Page 7 of Devil's Haunting
“Most of the brothers still marry their women, but it’s not a requirement in our world. My brothers are just possessive assholes and want to claim their women in as many ways as possible,” he explains with a smirk.
“Okay,” I hold the word out as my mind processes everything he’s dumped on me. “And you want me to call you Tripp and not Hammer.”
His eyes darken when I call him by his road name. Before I can take my next breath, his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist to haul me flush against his chest.
“As sexy as it is to hear my road name on your lips, I want you to call me by my name. I need it,” his voice drops an octave, and my heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I’m sure he can feel it against his own.
“Um,” my brain stutters and I’m not sure if it’s because of how close we are or how fucking good it feels, “whatever.”
Yeah, that’s as good as it gets. Talk about inadequate, but it’s all I’m capable of right now.
The moment stretches between us as his dark eyes move from my eyes down to my lips and back again. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Instead of kissing me, Hammer squeezes me against him a little tighter before releasing me slowly. Even with not being pressed up against him, the connection between us sparks and zings. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before with anyone else.
“How about you show me around and tell me what you have in mind for your death trap,” there’s a teasing in his voice with his suggestion which seems to be right on the edge of a command.
I narrow my eyes, my anger spiking which is better than lust trying to take me down. “If you aren’t interested in working on my death trap just let me know and I’d be happy to make more phone calls to construction companies.”
“Oh, my little Mischief-maker,” he sighs as if he thinks I’m adorable, “you won’t find anyone else who can do this renovation like I can.”
“Big words,” I mutter under my breath, only mildly shocked by his audacity.
“Just telling the truth,” he tosses back with a shrug.
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath at his ridiculousness before turning away to head deeper into the house. The foyer is grand and filled with custom woodwork, some of which is in okay shape, but most of which needs to be replaced and made to match what is already in place. It’s where the charm of this old place begins and I want to preserve as much as possible.
Over my shoulder, I throw out, “Are you coming or not?”
The growl that comes from Tripp is the only answer I really need. As much as my pussy begs me to throw myself at him while begging him to take me, I resist.
Instead, I start the tour in the foyer and point out all the original details and charm I want to ensure aren’t lost during this whole renovation process. As we move through the rooms on the lower level, Tripp writes on his notepad furiously. I should probably be concerned with the number of pages he’s going through.
When we step into the kitchen, I’m taken, again, by how small the room is. “This needs to be bigger. So much bigger.”
“Of course,” he agrees. He looks around with a knowing look on his face. “Kitchens weren’t designed for comfort when this house was built. The servants used it which meant it needed to be functional and not flashy. As the way homes are used has shifted, so has home design.”
As he walks into the rooms adjacent to the kitchen, including the butler’s pantry, the formal dining room, and the ballroom, I can’t keep my eyes off him. He moves with a fluid grace that just isn’t fucking fair. How can one man have so much magnetism?
Why am I so attracted to him? It’s not fucking fair and being in this house with him for so long hasn’t helped.
When he walks back into the kitchen, his eyebrows pull together as he sketches something on his notepad. I find myself moving closer without even realizing it.
I jump when his voice washes over me, not expecting it, “We can take some of the space from the ball room and the formal dining room unless you think you’ll have dinner parties with thirty guests or big balls?” When I look up, I find his gaze already locked on me. I shake my head because that’s justridiculous. Who even knows thirty people? “We can still give you an amazing pantry and a kitchen you’ll enjoy cooking in while putting in little touches of the original. It won’t look like some modern monstrosity has been smushed into this turn of the century Victorian mansion.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, “that sounds perfect.”
Tripp seems to freeze for a moment before clearing his throat. “Have you been sleeping here my little Mischief-maker?”
His voice is so soft and coaxing, I don’t even think twice before whispering, “Yes.”
“Fucking hell,” he grunts while shaking his head. “You better finish giving me the tour for this renovation which is more like a restoration.”
“In a hurry all of a sudden?” I can’t keep the snark out of my voice as I add on, “Got a hot date or something?”
Do I hate myself a little bit the moment the question slips out? Yeah, I totally do. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does this guy seem to scramble my brain?
