Page 20 of Truck Stop Tempest
“Through mine?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
My guts floated, gravity be damned. “Why?”
He turned to face me. Voice thick with irritation, he said, “Because you’ll be honest with me.”
“Fair enough.” He’d offered a soapbox, laid it at my feet. I’d make the most of the opportunity. “You really want my opinion?”
“More than anything.”
I nodded. Choked down my trepidation. “Okay. Well. Nice homes are great. Really. I have nothing against them. I get the whole buying in a nice neighborhood and all that, you know, for safety and security reasons and whatnot, but this? This is over the top. This is gloating. This feels a lot like you’re telling the world, ‘Look at me, I’m richer than you.’”
“Showing off?” He leaned back against the window, arms crossed, glare focused and challenging.
My throat dried, all the menacing, broody vibes heating the air. “Yes. Exactly. Showing off.”
A huff. “Maybe it’s nothing more than an investment.”
I was losing steam. “Maybe.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love waking up to this view every morning.”
With him? I’d give my left arm for that opportunity. “Sure. I’d feel like a princess. But honestly, I’d be happy to wake up in a soft bed. I’d be content with reliable warm water for my showers. A working toilet.”
The mood changed in a heartbeat, his inquisitive glare morphing into something more akin to concern. “You don’t have those things?”
“What? No. Of course I do.” I waved my hand frantically in front of my face as if that would erase my almost-slip. “It’s just…I mean…There are so many people who don’t have those things, and to them, this place would be, well? A slap in the face. With the money it cost to buy these digs, you could probably buy ten struggling homeless mothers their own place. I guess my point is, if you can afford to buy a place like this, you have too much money.”
“I work damn hard for my money. Bleed for it.”
And he was back to brooding.
I wanted off my soapbox.
“I’m sure you do, but you can’t take it with you when you die, so you could use it to change a life, or maybe even save a life.”
Was that a smirk or a sneer? I couldn’t tell.
“This how all churchy people talk?” he asked, pushing away from the window and prowling around me like a panther ready to pounce.
Self-preservation kicked in, and I took slow steps, putting distance between us. “I’m going to ignore that question.”
I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Do you like the penthouse or not?”
“It’s the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen.”
The penthouse wasn’t the most beautiful home I’d ever visited. Swear to my maker, though, with Tuuli standing in front of the window against the backdrop of the lake and mountains, in her spring-colored dress with that nervous smile and adorable bare feet, the lakeside home became the most welcoming real estate I’d ever occupied.
Over the years, I’d laid my head in many different varieties of square footage, ranging from ramshackle to ridiculous. Not once had I ached to share my space with another human being. Never had a woman looked more at home than the petite, blonde angel blinking her ridiculous wide eyes at me. Sweet, innocent, fucking timid little bunny. I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and stroke every inch of her pure porcelain skin.
Like a beast stalking his prey, I inched forward, drawing closer, careful not to scare her off. As we stood toe to toe and her pert little nose twitched and the heel of her left foot bounced incessantly, I drew my cell from my pocket and dialed my uncle’s number. While I waited for him to answer, I raised my gaze from her delectable body to her lips, then up, hoping she would meet my gaze, yet terrified of what she might see. After a gnaw on her bottom lip and a nervous bounce, she finally looked me in the eye.
I winked. “Will you help me decorate?”
She laughed through her nose. Dropped her gaze to her feet, where she scratched her left foot with the bottom of her right. “I…um…I don’t know anything about decorating.”