Crash into Me (Heart of Stone #1)

"I'm not kidding. As far as I'm concerned, you could never wear anything again and I'd be happy."

"But what about all those clothes you bought? That's a lot of money to waste, don't you think?" I asked, enjoying our verbal sparring.

He stood from his chair and walked toward me like a wild cat stalking prey. When he was only inches away from me, he stopped and lifted my chin with his finger and stared down into my eyes. "I'd spend ten times that to make you happy, Nina. Now go get ready or you're spending our time in the city as God made you."

It was nearly impossible to think about work when he was standing there looking like that and talking about me naked at his penthouse. I hurriedly chose a few outfits and laid them out on my bed before finding him waiting at the end of the hallway that led to my room.

"Ready?"

He'd asked me that right after we'd first met and just like then, I wasn't ready. Everything was moving so quickly that I wanted to stop, ask some questions, and get my bearings. But he never let that happen. It wasn't as if he was rushing me, really. It was more that he expected things to go as he had planned and there never was a moment where I wanted to risk asking what we were doing, afraid that if I did I'd ruin everything.

What woman wouldn't want a man like him to whisk her off her feet and take care of every issue that came up in life?

Tristan's penthouse was familiar to me as I stepped out of the elevator, but this time he held my hand in his. A tiny difference, it made everything I laid my eyes on seem changed. Still appearing disinterested in his magnificent home, he led me to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed across from the bare spot on the wall.

I looked at the wall and smiled. "No dogs?"

"No dogs. And if there's some picture that involves cats playing checkers or something like that, I'm going on record as saying no to that too."

"There goes my great idea. Back to the drawing board for me."

My joke got no response, and he sat silently alternating his focus from the spot on the wall to my face. It made me uncomfortable, so I turned my back to him and faced my first task as his employee.

I felt his gaze on my back, but I remained fixated on the job at hand. It was too easy to want to just turn around and climb on top of him, straddling his hips as my skirt rode up and my body slid over his. I wanted to show him that I could do this.

His home was decorated expensively in a style much like other expensive hotel rooms I'd seen in decorating magazines. I walked around looking at the furniture and coverings, but none of them seemed particularly him. They were luxurious but not unique. Certainly, whoever had chosen them knew how to spend money. From the gold and cream stripe sofas that flanked the beige marble fireplace wall in the living room to the wingback Queen Anne chairs and large mahogany coffee table that must have been five feet in diameter in the sitting room, the home had been carefully decorated to apply to no one in particular. Down the hall was a bedroom with a ceiling that showed the decorator had possessed some flair. Hand painted, the view above the bedroom Tristan didn't sleep in was a stunning design that depicted the seventeenth century Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam near the spot the hotel stood on now.

I wandered to the bathroom and stood with my mouth hanging open. The time before I hadn't gotten to see it, and as I looked around with wide eyes, I was in love. Pale shades of marble and granite covered everywhere my gaze fell, but the centerpiece of the room was a toss up. The deep soaker tub in the center of the room competed with the floor to ceiling windows that showed the splendor of the city below, leaving me unsure which was more beautiful.

Walking back to his bedroom, which while attractive was possibly the least appealing room in the entire home, I made up my mind to choose a piece of art that would reflect him, not just look good or expensive. He sat still waiting for me on the bed, looking almost uncomfortable in his own house.

"Tristan, did you have this decorated when you moved in?"

I was almost sure the answer would be no, but I had to know. I don't think I'd ever seen a home so completely unrepresentative of its owner.

Shaking his head, he said, "No. It just comes with the job."

"No wonder nothing here is like you. I mean, it's gorgeous, especially the bathroom, but nothing about this place says you live here."