It wasn’t just a house. It was a whole compound. The private road leading to Darius home was a twisting half-mile up into the hills, past rolling fields of grass, scrub, trees, and other natural vegetation. Nathalie followed his car into the circular drive surrounding a rock fountain. The house was like something out of a Francois Mendez photo book, with a wide, sweeping pathway of slowly rising brick steps surrounded by meticulously shaped flowering shrubs and artful rock formations. What she could see of the massive house was on two levels, one set farther back than the other, almost as if they were completely separate.
A continuous line of windows flowed across the front, turning fluidly at the corners. Perched on a hill, there was an expansive valley view out the back. From the angle of the house to the drive, she could see an infinity pool, water pouring over its edge like a waterfall. Below that was a putting green. Sticking behind Darius, she steered her car into another drive, around a rock garden adorned with cacti and succulents, and headed up an incline.
The garage he’d spoken of was actually two buildings, one opposite the other. She counted eight doors in each as she tailgated Darius into the interior concrete pad between the two structures. One door slid up silently, and he pulled the Challenger inside. She climbed out of the modest sedan she’d purchased several years ago based solely on its excellent safety record, and her heels clicked on the concrete as she headed to the open garage door.
Lights came on inside, revealing several expensive cars whose value she could only guess. Probably a million dollars in gleaming metal, at the very least. Darius swept out a hand.
“Welcome to my playground.”
Zion was already racing down the row of cars.
“It’s down there.”
Darius pointed. Then her brother was gone, shooting toward the silver Aston Martin he’d been drooling over for ages.
“I see he likes speed,” Darius mused,
“in more ways than one.”
“After the accident,” she said softly,
“he had to learn to talk and walk again. So now he feels he has to keep moving so his joints don’t rust up like the Tin Man.”
Those were Zion’s words, ones that always made her smile. Darius turned his gaze from Zion to her.
“What happened?”
Nathalie swallowed, feeling herself choke up. It had all been a long time ago, yet the kindness in Darius eyes touched her.
“A car accident when he was seven. A speeding teenager in his daddy’s sports car.”
A teenager from a family that had nowhere near as much money as Darius.
“Zion was on his bike.”
“I’m sorry, Nathalie.”
He looked upset on their behalf. And more than a little angry, too.
“I can’t imagine how difficult that was.”
“He was in a coma for several weeks and suffered brain damage. In many ways, it’s like he never grew older than seven.”
Zion would perpetually be a child. But he was alive. And she was more than grateful for that.
“He’s a happy guy, though. And he’s doing well. I love him just the way he is.”
“He’s a good kid. Your parents obviously did a great job helping him through.”
“They did,” she agreed.
Still watching Zion skip around the Toyota 2000 GT, examining every detail. She’d already told Darius this much of their story, so she might as well finish it for him, even though sometimes it felt like there was nothing else to her but this tale of one crash after another.
“Our parents died a few years ago in a plane crash. So he’s all mine now.”
Darius had come closer to her while she spoke. She was average height, but he was so tall, so strong, that he made her feel petite.
“That must have been really hard on you.”
He was right, it had been horrible. But she’d concentrated on Zion, on doing everything she could for him and, eventually, the ache had become a little less each day.
“I miss my parents a lot. My mother was always so good at giving advice, and my father was always so calm about things.”
She would have given anything for them to be here. Darius reached for her hand and squeezed it as he said,
“They would both be very proud of how you’ve done, Nathalie.”
His touch seared her. She was suddenly aware of every breath she took, the slight bump in her heart rate, and the heat of his body. He was so completely there as he used their connection to steer her toward Zion, keeping their pace a leisurely stroll down the line of cars.
“Your garage is amazing.”
It seemed the polite thing to say and had the dual purpose of taking her mind off the loss of her parents and the focus off Darius hand over hers. Almost. The facility was spotless, with not a single oil stain in sight. Vinyl pathways had been laid down between the cars and along the rear wall. The tool chests were shiny red, with every tool put away or hanging on pegboard above the workbenches.
Electrical cords in roller bins hung down from the ceiling. There was order rather than the chaos of a normal garage. Particularly her garage. She moved ahead of him so that his hand fell away from hers. Without his touch, she felt close to normal again, just a slight tingle of awareness remaining. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny that a part of her missed it.
“You have so much space here,” she noted.
“Couldn’t you also house the cars you have down at the airport?”
“Luis owns the hangar, and he’d been trying to rent out those spaces for a while. I’m glad to be able to use them.” She recalled that Luis was his mechanic.
“So you have a mechanic and you fix the cars yourself?”
She waved a hand along the row of tool chests.
“Not to mention building them.”
“Luis does the routine maintenance, while I get to do most of the fun stuff. But he helps out on a project if something requires more than two hands. Besides,”
Darius added, the dark intensity back in his eyes as he looked at her,
“I’m a hands-on kind of guy.”
Nathalie remembered the way he’d fit the harness over her, nearly caressing her as he’d done so, and she flushed again. She didn’t like this awareness of a man she could never be with in a million, billion years. Her cravings for a rush, for thrills, were shoved way down into a secret place—whereas his were out in the open.
She’d seen dozens of photos of him on the Internet, a different woman on his arm each time. They all had hourglass figures and wore sexy designer dresses that had probably cost as much as her car. Clearly, he was a player.
Yet, he was kind to Zion and obviously took great pride in building things with his own hands rather than simply hiring minions to do it for him. Nathalie couldn’t put the pieces of the puzzle that was Darius Spencer together in a way that made sense. Maybe if she knew more of his story the way he already knew hers, things might become clearer.
But since she doubted she or Zion would ever see him again, Darius Spencer would have to remain a mystery. Needing another distraction from the heat still rising inside her, she pointed to grease-stained overalls hanging on the wall.
“Looks like you’ve been doing a whole lot of work on your cars recently.”
“Like I said, cars are my thing. They always have been, since I was a kid. Even now, I can always count on them when I’m looking for a rush.”
“Can I sit in the car, Darius?” Zion called from across the garage.
“Sure, go ahead.” Darius leaned against a workbench, his arms crossed, drawing her attention to his broad chest.
“So Jeremy lives with you?”
She forced herself to concentrate on his words, not his impressive muscles.
“Yes. We live in our parents’ home in Peiscke Altera. He’s better with familiar things around him.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a corporate recruiter.” She felt she ought to explain why she was wearing a suit today.
“I had an interview this morning.”
“On a Saturday?” He looked impressed.
“Dedicated.”
“I enjoy my job.” And she truly did love matching people up with the job perfect for them.
“No brothers, no sisters?”
“Just me and Zion. No cousins, either.”
“So you take care of him all on your own?”
“Yes. And we’re fine that way.”