by Emma Slate
Touching each other was the easiest way to put us back on ground we understood.
His hands were everywhere, tugging at zippers, diving into my panties. I somehow managed to get his pants undone and then my hands were on him, too. I clasped him in my grip, making him groan.
Hadrian felt like steel and silk.
“I hate you in pants,” he growled against my mouth. “They’re too hard to get into.”
I chuckled against his lips but wanted him naked, too. And suddenly, I felt like I’d die without being able to touch the skin of his chest and feel him moving inside me.
Somehow, I managed to push him away. He looked annoyed and thwarted, but when he saw me quickly trying to undress, his grin returned and then he did the same.
When we were naked, he raised my legs to hook them around his waist, and then he thrust inside me while my back was down against the rain-splattered car.
Our eyes met and I breathed him in as he leaned over me, wanting him deeper, needing him there.
He moved slowly, like he had all the time in the world to make it last. And he did. We did. Because there was nothing but that moment.
But when I clawed his back, he quickened his thrusts, using his brute strength to overwhelm me.
His hand slid down between our bodies and teased me until I came. I shuddered around him, clenching hard. My nails dug into his skin as I rode out my pleasure.
Hadrian gripped the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mine as he came. His jaw was clenched in strife and I found him beautiful.
When our thundering hearts returned to their normal cadence, he gently eased out of me. His stare was unapologetically hungry.
I sat up and began to gather my damp clothes.
“It was a mistake to bring you here,” he said, his voice gruff.
It was like he’d thrown a bucket of ice over my head, and I couldn’t stop the expression of hurt that crossed my face.
“It was a mistake to bring you here,” he repeated, “because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to get any work done. Not when I’ve got a woman willing to let me fuck her against a vintage muscle car.”
My smile was brilliant.
Hadrian chuckled as he reached for his pants. When we were fully dressed, he took my hand and led me through the garage, past all the sleek and shiny cars.
“Do you drive them all?” I asked.
“Aye. Not often though. When I’m here, I usually take the golf cart unless I’m driving down to the pier to take the yacht somewhere.”
He stopped in front of two chrome doors and pushed a button on the wall. The doors opened, and we stepped into a clear glass elevator and began our ascent. I could see the stone of the mountain through the glass and the steel that had been put in place for the elevator shaft, and as we rose, the stone passed faster and faster. My free hand—the one not held by Hadrian—touched the glass, as if I could reach through it and caress the walls of the mountain.
The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened directly into a mudroom. Black rain slickers were hung up on hooks and matching rubber boots lined the wall.
An umbrella bucket rested in the corner and there was a sink. He didn’t slow down long enough for me to be able to remove my shoes. Hadrian went to the door opposite the elevator and pressed his palm against the flat glass plate and it chimed. The door opened and Hadrian entered first, guiding me inside.
I looked around at the modern, open decor. His home was spacious, just from the front room alone. “Huh,” I said softly.
“What?” he asked, watching me look around.
“I wasn’t expecting something so…contemporary. I expected…something else.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Something else? Like dogs asleep on fur rugs by a stone fireplace? Or how about massive wooden tables set with rudimentary chalices? Battle axes in the corners?”
I blinked at his teasing tone. “Kinda, yeah.”
He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint.”
We moved through his home. As much as I appreciated the open, airy concept that let in a lot of sunlight, I found that I didn’t care for the hard lines and sterile feeling. But it wasn’t my home and so I made polite noises of interest when Hadrian explained how the home had been built into the mountain.
He led me up a staircase to the second floor. We went down a long hall and on the landing were three doors.
“Home gym,” he stated as he opened the first door. There were a bunch of machines that I wasn’t sure of their purpose, but I recognized the exercise bike and treadmill. “You’re welcome to use anything in here.”
He closed the door and we moved to the next room that was a home theater. An L-shaped leather sectional faced a blank wall that had been painted for a projector.
“Oh, wow,” I murmured.
He closed the door and then brought me to the last room. It was three times the size of the others, with a masculine, heavy wooden bed on a platform. The bedroom had a gas fireplace, with a leather loveseat in front of it and a coffee table. I placed my hand onto the rich, supple leather.
“Sometimes I sit and read or work at the table,” he explained.
There was a liquor cart with a few crystal decanters.
“Scotch?” I asked.
“And brandy.”
I nodded. “So, I noticed…well, you don’t have any guest rooms.”
“No. I didn’t build the house with any intention of ever having people stay here. Besides, I have guest cottages on the other islands.”
“Where am I going to sleep?” I asked with a raised brow.
“In my bed.”
I swallowed. “And clothes? My clothes I mean?”
Without a word, he strode to a door and opened it to reveal a walk-in closet. He gestured to the racks of women’s clothes, along with dressers pushed up against the side walls. He opened a drawer and showed me a plethora of lace undergarments.
“Anything you need is here. If you want something, just say the word.”
There were more clothes than I could ever wear in six months together. I blinked. “How did you make this happen so fast?”
“The Rex sized you during your dress fitting, and I had them send everything over after the night we spent together at The Mansion. My staff took care of the rest.”
“That was presumptuous.”
“I always get what I want, Eden.” He frowned. “You look upset.”
“Not upset. Surprised—and a little taken aback. It’s very generous, Hadrian. But I—we—we’re sharing space.”
“Aye.”
“Like we’re living together.”
“We are living together.” He arched a brow. “I’m not following your line of thought.”
“You don’t want your own space?” I asked. “I mean, you seem like the kind of man who wants—”
“This isn’t about me and space. This is about you and space. You want space? Great. You have an entire island to wander to get space, but you sleep in my bed next to me and you don’t worry about it.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. “I just would’ve thought that as an eccentric, mysterious multi-millionaire, you’d want more privacy.”
“Billionaire.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said eccentric, mysterious multi-millionaire. I’m actually a billionaire.”
“Of course you are. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I muttered. “A mere millionaire wouldn’t have his own chain of islands, would he?”
“Definitely not,” he agreed with a roguish grin and then he let out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You’re funny.”
Hysteria was bubbling up inside of me, and I was afraid I was about to do something stupid. It was as if Hadrian knew, because he directed my thoughts away from the current matter by saying, “Let me show you the best part of the room.”
He went to the dark, heavy curtains along the far wall and drew them back to reveal a set of F
rench doors. He pulled them open and I was immediately hit with the sounds and smells of the ocean and a view as far as the eye could see of glistening water.
“No way,” I whispered, rushing toward him. I stepped out onto the balcony and breathed it all in. A moment later, I felt Hadrian at my back.
We stood in silence while I marveled at the crashing waves hitting the craggy boulders along the shore below us. Ominous storm clouds that had doused us when we’d been driving had abated now and lingered off the coast. The wind had blown them out to sea.
“What do you think?” Hadrian asked, his mouth close to my ear.
His warm breath, his husky voice caused a shiver to run down my spine.
“I think I understand why you chose this place as your haven,” I murmured. “With a view like this, how do you ever leave?”
Hadrian’s arms tightened around me, but he didn’t reply.
I wondered if the real reason he’d asked me to come was due to extreme loneliness. There was plenty of beauty in the world, but if you had no one to share it with, what was the point?
Turning in his arms, I pressed my cheek to his chest, willing the dangerous thoughts to drift away like morning mist on a beach.
I shivered, attempting to burrow deeper under the covers. The French doors were still open, letting in the cool ocean air along with sunlight.
“You’re awake,” Hadrian said, coming to stand by the bed. His hair was damp and his chest was bare, and he stood in a pair of dark corduroy pants.
“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.
“Not long. An hour maybe.”
After we’d lingered on the balcony, I’d stripped off my clothes and gotten into bed. Between my raging emotions, jet lag, and the intense coupling against the Shelby Cobra, I’d been worn out. No sooner had I pressed my head to a pillow than I’d fallen asleep.
Now I felt refreshed. I rolled onto my back and tucked my arm behind my head and watched Hadrian close the French doors.
“Take your time getting up,” he said, walking over to the bed. “But I’ll be in the kitchen when you come down.”
I nodded and he leaned over and kissed me briefly before stalking out of the bedroom.
I took a few minutes to myself, enjoying the feel of the pillows at my back and the sheet tucked around me. Finally, I pulled myself out of bed. I found the clothes I’d shed before sliding beneath the covers and hastily put them on.
I went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face and ran a brush through my hair. Hadrian’s master bathroom was a work of art in and of itself, which included a massive porcelain tub big enough for three people and a glass shower with one showerhead. Everything in the bathroom was expertly crafted, but simple, and clearly designed for one person.
He was such a dichotomy. It was clear by the structure of his home that he hadn’t factored in a potential live-in girlfriend. There was one sink in his master bathroom, not two. And yet, Hadrian didn’t seem at all concerned about having me in his personal space. Shouldn’t he have been afraid of the intimacy? Instead, he seemed to be leaning into it. Our clothes shared closet space. That was about as intimate as it got as far as I was concerned.
I knew our time together was finite, but Hadrian wasn’t a normal man. Maybe sharing space was nothing to him. Maybe he didn’t have any stronger feelings for me than wanting pleasure and companionship and six months together wasn’t going to change that for him.
His head was stuck inside the refrigerator when I entered the kitchen.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked, not removing his head to look at me. “Mutton stew? Left over mutton chops? Mutton and potatoes?”
“I’m sensing a theme,” I said with a grin as I leaned against the island. “Mutton? That seems a bit outdated.”
“Mutton that came from my sheep.”
“Excuse me?”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “I am a self-sustaining entity. I have four islands to produce my own food and food for the livestock. I have farmers who tend to the livestock—sheep, cows, pigs, chickens. I have others who work in the greenhouse growing food. Elgin—who’s married to my housekeeper—is a fisherman, along with his son. Whatever you eat here, I’ve had it produced on the islands. The families that live on the islands have helped create this sanctuary.”
“You mean there are actually other people here? I didn’t see any of them.”
“My housekeeper and her husband, my helicopter pilot, the stable master, and Patrick, my head of security, all live on this island. Everyone else who works for me lives on the other islands.”
“But-but why go through the trouble? You’re a billionaire. You have the money to fly in anything you could possibly want.”
“I hate relying on others for anything. So I vowed that when I was able, when I had enough wealth, I’d hire people to produce my own food. No matter what happens in the world or with my business, I’ll never be without.”
My curiosity went haywire. I wanted to ask him more questions about his wealth and how he’d come to acquire it, but it wasn’t warranted nor was it any of my concern. “What about liquor? Wine? Do you have a vineyard too?”
He smiled in gentle amusement. “I get my scotch from Flynn Campbell. He owns his own distillery.”
“He owns hotels and a distillery? Is the man ever idle?”
“He doesn’t make the scotch himself. It’s just his operation,” Hadrian stated. “The only wine I drink when I’m on my island comes from a specific vineyard in Italy. Brandy, port, and anything else, I have chartered in. There are some things that would be too much trouble to produce. Even for me.”
I mulled over his explanations, finding myself even more in awe of him. Why he wanted to know anything about me was bizarre—he was the interesting one. And I was fascinated.
I paused in reflection a moment before saying, “Mutton stew, please.”
While the stew was heating on the stove, he cut up a loaf of thick, brown bread.
“I’m guessing you didn’t make that,” I said.
“My housekeeper, Ingrid, baked it. She’s the only reason there’s cooked food in my refrigerator.”
I grinned.
“What?”
“I’m just glad to know you’re not good at everything.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t cook.”
“Who said I don’t cook?”
“You.”
“I can cook. I just choose not to,” he explained.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s annoying.”
“What is?”
“Being around someone who’s good at everything.”
He smiled but didn’t rise to the bait.
“Where is she? Ingrid, I mean.”
“I wanted you all to myself today, so I gave her the day off. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“What does she do for you?” I asked, pleasure at his words warming me.
“She oversees my household. She cooks my meals and handles my laundry and other services. Her two daughters come and clean a few times a week, and if I need anything at all outside of the ordinary, Ingrid will get things sorted.”
I nodded. What must it be like to be so wealthy that you had people to cook and clean for you? Well, for the next six months, I’d find out.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Sure.”
There was a nondescript bottle resting on the kitchen island. Hadrian opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew.
When the food was ready, Hadrian plated it on a tray. I grabbed the wine glasses and the bottle of wine and followed him into the dining room, which felt just as modern and stiff as the rest of the house. It wasn’t warm or inviting.
I reached for the pepper grinder in the middle of the table, but Hadrian’s hand stopped me.
“Taste it first.”
“It needs pepper. Everything always needs pepper.”
“Eden.”
“Hadrian.”
“Trust me.”
I sighed but put down the grinder and picked up a spoon. I waited for the spoonful to cool and then took a dainty sip of broth.
“Go ahead,” Hadrian said with a wry grin. “I’ll wait.”
“For what?”
“For you to tell me I was right.”
“Just for that, I should season it.”
“And ruin a perfectly good mutton stew? No. I don’t think so.” He began to eat. After a moment, he said, “What do you think?”
“It’s delicious.”
He shook his head. “I know. I meant, what do you think of my home?”
“It’s impressive,” I said, ladling another spoonful into my mouth and not meeting his gaze.
“That’s a diplomatic answer if I’ve ever heard one,” he said in amusement. “Tell me the truth. What do you really think of it?”
“It’s cold and,” I paused, searching for the right word, “sterile.”
“Sterile,” he repeated.
“It’s not inviting. At all.”
“Good,” he said.
We fell into a charged silence. I kept my eyes on my bowl, consuming every bite and relishing the rich, hearty flavors on my tongue. I would’ve gladly kept eating just to have something to do, just so I didn’t have to talk to Hadrian.
He’d asked my opinion and I’d told him the truth, and he hadn’t liked what I’d had to say.
“Are you ready to see the rest of my sterile house?” he asked, his tone dry.
“There’s more?” I asked in surprise.
“Aye,” he said quietly.
I had no inkling what he was thinking and instead of trying to apologize for being honest, I merely nodded.
We stood from the table and gathered our empty dishes. After we went into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, Hadrian took my hand and led me to a nondescript door that looked like a broom closet—only it wasn’t a closet—but a passage to a fully enclosed glass walkway. We were fifteen feet in the air and if I looked down, I could see the sandy beach below. The glass walls were thick, and I could stare out at the ocean. Birds flew across the beach and then rested in nests nestled within the rocks.
“I designed this home so that I’d never feel trapped. The open, airy concept has a Scandinavian influence.”
