Ulterior Designs (House of Evans Book 1) (2 page)

C
asual-sexy attire—check. Just-got-fucked hairdo—check. Hadn’t been laid in over a month—double motherfucking check. Logan’s dick may not have seen the light of day, or rather the dark depths of a pussy, in thirty-some-odd days, but at least on outward appearances he looked sexually maintained.

Dimitry Moriarty, the highly sought after and openly gay interior designer, would be there any minute, and too much caffeine and nerves were getting the best of Logan. Although Logan wasn’t gay himself, he believed in keeping all his options open. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that pleasure could be gotten just about anywhere when one was willing to expand their horizons.

With everything he needed for his rendezvous printed and neatly presented on the dining room table, he prepared some music in anticipation of waiting another few minutes. To his surprise, there was a knock on the door. Pleased with Indulgent Designs' promptness, he took in a deep breath and opened the door. Though his head was still foggy from all the wine he’d consumed the previous night in celebration of his first night in his home, and his body still stiff from having slept on a mattress on the floor, the vision of pure elegance standing on the other side of the double doors quickly brought him out of his haze.

Momentarily taken aback that the person he was staring at wasn't Dimitry, Logan stood motionless as he silently assessed the lovely specimen of a woman who stood at least half-a-foot shorter than himself.

Her choice of clothing wasn’t anything to write home about—standard-issue khakis, a white button-down shirt and black flats, but that was the last thing on his mind. First and foremost, it was her deep-set caramel-colored irises hidden behind thick, ebony lashes that stared wide-eyed and expectantly at him. The muscles around his eyes tensed when they came to rest on her sensuous mouth. The faintest trace of a smile tipped her full lips upward, making him smile in return as his gaze slowly roamed over her body. As if her long locks the color of rye whiskey hanging around her shoulders in wispy curls, warm tawny complexion, sculpted cheekbones and curves weren't enough—her fragrance sent a rush of arousal clawing at his insides.

She let out a short, breathy laugh before she thrust a hand in his direction and introduced herself.

"I'm Ms. Stephens," she smiled up at him. "Mr. Moriarty will be joining us shortly."

Picking up on her nervousness, he quickly composed himself and took her hand into his as he stepped aside to allow her in.

Tardiness irked Logan and, normally, it would have put him in a bad mood. Time was money, after all. However, seeing his present company and the vibrancy in her eyes beckoning him, he couldn't help but feel fortunate for Moriarty's lack of timeliness. At any rate, it was still early and, technically, Dimitry wasn't late.

With a lick of her lips, she moved past him with eyes fixed upward on the decorative arch and scissor trusses spanning the one-hundred-foot vaulted ceiling. While she quietly inspected his home in those brief seconds, images of what his home looked like before its completion flickered in his brain like a movie reel. The same way he felt much of the time was how the house had once looked: barren, worn, and in disrepair.

Music floated from his stereo speakers and filled the blank canvas of his home. The soothing female voice and pulsating bass carried on the spring breeze up to the high ceiling and rippled through the room, but he barely heard it. His thoughts were on not only the attractive brunette standing near him, but the next chapter in making his dream come true: making the
House of Evans
into something magnificent.

Inwardly, he laughed at the name he had given it. Sure, it sounded pretentious, but it only seemed appropriate considering it had formerly been a place of worship, not to mention the amount of religion that had been shoved down his throat while growing up. Besides, anyone who knew him would understand the title was meant in jest.
Mostly.

When sunbeams from a nearby window cast shadows against Ms. Stephens’ body and the faint outline of her nipples came into view beneath the thin material of her shirt, Logan was reminded why he loved a woman's body so much. Right on cue, his cock rose from its slumber, reminding him why he hated having such a one-track mind.

*

Before Chloe stood the most tantalizing piece of masculinity she had ever laid eyes on.
Or smelled.
Her brain briefly faltered when his unique scent, reminiscent of classic leather, enveloped her. She couldn't tell if her excitement stemmed from the opportunity to demonstrate her talent, or the crooked smile that Mr. Evans was throwing her way. Whatever it was, when her gaze tangled with his, her pulse flickered and leaped, filling her with exhilaration.

If she had known she was going to be in this situation, she would've worn something nicer—maybe even spent a little of her rent money on something stylish. When she had woken up, the last thing she expected was to be starting a new project or coming face-to-face with an attractive stranger.

She blinked rapidly several times, still unable to process what was happening. On the cusp of finally having the chance to use her college degree, the moment felt oddly surreal.

Offering Mr. Evans a polite smile while barely containing her enthusiasm with a misplaced giggle, she stepped into the foyer. Radiant yellow, ruby, sapphire and emerald hues of light from a stained-glass window streaming down a staircase several feet away from her made her heart pound against her ribcage.

Though the ferry ride from the Bay Area to Napa had barely given her enough time to go over the specs of this assignment, she was almost glad, because stepping into Mr. Evans’ home was like opening a gift on Christmas morning.

The stunning interior was far more enchanting than the unassuming outer façade. A classic exterior of white siding with a matching picket fence held decorative windows as its only notable external feature. The picture from his file had done little to spark her imagination, and she’d found it difficult to believe that the man who touted a degree in engineering would take on such a mundane project. But now, seeing the full scope of everything, she could understand why he was an award-winning architect.

Surrounded on three sides by the green and purples hues of sun-ripening grapes, the house sat on the edge of a pristine acreage on the outskirts of Napa. The dazzling vineyard enhanced by rolling hills in the backdrop were befitting of the gorgeous home. Having been the victim of people's judgmental assumptions based on looks when she was younger, Chloe chastised herself for having judged this book by its cover.

All of the details were almost too much to take in, and she suddenly felt as if she had been sucker-punched in the diaphragm and had the wind knocked out of her. Every single one of her senses came alive as she stood gaping at his home: the smell of wood and fresh plaster intermingled with Mr. Evans' cologne, a woman singing about
The Sweetest Taboo
, yellow rays of sunlight from the numerous cathedral windows bathing the extensive woodwork and soaring ceiling in light.

She was standing in the midst of a mere three-thousand square feet, but every bit appeared to remain true to its historical heritage, with no inch of space wasted. This man, this architect, Logan Evans, was an engineering genius. She could only guess that he had intentionally made the outside as understated as possible so as to not take away from the beauty of the interior.

Quickly, she glanced at him and tried to relay her gratitude for being allowed to share in this journey with him, even if it was only temporarily.

She had arrived earlier than her mentor, but that was nothing new. Faced with her current situation, she was thankful that time was a concept Dimitry couldn’t seem to grasp. He was late more often than not, and that was one of the main reasons he relied so heavily on his assistants and interns. Her coworkers had already schooled her in ways to keep the client busy until his arrival, but all that knowledge seemed to fly out the window when confronted with not only a beautiful client, but a home that looked like something straight out of a movie set.

She continued to scan the room, admiring all the expensive fixtures and furnishings positioned haphazardly throughout the space.

"May I?" She gestured with her head toward the living area.

"Of course," Logan answered with a grin.

His pride was clearly evident. As it should be. The place was staggering, not only in its appearance but in the old-world charm that it exuded—a kind of charm that she had only read about and seen in magazines. It even smelled like times gone by: old wood and freshly cut grass blowing in on a breeze from an open window. Standing amidst antiques and staring out at the vineyard as the morning fog lifted from the valley, the full impact of her surroundings astounded her. Even in its undecorated and raw state, it was spectacular, and its potential had already begun to inspire her.

When she turned to face Logan, sunlight coming in through one of the large windows reflected in his piercing blue eyes and caused a throb of desire to roll through her belly. Unable to move, her gaze fixed on the wicked gleam reflected back at her before roaming over his face and slowly taking in his body.

He looked to be in his late twenties or, at most, early thirties. She examined his slender, toned physique before her eyes zoomed in on his left hand. Noting that no wedding ring was present, her eyes moved further down his body. When her gaze paused on the outline of his shaft nestled in his charcoal-gray slacks, her cheeks warmed, and her eyes darted around the room in an attempt to redirect her focus. But it was too late. Judging by the knowing smirk hovering on his lips, she had been caught mentally undressing him.

Silently, she reprimanded herself. It wasn’t often one was given the chance of a lifetime, and acting like a flustered, luststruck teenager only made her appear unprofessional. Though she had worked with plenty of attractive men, it seemed this particular man's allure was far more tempting than any of those she had laid eyes on before.

Towering at six feet tall, dark strawberry-blonde hair pushed away from his brooding Prussian-blue eyes, scruff accentuating his strong chin, lean body and well-defined lips—he would undoubtedly be the highlight of her future wet dreams. But beyond his looks was the way he stood confidently and intensely watching her. There was a wild unruliness that danced in his eyes. She could be wrong, but hopefully, she was right.

Her cheeks burned again at the sinful thoughts flashing in her mind as she replayed how she had just been caught eye-fucking him.

*

Noticeably uneasy for having been caught checking him out, Ms. Stephens rocked from foot-to-foot before finally making eye contact again. A strand of hair fell into her eyes when a gust of wind blew in from the open window, and she lightly swept the loose tendril away and tucked it behind her ear. Despite her attempts at appearing professional, there was an unmistakable look of innocence. But it did little conceal a thinly veiled voraciousness. Logan knew the look well and gave her his best-lopsided grin in a silent apology for his own awkward, aroused state.

She tilted her head and pried her gaze away from him to examine the room once more.

"Your home is," she lightly shook her head as if in disbelief, "incredible."

Quietly contemplative, he watched as Ms. Stephens gazed out of the windows of his 'new' home. It was hard to believe the wait was finally over and that in only a few short moments, the next phase in the rebirth of both his home and himself would take place:
interior decoration
—literally for his home and metaphorically speaking for himself.

When Ms. Stephens glanced nervously at him, he couldn’t tell if the pink of her cheeks signaled mortification or arousal. He hoped for the latter because it was a damned good look on her.

The future had arrived, and Logan was staring right at it. In spite of the fact that he hadn't always made the right decisions, life was steadily moving forward and everything for which he had so impatiently waited, was finally present. Anyway, no one in life made
all
the right decisions. Bad choices led to mistakes, which then led to the greatest life lessons learned. Or so he was told. At least the mistakes he had made, he owned—unlike some people he knew.

And there were plenty of mistakes, especially when it came to relationships. Or, to be more specific—his
lack
of wanting one. Having his loyalty taken for granted and his heart shit on had left a bad taste in his mouth, and the only things he wanted in both his immediate and long-term future were indulgence, pleasure, and gratification. Hopefully, the decision to live his life that way wouldn't eventually bite him in the ass. Nothing terrified him more than the thought of a lifelong commitment, unless it was the thought of growing old alone. Granted, there was reasonable cause for not wanting to commit, but he still hadn't decided yet which of those prospects was more frightening.

He had been dreaming of a time when he could indulge himself fully with the various kinks that got him off.
And why shouldn't he?
He was single and finally at an age where he was wise enough to know his limitations and how to satisfy a woman in a way that could be rewarding for not only her, but for himself as well. Creative sex sparked his truest passion, and if it wasn’t blueprints and schematics on his mind, it was thoughts of a beautiful, witty, and intelligent companion with the same kinky inclinations at his beck and call. But, more importantly, he craved a partner who wanted what he wanted: a mutually satisfying physical partnership without a commitment.