The Player (The Game Maker #3)(50)

But as a woman utterly fascinated with this man, I said, “If you’d like to talk, I’m right here.”

He wasn’t budging. “I will keep that in mind.”

I glanced out the window. We were still on the driveway? A brook flowed alongside the drive. Squirrels played on the lichen-covered logs, twitching their tails between rays of afternoon sunlight. Magical.

Any minute now I would wake up in my depressing apartment and realize this had all been a dream. Surreal did not begin to describe my day. And it was far from over. “How long have you lived here?” I asked him.

“I never have. I bought it with the idea that one day I might have a wife and children. The property’s size lends it privacy.”

“Lemme guess, you bought this place about a year ago?” I asked, angling to find out about his near-death experience.

He didn’t bite. “Approximately.”

“How big is the property?”

“Thousands of acres. And miles of frontage.”

I raised my brows. “Miles of the Cali coast? That must have been expensive.”

“I hope you will find it worth the price.” He motioned toward the window.

The drive widened, opening up to a breathtaking scene.

Fields of windswept wildflowers. Sun-dappled water. A mansion perched on an oceanfront cliff.

The spectacular structure was modern with glass everywhere. Glass doors, soaring windows, even some transparent walls.

My jaw dropped. “It . . . this place . . . I . . . seriously?”

“Vika, your reaction is even better than I had imagined. And I imagined it countless times.”

I could barely wait for the car to stop. I scrambled out to see better, Dmitri right behind me.

I followed that stream all the way to the front entrance. To reach the door, we crossed square stepping-stones over the water. “How cool is that!”

We entered, and I about fell over. The stream meandered under the house. I knew this because a winding swath of the floor was glass. “Holy shit.”

The open layout meant the Pacific was already visible. French doors allowed in a sea breeze and the muted sound of waves. A large pool and a hot tub dominated the terrace out front.

Between breezes, food scents hit me. I followed them to a dazzling modern kitchen.

Two men were finishing up what looked like a banquet for a hundred people. Dmitri explained they were our chef and his assistant.

Our chef. Of course. Why the hell not? The two men spoke to Dmitri in French. He translated: “The refrigerators and larders will be stocked for days.”

“Oh. Um, that’s great.” I thanked them, then resumed my exploration. I started toward the water, but a stairway came into view. The contemporary steps were unconnected, appearing to float in the air.

I headed up, with Dmitri unobtrusively shadowing me. I appreciated that he was letting me take everything in at my own pace.

From the landing, I entered a glass-walled gallery, my heels clicking over the polished hardwood floor. I crossed the threshold of what had to be the master bedroom suite. We passed a dressing room. A middle-aged housekeeper was already unpacking my things.

The smiling woman finished up, speaking to us in Russian.

Dmitri replied in the same, but I heard my new name in there. To me, he said, “This is Galina. She speaks little English. But you’ll be picking up Russian soon enough.”

Mouth gone dry, I said, “Sure thing.” I eked out a smile for the woman as she left. Then I continued inside.

In keeping with the modern design, the master bedroom had built-ins and sleek cabinets, but minimal furniture. A handwoven rug that screamed of money broke up the stretch of wood flooring. An abstract canvas made a focal point above the fireplace mantel.

And then there was the huge platform bed. We’d have sex there tonight. Whoa.

Opened french doors led to a balcony. As if in a trance, I made my way to the glass rail.

Seagulls hovered on air currents not thirty feet away. Below us, the pool’s surface shimmered in the late afternoon sun. A manicured walkway connected the terrace to a cove with a sandy beach.

And beyond: the water.

An endless sapphire expanse.

I murmured, “Dmitri, I’ve never seen so far.” I’d once bought a bolt of cloth in “Pacific blue,” but I hadn’t comprehended the color.

I’d never understood a sea breeze.

A spray of white caught my eye, then another. Something sliding through the ocean . . . “Look!” I whirled around and grabbed his hand. “Whales! Real ones.” Not high rollers.

The corner of his lips tilted up. “They migrate past here.”

No way! “You can see all of this from your balcony?”

“You can see all of this from our bed.”

I dragged my gaze from his face and turned back to the water. “Amazing.”

“And you haven’t even beheld the sunset. I have to warn you, though, it does rain here a lot. Much more than you’re used to.”

“But that’s why it’s so green.” Unlike my apartment complex, where drifting sand chased me across the parking lot.

He turned me to face him, the warm breeze ruffling his hair. “You want to make our home here?”

I wished he’d simply asked me if I liked it. The odds of me living here for an extended period were slim—not when spending my days with him meant losing days with my family.