CHAPTER 4
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.”
Thank God Zion chose that moment to run back to them. She felt like she’d been under Darius magnifying glass. He was even better at asking questions than she was, and that was pretty impressive, given that she asked questions for a living. Why, she had to wonder again, was Darius at all interested in her and Zion when they were never going to see each other again?
Perhaps she shouldn’t be so wary when he’d been nothing but nice so far, but after her experiences with the last two men she’d let get close—and after she’d watched the way the wealthy father of the teen who’d hit Zion had used his money to buy them out of any trouble—Nathalie simply couldn’t trust blindly anymore.
“Can we see the other garage, Darius?” Zion was a bundle of energy, even more so than usual. As though he felt he had to take big bites of Darius world before it was gone.
“Sure,” Darius said as he fished in his pocket for a remote.
“But there’s no Maserati Alfieri 1960 over there.”
“I know,” Zion said sadly.
“Maybe if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, there could be one day.” He did, squeezing his eyes shut. Darius laughed.
“Sorry, I’m no genie in a bottle. Not today, at least.” He pointed his remote at the closest door and it rolled up to reveal a sporty red vehicle.
“The Lamborghini,” Zion said in whispered awe before running toward the sports car. To Nathalie, his feet always seemed one step away from stumbling, but thankfully, Zion didn’t fall.
“You don’t have to do all this,” she said apologetically.
“I’m enjoying it,” he said again.
“I like your brother. I don’t often meet people who are as excited about cars as I am.” He grinned at her.
“He told me I should build a Maserati Alfieri 1960.”
“He’s crazy for that car. He’s got pictures of it all over his bedroom wall.”
“I hated having to tell him no one makes a Maserati Alfieri kit car.” Darius put his hand on the small of her back as they followed her brother at a more reasonable pace.
“He showed me his notebook on the drive over.”
The warmth of his touch was too much, too powerful. Wanting it so much more than she knew she should, she turned slightly, pulling away, trying to focus on what he was saying instead of his heat, his scent, and the things his hand on her back was doing to her insides.
“Even after you told him you couldn’t get a kit for it, he wouldn’t stop talking about that car, right?”
“Right.”
Why Zion had fixated on the Maserati Alfieri 1960, Nathalie didn’t know. She couldn’t see anything special about it—at least, no more than any other sports car.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing for him. Like I said, I like your brother.” Another one of those gorgeous smiles curved his lips.
“And I want to take you out, because I like you, too.” Rushing ahead of them, Zion hadn’t stumbled, but Nathalie almost did just then.
“Excuse me?”
“Dinner. Tonight. You and me.” The shock of his invitation—and just how badly she wanted to say Yes!—sent her pulse into the danger zone.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t think, Nathalie. Just say yes.” He gave her another smile, this one a little devious.
“I already asked Zion, and he said it was fine if I took you out.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m perfectly serious. Hey, Zion,” he called,
“didn’t I ask on the drive over if I could take Nathalie to dinner?”
“Yup. I said okeydokey.” Knowing that she was seriously out of her depth with this man, Nathalie said,
“I can’t date you.”
“Why not?” he asked reasonably.
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Of course I’m not afraid,” she said quickly.
Too quickly, perhaps. Because the truth was that she was afraid. Afraid of just how much she wanted to go on a date with Darius. Afraid of just how badly she wanted to feel his mouth on hers. Afraid of just how much she loved seeing him smile at her. Afraid of being so starved for male affection that she’d be tempted to let herself become a plaything for a billionaire bachelor who couldn’t possibly want her for anything more than that. In the end, given the jumble of emotions inside of her, the best reason she could come up with was,
“I don’t like to leave Zion alone at night. And it’s too late to get anyone to stay with him.”
“Then how about tomorrow night, so that you can find someone to watch your brother?”
“Tomorrow night is okay, Darius,” Zion called from inside the garage, and she wondered how on earth he’d heard the conversation. But she wasn’t ready to concede.
“This is ridiculous. I don’t even know you. We just met, and only because my brother wanted to see your cars.”
“That’s why people go to dinner, isn’t it?” He smiled again, clearly a deliberate tactic, given that he had to know his smiles made her heart jump around inside her chest.
“To get to know each other better.”
“Come on, Nathalie, say yes,” her brother added.
“And then I can come back to see more cars.” She shot Zion a shocked glance. She might have to ground him when they got home. Permanently.
“If you say yes,” Darius said in a low voice,
“I promise I won’t drive faster than you want me to.”
But that was exactly what she was afraid of. That she would want him to go faster. That she might even beg him to go faster. All because those thrilling moments sitting beside Darius in his fast car this afternoon had been the best ones she’d experienced in a very long time. Only, even though there were at least a dozen reasons she should say no, when she opened her mouth the word that came out was,
“Yes.”
* * *
Darius knew he shouldn’t lead Nathalie on. She was a good girl. She was someone who deserved the fairytale, a guy who was as good as she was. Not an ex-thief who still battled his demons, who knew that he could never change the blood he came from, no matter how much he wished he could. Speed had taken away far too much from Nathalie already—her brother’s independence and her parents’ lives.
And yet, he could feel that she craved it all the same. Craved the rush, the thrill, just as much as he did. Just as much as he craved her. Darius wanted Nathalie with an intensity he’d never felt before. And maybe if he hadn’t felt that same intensity from her, even as she’d tried to hide it, he could have let her go. But as he stood in the late afternoon sun watching them drive away, with Zion waving madly out the window as they took the downhill curve and disappeared, Darius knew he couldn’t let her go.
Couldn’t let either of them go, truth be told. Darius had never known anyone with such high spirits or as much freshness as Zion. He had almost died all those years ago, and he’d probably been in rehab for a good part of his life since. Yet he had a boundless nature. A Maserati Alfieri 1960. On the drive over from the hangar, Zion had enumerated all the reasons why Darius should build the car, most of which came down to the fact that it was awesome. And Zion was right—it was a truly incredible car.
Having finished the Mercury Cougar a few months before taping Hot Cars, Darius could use another project now. The problem? As he’d told Nathalie, there was no such thing as a Maserati Alfieri kit car. Then again...his friend Argus Montefalco had recently told him about a guy in Europe who could scrounge up just about anything. Darius started to get an idea, one that fired him up. He’d told Zion he wasn’t a genie, but maybe he could grant the boy’s wish after all. He pulled out his phone to call Argus, and his friend answered on the second ring.
“You’re interrupting.”
“What? You watching paint dry?”
“More like a dozen cameramen all groaning since we’re going to have to do this take over,” Argus told him.
“Whatever you’ve got to say, make it snappy so that I can get back to it.” Despite their razzing, Darius knew his friend was happy to hear from him.
They didn’t get together nearly enough lately, not since success had pulled the five of them in so many different directions. It was why Argus had picked up Darius call in the middle of a take for his home improvement show. Darius would drop anything for any of the Baddricks, even if he was in the most important business meeting of his career. They, along with George and Sally, always came first.
Argus owned the largest home improvement chain in the United States. He operated four plants across the country, manufacturing his own line of machines and tools. But the last time he’d held a paintbrush or a hammer—and used it for more than a shot on his TV show—had been in the previous decade.
Darius had started to wonder if that was a good thing for Argus, who’d always been the guy that had not only liked working with his hands, but had also seemed to need it. Just the way Darius needed speed.
“You have the contact info for that guy in Italy?”
“Manuel Rossi?”
“Yeah. Sheet metal. Fiberglass fabrication. You said he’s damn near an artist.”
“Sure, I’ll text it to you now. That all you want?”
“Yeah, thanks. See you on Memorial Day. Bring beer.” The conversation ended.
They didn’t have deep discussions every day. But the Baddricks were always there for him no matter what. And vice versa. The Maserati Alfieri 1960 wasn’t a life-and-death issue that he needed to discuss. It wasn’t a business problem he wanted to mull over with one of the guys. Meeting a new woman didn’t usually rank up there, either.
Yet there was something about Nathalie… Something special.
