Truth About Men & Dogs

by Andrea Simonne

  “You’re right. If I want something, I go for it.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “I want to go for it too.”

  He grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I have an idea. Let’s get takeout instead.”

  My breath caught at his expression. The promise of intimacy and pleasure.

  We told the waitress when she came back and then waited for our food up front by the cash register, standing close together while he held my hand.

  Once we were back in his car again, Philip leaned over the seat, reaching for me and kissing me hungrily. “What have you done to me? I can’t get enough of you.” He shook his head and seemed to force himself to turn away. “Let’s go before I completely lose my wits and take you right here in this car.”

  He started the engine, and we headed out. I tried to look around the neighborhood, to absorb my surroundings and calm myself, because I’d already lost my wits. Was I really going to go for it? Risk another broken heart? Or even worse, a betrayal? Did I even have it in me to approach this relationship with the same gusto as he did?

  Philip kept looking over at me as he drove, our eyes catching. Each time, a spark of excitement flew through me.

  Eventually we turned onto a small road dotted with nice homes on one side, all of them along the water. He took a left into a narrow driveway that led down a short hill and through a keypad-locked gate. It leveled off in front of a house that was not what I expected.

  “This is it,” he said.

  My mouth fell open with astonishment. “Wait, this is your house?” It was a giant glass and cement palace.

  He turned the engine off. “Come here.” He tried to reach for me again, but I was too busy gawking.

  It was way bigger than Sullivan House. It was enormous. “And you live here alone?” I was expecting his house to be impressive, but nothing like this. “Are you planning to start your own religious cult? Is that it?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Because I think you could.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

  We got out of the car, and I held the takeout food while he grabbed our bags from the back. I felt disoriented again like I had at the airport. All this show of wealth didn’t seem like Philip. It was too much. Where was the guy with the beat-up sneakers? The one who laid down the floor in my spare room?

  At the entrance, he stood and gazed up into what looked like a small camera.

  “What is that?”

  There was a click and the front door opened.

  “Iris scan,” he explained. “I have it set up for keyless entry.”

  “Like a retina scan?”

  He shook his head. “That’s an older technology. This is better and more secure. It’s one of our investments.”

  Inside the house smelled like lemons, and right away I wondered what type of cleaning products were used to leave that scent. It was nice. Fresh and clean.

  “Do you have a maid service?”

  He carried our bags along with what looked like an extra computer case. “Of course.”

  “Do they leave you a list of products they use?” I glanced around the entryway. The floors were marble tile that I knew from experience dulled easily, but they were nice and shiny. “Could I see the invoices they’ve given you?”

  Philip went still, and I glanced over at him. I realized it was probably weird that I was asking about his maid service. I mean, here he was living like a king in this palace while I lived like a peasant in a tiny carriage house.

  But he was nodding at me with approval. “Sure, I’ll have a few of them forwarded to you.”

  He led me through the main living room, which was like a hotel lobby except it was completely empty.

  “Why don’t you have any furniture?” I asked. There were large windows everywhere looking out onto the water. The view was magnificent.

  To my surprise, instead of going into the kitchen to drop off the food, he led me up a staircase. “Where are we going?”

  “I mainly hang out upstairs.”

  “You do?”

  At the top of the stairs, he took a turn and led me down a long empty hallway. It let out into another living area like the one below us but smaller. As we walked through, I could hear him giving voice commands about the lights and temperature. Various lamps flicked on.

  I glanced around the room. A couple of nice leather sofas were in the center with a group of flat-paneled televisions mounted on the wall across from them. Shelves were filled with books and other items. Some photos and prints hung on the walls, and Persian rugs lay over shiny hardwood floors. The overall aesthetic was pleasing.

  I followed him to a kitchen area. It was state-of-the-art and certainly bigger than mine but not overly grand. More like a fancy mini kitchen.

  “Why do you have six televisions?” I asked, glancing back to the living room.

  He took the food from me and put it on the counter. “You’ll see.” He motioned with his head. “Come on, I haven’t shown you my bedroom yet.”

  We walked past the kitchen and through some double doors, and there it was—the master bedroom. Large windows dominated the space along with a king-sized bed. The room colors were shades of blue and green with a lot of dark wood.

  He brought the bags over to a small sitting area. I started to walk around the room, but he pulled me in close and tried to kiss me again.

  “So you have this giant house, but you only live in a small part of it?” I asked, avoiding his kiss.

  “I bought the house purely as an investment.” He brushed my hair aside and kissed my neck.

  My eyes fell shut against my will. His lips felt so nice. “Has it been a good investment?”

  “I paid cash when the market was depressed, and the value has more than tripled.” He pulled back and seemed to consider his own words. His brows furrowed. “It may be time to sell soon,” he murmured.

  Watching his face, I recognized that expression. He wore it a lot when he was talking about his various business interests. I realized it was true what he’d told me that night on the blanket in my front yard—making money was like a hobby for him.

  I felt myself relax. This was the guy I knew and cared about. Obviously this crazy house was just part of his hobby.

  I stroked Philip’s hair with affection. “You’re an unusual man, you know that?”

  That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and his mouth kicked up at the corner. “You’re only now figuring that out?”

  “I guess I am.”

  His gaze softened. “Am I unusual enough for you to fall in love with?”

  “We’ll see.” I smiled. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” He studied me with a devilish grin. “It’s clear you’re going to need more convincing.”

  “And how are you planning to do that?”

  “You’ll see.” He leaned down and kissed me.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and didn’t want to talk anymore. Instead I let him convince me as much as he liked.

  A little while later, I discovered why Philip had six televisions. We were sitting on the couch, both of us wearing sweatpants and eating our Italian takeout.

  “Screens on,” he said in a commanding tone, and all six televisions flickered to life.

  “Does everything in your house run on voice commands?”

  He shrugged. “Some things are automated, like the windows. Most everything else uses voice, or there are tablets for more options.”

  I glanced around and saw what he meant, noting a tablet on the coffee table and one on each end table.

  “Standard channels,” he said to the system, and the screens appeared to be automatically changing stations. He turned to me. “Each screen is programmed to connect to a different news network.”

  “But how can you watch all six at the same time? Isn’t it too noisy?” I took a bite from the plate of eggplant parmesan on my lap.

  “I keep them mu
ted with the captions running, and if something interests me, then I unmute it.”

  He showed me using both voice commands and a remote controller. He unmuted various news stations—one of them C-SPAN, of course.

  I studied the screens in front of me. The channels were varied and included both international and domestic news stations. “My dad would have loved this,” I said. They reminded me so much of him, that a wave of sadness washed over me. I looked at Philip. “I wish you could have met my dad.”

  “Me too.” He reached over and took my hand, squeezing it. “I think I would have liked him.”

  I nodded, my throat going tight. “You guys would have gotten along great.”

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “I’m fine.” I looked at the screens again. “I have these moments, but then they pass, you know?”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  I shook my head and took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

  He turned back to the televisions now on mute once more. With a command, he told them to shut down, and they all flickered off.

  “Hey, I have an idea.” He turned back to me with interest. “What do you say we watch The Godfather?”

  I laughed.

  “Is that funny?”

  I shook my head. “Just look at us. We’re sitting here wearing sweats, eating takeout, and watching television. Is this the glamorous life or what?”

  Philip stroked his chin and appeared to be thinking it over. “I could spill some food on myself. Burp and fart a little. Would that be glamorous enough for you?”

  I sighed. “Would you do that for me?”

  “Anything for you, my pirate princess.” He gave me a quick kiss before picking up his plate of food again.

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “And besides”—he leaned back on the couch, resting his bare feet on the large stone coffee table—“not only will you not let me buy you anything, but you refuse to let me take you anywhere—not even the Caribbean.”

  I didn’t bother to respond since it was a discussion we’d had a few times. He wanted to spend money on me, but I wouldn’t let him.

  Instead, my eyes roamed the length of him. He wore gray sweats and a black T-shirt that had a circuit board with the logo of some company on it. Despite what I’d just said, he looked incredibly hot. “Seriously though, aren’t you supposed to be out at a charity event somewhere cutting ribbons and donating giant checks?”

  Philip raised an eyebrow at me as he took a large bite from his plate of spaghetti.

  “Fighting crime every night while your butler irons your clothes and polishes your weapons.”

  He nearly choked with laughter. I watched him reach for his glass of water and take a drink. “You seem to have me confused with Batman.”

  “Do I?” I tilted my head.

  In the end, I agreed to watch The Godfather in his movie theater.

  Yes, his movie theater.

  It was in another part of the house. Small and cozy, decorated with side columns like a Greek theater. The ceiling had twinkling lights that looked like stars. The chairs were attached to each other, but if you lifted the drink holders, they converted into couches. We curled up on one together, munching on a bowl of grapes. I grabbed a couple of Kit Kat bars too. I’d discovered his kitchen was full of food, and he admitted he’d had his assistant, Sam, fill it with groceries before I arrived today.

  “I told him all about your Kit Kat bar habit,” Philip said with a grin.

  To my surprise, the film wasn’t boring like I remembered. It was engrossing.

  “I don’t understand why the Mafia would consider it business and not personal,” I said, breaking off half of my chocolate bar for him. “Even when they lose the people they love.”

  “Because it’s the life they chose.”

  Afterward, when the credits were rolling, he studied me. “So tell me I was right. Is that a great movie or what?”

  “You were right. I loved it.”

  He nodded. “The second film is just as good. We’ll have to watch that too.”

  We were lying on the couch. It was late, and I was tired but still felt this excited energy like I always did around Philip.

  “I still have one thing left to show you,” he murmured, lightly trailing his fingers down my arm.

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “My special room.”

  “Special room?”

  “You’re going to enjoy it, trust me.”

  A sense of unease shot through me. “This special room’s not red, is it?”

  “Red?” His brows came together.

  “Because I’m not interested in any kind of special room that’s red.”

  He gave me a strange look. “No, it isn’t red.”

  I sighed with relief. “Okay, good. Just checking.”

  “It’s mostly light tile. The sauna is wood, obviously, but the shower is going to blow your mind.”

  “So this special room is your bathroom?”

  He nodded. “What else would it be?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ~ Claire ~

  Philip’s special room was green and white tile. The toilet flushed silently, and the towel warmers turned on automatically with the shower. There was also a sauna and a sunken tub that overlooked the water. It was great, except for the ridiculous size.

  “Are you planning to play hockey in here with your religious cult?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I am. As soon as the new uniforms arrive.”

  The shower was huge too, though I didn’t mind that. It even had a place to sit down, which I loved for shaving my legs. Shaving in my tiny shower at home involved gymnastic-style contortions.

  And then there were the shower sprayers, not just on top but down the sides of the wall. If you turned them all on, it sprayed you from every angle.

  “This is like heaven,” I said standing with all that warm water jetting on me.

  Philip came up behind me. “See, I knew you’d love it.”

  I turned to face him. “You realize my whole bathroom would fit in this shower.”

  “It would,” he agreed.

  I pulled away from him to pick out some shampoo from a rack on the side that contained all sort of bottles. I chose one to put in the shower holder near us. When I came back, he reached for me, but I pulled away again.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I forgot the conditioner.” I stood for a moment, looking through my options. Almost all of them were salon brands and high-end. “Do you really use all these?”

  “No. I had Sam take care of it before you arrived.”

  “Sam sounds like a great assistant. Most men don’t know a thing about hair products.”

  “He’s excellent, though I’m sure it was his assistant, Lorna, who picked those out.”

  “Wait, your assistant has an assistant?”

  “Of course.” Philip pulled me into his arms again. “I’m a demanding tyrant who needs a dozen minions scurrying around me. Haven’t you noticed?”

  I didn’t reply. The truth was just the opposite. Most men in his position probably did a have a dozen minions, but it was clear Philip enjoyed his privacy.

  “Oh, wait, I need one more thing,” I said, slipping out of his arms.

  “What now?”

  “Well, there’s some very nice soap, and I forgot to grab a bar.”

  When I finally came back to him, he wrapped his arms around me and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I miss your tiny shower.”

  Philip’s bedroom windows were so huge it gave the illusion of being outside on the water at night.

  “Why are there no curtains?” I asked. We were lying in bed together, though he was texting with someone on his phone. “Don’t you feel weird walking around naked? What if somebody flies a drone out there to spy on you?”

  “Then the antiaircraft gun on the roof will shoot it down.”

  I rolled back t
o look at him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m joking.”

  I stared at him.

  He snorted. “What do you think I am, a superhero?”

  I laughed but then quieted as I glanced at the windows again. “You probably are a superhero,” I muttered.

  He smirked but couldn’t be deterred from his phone. I was beginning to understand why his mom and sister had buried it on the beach. I was tempted to do the same thing.

  “Who could you be texting with at this hour? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Work.”

  “What are you working on?”

  He stopped what he was doing. There was a strange expression on his face. It almost looked like guilt, but that couldn’t be right.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Like before, I had the sense he was being evasive. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “There is something.”

  “What?”

  He put his phone down, and his expression grew serious. “I am Batman.”

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. Reaching around, I grabbed my pillow and smacked him with it. “You asshat.”

  He laughed, putting his arm up to defend himself. I hit him again.

  I tried to hit him a third time, but he was faster and grabbed the pillow from me, tossing it aside. He pushed me down on the bed and lay over me. “Did you really just call me an asshat?”

  “Yes, I did.” My voice turned sassy. “What are you going to do about it?”

  He held my hands up so I couldn’t get away. Laughing, I squirmed, trying to release my wrists, but his grip was too tight.

  “I wouldn’t mind wearing your ass as a hat,” he murmured, his face close to mine. “In fact, I’ve worn it a number of times already.”

  “You have,” I admitted.

  “So technically you’re the asshat.”

  I giggled, still squirming.

  “In fact, I love wearing your ass so much I’m going to put it on tonight.”

  “You are?”

  He grinned. “Definitely.”

  I didn’t complain about that.