Billionaire Bodyguard 1 : Billionaire Bodyguard(35)

Words escaped her as he set his wine down on the glass-top table in the foyer, unzipped her coat and slid it down her arms. A slow undressing that sent tingles across her shoulders. He hung her coat in the entryway closet, set her purse on the table, picked up his glass and motioned toward the kitchen. "I have a plate of hors d'oeuvres to hold us over. Half-an-hour until the chicken's done, fifteen minutes for the steaks to broil."

At the promise of food, she followed at his heels. "Thank you. I'm starved."

"I thought you might be." She walked into his gourmet kitchen of glass tile and stainless-steel everything. "Had to make sure it wasn't caviar or sushi or steak tartare, my usual go-to appetizers. I read that the bacteria in raw food can be dangerous for pregnant women."

It was? She cringed, realizing how much she didn't know about being pregnant. Thank goodness one of them had a clue. For the first time, she acknowledged how much easier it was with a partner, someone she could count on, going through this new and exciting and terrifying experience alongside her. A warm rush of gratitude filled her heart. "I appreciate that."

The appetizer tray on his granite countertop looked like a work of art. Creamy dip nestled in the center of a huge saucer ringed with colorful vegetables and rolled cold-cuts.

"This looks amazing." Without waiting for an invitation like a polite person, she dove into the delectable tray.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving him with a rumpled sexy look. "I can't take credit for that. I picked up the tray from a caterer."

"Is the dinner that smells so good take-out?"

"Nope."

"No caterer or personal chef?"

"All me, sunshine." He grinned. "Believe it or not, a guy gets sick of pizza and chicken wings. That's when he learns how to make the good stuff."

"Impressive," she said around a mouthful of food.

After five solid minutes of stuffing her face, she paused and scrounged up the decency to put back that sixth turkey-and-cream-cheese wheel. "You said something about a tour?" 

"This way." He motioned her to follow him.

The lure of food had blinded her to all else. Hunger sated for the moment, she glanced around the open floor plan, a cavernous space that combined the kitchen, dining room and great room. A giant fireplace of natural stone held the focal point in the great room. Subtle textures and muted colors filled in the gaps to offer a deceptively simple, rustic experience.

"Whoever you hired as your decorator must've known you well." The design resonated with his personality.

"I worked closely with her," was all he said.

Allison wondered if he'd been romantically involved with the woman. Probably. Only a lover would understand his nuances and preferences. She experienced a sting of jealousy picturing another woman spending time with him physically, creatively and intimately until she knew every facet of him, well enough to recreate him on the canvass of his home.

"How nice for you," she muttered.

Nature-inspired abstract paintings hung on walls of taupe and sage green, which complimented the earthy dark-leather furniture. Then there were pops of color, rust and persimmon accents in the artwork and pillows on his u-shaped sofa.

She recognized his scent of ginger-spice and pine permeating the air. Soothing, comforting. Despite the spaciousness, she felt like she'd walked into a hug.

To her amazement the design appealed to masculine and feminine tastes. She liked his home more than she'd expected. First, they scaled the massive curving staircase to the second floor. Unadorned windows looked out onto the wooded landscape, where strategically placed outdoor lighting made the bare branches and winter scene inviting. He showed her the spacious bedrooms, two at one end, two at the other.

As they entered the fourth bedroom and he flipped on the light, a smile lit her face. "My things!"

She recognized the furnishings from her apartment, her desk overlooking the bank of windows, her bookcase against the far wall, pictures of her parents propped on a dresser. He'd taken the liberty of upgrading her bed to a king-sized dream, something out of a magazine, topped with a sage-and-lavender bedspread, anchored by a whimsical iron-scrolled headboard. On the walls hung framed black and white scenes of European cities, Paris, London, Rome, plus a few artistic photos of the French countryside.

"I love it," she whispered.

"I wanted it to feel like … home."

It felt more like home than when she'd lived in those places. He'd captured her essence in the tranquil beauty of this room. A lump formed in her throat. "I don't know what to say."

A soft silence surrounded them. Comfort enfolded her.

"Tour's not over."