Page 18 of The Marriage Deal (Sunset Falls #1)

SEAL THE DEAL WITH A KISS

brIGGS

If there’s one good thing to be said about Daniel Alder, it’s that he had a nice house and decent taste. He was, however, on the brink of losing the vineyard and hobby ranch he owned. Looking through the man’s books, I can’t say he was exactly good with his money.

What he was, though, was trying to keep his employees paid. For a man I very much don’t respect, I’ve struggled with the fact I respect him for that.

Lilah’s eyes shift from the view of the mountain house set in stained timber and stone to the hat I slide off my head to notch on a hook.

Her eyes drop again when I kick off my boots before sliding back up the length of me.

I swear, I feel the glide of that buttery brown gaze as it moves over every inch of me.

She pulls in breath that swells her breasts. “So, this is home sweet home?”

“Don’t know if I’d call it sweet, but it is home.” I move by her into the house, catching a whiff of the intoxicating blend that is naturally her. Spiced vanilla and citrus with a bitter hint of pinched flower stems. It’s fucking addictive.

I glance over my shoulder to see her sliding pretty little feet with brightly pink painted toes out of her sandals. She’s wearing a chain around her ankle that gives her sun-kissed skin a glow that makes my throat dry.

The woman is effortlessly beautiful.

The more I look at her, the more irresistible her pull.

I throw out, “Come in. Look around. Soon, this’ll be home.” She makes a noise that calls my gaze. I instantly clock the look of fear she tries to hide. I offer, “Want a drink?”

“Water, please.”

I raise a brow. “No wine?”

She shakes her head. “Not right now.”

“Afraid you’ll forget you don’t want to sleep with me?” I taunt. I have to admit, after all the times this woman has pushed the boundaries of my own comfort, I’m enjoying this moment of pushing hers.

Fire lights the depths of her eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

I bark a laugh that surprises us both. I mutter, “There she is.”

Her brows pull together for a moment. Her lips part and I think she’s going to say something else, but she presses them together again. Her eyes shift from me to the house.

It’s big and masculine with dark woods, leathers, and stone.

Everything is of quality. The entrance, grand enough for a black iron chandelier I’ve never once bothered to turn on, peers into an open living room with a sprawling sectional and television mounted to a dark painted wall.

In the center of the space, between kitchen and living room, is a stone divide one can move through the rooms on either side.

In the stone divide is a large wood burning fireplace.

It stretches all the way to the vaulted ceiling of painted drywall and timber beams.

Allowing southern sun to spill into the spaces is a massive four pane sliding glass door that steps out onto a sprawling covered deck with another sectional, fireplace, and outdoor kitchen.

The kitchen is another beast entirely. Again, it’s darker with richly stained wood cabinets and black granite. The appliances are all gleaming stainless steel and look as though they were never once used.

She breathes. “This is insane.”

“Insane good or insane bad?”

Her eyes shift to mine. It’s like being slammed with a hammer to the chest. I don’t get it.

Nibbling her lip, she muses, “I don’t know.”

I start for the kitchen. She follows me. “You don’t know?”

“It’s nice, but it’s quite dark.”

“It is.”

“Is it your style?” Shit, she’s cute when she scrunches her nose like that.

I pull a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to her. “I like comfort. This is comfortable.”

Her eyes do a sweep of the kitchen before she twists to look back at the living room. She tells me without looking at me, “That couch does look plush. I’d have an entire One Tree Hill marathon on that thing.”

I give her a blank stare.

“What? No movie marathons for you or are you telling me you don’t know what One Tree Hill is?”

“Neither.”

Her mouth pops open. I could fill it.

Fuck, what the hell?

I refrain from scrubbing my hand down my face and focus on her words as she cries, “I don’t believe you! You don’t know what One Tree Hill is?”

“I’m not big on TV.”

She twists the cap off her water and takes a pull. Her lips are wet when she pulls the bottle back—and I need to get myself laid, clearly. I’m a man, so thoughts like these come. But I usually have more control of my feelings. Urges. Whatever.

She’s messing with my head.

“I was right about you,” she tells me.

“How so?” I cave and pull a beer from the fridge, popping the top. It hits the counter with a chime both of us ignore. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

“That first day I met you—”

“When you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

She rolls her eyes. “I pegged you as uptight. I was right.”

“Because I don’t watch TV?”

She bobs her head. “Because you don’t relax. You don’t chill. I bet you fall to sleep running portfolio numbers.”

I narrow my gaze on her to keep myself from laughing. “Do you even know what running portfolio numbers means?”

“No.” She lifts her chin. “And I don’t want to. I’d end up as stiff as you, no doubt.”

I don’t scowl. It’s what she wants. I take another pull from my beer and drawl dryly, “Aren’t you funny?”

“Not particularly.” She slides onto one of the stools at the massive island counter. She takes another pull on her water; I think more to occupy the silence between us than anything else. “So, how is this going to work between us?”

“I figure it’ll be kind of like this.” I gesture between us. “I’ll continue living as I do, and you’ll drive me insane with your presence.”

“Psh.” She smiles, and hell, it’s blinding. “You like my crazy.”

“Keep telling yourself that, little lunatic.”

Her smile turns mischievous. I should be concerned. Really, I should. But all I feel is curious.

“You wouldn’t have proposed this insane deal if you didn’t love my crazy.”

Something tenses inside me. “This deal serves a purpose, Lilah. It has absolutely nothing to do with love.”

A blush of emotion tints her cheeks pink. She bites into her full bottom lip a moment before she releases it. I get another aching urge to claim her mouth with my own.

Again, I ignore it.

Lilah leans into the counter, her eyes pinned to mine. “Since we’re discussing deals that serve a purpose, I have another I’d like to strike.”

“Here we go.” I settle in.

She glares. “I want a dog.”

What now? I straighten. “A dog?”

She nods matter of fact. “Yes. A dog.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrow. She pouts. “Then I’m not marrying you.”

“I’ve already paid your debts,” I remind her coolly. Calmly.

“Fine. I’ll marry you.” She rolls her eyes like there couldn’t be a worse fate. Then she threatens, “But I’ll make sure your life is anything but sweet.”

“Why the dog?” I push. “What purpose will it serve?”

“Happy wife, darling.” She slides from the stool to dance her way closer to me. Up on her tiptoes, she says huskily, “Happy life. That’s the purpose.”

Fucking woman.

I bite back a groan, both at her closeness and her audacity. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She pats my chest, but says sweetly, “I’ll make the arrangements for his arrival.”

She makes to twist away from me, but I catch her around the wrist of the hand that had patted my chest only moments before.

With her wrist locked in my grip, I guide her back into the fridge with my free hand on her hip.

Then I move my body in close—not close enough to touch—but close enough to feel the heat of her through the clothes we wear. Close enough to crowd her.

She tugs a sharp breath into her lungs, her breasts brushing my chest on the rise. A little shudder escapes her on the release, and she whispers, “What are you doing?”

“Your little deal isn’t done, little lunatic.” I dip my head to pin her wide eyes with mine. “You make arrangements for that dog to come here, then your ass is here, too. Got it?”

“My ass?”

“Yeah. If there’s a dog living here—your dog—then you’re living here, too.”

“He needs a home, Briggs.” The spitfire of her deal-making-self has been knocked down a peg or two by my more levelheaded return demand.

“That’s the deal, Lilah. If you’re bringing a dog here, then you’re here.”

“I can’t live with you,” she sputters. “We’re not married yet.”

“Don’t tempt me, Lilah. I can get a justice of the peace out here by morning.”

She shakes her head in bewilderment. I wonder if she knows I’m not one to be bested. Not ever. If she wants to play hard ball, I’m game. And I play to win. Always.

“Briggs—”

“Lilah.”

“We’re not even engaged!”

“That, too, can be changed.” I release her wrist to tug open the drawer beside the fridge. A little box sits inside, and the moment I pluck it out and she catches sight of it, she gasps.

“Ohmygod.” The words are blended and high-pitched. She’s freaking out.

I like it.

I pull the ring from the box. It’s just like her. Sharply beautiful and so bright it can’t be missed.

I picked it out with her in mind only yesterday.

I reach for the hand I’d released moments before, sliding the diamond onto her ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

Something swells in my chest. Something unexpected.

Something dangerously possessive.

“Now we’re engaged.” My voice sounds rougher than I expected.

Her eyes snap from the diamond on her finger to me. Her lips part and a small, “What?” escapes.

“You can make those arrangements, Lilah,” I tell her, nearly laughing at the look of shock on her face. Honestly, I wasn’t certain the woman could be shocked.

I’d laugh if I wasn’t feeling so much myself.

“Arrangements?”

Jeez, she’s cute. “For the dog, little lunatic.”

“Oh.” She blinks in rapid succession. I think she’s trying to clear her head.

I want to muddle it some more. “But first things first. I think it’s time for that kiss.”

“Kiss?” Her eyes snap wide. So fucking sweetly wide. Pink crawls into her chest and she presses deeper into the fridge, as though she might escape this kiss. Escape me.

Not a chance.

“Gotta seal the deal, baby.” I dip my head, tasting honey on her breath.

I hesitate for only a moment. Just until I hear the trembling, “Okay,” fall from her lips in a whisper that alters my world.

Then my lips crash into hers.

Fucking. Hell.