Dirty Sexy Alphas (Twenty Book Box Set) - Hannah Ford Page 0,12

what I was asking, not really. So I simply followed him into the soaring entryway of his glass and concrete mansion.

He kicked off his shoes, so I followed suit, lining my flip-flops up next to his expensive-looking leather loafers.

Then I trailed him, barefoot, as the hall opened up to a vast kitchen. Marble sparkled under the recessed lighting. Landon walked to the double-door fridge, grabbing two bottles of water and handing me one.

Our fingers brushed as I accepted it, the condensation cool against my skin.

“So basically,” he said, twisting the lid. “I’ve got dozens of boxes of samples and products, and I thought you could give me some insight into how much that cart would hold and what products you think would work best given the demographic of your usual customers.”

“Sure,” I said. “But what are we selling them, exactly? I thought you catered to NFL superstars.”

“We do that too,” he said, taking a sip of the water, “but this facility can accommodate both. We have a secure wing devoted to elite athletes, and an entire gym devoted to your standard injury rehab work for your garden variety, rec-league type athletes.”

“Okay. So where are the boxes?”

“I had them put in the rec room down the hall.” He lead me across the hardwood floor, down a hall so long it might as well be the mall. Hell, I’d have bet I could wheel that damn kiosk right on in there. We went through a double door, and an enormous room opened up before me.

One side of the wall was a long bar, complete with a carved wooden bar-back. The center of the room housed an onyx billiards table with red felt.

The other half was stacked with boxes.

“Who owned this house before you?”

“Earl Thomas,” he said.

“Oh.” Right. Of course the town’s resident bajillinoaire owned this house first.

He was already peeling the tape off the first box, one labeled “Ultra Wrap”, with a giant “SAMPLES” sticker slapped diagonally across the side. I followed suit, digging into the nearest box and pulling out a stack of laminated sheets.

“Wow, is this what the sports center looks like?” I asked, holding up the paper I’d found.

On the paper was a picture of the building, and it was gorgeous. Built like a mountain lodge, with a soaring green roof and enormous timber-framed entry. But it was modern, too, with black-trimmed windows and curved cement walkways. There were groups of people walking the pathways, sitting on the iron benches, and walking out of the soaring front entry.

Landon nodded. “Yeah, that’s from the architectural firm. We’ve got a photographer lined up for next week but until we have the shots back, I thought we could use the renderings.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

I carried the stack over to the counter, thumbing through them and picking out my favorites. I sensed him coming up behind me more than I saw it, but when I felt his heat and smelled his cologne, I tried to act unaffected.

“You must be proud of this,” I said, softly. He’d done so much since he left town. Proved his worth to a family who never deserved to call him their own.

“I am,” he said. His finger glided down my shoulder, across my forearm. He leaned in, selecting a sheet from the stack. His body pressed up against mine, pushing me into the counter just a little bit. I had to fight the urge to arch back, pressing my ass up against him.

He continued talking as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “This one is my favorite.”

It was labeled ‘Main Gym,’ and had a vaulted, timber-framed ceiling. Machines lined the wall, and the artist had depicted a man walking while supported by a double set of bars.

“Why’s this your favorite?” I asked, trying to control my breathing and sound as normal as him. It almost worked.

“It’s the heart of the facility. The place people go to fight for what they want most. Fight to heal and take control, even when it seems impossible.”

“Oh,” I said, breathing too shallowly.

He returned to his boxes, as if he hadn’t noticed his effect on me.

I didn’t look at him again until I had myself under control. It would only take a couple of hours to get through this.

I would be lucky to hold it together that long.

A couple hours later I sat on the edge of a leather bar stool, watching him make lunch, fascinated. His button-down was rolled up to his forearms, and he was chopping tomatoes, the knife