Flynn strode ahead of me and paused by the stairs, which led up to a deck that wrapped all the way around the structure. He’d insisted on getting my bags and held one hooked over his shoulder and the other in his hand. “You ready to go in?”
I hadn’t realized I’d frozen in place while my eyes absorbed the view. With trees to one side, the lodge was set in the hills and offered an expansive view of the mountains on the other side. Those same bright fuchsia flowers I’d seen on my drive were in clusters along the hillside. The view spilled out to an ocean bay in the distance with mountains on the far side.
“Yes!” I hurried to catch up to Flynn.
The heel of my boot caught on a piece of gravel in my rush. I kicked it aside and stumbled slightly when I reached him. Flynn reached out to steady me, his free hand curling around my arm. His touch felt like a hot brand, and heat rushed through me.
“Have you forgotten you’re covered in mud?” he asked, one side of his mouth tilting up in the slightest hint of a grin.
Oh, God. He needed not to smile and definitely not to touch me. I swallowed as I tried to catch a breath. Although we were in rarefied mountain air, it suddenly seemed in short supply.
Looking down, I kept my sigh silent as I gathered myself. Dear God. I was an utter mess, literally and figuratively. When my eyes lifted to meet his again, and I saw the glimmer of warmth, I decided it couldn’t be all that bad. Although I’d been born and raised to care deeply about appearances, I’d learned in the most brutal ways possible that appearances didn’t matter. Not at all.
“I suppose I did forget about the mud,” I offered with a brave smile.
“Come on in then.”
Flynn gestured for me to climb the stairs in front of him. I figured the back of me looked better than the front, so I hurried up and waited by the doors.
“It’s not locked,” he said when he crested the top of the stairs.
“Oh,” I squeaked before reaching to open the door. Considering he had my bags, the least I could do was get the door.
I stepped inside with Flynn following me. The entryway was tiled in slate gray. Rows of hooks on both walls flanked either side of the door with grates on the floor.
I eyed the grates curiously, and Flynn must’ve seen my puzzlement. “That’s for during winter. When people come in with snowy boots and gear, the water drains instead of pooling on the floor. Don’t worry, it’s not open to the outdoors. It’s only about two inches under the floor and feeds into our drainage system.”
“Oh, that’s handy,” I offered as I glanced up at him.
His gaze scanned my face, but I didn’t know how to read his expression. He seemed quite skilled at keeping his thoughts hidden. Being an expert at that myself, I never held it against a person. Holding one’s own counsel was important.
“Let me show you your room,” he said as he walked past me.
He led me through the tall archway into another room. Just beyond the archway were two doors on either side. The rest of the space was wide open. The hardwood floors gleamed under the sun shining through the windows. To one side, a soapstone woodstove was surrounded by small sectional sofa and a few chairs. Another area had low bookshelves with more chairs, and then yet another area had a larger sectional couch with a television that came down from the ceiling. Without a single wall to divide the space, it somehow felt like three separate rooms due to the layout and flow.
I followed Flynn across the room to discover a pretty spiral staircase tucked in the corner. We crested the top stair, and he led me down the hallway before opening a door. The room had a view out over the field with the ocean glittering in the distance.
I took in the clean, minimalist furnishings. A fluffy cream-colored quilt decorated the queen-size bed with a nightstand on either side and a dresser across from the foot of the bed just beside the door where we stood. Flynn set my bags on the floor in front of the dresser and pointed at the door on the side of the room. “Shower’s in there.”
He turned, about to disappear through the doorway.
“Flynn.”
He turned back, and this man was, simply put, all man—raw, rugged strength exuded from him. There was a hint of grace to the way he arched his brow. “Yeah?”
“The website said there were meals.”
My words weren’t quite a question, but Flynn nodded. “Yes. There are meals, princess.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from reacting to that little nickname. There was no way he could’ve known I’d been given that very nickname when I was a little girl.
By the time I’d showered and changed into a pair of jeans with low-heeled boots and a mud-free cotton blouse, I could hear the murmur of voices and presumed another group of guests had arrived.
I didn’t know why, but I felt a little anxious. I couldn’t get Flynn’s eyes—intense and striking—out of my mind. And every time he called me princess, a flash of irritation struck, followed immediately by a little kick in my pulse.
With a mental shake, I paused at the doorway, the feel of the doorknob cool under my palm before I turned it. On the heels of a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and walked down the hallway.
A tall, lanky young man came out of another door at an angle across the hallway. When he saw me, he cast me a quick grin. “Hello there.”
I knew almost instantly this young man had to be related to Flynn. He had the same amber hair kissed by the sun and those unique blue eyes with smoky edges.
“Hi,” I managed politely.
He dipped his head in acknowledgment and gestured for me to walk ahead of him. “You must be Daphne,” he said as we descended the spiral staircase.
“I am. How did you guess?”
“Well, the rest of the guests are here, and I haven’t met a Daphne yet. I’m Grant,” he offered when he stopped beside me at the base of the stairs. “Nice to meet you.” His hand engulfed mine as he spoke. He was just as tall as Flynn but appeared younger.
“Nice to meet you as well,” I said as I dropped his hand.
When I turned, I saw roughly ten people meandering about the common areas downstairs.
“If you’re hungry,” Grant offered, “head on into the kitchen.”
I followed where he pointed and went through one of the doorways flanking the archway into the main entrance. There were trays of hors d’oeuvres running along the counter.
Although the space felt homey, it was clearly an industrial kitchen with massive appliances. Flynn was doing something on the stove at an island opposite the counter against the wall, and there was a large rectangular table by the windows that faced into the trees.
Flynn glanced up at my entrance. Something flashed briefly in his eyes as I approached, but it was gone before I could interpret it. “All cleaned up, I see,” he said by way of greeting.
I felt the heat in my cheeks. I didn’t even want to think about my reaction to Flynn. It seemed all I had to do was get close, and I got rattled.
“Anything to drink?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Beer or wine, or something else?”
“Wine please. Red if you have it.”
Flynn nodded and turned off the burner under a pan he’d been stirring. In another moment, he was filling a glass with a dark red wine.