Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) Read Free Page B

bet he had something to show me.
    “It wouldn’t be the rocket in your pocket, would it?” I laughed.
    “Did you just make a dick joke?” he asked, and I heard the appalled tone he was striving entirely too hard to attain. I was more astounded that he’d said ‘dick,’ quite frankly. The man never swore. Ever. And he’d just said ‘dick.’
    “Did you just say . . .” I asked. Narrowing my gaze, I turned my head from side-to-side and scanned the room suspiciously before I whispered, “. . . DICK.”
    Throwing his head back, Dean laughed. A full-bodied, rich, curl-my-toes kind of laugh filled my ears and tingled in my belly. I couldn’t describe the elation that made me feel like I was soaring at the sound. Knowing that I’d made him happy enough to let go and laugh was enough.
    “Come on.” Shaking his head, he slipped his arm around my waist and hugged me to him. “I have something I want you to see,” he said, a smile still twisting his lips up.
    “What is this?” I asked, ducking lower in the front seat of his truck’s cab to get a better view. The house was monstrous. The thing was almost bigger than the mansion in Victorian Village where Patrick housed his colony.
    “It’s a house,” Dean said, his face neutral and unyielding.
    “Well, no shit, Sherlock.” I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt, as if I’d never left. If only Patrick was as forgiving or as easy as Dean.
    “Come inside and see,” he said, stepping from the truck and circling around front. I got out and stepped up onto the sidewalk beside him.
    A thigh-high wrought iron fence surrounded the front yard of the red-brick home. When I say yard, I mean about a six foot by twelve foot area of grass. Flowers surrounded the house and walkway. Across the street from Schiller Park in German Village, a flowering pear tree with vibrant white flowers covering the entire canopy shaded the front of the behemoth. The houses on either side were only five or six feet apart but this mansion seemed perfectly content snuggled in the space provided.
    Dean strode up the steps to the porch and plucked a key from his pocket then opened the door. The distinct sound of a security alarm beeped from inside as I followed him in. He punched in a few numbers on the keypad and stopped the high-pitched, annoyingly shrill sound echoing through the empty space.
    Dark cherry hardwood floors with matching woodwork outlined the doors and the elaborately carved staircase. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Is this a project house?” I’d seen his project houses in the company portfolio books for the parade of homes. Each one of them was something to be proud of but this . . . It was a masterpiece.
    “Why don’t you take a look around?” he said, following me into the kitchen.
    Christ on crutches! It was a gourmet’s dream.
    Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the morning sun as it flooded through the wall of windows overlooking an Eden in the backyard. Floor-to-ceiling white cabinets with glass front French provincial doors lined the walls with a gigantic subzero professional freezer. The island could seat eight people comfortably. A six-burner gas stove sat in the center of the granite countertop, making my knees weak. The in-ground pool, nestled in the foliage and flowers, was like an oasis that no one could see beyond the ten-foot privacy wall surrounding it.
    “Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he said, a self-satisfied grin curling his lips.
    Taking my hand, we climbed the grand Victorian staircase together. “This is the master bedroom,” he said, stepping inside.
    Overlooking Schiller Park, triple bay windows filled the room with natural light. Off the master bedroom was a walk-in closet the size of my bedroom at Cadenza’s and a master bath that was simply sinful. A triple vanity with matching medicine cabinets of beveled glass glittered across the counter like shiny new nickels.
    The second floor had three additional bedrooms and another