Slap Shot(14)

“Wow,” I said, taking in a decorative white and turquoise chaise to my right.

The bleeping stopped and he shut the front door behind me, clicking the lock. “This way.” He turned and walked over a cream rug.

I followed, my attention suddenly drawn to his expansive shoulders. The pale blue material of his T-shirt stretched between the points of his scapula. The round balls of his shoulders sloped down into his thick biceps, the insides of which brushed dense strips of tapered lateral muscles thinning toward his lean waist. He was so big and I knew he was all solid and honed to perfection beneath his clothes. Not an ounce of fat on him, just lean, highly trained athlete, designed to go the distance.

“Kitchen,” he said, flicking a hand to his right but walking past the open door. I glanced in. It was all white with black work surfaces. Several blood-red kitchen appliances were dotted around.

“Living room.” He gestured in the opposite direction, not pausing.

I had a sweeping look as I rushed to keep up with his long strides. The living room was enormous and set with formal furniture and a giant fireplace.

“You have great taste in décor,” I said to his back.

“Don’t be fooled,” he said. “I have a designer, I leave him to it.”

“I see.”

“Entertainment room.” He paused and I stopped next to him, blew out a breath. He had his own damn screening room. No not screening room, it was more like a cinema—several rows of plush chairs in front of a massive screen set back on a stage complete with thick scarlet drapes. There was even a popcorn stand in the corner.

“If you’d agreed to a movie, you would have had a private showing of your favorite,” he said, grinning down at me.

I folded my arms across my chest and wondered how that would have gone. My favorite movie was 9 1/2 Weeks.

“Pool,” he said, suddenly turning away. “You like to swim?”

“Er, yes, sure.”

Once again I followed behind him. He unlocked another door and as we wandered down a corridor, the scent of chlorine filled the air.

I stopped in my tracks. A pool so over-the-top, so extravagant was set before me it was more like two huge pools joined by a waterfall. The sides were irregular and lush vegetation grew amongst smooth brown rocks. To the right of the top pool a spa bubbled away, splashing and boiling onto the slate-gray flooring. The whole place was enclosed with thin wire mesh and the last of the sun filtered through, dappling the water and casting long shadows at my feet.

“Wow,” I said. “Your pool is bigger than the entire floor plan of my place.”

He stooped to pick up a white towel lying on the ground, tossed it toward a wicker basket. “Yeah, it’s big, but not much good for fitness. It’s more for lounging around in, mucking about in. I use the gym in the basement for training when I’m not at the rink.”

Suddenly my stomach let out an ear-splitting growl. I clutched my hand to my abdomen. “Oh boy, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should feed you. I asked you out to dinner and here you are having a house tour when you’re absolutely starving.” He slotted his hand into the small of my back once more and urged me back toward the kitchen.

“Sit,” he said, dragging out one of the scarlet breakfast stools. “Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

He reached into a glass-fronted fridge and pulled out a bottle. “Chardonnay okay?”

“Perfect.” I locked my fingers together. The marble surface was cool on my forearms as I leaned forward and watched him uncork and pour.

He set the drink before me, popped a beer for himself and tied a blue-striped apron at his waist.

“You like to cook?” I asked.

“Yes, when I have someone to cook for.” He frowned. “That came out wrong. I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me. I have plenty of people to cook for. With three older sisters and two younger brothers, there is always a pile of relatives with hungry mouths. I’ve got three nieces and four nephews all under the age of fourteen. It can get pretty wild in the pool when they all come around.”

“Wow, I can imagine.”

“They haven’t visited for a while though.” He took two fillets of bass out of the fridge.

“Oh, why is that?” I took a sip of the deliciously oaky chardonnay.

His lips flattened and his brows dropped low. “I guess I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He spun back to the fridge and deposited dill and cream onto the counter. “The reason I couldn’t take you to a restaurant tonight is more serious than paparazzi.”

“Oh?”

“I’m having some problems with a woman.”