Chapter Five #2
Though her designs always tended toward the open and the modern, she had grown up in a tiny, yellow farmhouse that she loved still. She loved that her parents still lived there in spite of the financial successes of their children.
Of course, Levi’s house was several notches above the little farmhouse. This was quite a nice place, even if it was worlds apart from a custom home.
She had been so focused on following the little rabbit trails of thought on her way over that she hadn’t noticed the tension she was carrying in her stomach. But as soon as she parked and turned off the engine, she seemed to be entirely made of that tension.
She could hardly breathe around it.
She had seen him outside, out in the open. And she had talked to him in a bar. But she had never been alone indoors with him before.
Not that it mattered. At all.
She clenched her teeth and got out of the car, gathering her bag that contained her sketchbook and all her other supplies. With the beat of each footstep on the gravel drive, she repeated those words in her head.
Not that it mattered.
Not that it mattered.
She might be having some weird thoughts about him, but he certainly wasn’t having them about her.
She could only hope that the blonde had vacated before Faith’s arrival.
Why did the thought of seeing her here make Faith feel sick? She couldn’t answer that question.
She didn’t even know the guy. And she had never been jealous of anyone or anything in her life.
Okay, maybe vague twinges of jealousy that her brothers had found people to love.
Or that Hayley had a husband who loved her.
That Mia had found someone. And the fact that Mia’s someone was Faith’s brother made the whole thing a bit inaccessible to her.
But those feelings were more like...envy. This was different. This felt like a nasty little monster on her back that had no right to be there.
She steeled herself, and knocked on the door. And waited.
When the door swung open, it seemed to grab hold of her stomach and pull it along. An intense, sweeping sensation rode through her.
There he was.
Today, he’d traded in the black T-shirt and hat from the last couple of days for white ones.
The whole look was...beautiful and nearly absurd. Because he was not a white knight, far from it. And she wasn’t innocent enough to think that he was.
But there was something about the way the light color caught hold of those blue eyes and reflected the color even brighter that seemed to steal every thought from her head. Every thought but one.
Beautiful.
She was plain. And this man was beautiful.
Oh, not pretty. Scars marred his face and a hard line went through his chin, keeping him from being symmetrical. Another one slashed his top lip. And even then, the angles on his face were far too sharp to be anything so insipid as pretty.
Beautiful.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping away from the door.
She didn’t know why, but she had expected a little more conversation on the porch. Maybe to give her some time to catch her breath. Sadly, he didn’t give it to her. So she found herself following his instructions and walking into the dimly lit entry.
“It’s not that great,” he said of his surroundings, lifting a shoulder.
“It’s cozy,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m kind of over cozy. But the view is good.”
“I can’t say that I blame you,” she said, following his lead and making her way into the living area, which was open.
The point from the house’s A-frame gave height to the ceiling, and the vast windows lit the entire space.
The furniture was placed at the center of the room, with a hefty amount of space all around. “That must’ve been really difficult.”
“Are you going to try to absorb details about my taste by asking about my personal life? Because I have to tell you, my aesthetic runs counter to where I’ve spent the last five years.”
“I understand that. And no, it wasn’t a leading question. I was just...commenting.”
“They started the investigation into my wife’s disappearance when you were about eighteen,” he said. “And while you were in school I was on house arrest, on trial. Then I spent time behind bars. In that time, you started your business and... Here you are.”
“A lot can happen in five years.”
“It sure can. Or a hell of a lot of nothing can happen. That’s the worst part. Life in a jail cell is monotonous. Things don’t change. An exciting day is probably not a good thing. Because it usually means you got stabbed.”
“Did you ever get—” her stomach tightened “—stabbed?”
He chuckled, then lifted up his white T-shirt, exposing a broad expanse of tan skin.
Her brain processed things in snatches. Another tattoo.
A bird, stretched across his side, and then the shifting and bunching of well-defined muscles.
Followed by her registering that there was a sprinkling of golden hair across that skin.
And then, her eye fell to the raised, ugly scar that was just above the tattooed bird’s wing.
“Once,” he said.
He pushed his shirt back down, and Faith shifted uncomfortably, trying to settle the feeling that the bird had peeled itself right off his skin and somehow ended up in her stomach, fluttering and struggling for freedom.
She looked away. “What happened?”
She put her hand on her own stomach, trying to calm her response. She didn’t know if that intense, unsettled feeling was coming from her horror over what had happened to him, or over the show of skin that had just occurred.
If it was the skin, she was going to be very disappointed in herself and in her hormones. Because the man had just told her he’d been stabbed. Responding to his body was awfully base. Not to mention insensitive.
“I made the motherfucker who did it regret that he’d ever seen me.” Suddenly, there was nothing in those ice-blue eyes but cold. And she didn’t doubt what he said. Not at all.
“I see.”
“You probably don’t. And it’s for the best. No, I didn’t kill him.
If I had killed him, I would still be in prison.
” He sat down in a chair that faced the windows.
He rested his arms on the sides, the muscles there flexing as he moved his fingers, clenching them into fists.
“But a brawl like that going badly for a couple of inmates? That’s easy enough to ignore.
I got a few stitches because of a blade.
He got a few more because of my fists. People learned quickly not to mess with me. ”
“Apparently,” she said, sitting down on the couch across from him, grateful for the large, oak coffee table between them. “Is any of this furniture yours?”
“No,” he responded.
“Good,” she replied. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, per se. But—” she knocked on the table “—if you were married to a particular piece it might make it more difficult, design-wise. I prefer to have total freedom.”
“I find that in life I prefer to have total freedom,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.
A rash of heat started at Faith’s scalp and prickled downward. “Of course. I didn’t mean... You know that I didn’t...”
“Calm down,” he said. “I’m not that easily offended. Unless you stab me.”
“Right,” she responded. She fished around in her bag until she came up with her notepad. “We should talk more about what you have in mind. Let’s start with the specifics. How big do you want the house to be?”
“Big,” he replied. “It’s a massive lot. The property is about fifty acres, and that cleared-out space seems like there’s a lot of scope there.”
“Ten thousand square feet?”
“Sure,” he responded.
She put her pen over the pad. “How many bedrooms?”
“I should only need one.”
“If you don’t want more than one, that’s okay. But...guests?”
“The only people who are going to be coming to my house are going to be staying in my bed. And even then, not for the whole night.”
She cleared her throat. “Right.” She tapped her pen against the side of her notebook. “You know, you’re probably going to want more bedrooms.”
“In case of what? Orgies? Even then, we’d need one big room.”
“All right,” she said. “If you want an unprecedented one-bedroom, ten-thousand-square-foot house, it’s up to you.
” She fought against the blush flooding her cheeks, because this entire conversation was getting a little earthy for her.
And it was making her picture things. Imagining him touching women, and specifically the blonde from last night, and she just didn’t need that in her head.
“I wasn’t aware I had ordered judgment with my custom home. I thought I ordered an entirely custom home to be done to my specifications.”
She popped up her head. Now, this she was used to. Arrogant men who hired her, and then didn’t listen.
“You did hire me to design a custom home, but presumably, you wanted my design to influence it. That means I’m going to be giving input.
And if I think you’re making a decision that’s strange or stupid I’m going to tell you.
I didn’t get where I am by transcribing plans that come from the heads of people who have absolutely no training.
If there’s one thing I understand, it’s buildings.
It’s design. Homes. I want to take the feeling inside of you and turn it into something concrete.
Something real. And I will give you one bedroom if that’s what you really want.
But if you want a computer program to design your house, then you can have no feedback.
I am not a computer program. I’m an...artist.”
Okay, that was pushing it a lot further than she usually liked to go. But he was annoying her.
And making her feel hot.
It was unforgivable.
“A mouthy one,” he commented.
She sniffed. “I know my value. And I know what I do well.”
“I appreciate that quality in...anyone.”
“Then appreciate it when I push back. I’m not doing it just for fun.”
“If it will make you feel better you can put a few bedrooms in.”
“There will definitely be room,” she said. “Anyway, think of your resale value.”