Page 15 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
FOURTEEN
“ S weet baby Picasso!” Frenchy’s voice echoed across the gravel driveway after Meara pulled up to the cabin. “When you said rustic retreat, I pictured something quaint and cozy. This?” He spread his arms wide, nearly smacking Meara with his messenger bag. “This is giving me luxury lodge meets artist’s paradise meets that home renovation show I’m obsessed with!”
Meara drank in the sprawling property. The main cabin stretched impressive and welcoming, its recently stained logs gleaming honey-gold in the afternoon sun. A wraparound deck curved around three sides, offering pristine views of Crystal Lake where sunlight danced across the water like scattered diamonds. Two smaller guest houses peeked through the towering pines to the right, while a converted barn—perfect for workshops—stood proudly to the left.
“Betsy really went all out with the renovations.” Meara touched the new deck railing, her throat tightening as she remembered her grandmother’s cryptic comments about ‘future plans’ last year. The wood still smelled fresh, mingling with pine and crystal-clear mountain air. Every detail spoke of careful planning—from the strategically placed outdoor lighting to the wide paths connecting each building.
“Your grandmother was a visionary,” Frenchy declared, twirling on the deck. His designer boots clicked against the boards as he pressed his face to a window. “Look at these sight lines! The natural light! We could host the most fabulous art retreats.” He gasped. “Is that a gourmet kitchen I spy?”
“Everything’s been updated.” Meara unlocked the front door, breathing in the subtle scent of fresh paint and new hardwood floors. “Betsy had it all renovated last spring. I thought she was just being thorough about maintenance, but now...” She trailed off, imagining her grandmother orchestrating all this, planning for Meara’s future even then. The thought brought both warmth and an ache to her chest.
“Now you realize she was preparing it for you.” Frenchy squeezed her hand. “That woman loved you something fierce, honey. And,” he added with a knowing smirk, “I bet she’d be absolutely delighted by what’s about to pull into your driveway.”
“What do you—” Meara’s question cut off at the distinctive rumble of powerful engines. Her heart skipped as two vehicles appeared through the trees: a black SUV that probably cost more than her annual gallery profits, and a rugged Jeep that had seen its share of off-road adventures.
Artek emerged from the SUV first, and Meara’s mouth went dry. Her fingers itched for a paintbrush—not to capture the scenery, but to immortalize the way he moved with predatory grace, how the sunlight played across his features.
Dark jeans and a fitted Henley did nothing to hide the kind of muscle that came from actual strength rather than gym aesthetics. When his hazel eyes swept the property, something primal shivered down her spine.
“Oh my,” she whispered, barely aware she’d spoken aloud.
“My thoughts exactly.” Frenchy fanned himself with a paint swatch. “You know, if Betsy could see you right now, practically drooling over six-plus feet of rugged masculinity, she’d be cackling with glee.”
“I’m not drooling,” Meara protested weakly, though she couldn’t tear her gaze away from how Artek’s shoulders filled out his shirt. “I’m just... appreciating the view. Artistically.”
“Honey, there’s nothing artistic about the thoughts running through your head right now.” Frenchy nudged her. “Though I have to say, Betsy would approve. Remember when she used to say you needed someone who could match your passion? Pretty sure she didn’t mean for painting...”
“Frenchy!” Heat crept up Meara’s neck, especially as Artek turned, catching her stare. Something flickered in his eyes—heat, humor, interest?—before his lips curved in a subtle smile that made her stomach flip.
Beside the SUV, Trey hopped out of his Jeep with significantly less ceremony and much more enthusiasm. “Ladies!” he called out, grinning. “Don’t mind the boss man’s brooding—he’s just mad I beat him here.”
“You didn’t,” Artek rumbled, mounting the steps with fluid grace. Up close, his presence filled the space, making Meara intensely aware of every breath. He smelled like pine and something wild, reminding her of storms rolling over mountains.
“Thanks for coming,” she managed, proud her voice remained steady despite her racing pulse. “Though I’m surprised you found it so easily.”
“The cabin sits on the edge of sleuth territory.” Artek’s deep voice resonated through her chest as his eyes traced her face. “I know every inch of these mountains.”
Something about the way he said it, combined with his intense gaze, sent heat pooling in her stomach. Betsy’s voice echoed in her memory: “Sometimes the best art comes from letting go of control, sweetie. Let yourself feel something real.”
Oh, she was feeling something all right.
“Well,” Frenchy declared, clapping his hands, “since Tall, Dark, and Dangerous here knows the lay of the land so well, maybe he can give us the full tour? I’m particularly interested in the security features. And Meara’s particularly interested in?—”
“The property boundaries,” Meara cut in quickly, shooting Frenchy a warning look. “Very interested in those. Professionally. For the art retreat planning.”
Artek’s lips twitched, and she could have sworn his nostrils flared slightly as if catching her nervousness—or maybe something else—on the air. “I’d be happy to show you everything.” The way he said everything should not have made her knees weak. “Shall we start with the perimeter?”