Page 75 of Back in the Saddle

The problem with that was, it was fantastic.

Which totally blew.

Once I recovered from the pressed-to-the-door antics, and he had me in his kitchen and took the paper bag of wine out of my hand, I looked around.

Massive, open great room that included the most humongous, attractive, three-sided sectional I’d ever seen. The seats were deep. The couch was facing a built-in unit, in which was an enormous eighty-inch flat screen, as well as shelves with a lot of books, some photo frames, and a few mementos I made a mental note to peruse later.

Behind that was a seating area that held more attractive furniture, including a big double-wide chair and ottoman with a sloping lamp over it where, if one were to read, it would be the perfect reading spot.

All of this was surrounded by windows that gave a view to his backyard, which looked like a straight-up resort. Amazing landscaping. An interesting shaped pool. A pergola on one side that looked covered in something like wisteria. A built-in grill. Great patio furniture. And a fabulous high-top outside table with six stools around it.

Rounding out the inside was a dark wood oval dining room table just inside the front door with a striking gold and globe chandelier.

And the huge-ass kitchen where we were.

Eric was pulling down wide-bowled, gleaming wineglasses from a glass-fronted cabinet.

“I take it the PI business is lucrative,” I remarked, and his black eyes came to me. “Not being rude, but it’s hard not to notice your place is the absolute shit.”

His lips curved and he murmured, “Thanks, Jess. Glad you like it.”

He set the glasses down, pulled the wine out of the bag, looked at the label and whistled.

This meant he knew good wine.

Probably not a surprise, considering his tenure in California.

“Honey, you didn’t have to do this,” he said softly, holding the wine my way.

“Turner, I did. You’ve been super cool with me through some pretty tough shit,” I replied.

He leaned in.

I held my breath.

He kissed my nose.

I frowned.

He pulled back, caught my frown, and started laughing.

“You’re a tease,” I accused.

“Takes one to know one,” he muttered, opening a drawer to nab a wine key.

“I’m not a tease,” I retorted.

He aimed his eyes to the vicinity of my shorts, legs and shoes.

Okay.

Point taken.

I smirked.

He started laughing again, but it abruptly stopped when his phone on the kitchen island clattered.

I saw the screen light up and caught the nameSavannah, before he reached out and swiped the text notification to clear it.

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