The Best Kind of Trouble Page 17

“Yes. Your instructions were perfect, thanks.”

He opened the door wider and motioned her inside.

“Are you a shoes-off house?”

He snorted. “No. If you want to, go on ahead. I’m not wearing shoes because I don’t want to. But it’s your choice.” He paused and bent to kiss her quickly. “Sorry to burst your foot-fetish suspicions.”

She laughed and put her bag down in the entry.

He took her hand. “Want a tour?”

“Yes, please.”

It was a great house. Clean. Very modern but warm at the same time. His living space was great with big couches and chairs.

“Is yours the house everyone hangs out at?”

“We split it up pretty evenly. My house is the middle point between Ezra, who is closest to the big house where my parents are, and Damien, who lives the farthest from it. We spend more time at Damien’s these days because Mary is such a great cook.” He paused. “Want to see the upstairs?”

Natalie nodded, and he took her up the stairs fronted by a wall of glass. “This view is insane.”

“We all worked with the same architect who took the land and views into account as she worked. All our houses are unique and fit our individual tastes, but they’re on the same continuum so you can see the thread. It’s a light touch. Each room has something about it that I love. My work space has excellent afternoon light. My bedroom gets the sunset. Kitchen gets morning light. All that jazz.”

He opened the door to a huge room with several guitars on stands, a large desk with two monitors, big chairs and a wet-bar-sized sink and fridge. “This is my work space.”

She went in, impressed. “Wow.”

He blushed, brushing his fingertips over the neck of a guitar. “I spend more time in here than any other place but my bedroom. I can run tracks in here. We’re all hooked into a network with the board in the barn, that’s our studio here. I write here. Ezra sleeps on that big couch a lot.” He snorted a laugh.

“You and he do the writing?”

“About eighty percent of it is me and Ezra. Ezra does the bulk of production. Damien and Vaughan write a song or two each album.”

“So you’re closest to Ezra, then?”

He laughed. “Ezra and I collaborate really well, but we’re too much alike in some ways, so we fight a lot. In the old days, it was nose-breaking sort of fighting, but now it’s more pissy bickering. Though we do occasionally get physical. He knows how to push my buttons. He and Damien are closer. Vaughan and I tend to pal around more, but he’s been away a lot over the last month. His girls just went back to school, so he’s been spending time with them. But, and don’t tell Ez this, Ezra is the person whose advice I seek out when I need an honest take. He’s pretty wise for a dick.”

She shook her head, imagining what it was like for their mother to have four really handsome sons who got into all the trouble they did.

He opened another door.

“My bedroom.”

She walked into the room, spinning slowly. Stunned.

“What? Why do you have that look on your face?”

“I never expected this.” Where the rest of his house was modern though comfortable, his bedroom was homey. His huge bed dominated one wall and was dressed with fluffy bedding. Heavy drapes were pulled back to expose sheers and windows looking out to the fields beyond, and if she was right, Mt. Hood on clear days.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls. She traced her fingertips over the spines. This was the bedroom of a hedonist. Of the kind of person who spent the entire day in bed reading and watching movies.

Fucking.

“Never expected what?”

She turned to him. “This warm, inviting, comfortable space. It’s womblike. I want to take a nap in your bed right this instant.”

The worry on his features wisped away with a pleased grin. “Well, go on ahead. But only if I can nap with you. I love a good nap.”

“I can tell.” Napping was one of her biggest vices.

There was a big chair near the fireplace with an ottoman and a blanket on the back. She pointed. “Where’d you get that chair? I want one like it in my bedroom so I can read and nap on rainy days.”

“If I told you, I’d be discouraging you from coming here on rainy days to read and nap, instead. That’s self-defeating, Nat.”

“You travel a lot. How can I leave my napping needs up to chance? You’re quite heartless to make me, Patrick.”

“Your sense of humor turns me on.” He stepped closer. “You’ve been in my house for about twenty minutes now, and I haven’t really gotten a good kiss yet. Have a heart.”

“You’re the one who won’t even tell me where to buy that chair. Mean.”

“You’re all breathless.” Paddy cupped the back of her neck and slowly walked her into his chest. And she let him.

“I have asthma and you made me walk up stairs.”

He laughed. “I swam with you a few days ago. You’re in excellent shape. But goddamn, I love your body.”

She gulped. “Oh.”

“You need to be quiet so I can kiss you now.”

She nodded.

He started at the corner of her mouth. Just a brush of his lips. When she smiled, he licked at the spot, making her draw a breath. That’s when he used her distraction to sneak his very talented tongue right into her mouth.

Just a quick flick, and then he was gone again. He nipped her bottom lip, tugging until she moaned softly, digging her nails into his biceps where she’d been grasping him to stay standing because her knees had gone to jelly.

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