowns and manages to appear even more adorable. “Don’t be difficult.”
“It’s one of my best traits.”
She smiles, softer this time, and runs her fingers along the spine of a book on one of the shelves.
“So who spends the most time here?” she asks.
“Ace.”
She nods like that makes perfect sense. “Yeah. It feels like him.”
“Ace pretends he doesn’t mind when we crash in here to hang out or do stuff, but he minds.”
That gets a laugh out of her. And Christ, I love the sound of that in this house too much already.
She turns back to the shelves. “This might be my favorite room.”
I push off the frame. “You haven’t seen the deck at sunset.” Then I move her along before she decides Ace’s reading room would benefit from a rearrangement.
We head past the gym at the end of the hall, then out toward the back where the glass-paneled sauna and spa sit off the deck.
She takes all of it in. By the time we reach the end of the decking, there’s a small gate waiting there, and beyond it is the guest place right on the edge of the sand and alongside the main house.
I open it up and let her step inside first.
We built it properly, with all blues and whites, comfortable furniture, solid pieces.
King bed with white linen, big pillows in the main bedroom, L-shaped couch facing a TV too big for the space, bathroom tucked off to the right.
And a decent-sized kitchen in the back. The best part is the French doors, opening straight onto the sand so the ocean feels close enough to reach out and touch.
“My first apartment in LA was half this size and twice as depressing.”
I grin and set her bags down on the couch. “The locks are all inside. Deadbolt on the main door, chain on the French doors. Once you lock up, nobody’s getting in from outside.”
Her eyes lift to mine at that. That look right there says she caught what I was really giving her, a safe place to call her own for as long as she needs it.
“There’s a room inside the main house if you’d rather be closer to people, but we figured you might want your own space to breathe.”
She glances at the place, then back at me. “No. This…” She lets out a slow breath. “This is perfect.”