Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Like something out of a snowdome fantasy.
And this is just the hallway before we even get to his front door.
“It’s where I’ve wanted you since I remembered who I was,” he confides in me, urging me with a jerk to go ahead and check out this amazing view.
I can’t help it and feeling like I’m on top of the biggest ride at the most expensive amusement park, I rush like a little kid to the shining brass rails that line the floor-to-ceiling windows.
It’s still snowing, but clear enough now to see the whole city, lit up for Christmas as well as just at night.
A magical sight that takes my breath away.
“It’s… It’s… beautiful!” I hear myself exclaim under my breath, sensing his huge frame moving up slowly behind me, leaning down to kiss my neck.
“It sure is,” he growls. And I know he’s not talking about the view he’s probably seen a thousand times over.
He’s talking about me, and it makes me smile, makes me blush and definitely makes me shiver.
Makes me feel like I’ve maybe died on my walk home, frozen to death in the snow, and this is what heaven looks like, with Steve Carter as my Angel to guide me into the afterlife.
“C’mon,” he says in a low tone, gripping me from behind by the hips, which I feel pressing back into him by reflex.
“The view from inside is way better.”
And as usual, Steve’s not exaggerating.
His apartment, if you could call it that, is more like the entire floor of a shopping mall. But, like everything to do with Steve, still has a touch of feet firmly on the ground about it.
It’s clear somebody lives here, and nothing’s just for show.
Everything in its place, and every place serves a purpose.
Steve closes the double front doors gently, giving me a moment to take in as much of the scene as I can manage.
Home at last and after what must be the strangest day ever for the pair of us.
“It’s all still here,” he sighs, relieved, taking my jacket and hanging up his coat in a closet by the entrance that looks bigger than my whole apartment.
Gleaming marble tiles and steps lead down to a thickly carpeted area.
Steve’s a big guy, so his furniture and appliances match the man.
Big chairs, big coffee tables. Big everything and all heavy wood framed. Turned by hand and carved in places with a detail that reminds me of the hospital converted from an old church.
There’s tasteful, modern art on the walls, but most of the space is open-plan with floor-to-ceiling windows making the cityscape a feature in whichever direction I look.
A large, spiral wooden staircase leads up someplace from what looks like the main lounge room.
I’m guessing it’s his bedroom upstairs.
Steve’s tongue clicking breaks my reverie, and I can see his eyes move to another part of the apartment before he starts moving toward it.
“Good old Madison,” he exclaims, clapping his hands. The sound echoed through to where I was still standing, making me jump a little.
There’s a pause, and then his head reappears around a corner.
“Well, c’mon then, dinner’s already waiting. Madison must have phoned ahead and ordered for us both.”
The name Madison still reminds me of how silly I’ve been tonight, but now that he’s home, Steve seems more relaxed, and I guess he wants me to feel the same.
No formalities or showing off here.
Just a hard-working guy home from a long day, and now he’s ready to eat.
And I couldn’t agree more.
Joining Steve in a dining area with a huge kitchen visible over a large granite bench, he’s already thrown his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, lifting the square, silver covers off trays and plates.
The smells and warmth of the food fill my senses, making my mouth water as wet as the man himself does.
Catching himself, Steve rolls his eyes, and in two strides, he’s guiding me by the shoulders to the table, pulling out my chair for me.
“I’m used to dining alone,” he remarks, ensuring I’m settled in nicely and laying a napkin across my lap.
“At least you have a table,” I blurt out, feeling suddenly self-conscious for a moment until he laughs with me.
Not laughing at me, laughing with me, which is something I’ve never experienced.
“I’m hardly here anyway,” Steve comments, heaping a plate high with food that I assume is for himself, gulping but drooling when he puts it in front of me.
There’s steak, potatoes and about three kinds of hot side dishes. All shouting things I tell myself I’m not supposed to eat.
“There’s other stuff. Help yourself,” he says, licking his thumb as he piles his own plate, noting my sudden quietness.
“That’s a lot of food,” I murmur, and he smiles. Motioning a hand up and down his body, he remarks that he needs to eat a lot and I shouldn’t be shy on his account.