Everywhere She Goes - Page 54

And she couldn’t forget the fact that Colin despised him. Cait shuddered at what her brother would think if Noah brought her home late, looking rumpled, cheeks abraded by that dark stubble on his jaw, lips puffy from his kisses, body limp from complete satisfaction.

Her panic was cousin to the electric shock she’d gotten as a kid when she’d stuck a hairpin decorated with colored glass “jewels” into an electric socket. The cause didn’t demonstrate any more intelligence.

I can still say, “You know, this probably isn’t a very good idea.”

He’d taken several turns and she realized the houses on her right were riverfront. She leaned forward. Oh, boy. She did want to see his house, even if she made her excuses before anything happened.

“Here we are.” His voice was a quiet rumble in the dark vehicle. The turn signal was on, though they were alone on the street.

She could see enough from streetlights and porch lights to guess this was one of the town’s older and most elegant houses. Which really wasn’t saying that much; there’d been no big money in Angel Butte until tourism had changed the entire nature of the region. But she liked this part of town way better than she did the developments with outsize log homes she just knew would be decorated with peeled ponderosa pine furniture, lamps fashioned from elk horns and a deer head or two on the walls. Oh, and there were the faux Swiss chalets that were only four or five thousand square feet. Cait had always preferred old. Even knowing they, too, were way too big to actually live in, she had coveted the old mansions on Federal Way in Seattle and up toward Volunteer Park.

Noah killed the engine in the driveway in front of a detached garage and opened his door. Eager despite her voice of common sense, Cait hopped out to join him.

“Did you buy the house right away when you moved here?”

He gave a low, rusty chuckle. “I was twenty-four. I had, oh, about five thousand dollars in the bank, saved to open my own business. No, home-owning was low on my list of priorities then.”

“You thought your dad was here,” she remembered. “Did you expect to be able to stay with him?”

It seemed to her that he went still for a moment before he put the key in the lock. “No. I was curious, not expecting the great father–son reunion    .” He sounded curt, even harsh. Back off.

Chastened, Cait didn’t say anything else until they were inside and he’d turned on lights.

Then she forgot she had irritated him. “Oh, Noah,” she breathed, walking into the living room to her right.

Hardwood—maybe hardwood, but definitely not oak—floors gleamed. Molding had been stripped and stained the same warm color. The fireplace had an amazing mantel, also wood and elaborately carved like one of those Victorian-era buffets. Lions’ heads finished each corner. She could only imagine the work it had taken to strip the carving of old varnish. The plastered walls were painted a rich shade of cream. With night behind them, small-paned windows reflected a sparkling view of the interior.

“It’s magnificent!”

He glanced around, looking a little self-conscious, Cait thought.

“This is the first room I finished. Dining room was next. Had to work my way up to the kitchen.”

“You really are doing it all yourself?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it a hobby.” Now he sounded mildly bemused, as if he didn’t understand himself.

“Had you worked construction?”

“No.” As if testing for rough spots, he ran his fingers over the broad molding that framed the wide entry. “I educated myself along the way. The wiring, thank God, had been redone. Plumbing was a bitch.”

“Of course plumbing has to be feminine,” she said sweetly.

He flashed one of those wicked grins that threatened her already shaky knees. “Naturally.” It turned into a grimace. “When I run water upstairs, I still hear some strange gurgles,” he said, chagrined. “She’s probably laughing at me.”

Like Cait did. She clapped her hand to her mouth, but the giggles died anyway when she saw the way he was looking at her. His eyes had heated, and his mouth…well, she didn’t know, only that it was all she could do not to lift her hand and touch his lips.

Tags: Janice Kay Johnson Billionaire Romance
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