Page 79 of The Vegas Lie

When she’d suggested that they get a house together, especially one initially purchased by a professional athlete, he’d been expecting his condo in house form with sky-high ceiling beams and a backyard tossed in.

On the outside, this house marveled, showing off with its wooden slats, wide front porch, and endearing shuttered exterior windows. As they drove up, Raina had called it “cute,” and while it wasn’t the word he would have used, it perfectly described the home, tucked away from the rest of its neighbors.

Then, they discovered that the outside was something of an illusion. Somehow, the builders had fit several thousand square feet into something that looked otherwise quaint. He’d been expecting to be receptive to it, but as they walked through the family room, he found himself more than receptive.

Helikedit.

So far, he’d pictured them asleep on the sofa, being watched over by the massive windows. He saw movie nights and lit fireplaces, Raina’s lips on a wooden spoon as she marveled over his latest saucy creation.

The other images, he ignored. These days, it was like he had a biological clock, and it ran on solar power.

Raina took his hand and led him to the kitchen, the gesture automatic. “What do you think, Saraci?” She released him to run her palms along the stone countertop. “It’s lovely, right? We should be able to do this for three months.”

It would be easy to agree.

Almost too easy.

Before her, his emotions were more straightforward. Every once in a while, he would experience something it would take him a minute to put a name to, but for the most part, he had three feelings—contentment, anger, and self-confidence.

In Greece, he’d looked at Raina and felt excitement. Then he talked to her and was hit with waves upon waves of awkwardness. Now, it was awe, pride, nervousness, and frustration, all circulating in a nebulous cloud that he desperately wanted to hate but couldn’t.

“Upstairs?” she asked.

He nodded.

Following her up the stairs turned out to be a blur. By the time they reached the second-floor landing, he had no idea what the railing looked like or what the stairs were made of. If he had his way, Raina would never again leave the house wearing form-fitting jeans or tops that didn’t go all the way down to her knees.

There had to be a store that sold nothing but outfits made from burlap sacks that covered her from neck to ankle. She knew what kind of body she had; why not make more of an effort to cover it? Did shewanthim to become homicidal?

He’d gone for casual—a suit, tie, and vest but no blazer. Next time, he would bring the blazer and drape her in it, over her sweater.

“Saraci, look at this room.” She disappeared through a wide doorway. “It’s so huge, we could fit two king-sized beds in here.”

There was no other word to describe the room butsuitewith its massive picturesque windows and enough floor space to hold a gymnastics competition.

She stood at the window and stared at the lawn, her shoulders moving with a sigh. Even if they’d had dozens of homes to choose from, watching her contentment would have had him signing on the dotted line of any application a realtor tossed his way.

He went to stand beside her. “What do you mean two king-sized beds? You were the one who proposed we make this experience as real as possible. This isn’t a nineteen-fifties television show. We’re sharing a bed.”

She raised her fingertips to the window, but they never quite touched the glass. “I’m joking, of course. Honestly, how am I supposed to ravish you if we’re sleeping in separate beds? And you know how much I want to ravish you.”

Obviously, she was joking.

“Do you miss your place back in North Carolina?” He swallowed, nervous trills moving up his spine. “Are you just now realizing that you’ll be my prisoner for the next three months?”

“I agreed to this, Saraci.”

“I know, but it’s getting more real now. Do you know how many patients I see who, at our initial consult, are ‘not afraid to die,’ and then when they learn how serious their condition is, that changes? Facing something and anticipating something are two very different scenarios.”

She reached over, gently squeezing his hand. “Let’s go check out the rest of the house.”

He agreed, though it was unnecessary. With the way she looked at and talked about the house, there was no way he could have said no unless he’d hated everything about it. The only thing he hated was the feeling of “home” and what those comforts might bring out of him.

They returned to the first floor.

She leaned over one side of the kitchen island while he stood on the other, the tops of her breasts partially visible in her sweater. Once they moved in together, he would find all her tops that weren’t high-necked and place them with her sleepwear.

“What now?” she asked. “I mean, first, do you like it?”