Chapter 12

“Don’t get drool on my floor. The cleaning service doesn’t come until next week.”

Mal heard Hunter’s jab, but she couldn’t manage to close her mouth as she took in the grand spectacle and sheer awesomeness of his house. He held her arm steady as she struggled to take off her muddy boots, mostly because she was too busy gawking and craning her neck to see up as high as she could. He was right; the house wasn’t little at all. It was huge.

He sighed, still holding on to her arm. “I’m not going to get you to change first before I show you around, am I?”

Mal grinned at him. “No way, pal.”

His smile turned quizzical, and her stomach fluttered. He shook his head and released her arm. “All right, come on.”

He led her around to the stairs, which were a gorgeous hardwood. She craned her neck up to see where they led but couldn’t get a glimpse. He took her down a hallway toward the far side of the house, the floor beneath her feet perfectly smooth and polished wood that had a dark, almost cherry stain, and her damp socks slid none too gracefully along them. She traced the walls aimlessly with her fingers for a balance, her pulse still racing with the excitement of being here—in Hunter’s house. She swallowed a lump in her throat and turned her gaze ahead, only to gasp once more.

He’d brought her to the dining room, which was large and open and had glass windows from floor to ceiling on two sides.

“Dining room,” he said unnecessarily, gesturing with one hand. “Doors lead out to the outdoor grill and fire pit you saw before.”

She went to the windows, tempted to put her hands and face on them like a kid at a candy store. The view was spectacular. She had known that from the pictures he’d allowed her before they’d come in. But to live here and see it all the time? Over a bowl of Raisin Bran? That was unreal.

He stepped back and pushed a door open behind him. “Kitchen, a bit much, but we like food, so we went all out.”

Mal turned and poked her head in. He wasn’t kidding. It was a restaurant-quality stainless-steel kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances. Eight chefs could fit in there, no problem.

“Who cooks?” she asked him, tilting her head.

“Me. And Mom and Dad and Uncle Sam . . . We all do, but when we’re all here, we hire someone to come in.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured in disbelief, turning to go back down the hallway. Really, she was putting on a show for him. She was ridiculously impressed with this place. It was just the right mix of rustic and modern, well furnished and well maintained without reeking of excess, and the place even smelled like Hunter. Warm. Rustic. Clean. With that barest hint of all-natural earthiness that somehow soothed and scorched her all at once.

Hunter stepped around her and opened another door they had passed before. “Office,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.

She peeked in and smiled. One half of the room was certainly an office; the other half had a couch that probably folded out, and those killer tall windows with the perfect view. And a balcony.

She inclined her head toward it. “For when you’re lost in thought?” she asked.

He shrugged with a small smile. “Fresh air is good for thought, don’t you think?”

“And a couch for naps?”

“A good nap does wonders for me.”

She snickered and let him pull her back out.

“One more,” he told her, “then we go upstairs, and you get dry.”

She rolled her eyes.

He laced his fingers through hers, and she could feel him holding his breath. Then suddenly they were in the massive great room, which was open to the second story and had those grand windows covering most of the two external walls. The same wood floor throughout the house was most prominently displayed here, and the third wall was entirely made of stone with an expanded natural fireplace at the base.

Several couches and chairs and rugs were spread about the room. A few end tables and desks were here and there, and massive bookshelves, filled to their limits, took up the only wall space not occupied by windows or stone. It was without a doubt the best room she had ever seen.

Hunter chuckled and tapped her chin. She was gaping. “Grotesquely extravagant?” he suggested.

She shook her head. “It’s perfect,” she breathed.

He squeezed her hand tightly. “Come on,” he said after a moment. “We’re dripping on the floor.”

She looked down and saw, much to her dismay, that he was right. “Oh, good night,” she muttered, mopping it up with her socks. “I am so sorry. This floor is real too, and I’m ruining it.”

Hunter laughed once and tugged her behind him as he led her from the room. “Honey, it’s my house, not a hotel. Trust me, these floors can take it. They’ve seen worse.”

“You’re just saying that,” she grumbled, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yep. Cause I’m the kind of guy who just says things,” he drawled, giving her a look over his shoulder.

She returned his look and followed him up the stairs, peering over into that great room once again. She really hoped that was where Hunter had imagined her taking a nap, because that’s where she would be headed.

Hunter took her into the first door on the second floor and pushed her in ahead of him. “This should do it,” he murmured, sounding a bit awkward.

The room was decorated simply, but in a tasteful, distinctly feminine way. There was a spectacular view of the lake, a queen bed with a pastel flower-embroidered coverlet, and an oversize chair with matching ottoman. The walls were hung with pictures, and she moved over to the nearest one.

A gorgeous blonde woman dressed in the most perfect fall ensemble ever created was throwing leaves at Hunter, both of them grinning. It could have been a haute fashion photo shoot. Mal swallowed down a sudden wash of bile. What was this?

“This is Audrey’s room,” Hunter said from behind her. “She’s my sister.”

Mal turned and saw him leaning against the doorframe, watching her. She tried not to let her relief show.

“She’s pretty,” she said, glancing back at the photo. “Like, movie-star pretty.”

“I tell her that, but she seems to think I’m biased,” he mused.

Mal smiled at him, seeing a whole new adorable side of him. She slowly meandered to the next picture, this one of a much younger Hunter and Audrey on a dock in early morning with an older man with fishing gear.

“Grandpa Carlow?” Mal asked, without looking back at him.

“The man himself,” Hunter answered, coming up behind her. “Through and through Irishman, loved family, fishing, and Guinness, usually in that order. Sometimes those last two got reversed.”

Mal laughed and touched the picture gently. “You two adored him.”

“Couldn’t help it. Irish charm. He had it. Dad, Uncle Pat, and Uncle Sam have it. It must dilute with Americanization or something, because Deacon and I don’t have any of that.”

Mal looked up at him incredulously. “You don’t have any Irish charm?”

He gave her a half smile. “No . . . but I can do a perfect Irish accent, if that counts for anything at all,” he said in a convincing Irish brogue.

Mal had to steady herself with one uneven breath. “Don’t do that,” she said faintly, laughing. “Not without warning.” She cleared her throat. “Who’s Deacon?”

“My one male cousin,” Hunter replied, sounding amused. “The rest are girls.”

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

“Good heavens!” she cried, looking back at him.

He shrugged. “Irish.”

She moved on to another picture, this one of Audrey in sweats and a T-shirt, clinging to a walker, but with a brilliant smile on her face, tears in her eyes, and sweat on her brow. “What’s this?” Mal asked quietly.

Hunter exhaled softly, but she heard a lot of emotion behind it. “Nine years ago,” he started, his voice rougher than she anticipated, “Audrey went for a run while we were here. Not unusual, she’s a fitness nut. It started raining while she was out, but we weren’t too concerned. She was a big girl, knew the area, so Deke and I didn’t think anything of it. But when three hours went by, we knew something was up. We split up and drove around the resort, tracing her usual running paths, fighting the wind and the rain. It was getting dark . . .”

Mal stared at him open mouthed. “What happened?” she whispered.

He swallowed hard and folded his arms uncomfortably. “I found her. I don’t know what drew my attention to that patch of road, but I got out of the truck and went over to look down the ravine. There was Audrey . . .” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “She was unconscious, with a gash on her head, and her leg was twisted in a way that no leg should be twisted. Blood all over it. I got down to her, called nine-one-one, called Deke . . . I rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital. Deke called my parents, and we waited. Her leg had been badly cut and broken in three places. Lots of surgery to fix it, and the doctor said it might not work. They asked us about cutting it off if it came to that. But it didn’t. She made it.” He shook his head again and pointed at the picture. “This is the day in rehab that she finally managed to stand up on her own. She called it her personal V-Day.”

Mal looked back at it, unable to help smiling. “Best day ever.”

“Actually,” he said with a catch in his voice, “that one is.” He pointed at a picture on the adjacent wall.

Mal wandered over and grinned broadly. It was of Audrey crossing a marathon finish line, arms raised in victory over her head, laughing at the camera.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of her than I was that day.”

Mal could hear that big-brother pride in his voice, and her smile softened. She turned to look at Hunter for a moment, then walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He smiled in surprise but returned the gesture, cocking his head at her. “What’s this for?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You’re cute.”

His smile turned warmer, and her toes curled in her socks. “I thought I was overprotective and a worrier and way too nosy.”

She tugged him closer, feeling her cheeks heat. “You are. But you’re also cute, and I like you.”

His eyes darkened, his smile faded, and something about his soaking-wet hair and skin and clothes made him smell even better than normal, the scent filling her lungs and seeping through her skin. He put one hand under her chin and slowly tilted her face up. “I like you too,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl.

Mal inhaled slowly, her lips parting all on their own, and Hunter took advantage of it, grazing his lips along hers. Once, twice, three times, he passed over, barely touching, but enough to drive her crazy. She moved her head to brush their noses, letting her lips fall against his, catching his bottom lip between hers for a moment.

Hunter’s hand shifted, and he cupped her jaw, sealing his lips more firmly over hers, somehow creating a response in her that was more exquisite than the one he’d elicited in their pantry venture, though the two could not have been more different. That had been frantic and passionate and heady.

This was slow and gentle and filled with tension, emotion, restraint . . .

This . . . this was a maddening, grazing, hardly-able-to-breathe, toe-tingling, stomach-curling onslaught that was heating her from the inside out and draining her of thought and sense and everything in the world but him.

This she could get used to.

Assuming she lived through it.

After another gentle, teasing brush of his lips, Hunter broke off with a hint of a despairing groan. “Okay,” he rumbled, sounding punch drunk as he stepped away from her. “I gotta get out of here. Shower and get changed; Audrey has clothes that should fit you.”

“Okay,” Mal replied, sighing more than speaking, dazedly looking him over and wondering how in the world she had this man at her fingertips.

Hunter stepped back farther, reading her thoughts with far too much insight. “Stop looking at me like that,” he warned, his voice strained. “I gotta get out of here.”

Mal smiled knowingly. “You said that already.”

“It bears repeating. Just . . . stop.” He held out a hand as if he could actually stop her, then he turned and headed out the door, glancing over his shoulder at her again. She caught the flash of heat and hunger there, and she shivered. Yeah, it was probably best that he left.

Things were getting a bit toasty.

She finally looked down at herself and threw her hands in the air. She was a drowned rat. He should have forced her upstairs to clean up instead of indulging her desire to see the house. She hurried over to the bathroom, quickly stripped down, and jumped into the pristine marble shower, trying to ignore the perfect water pressure and thoughts of how much such a room must cost.

She’d always been fast in the shower, and this time was no exception. While the water was soothing and the right temperature, she’d never seen the point in taking forever and found little relaxation in hygiene. Her grandfather used to joke that she never actually washed anything, just got wet and got back out. Somehow, he always managed to sound impressed when he said that.

Wrapping herself in a thick towel, Mal got out of the shower and padded over to the moderately sized closet, instantly liking Audrey for her taste in clothing alone. It was simple, fashionable, and good quality without any of the ostentation Mal would have expected from a girl of her fortune. She probably looked like a model in these things. But then, she was related to Hunter. He knew how to dress and never looked anything less than perfect.

Audrey in real life would probably terrify her and then quickly become a girl she could laugh over coffee with.

Mal grabbed the most inexpensive clothing she could find, settling on a pair of dark-wash jeans, a long T-shirt, and an oversize sweater. She glanced in a basket just inside the closet door and grinned at the collection of fuzzy socks.

Yep, Audrey was on her good list.

She heard some noises from the floor below and tiptoed out of the room to the landing, rubbing her hair with the towel. Hunter was still in his wet clothes, but he’d taken his jacket off. The fire was now built up and roaring in the fireplace, and he was rearranging furniture of all things. The massive and comfortable-looking couch was now pulled in front of the fire, and he was moving the chairs that had been there somewhere else.

Mal smiled as she watched him, taking pleasure in watching that man work in clothing that clung to him. She wasn’t usually so fascinated by a guy’s physique, but none of her past relationships had involved someone so spectacularly formed. There was something graceful in the way he moved, his muscles coiling and uncoiling with just the right amount of artistry. He was a masterpiece in and of himself, and she suddenly wanted to send his mother a fruit basket or flowers or a convertible.

He stood, put his hands on his hips, and nodded once, then started for the stairs, never once looking up. Mal scurried back into Audrey’s room, hung the towel up, and waited until she heard him walk by. Then she poked her head out and watched him walk into the room at the end, pulling his T-shirt over his head with both arms.

She nearly swallowed her tongue as she caught sight of his perfectly sculpted back. She hadn’t realized she was so attracted to backs; she’d have to remember that.

Hunter tossed his shirt somewhere and ran his hands through his hair, half turning and giving her a spectacular view of his front side.

Chest and abs would also have to go on the list.

He scratched at his scruff and twisted, unknowingly baring more to her view. Mal choked back a whimper of appreciation. Maybe just his chest and abs.

Real men didn’t look like that. And yet, there he stood. A real man, who really liked her and who really drove her insane and really knew how to kiss her.

He finally moved out of sight, and Mal found herself staggering backward against the doorframe. She blinked hard and realized she was literally biting her knuckle. Shouldn’t she have noticed that before? She straightened up and fumbled her way back into the room, reaching for walls or the bed or anything else that would keep her from falling over.

Another shower suddenly seemed like a good idea. A very cold shower.

After washing her face and fanning herself for a while, Mal made her way down the stairs. She wandered around the main floor and heard some noise from the kitchen, which made her smile. She wasn’t the only one quick in the shower, then.

She poked her head into the kitchen and saw Hunter pulling things out of the fridge and a pot from under the counter. A set of speakers in the corner was playing slow jazz, and Hunter moved to the beat. He was freshly changed into a perfectly fitted dark-gray T-shirt and jeans and was barefoot.

Mal grinned and came into the room fully. “What’s on the menu, chef?”

He looked up, gave her a slow appraisal, and his mouth curved. “Hello, gorgeous.”

She blushed. “Hey, hot stuff.”

He choked out a laugh and winked at her as he moved to the sink to fill the pot with water. “Don’t tease me, baby. And don’t get excited either; it’s nothing fancy. Mac and cheese. From a box.”

Mal smiled and came over to his side of the counter. “Sounds great.”

He smiled down at her. “Audrey’s clothes look good on you.”

“She has great taste,” Mal informed him, pushing the sleeves back. “I like her already.”

Hunter’s smile grew, and his eyes crinkled. “I thought you might.”

Mal considered him for a moment. “That story you told me. About her leg? That was why you got so crazy about me in the rain, wasn’t it?”

He set the pot down and turned on the burner, taking his time to answer. He turned, facing her. “Yeah, it was. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I get fired up about that.”

“I get it,” Mal said as she came over to him. “You have good reason to be worried about that. I’m sorry I made it so hard for you. I should have listened.”

He straightened up and kissed her forehead softly. “I get angry when I get scared. Forgive me.”

Mal laughed softly through her nose. “I guess I have to, since you’re showing me the house and feeding me and all that.”

He laughed and stepped aside, going for the things he pulled out of the fridge. “Yeah, the house you wanted so badly.”

Mal shrugged, folding her arms. “It has its perks.”

Hunter gave her a look that made her grin. “Topic change,” he instructed.

She hummed and leaned against the counter. “The day of the first sunrise shoot, you said you knew Eagle Lake. Do you have another resort there?”

“Just a house,” Hunter said with a warm smile. “We went there a lot and visited family. Audrey and our cousin Abby used to go exploring for hours on end, and I’d be the one that had to track them down.”

Mal smiled, loving the way he reminisced about his family. “Another Irish cousin?”

Hunter chuckled. “Actually, no. Abby’s from my mom’s side of the family, and the only one we have there. Great kid.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Not often enough,” he said, his tone shifting to an almost gruff one. “She’s out in Oregon, and likes to keep to herself.” He gave her a quick look and a smile. “What about you? You said you went there with your parents?”

Mal nodded, her chest tightening. “We rented the same cottage every summer. Mom and Dad and I lived in Tennessee by Jenna and the rest, but we always went up to Eagle Lake. It’s one of my favorite family memories of just us. One of the only ones, really.”

“Mal . . .”

“I was eight, almost nine when they died,” she murmured, getting lost in her memories. “Car crash. I don’t remember being told that they died. Isn’t that strange? Should be something you remember, the moment your entire life changes. I remember the day before, how excited I was that they were coming home, and I remember the day after that when everyone was hugging and holding me. But I don’t remember being told they died . . .”

Hunter said nothing to this, and the silence broke the moment more than anything. Mal looked up at him, forcing the darkness aside. “Sorry, that got bleak, didn’t it?”

His look was so soft, so comforting, that she almost cried. “I’m so sorry, Mal.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s really okay. Uhh . . . right, so I never went back to Eagle Lake. Stayed in Tennessee until I was twelve, then moved to the farm in Iowa to live with my mom’s family. So if you wanted to give me a contract for Eagle Lake . . .”

“In a heartbeat.” He laughed and winked at her. “Ask another question.”

Mal thought for a moment. “Longest relationship.”

Hunter stiffened and looked back at the stove. “Tough to say. My longest was also an on and off one.”

“How long?”

“Long enough. It’s over, in the past, and better left there.”

Mal frowned, though Hunter wouldn’t see it. A small prickle of hesitation and alarm started to grow in her stomach, but she shoved it away. “If you had to sing at karaoke night, what would you sing?”

“Easy,” Hunter said, relaxing. “I wouldn’t.”

Mal rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know, but if you had to.”

He looked at her again. “I wouldn’t.”

“Fine, rephrasing the question. Favorite kind of music? And don’t tell me you don’t like music, I saw you dancing around in here.”

He lifted a brow at her. “I know how to dance, Miss Hudson, and what you may have witnessed in here does not constitute dancing.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, excuse me.”

“Honestly? I probably like this stuff best.” He gestured at the speakers. “I’m an old soul, I guess. Jazz has always been a favorite. In fact, there’s a jazz night for the resort guests and locals tomorrow night down at the pavilion. I was thinking about going.” He gave her a questioning look. “You like jazz?”

Mal hesitated for a moment, watching him with a smile on her lips and a blossom of warmth in her chest. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I like jazz. I’ll go with you.”

He fought a grin and pretended to be casual. “I don’t remember asking.”

“Tough,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You are something else, you know that?”

She smiled. “So are you.”

The moment, whatever it was, hung between them for a time, suspended in the air and coursing through them. Something unspeakable and fantastic and perfect and completely overwhelming. How was it possible that this crazy good-looking, intense, funny, charming man was available for her?

Or for anyone at all?

She was suddenly breathless with the giddiness of how lucky she was.

A hissing sound behind her made Mal turn in surprise. Hunter was at the stove in three strides, picking up the pot and letting the boiling water and noodles settle before returning it to the burner.

He gave her a scolding look. “You are ruining lunch. Stop distracting me and go over there.”

Mal laughed and scooted away from him. “I’ll just go into the great room and sit by the fire. Okay if we eat out there?”

“Baby, I’d let you eat anything anywhere in this house so long as I was with you,” he told her.

Mal’s eyes widened, and she cleared her throat. “Right. I thought we talked about toning that down.”

“How many Mississippis will that take to settle?” he asked with a crooked grin.

Again, she cleared her throat. “About seven.”

He nodded. “Awesome. Getting better.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed the kitchen door open. “Only you would see that as a challenge.”

“Blankets are in the ottoman,” he called. “And save me a seat. Next to you.”

She turned back and poked her head in. “I thought I was supposed to be warming up and taking a nap.”

His slow, smoldering grin made her legs ache. “You are. I’m helping.”

“Shasta!” Mal exclaimed as she straightened and put a hand over her eyes.

Hunter chuckled. “Come on, Mal, I’m playing. I’ll tuck you in and hold you tight, and you can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you my whole life story if you want—beginning to end. Funny stories, twenty questions, truth or dare, whatever strikes your fancy.”

She gave him a curious look. “Really? Mr. Filthy Stinking Rich with his very private life is going to let me in?”

His lips twitched at that, and his smile softened. “Just for you, baby. Whatever you want.”

Mal returned his smile and headed toward the great room, feeling unsteady again. Because she was growing more certain that what she wanted wasn’t his life story or his hopes and dreams for the future. She would even pass on this house, as perfect as it was.

What she wanted was him.

And that was a particularly terrifying thought.