Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“You bought it? Just to drive around while you’re here?”
“I bought a house here, too,” he replies, putting the car in first and taking off down the street. “Going to take you there now and cook dinner for you.”
I just blink, trying to process that type of wealth. I’ve never experienced it up close. I mean, Dax makes a lot of money, but not enough to buy extra houses and Porsches on a whim.
“Unless you’d prefer not to go to my house,” he says, apparently taking my lack of response as hesitation.
“Can you cook?” I ask.
“I’m not bad,” he admits.
I shrug. “Then let’s go to your house.”
We make small talk as he maneuvers the sports car like a dream into Scottsdale. He enters a neighborhood with houses the likes of which I’ve never seen, pulling into the driveway of a behemoth residence that has to be a good fifteen-thousand-square-feet or more.
When he brings the car to a stop in the circular driveway, I gape at the grandeur of it, whistling low. “As someone who has seen your goods up close and personal, I know damn well you didn’t buy this thing to compensate for something you are… um… personally lacking.”
Dominik snorts, gesturing at my door. “Get out of the car, smart-ass. It was on sale.”
“Oh, a multimillion-dollar house was on sale? How can you pass that up?” I roll my eyes.
He doesn’t reply, and we exit the vehicle. As I close the door, I let my eyes roam over the façade—classic desert design of cream stucco with a red-tile roof—and marvel over the size of it. It even has wings.
The house he bought to live in just during home playoff games has wings.
“You know how many starving kids you could feed for the cost of this thing?” I murmur as I twist my neck to glance at him standing beside me.
If I thought it would offend him, I’d have been wrong. He just smirks, placing his hand on my lower back to guide me up the front portico. “I donate plenty to care for children of all sorts. My conscience isn’t troubled in the slightest.”
I feel slightly bad for even inferring that. I’ve read enough articles to know Dominik Carlson is a generous person, and I’ve seen firsthand how well he treats his players.
Still, such flippancy is shocking, but… I’ve never known anyone who had this type of wealth.
Dominik leads me inside, punching a code into an alarm panel in the foyer. When he brushes by me, I follow him past a sweeping staircase to a massive great room that could probably fit five normal-sized living rooms inside it.
Of course, it’s fully furnished and tastefully decorated, right down to the knickknacks in the built-ins. I’m curious who handled the decor since I would expect someone like Dominik to go with sturdy, masculine pieces. Instead, the furniture is plush, yet light and airy looking. Like a person could sink down into the couch with a good book and get lost for hours.
“Would you like a mixed drink or some wine while I cook?” Dominik asks as he veers to the left into a massive kitchen with gleaming appliances, a center island that seats eight, and custom cabinetry done in a French Provencal style.
“Wine,” I reply, trying not to gawk at the splendor before me. I love to cook. This kitchen could have been pulled straight from my dreams.
I set my purse on the island then pull out a stool while Dominik opens what I had thought was merely a cabinet but turns out to be an actual door leading into a massive pantry. It’s bigger than most kitchens I’ve seen. He returns with a bottle of wine, then uncorks it.
“How come you’ve been playing so hard to get?” he asks as he moves over to another cabinet and retrieves wineglasses.
“Hard to get?” I ask, playing a little dumb, which totally amuses me. “I’ve been out of the country for the last month. It’s kind of hard to ‘get’ something that’s not even within reach.”
Dominik manages to roll his eyes and pour an expert glass of wine at the same time. He slides it across the island toward where I’ve yet to take a seat. “I’m not talking physical ‘getting’. You could have at least responded to my texts.”
I lift the glass, bringing it to my lips while I consider this. He’s right. I could have easily just replied to tell him to leave me alone, and he would have. The fact I didn’t clearly speaks volumes.
But I’m not ready to admit I find him dangerous, which is the main reason I never responded.
Instead, I turn it back on him as he pours himself a glass of wine. “Why did you keep texting me when I wasn’t responding?”
Dominik ignores his glass, moving to the fridge. “I find you fascinating. And a challenge.”