Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
I’d found the drawers and open rail Dair had cleared for me in his closet (he’d obviously used a former room to build a walk-in, a decision I wholeheartedly approved, ditto with his bathroom, and my approval). So I quickly unpacked.
Spritz of perfume.
Daring red nightie and matching string bikini panties.
And I was ready.
I hoped.
“God,” I moaned to myself as I walked out to the stairwell.
I had no idea in his big (and tall) house, if he’d hear me.
What I did know was that you didn’t hire an interior designer and say, “Do whatever.”
You were involved in the process. You gave your preferences. You guided the project.
And if his house (not to mention his clothes and his choice of car) was anything to go by, Dair had exceptionally good taste.
His living room was a contrast of lights and darks. It was more formal than the lounge. There were patterns and textures in the soft furnishings. Personality to the fireplace wall that looked wallpapered in a dark blue-gray tweed (the fireplace painted black). Inset shelves on either side that told me he read and traveled (the last, I knew, the first I wasn’t surprised about). And the modern lighting fixture over the ottoman/table that had dangling globes of gold, milky or smoked glass was a stunner.
His lounge was darker, dressed in deep hues of blue and gray. It had a fireplace too, over which was the TV.
The kitchen that had a view to the miniscule back garden shared he hadn’t lied during one of our daily conversations. He cooked.
It was bright and airy with white cupboards, black marble countertops, and a silvery-gray, small-square tile backsplash. In all of that monochrome, he kept some oranges in a black bowl on the windowsill above the corner sink. I expected, for a man, the placement wasn’t for aesthetics, but instead to keep it off the countertop, or maybe he was a man who cared about the aesthetics. Either way, it was the perfect pop of color for the room.
His dining room was sparsely furnished and modern, with comfortable chairs around the table, as dining rooms should be. If you were entertaining lots of people and bringing in food, you didn’t need to navigate furniture.
He had two guest bedrooms (the lounge was on the second floor).
And his bedroom took up the entire top floor.
It was fabulous. Masculine, without being too masculine. Stylish, without being overly styled and unwelcoming. Comfortable. And spacious.
He only had one parking spot, though. However, Edinburgh had been formed long before cars were an idea, so I knew he was lucky to even have that.
But his was a lovely home. Room to move. Room to have space to yourself. Rooms that were cozy so you could enjoy them together.
And we could both be cooking and not bump into each other.
The man liked his clothes, but there was still plenty of closet space.
I could spend time here.
I could be happy here.
Oh so happy.
God, was I running that far ahead so early?
I totally was, standing like an idiot in his stairwell, wearing a racy red nightie.
Because…he bought me roses.
Two dozen (I counted as I stemmed them and put them in a vase) bunched beautifully together red, red, red roses.
And he met me at the airport with them.
I thought men like this only existed in books. Men who called you every day. Men who texted you too, so you knew he was thinking about you. Men who weren’t about guessing games. Men who were more concerned about what you thought than what their friends thought.
Real men.
Good men.
My man.
“Dair!” I shouted down the steps.
I expected he wouldn’t hear me, but I got a quick, “Aye!”
“Can you come up here for a sec?” I requested, that “for a sec” part not at all what I intended, but he’d find that out soon enough.
“Be up in a tick!”
God, how could he make “in a tick” sound hot?
I put it down to the powers of a Scottish accent.
Or maybe it was just Dair.
I scurried back to the bedroom.
It was then I realized I hadn’t planned this out far enough. I got to the nightie part and calling him up part and stopped.
I’d never instigated this kind of thing. It was always the guy doing it.
Should I be lounged on the bed invitingly?
Should I sit at the end with legs crossed, arms back, breasts pushed out?
Should I…?
Fuck it.
I sat cross-legged at the end of his bed and fretted.
He hadn’t made any moves since I arrived hours ago, except the couch nap/cuddle (and I was correct, cuddling with him was transcendent).
Maybe he was worried I was jetlagged (I semi-was, but not enough not to want this).
Maybe he wasn’t ready yet.
I’d soon find out.
Yikes.
I heard him coming and instantly changed my mind.
I thought I was ready.
I wasn’t.
He appeared in the door.
Too late now.
He took one look at me and didn’t freeze or take even a millisecond to contemplate.