CHAPTER 11
Cal
I open the Jeep’s passenger door for her, and before I can lift her into position again, she purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not gonna happen.” And with that, she slaps her hand around the grab bar and pulls herself up and around into the seat, all without having to bend her knees.
It’s impressive, but I won’t let her see that I’m impressed. I walk over to the driver’s side.
“How far is it to your cabin?”
“It’s not a cabin and it’s not far.”
“You’re a freaking font of knowledge, Callum. Too bad you couldn’t have been this forthcoming before I met your father.”
“That was your strategic error, not mine.”
She sighs. Loudly. It’s more like a huff of frustration. Good.
We pull up to my place two minutes later.
She lets herself out of the Jeep while I grab her bags.
Her eyes are already wide as she takes in my Craftsman ranch.
We climb the pine steps of the front porch and stop at the massive front door.
I commissioned a local artist to build it last year from cedar, hammered copper, and beveled glass.
“Oh,” she whispers, surprised.
I open the door for her, looking forward to her continued shock and awe.
“Holy shit.”
I smile to myself, knowing that was the reaction I was going for when I built the place.
I had it custom designed with everything exactly the way I wanted it.
Three bedrooms and five baths in a single story.
Huge gourmet kitchen, a great room with a cathedral ceiling and a floor-to-ceiling river rock fireplace, all of it finished in polished oak and pine with hammered copper accents.
Game room, billiard room, security-cleared conference room, and theater room.
The back wall is made of thermal floor-to-ceiling glass accordion doors that provide a jaw-dropping view of the lake and the open range and snow-capped mountains beyond.
The doors fold away with the touch of a button, and the back deck features an overstuffed conversation sectional, fire pit, hot tub, lounges, and an open-air sauna.
I may be a former SEAL with demolition expertise, but those days are behind me. No more blowing up shit. I’m all about building shit these days. And I’m not shy about enjoying a few luxuries.
“Let me get you situated.” I walk past the Speechless Problem Solver, who has stopped in the center of the great room and is staring all around her, eyes going from the ceiling to the fireplace to the kitchen to the wall of glass.
She lingers a long moment at the baby grand piano.
It was my mother’s most treasured material possession.
I’m halfway down the hall when she catches up with me.
I flip on the light switch and carry her bags through the room and directly into the generous walk-in closet.
“Closet’s here. Bathroom’s there.” I point to the adjoining room of copper and marble.
“There’re fresh sheets on the bed. Let me know if you need anything else. ”
“Thanks—”
I shut the door behind me and make my way to the back deck.
I rest my hands on the railing and stare absently across the ranch, getting my breath to settle, wondering what the fuck has just happened.
All I did was agree to drop off Finn, Declan, and Jasmine at the airpark!
But I picked up a wholly unexpected plot twist, one that’s got me all twisted up.
There’s an incredibly beautiful woman in my guest room right now. But she wants to buy part of our ranch, our family history, our family legacy. She wants to get her hands on it, and I can't let her. She called us pushovers. Easy money. We’re nothing but a mark to her.
I don’t care how beautiful she is—she can’t be trusted.
And what’s up with Dad winking at me the way he did? When he’d just assured me he was serious about getting an offer on Sulfur Springs?
This fucking week can’t be over fast enough.
I can hear her on the phone again, all the way through the walls and thermal glass. Her voice is raised. It seems she spends a good portion of her waking hours shouting into her phone.
I’m hungry, so I head back into the kitchen, thinking about what I’m in the mood for, what will scratch that itch.
Redhead. That’s what I’m in the mood for.
But that delicacy is off the menu.
I open the fridge and start hauling out everything I think I’ll need—a couple ribeyes, asparagus, shallots, fresh peas, cherry tomatoes, and shiitake mushrooms. Then I grab the heavy cream and aged Parmesan Reggiano.
As always, I thank my lucky stars that Declan flies into Lake Tahoe once a week to load up on organic fresh produce, aged cheeses, pantry staples, and good wine. I love it here, but I refuse to live without high-quality ingredients.
I love to cook and I’m damn good at it.
I hear the guest room door open at the end of the hall, followed by quiet footfalls on the wood floors.
It sounds like she’s in sock feet, no shoes, so she must have changed her clothes.
I don’t look up for confirmation. I’m not in the mood to see that pretty, feminine face and those simmering green eyes.
I’d rather stay busy by chopping the shit out of the shiitakes and keep to myself.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see that she’s wandered into the great room.
She drags a fingertip across the custom cedar mantel and bends down to look at family photos on the bookshelves.
She stops to admire the piano, humming to herself.
Eventually, she plops down on the sectional that faces out the back.
I hear her sigh, like she approves of the view.
Not that her approval means anything to me.
Her phone rings, yet again, cutting through the peaceful silence.
“Dad!” she hisses into the phone. “I just explained to you—yes! Fine! I already said I would. I just asked a simple question about the… there’s no need to—”
Her dad’s an asshole, obviously. She sounds stressed. I almost feel sympathy for her.
Nah.
“Why can’t you just trust me to take care of it? I told you I’d keep you posted, and I will. No, Father. I’m not accusing you—”
The room goes quiet. I didn’t hear her say goodbye, so her father must have hung up on her.
Classy. She sighs again, this time with what sounds like disappointment.
Just then, the girls smash their way through the doggy door, race past me in the kitchen, and skid to a stop at Victoria’s feet. She squeals in fear.
I squeeze my lips shut and keep my laughter to myself. It’s not like I’m hiding. It’s not like I’m practicing camouflage, concealment, and deception out here in my own kitchen. If she was even the slightest bit aware of her surroundings, she’d have seen me the instant she left her room.
“No, no. Good boys. Don’t do that. Go on, doggies. Back away. Go get a bone or do whatever dog things you like to do or whatever. Go!”
They pay no attention to her command. Ripley has jumped up and has her paws on Victoria’s shoulders. The only thing that would make this better is if we’d just had torrential rain and my girl was covered in mud.
“All settled in, Victoria?”
She swings around on the couch, pushing Ripley away with one hand and clutching her chest with the other.
“You scared me. Again.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” I reach for the pasta pot and run the tap to fill it. “So, how’s the digs? I know it ain’t the Sweetbriar Hotel, but we do our humble best.”
“Ha!”
I take a quick look her way. She’s given up trying to convince Ripley and Sarah to leave her alone. Now she’s patting the tops of their heads like she’s playing Whack-a-Mole at the county fair. She really doesn’t know jack shit about dogs.
“Are they friendly?” she asks. “I mean, they're really pretty and they seem nice, but I've never been a fan of dogs. And they’re big.”
“They’re lovebugs. Just tell them they’re good girls and they’ll eventually wander off.”
“They don’t bite?”
I look up from the pasta pot to see Sarah and Ripley crowding to get closer to her.
Victoria’s pressed her back against the sofa, trying to put some distance between her and the dogs, while their tails swing wildly and their tongues hang out.
Dogs are supposed to sense a person’s true nature, but they’re way off on this one. It looks like they love her.
It’s understandable. They’ve never encountered a real estate scavenger before, so they don’t know any better.
I decide to be nice and call off the hounds. “Sarah Connor! Ripley! Come!” The girls spin around and run to the kitchen. “Go on outside. I’ll call you back in a bit.” I watch them crash their way through the doggy door again.
Victoria stands and walks toward me. I have to turn my gaze away and busy myself with putting the water on the gas stovetop.
This doesn’t make any sense. She’s wearing jeans, athletic socks, and a simple white V-necked T-shirt. That clothing shouldn’t be sexier than her expensive, tight-fitting business suit and killer heels, right? And yet it is.
Way sexier.
“What are you making?”
She’s twisted her hair loosely and pulled it over one shoulder.
She’s taken off her gold-and-platinum jewelry.
Yet again, I can’t help but think that I’ve never laid eyes on a woman this beautiful in my life, and despite my best interests and the interests of my family, I can’t pretend I don’t see what’s right in front of me.
I can’t pretend that I don’t want to drag her to bed. Flick my tongue all over her slit and lick her from head to toe, tasting the salt on her skin after we’ve fucked each other’s brains out.
I swallow. “Steaks and Pasta Alfredo. Hungry?”
“Starving! Tell me what I can do to help.”
“Uh…” I’m struggling to keep my thoughts on dinner and not my dick, then see that she’s already at the kitchen sink washing her hands.
All of her is lovely, from top to bottom, with slender arms and hands, a tight little butt, and spectacular tits underneath that thin T-shirt.
I wonder if she’s wearing it on purpose to distract me.
She dries her hands on the kitchen towel.
“Yeah, uh, if you can cut some of these veggies, that would be—” She turns from the sink and nearly crashes into me.
Inches separate us. Her forehead almost touches my collarbone, and that sweet scent rises from her warm skin and invades my senses.
Blood pounds in the artery on the side of her neck, in rhythm with my own thudding heart. Her skin looks velvety soft.
I may not want her at Yosemite Ranch, and I may be opposed to all she stands for, but damn, everything else about her is exactly what I want and need.
Victoria raises her gaze to lock with mine. She licks her bottom lip, the way she did at the airpark. I’d wanted to jump her bones then, and I want to now. She knows that, of course. She’s setting me up. She’s playing me. To her, I’m just another MacLaine pushover.
“Excuse me,” she says, her whisper husky. She lowers her eyes, pretending to be embarrassed. At least I think she’s pretending. “I was just trying to—”
“Of course.” I back away to give her access to the cutting board.
For the first time, it occurs to me that she may be as off balance as I am.
And right now, I’m so off-kilter that I think about lifting her hair and kissing the delicate nape of her neck.
Thanks to my brilliant battle strategy, my enemy now holds a knife in her hand.
“Any particular way you want these chopped?”
That was considerate of her to ask, and I wasn’t expecting her to be considerate. Or even decent. “Any way is fine, thanks. So, Victoria…” I’m trying to keep the conversation light. “You’ve never had a dog? How about a cat?”
“Absolutely not. My dad doesn’t like animals, so I was never allowed to have a pet.”
Asshole. I was right.
“I guess it’s safe to assume that you haven’t spent much time around horses or cattle, correct?”
She laughs, keeping her back to me while she chops. It’s a full-throated and husky laugh, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard it. I guess there hasn’t been a whole hell of a lot to laugh about up to now.
“The reason I ask is because there’s a lot of those around here, being a ranch and all. Just a heads-up.”
“Thank you for the insight.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, please.”
“How about iced tea?”
“Sounds perfect.”
I pour her a glass and place it on the counter. She looks up and gives me a shy smile.
“Enjoy,” I say.
“Thank you.”
That’s enough for me. We’re being so fucking polite with each other that I’m about to puke. I go to the walk-in pantry to grab the pasta, taking a moment to regain my basic mental functions.
What the fuck is wrong with you, MacLaine? Keep it together!