The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. Susan Crosby

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the way. I can’t wait to see your library and fitness center, too.”

      He grinned. “They may not match up with your own on-site amenities, but then I value privacy more than size.” He headed up the path that led to steps hewn of heavy timber. They crossed his front deck, where comfortable cushioned chairs and wooden side tables made the perfect place to sit and think, to enjoy the birds and squirrels in the branches above, or whatever other wildlife passed through the property. Deer, she supposed. Foxes.

      Tall, thick trees blocked the wind, filtered the sun and scented the air with pine, a reminder, too, that Christmas was coming.

      The cabin’s exterior was built of logs. She couldn’t guess how old it was, but it looked well maintained.

      “The swimming pool,” he announced gesturing toward a small, sapphire-blue lake a couple hundred yards in the distance. Smoke rose from chimneys here and there in the landscape between his place and the lake.

      “You swim laps, I suppose,” she said.

      “Daily.”

      “I’ll bet.” She rested her hands on the railing and took it all in. “It’s stunning. So is your cabin.”

      “Thanks. I built it myself.”

      She wondered why she wasn’t surprised. “That must be satisfying.”

      “Beyond measure.” He eyed his house, looking pleased.

      “You’re a man of many talents, aren’t you? Very of-the-earth.” Very macho, she wanted to add. She was more used to executives—the kind of men Gideon probably took on adventure treks into the wilderness. Men more like his brothers, actually.

      “You’re wearing the ring,” he said, putting his hand over hers, rubbing the stones with his thumb. “I’m going to take that to mean you’ve decided to be my wife.”

      Heat snaked through her. “Your pretend wife. You’re wearing yours, as well.”

      He nodded, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, drawing her gaze to the lips that had kissed her lightly last night, leaving a desire for more.

      “There are details to work out,” she said.

      “Like?”

      “Legalities.”

      “Salary,” he stated.

      She turned around and crossed her arms, leaning against the wood at her waist. “I don’t want us to have a contract through my business, but something personal.”

      “I’m willing to deal. What are you looking for?”

      “No salary.”

      His brows went up. “Why not?”

      “I know your intention was to hire me as a kind of figurehead, someone to show off, but I can be of much more help than that. I have contacts, you know.”

      He hesitated. “Let’s talk about it over breakfast.” He led the way into his house, the front of which was almost entirely glass, allowing an incredible view from inside.

      She smelled bacon, her all-time favorite food, although she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Logs crackled in a big, stone fireplace. The large, open floor plan included the kitchen, living room and dining room, its table set with very masculine black-and-brown dishes and placemats. A carved wooden bowl heaped with pinecones made up the centerpiece.

      He’d already moved into the kitchen. She ambled over to the counter and eased onto a stool to watch him work.

      He pointed to several bowls on the counter, filled with fresh ingredients—tomatoes, shredded cheese, sautéed mushrooms and green onions. “I’m making omelets. What’s your pleasure?”

      “The works, thanks.”

      “And salsa?”

      “Perfect.”

      He grabbed a piece of crisp bacon kept warm in an aluminum foil packet and passed it to her. His eyes were smiling, as if he knew, absolutely knew for a fact she was dying for a piece. “Coffee?” he asked.

      “Love some. But I can get it.”

      “You’re my guest. Relax.” He poured her a cup, added one sugar and a smidgen of cream, then set the mug in front of her. When she looked at him in surprise, he said, “I’m assuming your tastes haven’t changed since the wedding reception.”

      He turned back to the stove, added butter to a hot pan and started fixing an omelet like a seasoned chef. She nibbled on bacon, sipped her coffee and enjoyed the show, which seemed effortless and efficient. He turned the omelet onto a plate, then quickly assembled another exactly the same. He poured warmed-up salsa over the top of each, added bacon and sourdough toast to each plate, then carried them to the table.

      “You’re fun to watch,” she said, taking her seat. “Have you worked as a chef?”

      “Sort of. I cook for my clients, but I generally use a small camp stove or an open fire pit for that. And I’ve always liked to cook. I learned very young because Noah, being the oldest, was given way too many chores as we were growing up, and he hated cooking, so I took over. I’m the grill master in our family.”

      They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

      “You’re good,” she said, toasting him with a forkful of eggs.

      “Do you like to cook?”

      “Yes.” She looked around his living space then realized there were no photos out, no family in view. There were none in her place, either, except in her bedroom. “How close are you to your brothers’ homes?”

      “About fifteen minutes.”

      “I went to both houses to pick up Tricia and Valerie for Valerie’s bachelorette party. They have beautiful homes.”

      She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “I heard that all three of you were equal partners after your father died.”

      “True. I sold my share to them after a year or so. The job required heavy-duty sales. I was good at it, but I hated it. Falcon Motorcars has done just fine without me. David and Noah have also done just fine without me on board, too. They took what our father started and made it a success many times over what he’d done with it. I expect this deal will do the same for me.”

      “You’ll be a millionaire.”

      He smiled slightly. “That wouldn’t be something new for me. I took my profits from the family business and made smart investments, thanks initially to Max Beauregard’s advice.”

      She’d already figured out he was incredibly bright. “How long ago did you build your house?”

      “Two years. After my divorce.” He stood and took their plates to the kitchen, then ran water over them in the sink.

      She didn’t ask if she could help, just pitched in, and he didn’t СКАЧАТЬ