Just to piss her off, Dillon winked and puckered her lips in a kiss for Cher, which made Cher give a silent snarl before spinning on her heel to return to her desk.
“Nice,” Nasa murmured, giving Dillon's hand a squeeze of approval.
Unbelievably, Dillon found herself on the verge of skipping in response to his praise.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Soft spa-like music drifted through the open hallway, accompanied by the louder splash of the fountain dominating the center of the far wall. Framed on either side by white river pebbles, a vertical stripe of vibrant green moss and ferns grew wild.
In a very modern Japanese style, the pebbles flowed down the wall and across the floor to create an L-shape.
A flat piece of black granite shot through with iridescent flakes seemed to hover over the white rocks, the shine enhanced by the spill of water trickling continuously over all four sides of the fountain. In the center of the black square, a milky white sphere the size of a beach ball spun in hypnotic circles.
It was arguably the most relaxing room Dillon had ever been in. Though there wasn't a single window in sight, whoever designed the space made sure the lighting was bright enough to chase away any deep shadows but soft enough to give an air of tranquility.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” A smile curved Dr. Thompson’s sensuous lips.
Dillon wasn't ashamed to admit, she was stunned by how beautiful he was. Handsome and extremely masculine, but beautiful.
The sort of attractive that couldhave graced the silver screen to sell billions of dollars in movie tickets, and he wouldn't have needed very many speaking lines. Just a few phrases in his cultured, velvety voice, and women would melt into puddles of goo.
No matter how good a therapist he might be, Dillon would struggle to tell him all her dark, ugly secrets. She'd be too distracted, too embarrassed, to be seen as anything less than perfect by such a stunning creature.
Flustered, hoping her nipples weren't on high alert the way Cher's were, Dillon nodded.
“The living wall is amazing, but the crystal ball is breathtaking. It looks like a gigantic moonstone.”
“The designer was a complete monster to work with, extremely exacting regarding the details, and insisted on placing the largest chunk of moonstone he could find at the center of the fountain.” Pride lit Dr. Thompson's face as he turned his gaze to the fountain.
“I had no idea he was so knowledgeable about crystals, but apparently, moonstones represent new beginnings, inner strength, and growth.”
Dillon nodded, wanting to get closer to the slowly spinning stone but not enough to let go of Nasa's hand.
“They're supposed to soothe stress, instability, and promote calm. Kind of ideal for a therapy waiting room.”
“In another life, Nasa would have made a fortune as an interior designer,” Dr. Thompson said with amusement.
Stunned, Dillon looked up to find Nasa giving Dr. Thompson a narrow glare. Not sure why, Dillon bumped her elbow against Nasa's to get his attention.
“You designed the room?”
The cutting hardness in his jewel-bright eyes softened when he looked down at her, a cocky smile quirking his lips.
“You sound surprised that a hairy biker who lives in a basement could come up with something like this.”
“You're not that hairy, and I'm not surprised. I'm amazed. I think if I spent enough time in here, I'd forget what the real world looked like. Did you do the interior of the compound too?”
Nasa gave a careless shrug, as though his talent for interior design was no big deal. “I took suggestions from everyone about the shit that would make their lives easier, and I let the girls pick the decorative stuff and do the layout of the kitchen since they're the ones who cook in there the most, but I did the rest.
“I like the way you strategically put concrete planters in front of your entry and exit points around your house in Dallas. It was to prevent a car from blasting through the front door, right?”
Dillon discovered she really liked it when Nasa complimented her efforts to fortify a house.
Oddly enough, it turned her on to the point where she could feel her temperature rise.
“Right,” she murmured, clearing her throat when she heard how breathy her own voice sounded, scrambling for something else to say that wouldn't make it obvious how affected she was by Nasa's interest.
“The well to hold the dirt and plants was only two-feet deep, the rest was solid concrete formed around scrap pieces of steel framing and boulders I found on the property.
“There's only enough space in between each planter for a human to comfortably walk through with an arm-load of groceries, so there was no way a car could get through even if they had the pedal to the metal.”
Nasa made a sound to accompany his look of appreciation. “You'll have to show me the design you used to form the concrete. Putting up defensive barriers disguised as planter boxes will get Athena off my back about putting in garden space, save the gorilla playground, and provide some extra cover if anyone got caught outside.”
Nasa turned his attention back to Dr. Thompson, and without hesitation, the therapist firmly said, “No.”
“Why not? You could have all kinds of fancy shit planted inside, plus an extra layer of privacy and protection,” Nasa insisted with no small amount of belligerence.
Dr. Thompson heaved a sigh, as though this type of disagreement was commonplace, and shook his head in exasperation.
“I already conceded to the biometric locks and the prison-worthy fencing. This is a therapy clinic—”
“And a private, exclusive club with members who would appreciate the extra security,” Nasa argued.
“Every single person who walked through the doors when we first opened said they hated the antler-laden lobby, appreciated the double-gated entry, and what you claimed were over the top security measures.”
Like she was watching a tennis match, Dillon's gaze bounced back and forth between the two men, and now it was Dr. Thompson's turn to serve.
She saw the
