Rugged(22)

“What makes you say that?” He leans against his desk and looks at me, that stubborn-and-stubbled expression back on his face.

“The views around here are gorgeous. They’re like some kind of spectacular painting.” I shrug. “Why buy art when you can look out at nature?”

“You’re sharp, Laurel,” he says, and nods. “Yes. The lot’s on a hill.”

“Is it nearby?” I ask, as he puts the rolled up blueprint to the side of the desk.

“If you want to wind your way up further into the Berkshires, yeah.” He looks at me almost warily. “Do you want to see it?”

“Hells yes. I mean, as thrilling as the new wing’s foundation was, I feel like you standing on some hilltop, looking out over the autumn leaves, silhouetted by the sun, that’s the kind of money shot the executives love.” All that burly manliness on top of some rock, posing with his arms akimbo is exactly what Thursday night needs. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get some fresh inspiration. “Will you take me there?”

“All right. Hop in the truck,” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

“The last time anyone said that to me, it was homecoming in the cornfield,” I say, following him outside. “With a suggestive leer, of course.”

“And how did you respond to such a gallant gesture?” he asks, voice dry.

“I kneed him in the balls,” I say brightly. Flint opens the door for me, chivalrous as always. “How polite of you,” I grin as I slide in.

“I’m always polite to women who have a reputation for ball kneeing,” he says, and closes the door.

The ride up through the hills is breathtaking. The sunlight actually looks buttery yellow shining in through the autumn leaves. When I roll the window down, the air is crisp, like the first bite of a red apple. Butter. Crisp. Apple. It’s a good thing I ate breakfast already. I look over at Flint, who’s got one arm hanging out the window as he drives. He’s all intense gaze and muscled smolder. The gentleman of the great outdoors; the financier in flannel. I think I’m a genius. I’m also staring at him a little bit too much.

Plus, Chance is sitting right behind me, and he loves putting his slobbery head on my shoulder as we ride. I don’t mind. Scratching dog’s ears is one of life’s pleasures. He whines in appreciation.

Finally, we break through a copse of trees and roll onto a spectacular hilltop. It’s more like the precipice of a small mountain, really. I get out and gasp, staring across the vast, sloping expanses of red, golden, and green-leafed trees before me. The horizon is a hazy blue that softens the scene like a watercolor. The wind gently tousles my hair. Hands on my hips, I turn in a full circle.

“You look impressed,” Flint says. Thumbs looped through his jeans, he strides up beside me. “Every woman I know thinks this is a perfect spot.”

“Oh, you’ve brought many lady conquests up here, have you?” I grin, meaning it as a joke, but he doesn’t seem to take it that way. He turns away quickly, retreating inward. I’ve either overstepped our professional boundary or I’ve hit a nerve.

“No. I haven’t,” he says. He strolls out to the edge of the lot, looking down a pretty steep drop.

“Kidding, of course. You don’t strike me as the manwhore type,” I say, skirting around the rocks and back up to him, hoping to smooth over my verbal misstep.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” He pats his leg, and Chance comes panting over. “We alpha male bastards jockey for manwhore status.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could entice just about any lady into the flatbed of your truck,” I blurt, not even thinking. “Are you kidding? I mean, look at you.” He glances up at me with amusement. Oh damn. There goes my mouth again. Sometimes I swear it has a mind of its own.

“You think I’d bring just any pretty face into the back of my truck?” he asks. A mischievous smile lights up his face. “That’s only for the special few.” My face heats, and I look at the very interesting ground. This conversation is rapidly heading into dangerous territory. And the problem is, I like it.

“Why didn’t you go forward with the house?” I deflect, clearing my throat.

He looks off into the distance. “I couldn’t think what to do with it for myself. And then the market just didn’t seem right anymore.” He shrugs, that rugged yet graceful movement. “Housing, you know. Besides, who wants a fantastic vacation house that could take a tumble off a cliff?”

“Adventurous people, I suppose,” I say, still trying to get this conversation back on track. Flint moves towards me, but that faraway look is still in his eyes.

“I did want to build this for someone adventurous,” he says. Sensing he wants to man-brood, I walk my way back around the lot. God, this place is a dream. The backyard opens onto a whole forest with a winding trail. The master bedroom would face a phenomenal sunrise every morning. I can imagine the interior, both rustic and refined.

Rustic. Refined. Beautiful design. Breathtaking mountain views.

Wait a minute. I turn around, my heart pounding.

“How afraid are you of my brilliance?” I ask Flint.

“Terrified. You see this face?” He gives me that neutral, glowering expression. “This is my terrified face.”