Loving the Secret Billionaire (Love at Last #1)(9)

“I feel sunshine. Walking in and out of it.”

“Like my cat.”

“You have a cat?”

“Ché.”

“As in Guevara?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. My parents named him.”

“Want to sit?”

I turned in a circle. “Where?”

“Patio?”

“Sure.” Vocalizing everything was odd. I couldn’t nod at the little questions, couldn’t play things off with a shrug. Conversation with this man involved commitment. It was frightening; and refreshing.

He led the way and held a chair out for me after swiping a few leaves from its seat. His movements were all so careful and precise. I would almost call his demeanor calculated if it didn’t also seem necessary. If I closed my eyes for two seconds, I’d trip on myself.

“Thank you.” I sank into the chair and he settled in the one nearest me. Having this stranger so close to me should have been awkward, but it was something else. The feel of him beside me was hot and new, and awareness buzzed just under my skin. I fought a wild urge to tilt my head a few degrees and set it on that capable looking shoulder or, even more embarrassing, to lick it.

Looking for something besides his nearness to focus on, I turned to the yard and noticed with a start that everything back here was perfectly manicured. Like the inside, the back of this place didn’t match the front. Like a secret garden.

I inhaled a heavenly, sweet, syrupy scent.

“There’s honeysuckle!” I scanned the back of the yard and spotted it clinging to the far fence.

“Yeah. Got a ton back there. I know it’s a weed and you’re supposed to pull it, but I just can’t.”

“It’s pretty, even if it is a weed.” I inhaled deeply. “And that smell.”

“What makes a weed a weed, anyway?”

“Right?” I nodded his way, expecting our gazes to connect. Of course, they didn’t and disappointment flashed through me, followed quickly by something different as my attention caught on details, like the soft-looking skin behind his ear, the way his thick, muscular throat moved when he spoke. Something new, excitable. Something like discovery.

I wanted to ask if he’d always been blind, but that seemed way out of line. Too early, too personal. Rude, probably, although if one of my four-year-olds asked, it might be okay.

Instead, I went with my other burning question. “It’s so neat back here, but your house is a mess out front. Why is that?”

He cleared his throat before answering. “That bad, huh?” Oh no. Did I embarrass him?

“It’s a little…” I shrugged. “Intimidating.”

“Not usually big on visitors.”

“Oh.” Was he trying to tell me something? “So, when I knocked, you…”

“Present company excepted.”

“So…you leave it that way on purpose?”

“Not exactly.” He shrugged. “Actually hired a guy to take care of it, but…”

“Well, he’s not doing his job.”

Zach just shook his head.

“What?” I asked.

“His wife got sick after having their baby a while ago, and I don’t want to bother him with it.”

“Why not find someone else?”

“He needs the money.”

“Wait, you pay him?” He didn’t answer. “Who’s the socialist now?”

“Can’t fire the guy for being down on his luck.”

“People do it all the time.”

“I’m not like that.”

“I can tell.” My belly tightened with something like affection for this man I barely knew. “You helped me.”

He didn’t respond, although a red flush crept from his neckline to the top of those wide, proud cheekbones.

“That’s different. Helping you is helping the community.”

He had me there.

“Well, I appreciate it. Your help.”

“I want to see the better candidate win this.” I blushed hard, thankful he couldn’t see it. “You think he’s clean?”

“Who?”

“Your opponent. Clint Rylie.”

“I don’t know.”

“What if he’s not? What if he’s crooked?”

“Rylie’d never get caught.”

“Why not?”

“He never does.”

Zach made a thoughtful hm sound that was muffled when he took a long swig.

When he didn’t go on, I asked, “You grow up around here?”

“Yeah. Right here.”

“What school’d you go to?”

“Didn’t. I was home-schooled by my grandfather.”

“Oh.”

After another sip of beer, he set the bottle down with a clunk. “Had very specific ideas about what a boy’s education should look like.”

“Where is he now?”

“Passed away. A few years ago.”

“So, it’s just you?”

“Just me.” After a pause, he smiled. “And the interwebs.”

It all came back to me again—that fear at the way those kids had reacted, roiling around in my gut along with my unexpected attraction for this man. “Who are you?”