26. Gwen
twenty-six
Gwen
Present
Lance’s house looks nothing like I pictured in my head.
His home is charmingly beautiful. The house is all Spanish architecture meets California luxury. Terracotta roofing, black-framed windows, creeping ivy, dark brown wood accents, and original Spanish tiles.
I love how dreamy and calming the house feels just by looking at it.
I reach for the handle and freeze. A nervous energy zips through me, and the butterflies in my stomach take flight.
“Open the door, Gwen,” Lance’s gritty voice commands.
Shivers race down my spine, and my eyes close as I revel in his presence.
This is really happening.
With an exhale, I do as directed and open the door, stepping inside.
Like the outside of Lance’s home, the traditional Spanish and modern California theme continues. Chocolate hardwood floors cover the entry and lead from the front door to the living room and the kitchen beyond.
The space looks open and cozy at the same time, with its soaring ceilings, exposed dark wood beams, and the floor-to-ceiling window at the back of the home that floods the space with natural light and gives you the perfect view of the backyard and the giant-ass pool and spa.
Everywhere, there is a splash of the original home mixed in with modern touches.
Cream rugs to match the stucco-textured walls.
Matching the exposed beams, dark wood side tables sit beside a fluffy chocolate sectional that faces the glass windows and backyard.
The Spanish tiled fireplace, the modern art on the walls—all of it works.
“Holy crap. Your place is beautiful,” I mumble, looking back at Lance.
“Thanks. It’s still growing on me.” He places my bag on the floor and hangs my jacket on a hook in the entry.
“Didn’t you move in here over two years ago?”
“I did. The last house I was in, the first home I ever bought, was lost in the fires.”
I read about the wildfire that burned through the canyons and destroyed hundreds of homes when it happened. It was devastating. So many people were affected. Some lost loved ones, their homes, pets, memories, everything. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is. Unlike so many, I’m fortunate enough to afford a new home. Hate that, but I did what I could to help my neighbors at the time. Not sure it was enough.” The same sadness I saw peeking through the night we met shines in his eyes. He tries to laugh it off. “Never told anyone that.”
Only this time, and without hesitation, I rush him, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my head on his chest. “Thank you for telling me. I hope you know your help was enough.”
He hugs me back, and my heart flutters as his spicy scent fills my nose. “Thank you.”
Thank you for the hug.
If I keep thinking like this, I’m headed into dangerous territory.
His arms fall away as I step out of his embrace and look around the house, avoiding eye contact. “Want to give me the tour?”
“Sure.” Lance carries my suitcase as he shows me the small mezzanine that overlooks the living room and the kitchen. As he leads me down the hall off the kitchen, we pass five closed doors before we reach our destination.
“This is where you will be staying.” He opens the door to a beautiful suite.
Like the rest of the house, it has white stucco walls, exposed wood beams, and hardwood floors. A plush rug sits in the center of the room beneath a king-size bed. The upholstered bed frame is luxurious, as is the cream bedding covering the mattress.
Floor-to-ceiling windows face the backyard, giving a perfect view of the pool and the pool house beyond. Leading off the bedroom is a tiled deck, a small iron table, and two matching chairs. It’s the perfect spot for breakfast and reminds me of the small balconies I’ve seen in Paris on vacation.
“It’s gorgeous,” I mumble in awe of the space. I bet the bathroom is amazing.
“Glad you think so.” Lance opens the door beside the bathroom, revealing the hidden walk-in closet.
Something catches my eye as he carries my suitcase inside. I follow him into the closet, and the spicy citrus cologne he wears hits my nose, knocking me off balance.
His scent triggers an avalanche of memories. I breathe through my mouth and focus on the closet.
It’s huge. A small island of drawers sits in the middle, dividing the room in two. Half of the hanging racks, drawers, built-in shelves, shoe racks, and cabinets that surround the space sit empty, while the other half is filled. With Lance’s stuff.
What the hell?
I shake my head to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing.
Suits and shirts line the hanging racks. Men’s shoes fill a row of shelving. A variety of colognes line the open shelving above the bank of drawers.
“What’s going on?” I turn the find Lance leaning against the door frame.
“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion.
“Why are your clothes in here?”
“Because it’s my closet.”
His closet?
Why would his clothes be in the guest room? Unless … “Is this your room?”
“Yes.” The corner of his lips twitches upward.
Is he … smiling? It’s as if my brain doesn’t want to admit what I already know. This is Lance’s room.
“B-but I thought I was sleeping in this room,” I stammer.
“You are.” He smirks.
“Then where are you sleeping?” I ask.
“In my room.”
I wave my hand in the air, gesturing around the room. “But this is your room.”
Lance chuckles. “Exactly.”
“Wait. Are we sharing a room?”
He clicks his tongue and grins at me. “I knew you’d catch on.”
We’re sharing a room? Me and Lance. In the same room. Same bed.
My stomach takes a nosedive. “But the deal was separate bedrooms.”
“I know, but this is all I’ve got.” Lance shrugs apologetically, but his tone is far from sorry. “You’re welcome to look at the other rooms and stay in one if you like, but you know …”
Not bothering to listen to the end of his sentence, I rush out of his bedroom.
With force, I push open the first door I see.
“What the hell?” Shock doesn’t even describe how I feel at seeing the completely empty spare bedroom. No bed. No furniture. Nothing.
Rooms Two and Three are exactly the same: empty.
Room Four is not a bedroom; it’s Lance’s office.
A large oak desk sits facing the window, with a laptop on the tabletop, some paperwork, and a pair of glasses.
Two of his jerseys—framed and signed—hang on the wall, as well as some other framed baseball paraphernalia.
Flush against the back wall is a gorgeous matching oak display cabinet that holds a few plaques and one glittering, diamond-encrusted World Series Championship ring.
I turn around and walk smack dab into Lance.
“Watch it,” I bark. My anger burns the blood in my veins like torched gasoline as I shove past him and march out of the office.
“Gwen, wait,” Lance calls out.
Wait? Is he kidding me right now? I’m way too mad. Does he think this is a game or something?
“Nuh-uh.” Pissed as hell, I stomp back into Lance’s bedroom and head straight for the closet. I grip the handle of my suitcase and pull it behind me as I exit the walk-in closet.
Lance’s enormous frame blocks the exit. He lifts his hands into the air in surrender. “Please wait. Let me explain.”
I place my free hand on my hip and glare at him. “Fine, explain why you have three empty bedrooms. You clearly hired a decorator to do the rest of the house. Why not the bedrooms?”
He sighs. “I was going to have her finish, but then the season started and I kept putting it off.”
“For two years?” I ask.
“Didn’t see the point,” he grumbles.
I remember him telling me about the television he never replaced. “Like the TV?”
He nods. “Like the TV.”
I point toward the wall of windows. “What about the pool house?”
“It’s a gym.”
“Of course it is. You had time to turn the pool house into a gym, but not furnish the bedrooms. What do you do when your family visits?”
He looks at the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets. “They don’t.”
His admission takes the wind out of my sails. I knew his relationship with his family was strained, but for them not to visit is terrible.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s fine.”
Our gazes meet, and a calming silence stretches between us as we stare at one another. Each of us deep in our own thoughts.
“I guess I should go home.”
“Or you can stay.” He takes a small step forward.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Lance takes another step. “Are you too scared to share the same bed? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
Maybe.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff.
“Prove it. Stay the night. I promise I won’t touch you. We can eat dinner, watch one of your shows, and sleep,” he says casually.
Is sharing a bed really no big deal to him?
This can’t happen. It has “bad idea” written all over it. I don’t think I’ve recovered from the last time we shared a bed.
That wasn’t sharing a bed. That was sex. Mind-bending sex that ruined your hootie-hoo for all other men.
My thighs quiver at the memory. Geez, brain, way to kick a girl when she’s down.
Lance stares at me, waiting for my answer.
Think, brain!
Sex, sex, sex.
Like my dirty, ho-bag brain, my clit is no help. The needy bundle of nerves pulses at the apex of my thighs, begging for friction.
“You don’t have a TV,” I blurt and point at the gorgeous built-in cabinets covering the wall facing the foot of the bed, where a rectangle of space sits empty.
I can’t believe that’s the reason I’m using to leave.
“Wrong.” Lance walks past me to the bedside table, opens the drawer, pulls out a remote, and taps a button. A second later, the biggest television I’ve ever seen slowly rises from the cabinet, filling the space on the wall.
“You bought a TV, but didn’t buy a bed?” I gawk. The thing must be at least sixty inches.
“I bought the TV a while ago,” he admits.
For the first time, I see a hint of vulnerability in his blue depths. Was he thinking about me?
Don’t go there. I push the thought away and glance between Lance, the bed, and the TV.
“Stay with me, Gwen. At least for tonight,” he pleads. There’s no hint of teasing in his voice, just truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you scared?”
Of course I’m scared. Sleeping in the same bed with him will only blur the lines of our deal. I don’t know if my heart could handle his rejection when he realizes I’m not worth the trouble. I’m already terrified my father will go after him as some sort of punishment.
As if he can read my mind, the cocky jerk flashes me a smug smile. “You are scared.”
I cross my arms. “Am not.”
“Then prove it. Stay,” he demands, striking a chord inside me.
I hate showing weakness. I grew up with three older brothers, and as soon as they’d smell blood in the water, they’d attack. Not in a bad way, per se, but in that annoying older-sibling–rivalry way that pushes you to compete. To refuse defeat. To fight.
Here I go, breaking my rules on the first day.
“Fine, I’ll stay. But you better stay on your side of the bed.”
Lance holds three fingers in the air and salutes. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you really a Boy Scout?”
“Eagle Scout, actually,” he says cooly.
“Of course you were.” I roll my eyes at him, making him chuckle. Lance really is a real-life superhero. Helping people in need, however he can. “No funny business?”
“No funny business.” Lance agrees easily as a wide grin spreads across his face.
The temperature in the room shoots up ten degrees as he stares at me with those all-knowing cornflower-blue eyes of his.
A chirp echoes in the room, breaking the intense hold he has on me. Lance reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to check the screen. “Dinner is here. Put your bag back in the closet and come meet me in the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
Lance closes the space between us and presses a kiss to my forehead before he struts out of the room, leaving me speechless and confused by what just happened.
Did I just agree to share a bed with Lance?
You totally did. My brain cackles.
The spot where his lips touched my skin prickles with awareness. My heart pinches, and I can’t tell if it’s from excitement, fear, or a mix of both.
We’ve broken two rules in the span of a week.
There is no way things between me and Lance could get any more complicated.