The grounds surrounding the main house were empty. In the distance, I heard the sound of a lawn mower or maybe hedge clippers, so there were people around somewhere. Sal had told me he planned to spend the day shopping for fabrics down in Santa Barbara. I had no idea what Amalie was up to, but I didn’t want to push myself on her. As for him, he said he was renovating the other guesthouses. I’d spied two of them tucked along the other side of the property, far more remote than mine. So maybe he was there.

It didn’t matter. I wasn’t here for Lucian either. Even so, nerves jumped and punched around in my belly as I neared the pool. The heels of my slingback sandals clicked along the terra-cotta pavers. The pool lay still and deep blue in the sunshine. And though I was here to swim, I edged past it, as though Lucian might pop out of its depths and glare at me. Which was ridiculous, given that the water was crystal clear—without a hot man in sight.

At the far end of the pool was a pool house with italianate columns that held up a wisteria-covered terrace. The glass french doors to the pool house were open. I couldn’t help but peek in. The lovely living room was done up in French country style, with dusky-robin’s-egg-blue walls, sisal rugs, faded-yellow linen couches, and pretty alabaster lamps with blue shades dotted here and there.

A kitchenette was on one side, and behind a pair of open blue damask drapes, a white iron bed was tucked in the alcove on the other end. Several artworks were on the floor, propped up against the wall. A box filled with small vases and various decorative knickknacks sat beside them.

Someone was either still putting things up or taking them away. Then I noticed the pair of faded jeans lying in a lump by the end of the bed, well-worn work boots tossed next to them.

Blood rushed to my fingertips and then back to my cheeks. I knew those jeans.

It was his room. Shit, shit, shit.

Heart pounding, I spun around to make a run for it, and almost plowed into a wide chest. Double shit-sticks. Heat burned my cheeks as I grimaced, wishing myself away from this spot. But it was not to be.

The deep grumpy rumble of his voice cut through the thick silence. “Help you with something, Em?”

Swallowing down my dignity, I tilted my chin—because he was that damn tall—and faced him.

A shiver ran through me at the coldness in his pale-green eyes. He inspected me, as though he’d found a rat in his room.

I licked my dry lips and attempted to speak. The words escaped in a high crackling question. “No?”

Glacial eyes narrowed. “You don’t know? Is this something we need to discuss? Your propensity for responding to questions with an uncertain no?”

Ugh. This man was not going to turn me into a wimp. I lifted my chin, which unfortunately thrust my boobs out, not that he appeared to notice. “I was about to go for a swim.”

God, that sounded ridiculous.

His brow quirked, as though he agreed. “Pool’s back that way, Em.”

Em. I liked the way he said my name; so much feeling in one syllable. But not the smug humor in his eyes. “I am aware.”

“So what? You decided to snoop in here first?”

If I wasn’t the color of a tomato by now, it was a close thing. No matter. Act it out. “No, I didn’t decide to snoop. I wandered around the pool, saw the open door and—”

“Snooped.”

I growled. At least, it sounded like a little growl. Lucian did a double take, but his passive, unimpressed expression remained.

“Snooping implies I was going through your things. A quick glance inside a room is more of a . . .” My voice trailed off as I struggled for the right word.

With a dubious grunt, he crossed his beefy arms in front of his chest and gave me a look that clearly stated he knew I was full of shit but enjoyed me trying to talk my way out of it.

Damn it. I let out a breath. “All right. I apologize for snooping. It wasn’t my intention. It’s just a very pretty room.” Too pretty for you, I added on silently.

Weirdly, I was fairly certain he heard the unvoiced criticism. His lips twitched, drawing my attention. They were pale against the dark scruff of his unshaven jaw and chin. Pale and wide. A mobile mouth, Tate would have called it. The kind of lips that were expressive, kissable.

Except when they pressed flat. With a jolt I realized I’d been staring.

“You done?”

I flinched at the plainly put question. God, was I? I wanted to look at them again. Which was horrible considering he was annoyed and grumpy and obviously wanted me gone.

Just play it cool. “With what?”

Yes, very smooth, Em. Very smooth.

He sighed, slow and long, as though dealing with a moron. Admittedly, I felt a bit like one at this point.

“Done looking around?” He sounded pleasant, as though he might soon offer tea.

Damn it, I played a badass princess. One who never got flustered. Reach for that remote dignity, Em. “Yes, I am done.”

“No request for a tour?”

Oh, now that was cute.

“No, thank you. I’ve seen enough.”

Oddly, he didn’t move. I’d have to skirt around him to get out. Not that I would subject myself to that humiliation. I lifted my brows, letting the question rise in my eyes. Was he going to get out of my way or what?

He didn’t. He stared, hard, uncompromising. But then his gaze lowered, just a fraction of a second, down my body. I felt it in my toes. As though irritated at the slip, he grunted and went back to glaring at me, but he appeared more annoyed at himself now than at me.

Even so, I wasn’t exactly feeling very charitable at the moment. “Are you done?”

“Done?”

I smiled sweetly. “Staring.”

He paused a beat, those absurdly long lashes sweeping when he blinked. Then it was as if a light went off in his head, and a slow, easy smile spread over his face. It transformed him. From brooding brute to beautiful man.

The ice melted from his gaze, turning those green eyes to translucent sea glass. That gaze drew me in, impossible to look away from, even though a prickle of warning danced up my spine—because there was that evil smile to consider.

Then he spoke in a deep, honey-laden drawl. “What’s the acceptable time limit? How long did you stare last night?”

Oh, no, no, no.

The blood rushed from my face in hot prickles of horror. A strangled sound escaped my lips.

Lucian leaned in, close enough that I caught a whiff of bitter chocolate and sweet oranges. Why did he have to smell like dessert? He sounded even better—hot cream and honey. “Did you like what you saw?” The question rippled over my skin, sank into my bones, a soft caress that dared me to answer yes.