by R. C. Martin
Still confused, I frowned at him. “All this space? How—how do you not have a guest room?”
“Simple. When I redesigned this house, I didn’t include one in the floorplan. It’s not a need I have.”
Arching an eyebrow at him, I queried, “You never have overnight guests?”
He chuckled, and the sound made my stomach tingle. Then he said, “When I do, they have no objections to sharing my bed.”
His response set my cheeks on fire, and I immediately regretted my question. I hugged his clothes to my chest and tried not to grimace, all the while wishing I had just listened to him in the first place and headed straight for his shower.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” I didn’t bother dancing around the answer, relieved for the change in subject.
He nodded and then made his way around me. “When you’re finished, I’ll be upstairs. Take your time.”
I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath. I hoped the intake of fresh air would somehow make sense of my current situation. As I blew out my exhale, I was still in awe of where I found myself and why. I glanced down at the clothes in my grasp and turned to thank Judah, but he was already gone.
My cold, wet dress reminded me how desperately I longed for a shower, so I hesitantly made my way further into Judah’s bedroom. I carefully set my purse on the nightstand closest to me and then laid his clothes down as I slipped out of his jacket. I spread it out on his bed, then took up his dry clothes once more and slowly found my way toward his bathroom. I didn’t see a door, but the opening in the wall behind his bed was hard to miss. When I stepped inside and flipped on the light, my gasp was unavoidable.
The floors were tiled in an assortment of stones, all of them modeled in various shaped squares. The colors ranged from shades of brown to gray, which incorporated the weathered wood of his built-in vanity cabinets, and the shiplap covered walls. The wood stopped about three-quarters of the way to the ceiling, and the beige painted drywall softened the space just enough.
On the far left side of the expansive space, I noticed his toilet enclosure—the door cracked open a smidge. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I was relieved I didn’t have a need for that at the moment. Looking away from the little room, I noticed the open-faced pantry built onto the wall beside me. The cubbies were full of linens and towels. Hesitantly, I made my way over to grab one. They were all cream-colored, extremely fluffy, and delightfully heavy. I couldn’t stop myself from bringing the luxurious fabric to my face. It felt amazing and smelled even better.
Anxious to wrap the towel around myself after a long, hot shower, I turned toward the counter and deposited Judah’s clothes beside another beautiful copper basin sink. As I peeled my clothes off, I hung them on the empty one of two hooks protruding from the wall. My bra and underwear had managed to get just as damp as everything else, so I opted to hang them, too. I figured Judah wouldn’t notice how naked I was underneath the t-shirt he’d offered me. Or, at least, I hoped he wouldn’t.
He hadn’t lied about his shower. It was gigantic. And, just like everything else, it was gorgeous. The floors were stone, and the walls were brick—all the colors, of course, coordinating with the rest of the earth tones that filled the space. Though, what really caught my eye were the two shower heads. Two. One on either side of the shower. For a moment, I wondered if it mattered which one I used; then my thoughts got the better of me and I was curious to know if Judah favored one over the other. It took me a minute to realize I was being ridiculous. I just needed to get in. There was no door or curtain, which made me a little wary—but I made up my mind that I could trust Judah wouldn’t be joining me. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.
As per his instructions, I took my time under the water—letting the hot spray warm me up. At first, I hesitated to use any of his products. I held onto my hesitation only for a moment. I reasoned if I didn’t wash and condition my hair, it would hate me when it dried. When I was finished, the bathroom was full of steam, and the mirror over the sink was all fogged up. Drying off quickly, I did my best not to leave the floor a wet mess.
When my body was dry, I slipped into Judah’s t-shirt and wrapped the fluffy towel around my hair. Then, trying not to think too hard about it, I stepped into his gym shorts sans panties. I pulled the drawstring as tight as it would go and rolled the top over itself a couple of times. The fabric still fell to my knees, which suited me just fine.
Once completely covered, I did what I could with my hair. I soaked up as much water as it would let go of, then tried to scrunch my waves. It was mostly a failed attempt. At that point, there wasn’t much hope for my tangled tresses. I had to try, though.
On my way out of the bathroom, I dropped the towel in his hamper, located beside the open entryway. As I re-entered his bedroom, I paused in the narrow, semi-corridor brought about by the partial wall. My eyes were drawn to the assortment of artwork hung in various sizes and frames. It was like a montage landscape of photography. Part of me wanted to hate it—if for no other reason than because I couldn’t love everything about his home; and yet, there was no denying he had a great eye for talent.
When I forced myself to look away, my gaze drifted toward an opening I saw on the far end of the room. From where I stood, I could tell it was his closet. Much like his bathroom, there was no door. Somehow, my logic led me to believe that no door meant no invitation required. I took a couple steps in its direction, peeked into his bedroom, and confirmed what I already knew. I was still alone. Feeling brazen, I gave myself permission to sneak a little peek. After my experience in his bathroom, it seemed only right for me to get the full effect of his space. One step inside, and I realized a little peek was impossible.
The overhead lights illuminated the closet automatically upon my entrance. My breath caught in my throat, and I wanted to see everything all at once. In fact, I tried—but there was too much to see. Each wall was built in such a way to house various forms of clothing. To my left, three-quarters of the wall was full of his suits. They were organized by color; jackets on the top rack, slacks on the bottom. Some of them were hung in clear bags. I assumed, based on color, those were suits he didn’t wear during the summer. I walked by each of them, barely resisting the urge to glide my fingertips across the different fabrics.
Where his suits ended, the cubbies which housed his folded undershirts, sweaters and pullovers began. Beneath them were drawers, but I didn’t bother to open them. I wasn’t that much of a snoop. Besides, there was still so much more to see. On the back wall, Judah had two floor-to-ceiling racks of shoes. I gaped at them, at a loss for words. He owned more shoes than Geoffrey—and Geoffrey owned an impressive number of shoes. More than Harper and I combined.
In the space between his shoe racks, there was a sort of glass-enclosed wardrobe. The top portion housed his assortment of ties, and a couple of boxes. Below the shelves were more drawers—and I could see the contents of the top drawer, the surface above it made of glass. I shook my head, certain I shouldn’t have been surprised by his collection of watches, yet speechless all the same.
The wall to my right mirrored the structure of that on my left. Only, instead of suits, the top rack held all of his pressed, collared shirts. The bottom rack was filled with a ton of khakis in a few different colors. From where I managed to wander, near the back of the closet, I spun around to take it all in again. In the center of the room—and that’s what it was, an entire room—was a long, beige, tufted, cushioned bench.
It was beautiful. Every bit of it was beautiful. Sophisticated. Elegant. And...Judah.
“I was beginning to think you had drowned. Now I see you’re just lost.”
I gasped so loud it sounded like a shriek. Startled, I whirled around and came face to face with the man whose closet I so rudely intruded upon. My curiosity had definitely gotten the better of me, and I realized shame was an appropriate response. I knew my face agreed as I felt the heat of a blush rush to my cheeks. I cursed myself for being embar
rassed in front of Judah. Again.
Opening my mouth to apologize, the only words I could find were: “Your closet is—it’s—it’s incredible.”
Judah stared at me for a moment, his amusement evident in his gaze. Finally, he said, “You just spent the last half an hour in my shower, and it’s my closet you love?”
“Sorry,” I murmured, finally finding my apology. “I shouldn’t have come in here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, offering me his hand. “Come on. Dinner is almost ready.”
My pulse spiked as I merely considered placing my hand in his. In light of my horrible manners, I felt like I owed him, and I couldn’t refuse him. As soon as I slid my palm against his, it took everything in me not to yank it away abruptly. His touch sent an electric current through my entire body. It was different than the last time I touched him. His skin against mine felt more intimate than ever before.
It was overwhelming.
Too overwhelming.
Still, I didn’t let go.
When Judah didn’t escort me out right away, but rather looked down at our joined hands and then into my eyes, I wondered if he felt the same thing I did. Yet, he didn’t say a word before he led me out of his closet, through his bedroom, and up the cool metal stairs. It wasn’t until we reached the landing of his second level that I was able to think of something other than his touch.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight before me. The entire floor was one, big, open space. The walls were exposed brick, and it was effortlessly timeless. There were a couple windows with drawn curtains to my left—but it was the wall-to-wall windows that made up the entire back side of the room that took my breath away. I imagined the light that shined through them during the day was exceptional.
As I took in the finer details of the open floorplan, I realized it was designed to be split up into three rooms—a sitting room, a dining room, and a kitchen. Right in front of me was his sitting room. He had two white sofas on either side of a big, distressed trunk coffee table. The couches were flanked with hollow end tables, filled with knick-knacks and books. The set up was made complete with an upholstered bench seat, the suede material a taupe color that tied in the throw pillows on the sofas.
His dining room table, situated closest to the windows on the back of the house, could easily sit ten, but was complete with six chairs. Above the table, there was an open-aired loft, accessible by the iron, spiral staircase on the left side of the room. From what I could tell, it was the perfect amount of space for the pool table he had up there.
“The original house came with an attic,” he explained, like he’d followed my gaze as it danced around the room. “I took it out. I prefer high ceilings.”
I heard him. I knew he was speaking to me, but I didn’t acknowledge him. I was still too busy taking it all in. There was no television in sight. While I never pegged him as a man lacking in taste, I was impressed with the art he utilized around the room.
“Teddy?”
He let go of my hand, and I looked up at him. As he stared at me with those gray eyes of his, I accepted that there was so much more to him than I thought. In that moment, in his home, I acknowledged there was brilliance inside of him.
“You’re, like…you’re, like, really good at what you do, aren’t you? I mean—” I glanced around the room once more and then coughed out a self-deprecating laugh. “You must be a badass in your line of work.”
“In a word? Yes,” he stated without pause.
He reached up and rubbed his chin before he tucked his hands into his pant pockets. As if I was seeing him for the first time all evening, I noticed his jaw was covered in a five o’clock shadow. It was too short to be considered scruff, which clued me into the reality that he’d earned that shadow throughout the day.
It was sexy as hell.
Upon closer inspection, I also noticed he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he wore when he picked me up. He’d changed into a pair of navy khakis and a lightweight, gray, crew neck sweater—the sleeves pushed up his forearms. That meant he returned to his room to change while I was in the shower. And while I was drowning in his clothing, he looked—like that.
What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself, not for the first or the last time.
My stomach growled, filling the silence which settled between us. I clapped my hands over my belly, like the act might shut up the organ.
“I think that’s our cue,” said Judah.
Without further ado, he turned to make his way across the room. I followed, suddenly aware of the aroma of food.
His kitchen was to the right of his dining room. The island had four stools tucked beneath the counter on the back side, and I invited myself to sit in one as he busied himself at the stove. My eyes swept over the details of the space. By now, I expected nothing less than flawless—which is what it was. It was at least three times the size of my kitchen, and the copper farmhouse sink he had made me a little jealous. When I caught sight of his assortment of coffee makers, I almost drooled as I stared. He had a Keurig, an espresso machine, and a French press.
For a second, I was convinced the feeling in the pit of my stomach was love.
Then I shook the thought away.
You can’t fall in love with a kitchen. Not really, anyway.
Chapter Twenty-One
As he plated their dinner, Judah acknowledged how this was the first time he’d made a meal for a woman since he moved to Fort Collins. It wasn’t something he did on a regular basis, but he’d done it a time or two in the past. He considered it a tactic best reserved for the most challenging of conquests. That said, he was certain Theodora would not be won over by his culinary skills—she was not quite so magnanimous.
After their plates were full of the lemon chicken and asparagus stir-fry he had whipped up while she was in the shower, he turned and saw the woman seated at the island. He originally intended on dining at the table, but he found her quite alluring precisely where she was. Teddy was drowning in his clothes; his t-shirt draped off one of her bare shoulders, exposing her milky white skin and a smattering of freckles.
With her hair wild and wet, her skin still glowing from her long shower, he thought she appeared freshly fucked. Just looking at her made him hungry for something far more satisfying than chicken. He had to clear his throat and ignore the semi-hard status of his dick as he placed her plate in front of her. He set his down in the spot beside hers and then resumed his duties as host.
“Something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got wine. However, I wasn’t planning on your visit, so I only have the darker variety.”
“Oh, um,” she murmured as she rearranged herself in her seat. Judah watched as she folded her legs beneath her and swept her hair behind her ears nervously. She then went on to inquire, “Do you have a Zin? Or a Malbec, maybe?”
“I do,” he assured her as he headed toward his pantry. It only took him a moment to find what he was after. When he had opened the Zinfandel, he poured two glasses and then occupied the stool beside her. “Bon appétit.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as Teddy hesitantly picked up her fork. Before she took her first bite, she spoke softly. “You really didn’t have to go through all of this trouble.”
Judah ignored what he considered to be her ridiculous insinuation. She had called him, completely stranded, with the intention of asking him to leave her, completely stranded, someplace else. Even if he hadn’t found her half as irresistible as he did, he was honestly raised to be the gentleman he was. He liked to think he was capable of showing kindness to any woman who might have landed in the same situation.
“How is it?” he asked, nodding toward her second fork-full.
“It’s delicious. Thank you. I’m horrible in the kitchen. My homemade meals come from a box.”
With an arched eyebrow, Judah queried, “No one ever taught you how to cook?”
“My mom tried,” she replied with a shrug. “I guess, at the time, I wasn’t all
that interested. Eventually, she gave up. Harper isn’t bad. What about you? How’d you learn?”
“My mother. She insisted her boys couldn’t leave the house without being able to feed themselves properly.”
Teddy giggled, her face lighting up with the sound. “Smart woman.”
“She is,” said Judah, reaching for his wine.
With a wave of her fork, she asked, “Did she have anything to do with all of this? Your penchant for design?”
A small smile fought his pride and won, causing his lips to curl as he watched Teddy’s eyes. He couldn’t help but notice how they were bright with what he decided was wonder and admiration. The face she made when he brought her up the stairs, he was certain he wouldn’t forget it soon. It stirred something within him—something a lot higher than his crotch.
Judah was beyond the point in life where he needed anyone to remind him of his skill. He was fully aware of how good he was. Even more, he knew the work he put into his home and the value which was expressed in his design. However, to see Teddy appreciate it—it made her worthy; worthy of the invitation he extended when he escorted her into his personal space. The handful of women he had taken to bed in his abode never saw more than his bedroom and the front door. It surprised him how much he enjoyed having Teddy in his home.
“No.” He answered only after her eyes settled on his. “I guess you could say I was born with a designer’s eye, encouraged by my Aunt Eddalyn and my education.”
“It’s very beautiful,” she said shyly. “Will you tell me about it? I mean, what did it look like when you bought it?”
Judah chuckled quietly as he remembered the six-bedroom, five-bathroom home he purchased at the beginning of the year. His first three months in Fort Collins were spent at The Archibald Hotel, a remodel project he himself had overseen for Eddalyn’s Interiors over a year before. He all but gutted the entirety of his abode in an attempt to make it into his home. It was his first house, and it was everything he wanted it to be.