“Yeah. I remember,” she grumbled. “I haven’t taken a blow to the head recently.”
“I thought I’d check,” he said, because it was too much fun teasing her when she was grumpy and half asleep. “You’re pretty annoying, so I can only imagine how often you get smacked.”
“Usually it’s not in the head. My ass doesn’t need to remember much.”
“If your ass remembered more, maybe you’d get into less trouble.”
“Men like women who are trouble.”
Well . . . true, but entirely besides the point.
She glared at him and made a “get on with it” gesture. “So what’s your brilliant idea?”
“Well, last night I was thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. I went online and started shopping for real estate, then I found this huge fishing lodge on a private island and . . . I put an offer in. They accepted.”
It was ridiculous. Years of living like he’d taken a vow of poverty, trying his damnedest to save every penny in case the club went under, and one real estate ad with pretty pictures had turned his head. He’d blown pretty much his entire life’s savings.
“You bought a tropical island?” Dex asked, sounding skeptical.
“No, no. It’s up north. In Canada.”
Dex raised her brows but said nothing for a long moment, probably trying not to hurt his feelings. He knew it was stupid, but she was always so supportive. “So you’re going to run a . . . fishing lodge? I didn’t even know you liked fishing.”
Maybe he’d jumped into things too fast. Arabella was a shrewd businesswoman and he would have stopped to ask her for her opinion before he bought the place, but there hadn’t been time—there’d been a bidding war, and adrenaline had taken over . . .
Too late now.
“I guess people could fish there if they wanted to, but I’d been thinking of what you said at the wedding about wishing you could go on a kink vacation. I’m going to turn the place into a fly-in BDSM lodge.”
Her brows rose even higher, almost touching her hairline. “A private island.”
“Yes, in the middle of nowhere. The club is great, but wouldn’t people love goi
ng somewhere they could stay for a weekend or even a week? Two? Rooms with private bathrooms, catered meals, common areas where people could interact. It’s all pretty new and high end, but built to feel rustic. People could even move things outside if they want.”
“Like fancyass sleepaway camp for kinky adults.”
“Yes, exactly.”
She tapped one of her dainty fingers to her lips. “You thinking campfires, s’mores, and sing-alongs? Branding, food play, and . . . bad karaoke?”
He grimaced. After that comment, obviously she thought the idea was stupid. Damn. Considering the competition he’d had to buy the place, he could probably sell it again without much trouble, but this was the first time he’d been excited about anything other than Arabella for ages. He wanted to at least try to make a go of things.
“A sing-along might appeal to the age play crowd, but it wouldn’t be an organized activity or anything.”
She laughed delightedly and he sighed to himself, wishing he could go back to the days where she would have thought nothing of putting her head in his lap and demanding he play with her hair.
Looking thoughtful, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He gazed around, pleased to see the house was only getting more Arabella the longer she owned it. The place had been all upscale and cookie-cutter when he’d helped her move in, but she’d gradually made it her own.
“It’s kind of a bizarre idea, but who knows? It could do well.” She paused for a long moment. “Although I doubt anyone’s going to want naked time outside in the Canadian wilderness unless they’re covered in bug spray.”
“I’m sure the bugs die down at certain times of day or during certain seasons,” he said with more conviction than he felt. Oh well, it was too late now. He’d already bought the place.
“Maybe there’s an edible bug spray we’re unaware of.”
They both started to laugh. He hated that things between them weren’t like this all the time anymore, and hated even more that it was his fault.
“So why come to me?” she finally asked after they’d stared at each other for far too long. It was those long looks that he kept misinterpreting.