Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,91
the wraparound porch when I come to my senses, open my own door and step out.
“You live here?” It’s probably the stupidest question I’ve ever asked in my life, but my need to hear the confirmation gets too much for me.
“What do you think?”
“Y-you bought it?”
He unlocks the front door and walks inside.
“Yes. It went to auction a few months ago. I couldn’t help myself.”
“What happened to the couple?”
“They died, Gab—fuck,” he barks, dropping my bags and lifting his hands to his hair.
“Oh.”
The two of us stand awkwardly in the hallway. Neither of us says anything and it’s only the sound of our labored breathing that can be heard.
After a few seconds, I manage to rip my eyes from Spencer’s muscular back. It might be freezing outside, but he’s still only wearing a long-sleeved Henley. It fits him perfectly and shows off the bulk that’s added to his frame over the past five years. His muscles ripple with tension, making me think things that I probably shouldn’t, especially when he’s even finding it hard to look at me right now.
I look around at the empty hallway. The wallpaper is floral and was probably once really pretty, only after all the years it’s been covering the walls, it’s faded and even missing in some places.
“I’ll show you around,” he says suddenly before marching away.
I hurry to keep up and step into the closest room behind him.
“Living room.” The decoration is similar to that of the hallway, and there’s only a single couch and a TV on the floor in the corner. “Dining room,” he says, his voice already a distance away telling me he’s left the room already.
“Wow,” I breathe when I take in the view out of the back windows. As I knew it did, the house sits on huge grounds with views over the snowy mountains in the distance. The sight is the exact one I’ve been dreaming about.
Excitement explodes within me as I step closer to the windows to take it all in.
Mom and I had been living in a penthouse apartment in the city, I haven’t seen a view like this in… well, five years.
“So beautiful,” I murmur.
Spencer makes some kind of unintelligible noise behind me, and I spin around to look at him.
My breath catches when our eyes connect. He wasn’t looking at the view just then. He was staring at me.
Something I remember all too well crackles between us. It was there when we were too young to understand it and it seems even after these years apart, it still exists.
His lips part like he wants to say something, and I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to them. My thighs clench with need.
Before I left, we could barely keep our hands off each other. We were utterly addicted but we never took it all the way. We were young and although we were totally in love, we’d both decided not to rush things.
But now, looking at him as a man. The stubble, the muscles, his haunted eyes. All I can think about is climbing him like a tree and discovering if he tastes the same as he did back then.
After long, excruciating seconds, he clears his throat and takes off.
“Kitchen.”
I hurry to catch up with him but come to a grinding halt when I take in the beauty before me.
“Oh my god, Spencer. Did you do this?” My eyes fly around the room, not knowing what to look at first. It’s the most stunning kitchen I think I’ve ever seen.
Marble counters, hand-carved dark wooden doors. It’s… perfect.
“Yeah,” he says like it’s nothing. “It’s all I’ve managed to do so far.”
“Spencer, it’s unbelievable.” I walk farther into the room, running my fingers over the doors that I know he’s meticulously done himself.
“It’s turned out pretty good.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. “You always were so modest.”
“You don’t know me, Ella.” He accentuates my name just to prove a point.
“Don’t I?” I ask, turning on him and holding his eyes.
Chapter Four
Spencer
The way she looks at me unnerves me. It’s like she can see past everything that’s on the surface. The anger that’s bubbling just under the skin and right down to the memories of us that I’m trying so hard to bury.
Buying this house was probably a mistake. I knew what it meant to her. I knew her dream. Hell, for a lot of years, I shared that exact dream. I could see it almost as vividly as she could.