she wished she were the shy one, her double entendre not far from the fantasies she’d conjured.
She cleared her throat. “I mean, for my father’s photo.”
He flicked open his dress shirt’s top button, cool and casual, like the move didn’t pebble her skin. “I will.” He strutted past her, less hesitant in his stride. “You can visit my reptile shelter. It’ll take me a bit to get changed.” He motioned down a narrow hall, where another glass wall loomed.
After pointing out the bathroom and telling Clementine to make herself at home, he disappeared to his bedroom, through a door off the long hallway. Since the Van Gogh was owned by his father, there wasn’t much sleuthing to do in his personal home. This not-a-date would help her gain his trust and earn an invite to his family’s estate. She should pour herself a glass of wine from the bottle on his counter, strike a sexy pose of her own before he reemerged, but she was drawn to his shelter.
She tiptoed toward the glass like she might disturb a slumbering giant. The closer she got, the faster her pulse raced. If Jack had spared no expense designing his home, he’d spent a king’s ransom building his reptile sanctuary. It was twice the size of her apartment, mist hovering mid-air, with rocks and logs filling the space, select trees spreading their limbs. A green button was printed with the word Open. She pressed it and held her breath.
Soft sounds shushed and whirred. Humidity reached for her, pulling her deeper inside. Although the room looked undivided from outside, glass separations were visible now, as was the precious cargo Jack housed. Iguanas. Savannah monitors. Chameleons. Small green anoles.
One bearded dragon named Ricky Ricardo.
The small hairs at her neck frizzed, and her lungs swelled with the briny, swampy smells. She crouched in front of each enclosure, marveled at how some reptiles had two living spaces, probably with different temperatures for them to thrive. She noticed other things as well: one chameleon was missing a foot, the monitor’s tail had been amputated.
Sanctuary, Jack had said. He didn’t breed reptiles or buy them for pets.
He saved them.
“What do you think?”
She startled at his voice. Too absorbed, she hadn’t heard the door above the ambient sounds. When she turned, the sultry air pressed on her lungs. “I think wow.”
Jack was in full Elvis attire, hair combed at the sides but ruffled up top. His black slacks and dress shirt were more fitted than his work clothes. The slim white tie was a perfect throwback, but the gold jacket was the clincher. On anyone else, the gaudy shine would be garish. On Maxwell Jack David dressed as Elvis, it was mesmerizing.
He stood tall and proud as though daring her to laugh at him.
Laughing was the last thing on her mind.
“Definitely wow,” she repeated. He held her gaze this time. Bold Jack. Elvis Jack. Her belly swirled. “The space, I mean,” she added, diverting her attention to his reptiles. “The space is impressive.”
“Not impressive enough.”
Said the guy who’d spent millions on his extravagant home. The shelter was astounding, but his matter-of-fact tone cooled her too-hot blood. “You do realize how arrogant that sounds, right?”
He even had an ancient Egyptian statue in the corner. The stone cobra was weathered, a few chunks missing here and there, but its hooding was unmistakable, the flare of its neck the most distinctive feature of the poisonous snake. If the thing didn’t weigh a thousand pounds, Lucien would have her nab it.
Jack slipped his hands into his front pockets and bowed his posture slightly. A familiar pose. “Hank, the savannah monitor, had his tail mutilated. He got aggressive with his owner, because he’d been mishandled and mistreated.” He tipped his chin to the chameleon. “Ella was allowed to roam around a dingy apartment and her foot got crushed. The iguana was blinded by some asshole for the fun of it. So no, it’s not impressive enough. I planned to enlarge the space, but I’ve hit a…roadblock of sorts. I’m at capacity and can’t shelter more abused animals.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and her self-righteousness shriveled like a parched raisin. She was so damn quick to judge these days, criticize and condemn, even though he’d used some of his millions to rescue reptiles. Through all her years, her ups and downs, it was like she’d lost the ability to empathize, unless someone had walked precisely in her shoes. The bitterness was exhausting.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I can