by Cindi Myers
“Will you stop that,” she said, looking up from her plate.
“Stop what?”
“Stop staring at me. Haven’t you seen a woman eat before? Or do all those skinny things you usually go out with only pick at their food?”
“Now you stop it,” he said.
“Stop what?” Her expression held a challenge.
“I don’t give a damn how much you weigh or don’t weigh, or eat or don’t eat.” His expression was as hard as her own. “You’re only using those things as an excuse to keep me at a distance.”
Her mouth tightened, and she stabbed at her salad so hard a piece of lettuce jumped off the plate. “Eat your salad,” she said. “I don’t want the entrée to get cold.”
He ate, doing his best not to stare at her, though he was aware of her every movement. Let her think about what he’d said; given enough time, maybe the truth of it would soak in.
“OF ALL THE RIDICULOUS, arrogant, insulting things to say.” Angela muttered to herself as she scraped the remains of their salads into the trash. She set the empty plates in the sink. “Who does he think he is, psychoanalyzing me? What does he know about me and what I’m thinking?”
But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit there was some truth in what Bryan had said. She was trying to keep him at a distance. What woman would blame her, considering Angela’s previous experience with a smooth-talking, good-looking man. But Bryan is not Troy, the voice in her head that insisted on being honest said.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, remembering the feel of his arms around her, his body tight against hers. He’d said before that he wanted her and boy, did she want him. That was one truth she wasn’t even going to pretend to deny. But what should she do about it? Did she dare go for broke, invite him to spend the night, consequences be damned?
Or should she protect herself with more than a condom and send him packing—possibly forever?
“Do you need some help in there?”
She started. What was she doing, standing in here daydreaming? She removed the entrées from the oven, where she’d left them to warm, and carried them into the dining room.
“That smells awesome,” he said, standing and relieving her of one of the plates.
“Dig in,” she said, and proceeded to do so. So what if it was impossible to look sexy and slurp pasta at the same time? This was one of her favorite dishes and she wasn’t going to let some man—no matter how good-looking—keep her from enjoying it.
“This is great,” he said. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
She somehow managed to avoid spitting out pasta and peanut sauce and stared at him. “You cook?”
He feigned offense. “Why do you act so surprised? I make a mean Top Ramen.”
She laughed. “I didn’t have you pegged as a gourmet chef.”
“You’re right. I’m a lousy cook. But this would be a great dish to serve guests at my inn.”
“That’s right—your boutique inn. I hadn’t forgotten.” She twirled pasta around her fork. “But if you hire a chef, he—or she—will have their own recipes.”
“Maybe so. But I’ll have to see if I can talk you into making all the desserts.”
“Then you think your inn will be in Crested Butte?”
“I hope so. I like it here. I want to stay. I came to the area for the snowboarding, but there’s a lot more going on here than that. What about you? How did you end up here?”
She’d been looking for a place to start over—someplace far from Troy and his new leading lady. “A friend told me about the town. She’d visited on vacation and she made it sound so nice.” She shrugged. “I came to visit, and never left. I got involved in the Mountain Theatre and opened my shop and now I can’t imagine living anywhere else. It’s a special place.”
“With some special people.” His eyes met hers and a sudden hot shiver of desire rushed through her, its intensity catching her by surprise.
She shifted her gaze to her plate, which was empty. “I have chocolate torte for dessert,” she said.
“Maybe later.” She heard the scrape of his chair on the floor, then he was standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “Angela.”
Three simple syllables. A name she’d heard for twenty-six years. Yet it had never sounded this way before, both a caress and a plea. She felt fixed in place, unable to move or speak or even to breathe.
“You look like you’re about to faint,” Bryan said. “Please don’t do that.”
“I’m not going to faint. I’m not the fainting type.” She raised her eyes to his and saw that he was smiling. “Now you’re teasing me,” she said.
“Only because you’re so much fun to tease.” He slid his hand to her elbow. “Stand up for a minute.”
She did as he asked; with his eyes staring into hers and his hand caressing the soft skin at the curve of her arm, she doubted she could have refused him anything.
When they were facing each other, he rested his other hand at her waist. “Shall we dance?” she asked, desperate to break the tension building between them.
He leaned in close, his mouth almost resting against her ear. “I was thinking of a different kind of dance. A different sort of dessert.” He shifted to kiss the soft flesh at the side of her neck. She lifted her chin, inviting further liberties.
He didn’t hesitate, but nuzzled at the base of her throat, the heat of his caress fanning out along nerve endings she’d forgotten she possessed. “You feel it, don’t you?” he said, his mouth still resting against her throat.
“Feel what?”
“This attraction between us. This…desire.” He kissed the side of her jaw, his hand tightening on her waist.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I feel it.”
“If you want me to stop, you’d better tell me now.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” Wasn’t that why she’d invited him here tonight? Because she was tired of holding back and second guessing every emotion. Because she wanted to give her feelings free rein and see where they would lead.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Should we move to the bedroom?” he asked.
She pressed her hands against his chest, enlarging the space between them, and took a deep breath. But that didn’t succeed in clearing her head, since all she could smell was the soap-and-lime scent of him. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his gaze searching.
“Bryan.” She swallowed and began again. “If this is just about a night of fun sex, I’m okay with that. But I’d like to know up front.”
His grip on her tightened almost painfully. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? This isn’t about sex with me. Or not only about sex. I do want to make love to you, but not only your body.” He slid his hands up her body and smoothed back her hair. “I want to love all of you.”
Something within her gave way at these words. Whether it was because she truly believed him or because she only wanted to believe him, she didn’t care. He’d breached the last flimsy barrier she’d erected. “Then love me,” she whispered, and took his hand, and led him to her room.
ANGELA’S ROOM was like the woman herself, a mix of practicality and femininity. A pink-and-yellow quilt covered her brass bed, along with the crowd of pillows in various sizes that women seemed to deem necessary to any decor. The walls were papered with old-fashioned, pink-striped paper, and hung with paintings of Gibson girls with wasp waists and piled-high hair, and posters advertising various theater productions.
Bryan noted these things in passing, in the way he’d take note of any new terrain. His focus was on the woman in front of him, on the sway of blue silk over her hips and the curve of her calf beneath the hem of the dress.
She led him to the bed, then turned and moved into his arms. Her earlier hesitation had vanished, replaced by the proud confidence that had drawn him to her from their first meeting in the lobby of the hotel. “I’m glad you decided to stop being afraid of me,” he said, brushing her
hair back from her shoulders.
“I was more afraid of myself,” she said. “Of how much I wanted you.”
The words were like pitch poured on a fire, sending desire roaring through him. He kissed her, hard, feeling his own urgency reflected back to him. She opened her mouth and teased him with her tongue, caressing and flirting with coy skill.
Wrapped in one another’s arms, they sat, then lay back on the bed. He blindly swept aside the colony of pillows, leaving only two on which to rest their heads. They were tugging at each other’s clothing now, the slipperiness of the silk an impediment as he fumbled about, feeling for a zipper or buttons or some sort of opening.
“Stop or you’ll tear something,” she said, laughter in her voice as she sat up. “I’ll do it.” She pulled the dress over her head, revealing a lacy bra and panties in the same shade of blue silk.
Greedily, he shaped his hand to one full breast, squeezing lightly. “Did you have any idea how much these have distracted me every time we’re together?” he asked, moving his hand to caress her other breast.
“I might have noticed you staring,” she said, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Men do.”
“Mmmmm.” He buried his face in her cleavage, nuzzling.
She laughed and pushed him away. “Take your clothes off,” she commanded.
“Yes, ma’am.” He started to strip off his shirt, then, noticing her eyes following his movements, he deliberately slowed, unfastening one button at a time, his gaze locked to hers. “I like watching you watch me,” he said.
“You’re definitely worth watching.” She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and kissed the hollow at his collarbone.
He abandoned all pretense of leisure and hurriedly finished undressing, sending shirt, pants, underwear and socks sailing across the room. Kneeling before her, he slid his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra, pushing them down and pinning her arms. Then he laid a trail of kisses across the top of each breast, dipping his tongue beneath the satin from time to time to tease at her nipple.
Her breath caught, then released in a slow sigh, a sound of such longing it brought a knot of emotion to his chest, and he had to pause and gather himself, his head resting on her shoulder.
She reached behind her and unhooked the bra, then removed it and the panties as well. She urged him to lie beside her on the bed, then she rolled over to dim, but not turn off, the light. When she faced him once more, he moved into her arms and they began to learn the curves and contours of each other’s bodies, exploring with hands and mouths and eyes, allowing the wanting between them to build and simmer.
Everything about her was soft and lush, from the thick silkiness of her hair to the round perfection of her breasts, the soft slope of her stomach and erotic curve of her hips. He learned she was ticklish behind her knees, and that kissing the sensitive crease where her thigh met her torso elicited a sound deep in her throat almost like a purr.
Angela had almost forgotten the thrill of exploring a man’s body, reveling in the firmness of the hard muscle of his arms and shoulders and the velvety dusting of hair across his chest. When she ran her tongue across one pebbled nipple, he sucked his breath between his teeth and she wanted to laugh with joy at the knowledge that she was the one who aroused him so.
He started to lay her back against the pillows, but she stopped him. “Do you have a condom?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked away. “I guess I should have.”
“It’s okay. I have some.” She leaned over and slid open the drawer of the bedside table, revealing half a dozen foil-wrapped packets she’d driven all the way to Gunnison to buy.
“I should have known you’d think of everything.” He kissed her forehead, then reached for one of the packets.
She lay back, watching him, anticipation tickling her stomach. When at last he levered himself over her, the heat and tenderness in his eyes brought a sudden sting of tears to her own. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed as he eased into her, and she felt equal to any goddess.
They came together with gentle urgency, the usual fumbling of new partners only adding to the sweetness of the moment. He made love to her with all the skill she could have asked for from a lover, and she responded as she was sure she never had before, arching to meet his thrusts, crying out her pleasure and encouraging his own. Her climax was a triumphant release, and when he soon followed her she felt again the heady sense of power that she had been responsible for his pleasure.
They lay in each other’s arms afterward, the covers pulled up around them. He stroked the curve of her hip, smiling as if at a secret joke.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
“I knew making love to you would be good,” he said. “But I hadn’t realized how good.”
The praise made her heart feel too big for her chest. Unlike Bryan, she had not had a great many lovers—none had made her feel as special and cherished as he did. On the heels of that thought came another: she was in love with Bryan. Forget taking things slowly, moving from friendship to closer friends to special friends and eventually to the big L word. She’d skipped the qualifying rounds and gone straight to the finals. The idea terrified and thrilled her. The trick now would be keeping her feelings to herself until she had a better idea of how Bryan saw her. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off by moving too quickly.
He slid out of her arms with evident reluctance. “I’d better go,” he said. “I have to be at work early in the morning.”
“And I have to drive to my mom’s,” she said with a sigh.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. But it’s only a week.” Though it might end up being the longest week of her life.
“Dinner was wonderful.” He kissed her, a lingering caress that made her want to drag him back under the covers. “So was dessert,” he added, as he slipped out of bed and crossed the room, gathering up his clothing as he went.
She propped up on one elbow and watched, reveling in the sight of his naked body. There was something about a really nicely shaped male backside.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it wasn’t nice to stare?” he said as he pulled on his jeans.
“I was always a bad girl,” she said. “I never did listen.”
He buttoned his shirt, then moved to the side of the bed. “I’ve always had a thing for bad girls,” he said, bending to kiss her once more.
“Mmm.” She was afraid to say more, afraid to destroy this wonderful moment when everything between them seemed right. The real world had a way of stepping in and messing up such fantasies, but she’d hold on to this one as long as she could.
Chapter Ten
The drive from Crested Butte to Broomfield took four and a half hours—plenty of time for Angela to think about Bryan and the amazing night they’d spent together. It had been a long time since she’d been in love, but she recognized the symptoms—the giddy light-headedness, the smile she could never completely erase from her lips and the feeling that she was completely invincible.
That invincibility lasted until a few minutes after Angela reached her mother’s house in a new subdivision a few miles off the freeway. “Angela, darling!” Her mother, a trim woman with stylishly cut, short blond hair, opened the door and threw her arms around her daughter. “It’s so wonderful to have you home.”
“It’s great to see you, Mom. You look wonderful.” Vicki Krizova looked at least ten years younger than her fifty-five years and her hair, nails and makeup were impeccable.
Vicki stepped back and studied her daughter. “You’re looking tired, dear. Is it just from the drive, or is something else going on?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m feeling great.” Nothing like a night of fantastic sex to make a woman feel on top of the world. She walked past her mom into the house.
“Have you gained a few pounds since I saw you last?” Her mother followed her down the hall toward the spare bedroom Angela always used whe
n she visited. “A friend was telling me about a new diet that’s worked wonderfully well for her.”
So much for that top-of-the-world feeling. Angela felt as if a cold shadow had blotted out the sun. “No diets, Mom.” She set her suitcase on the bed. “Please.”
“But you’re such a beautiful girl. If you’d only lose twenty or thirty pounds—”
“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll put it on my to-do list for tomorrow.”
Vicki frowned. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. You know I only want the best for you.”
“I know.” Angela put a hand to her temple, where a headache was beginning to pound. “I guess I am a little tired.” And hungry. Being with her mother always made her stress-eat.
“Come into the living room and I’ll fix you a nice cup of tea,” her mother said. “I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to.”
And no doubt she’d have plenty of advice for her daughter on how to fix everything Vicki thought was wrong with Angela’s life in Crested Butte.
Angela sneaked a glance at her watch. It was three-thirty. Too early to call Bryan. Too early to start drinking. Only five days, sixteen hours until she could leave.
It was going to be a long week.
THOUGH THE ELEVATION Hotel was closed for business, Carl had left a long list of things for Bryan and the other employees to see to while he was attending a convention in St. Louis. Minor repairs that had been put off during the resort’s busy season were being taken care of, and cleaning crews had been called in to steam clean carpets, drapes and upholstery. All the bedspreads, blankets and other linens were being washed, and the rest of the hotel polished to a high gloss. Clouds of bleach-scented steam billowed from the laundry room when Bryan walked by, and the whir of vacuum cleaners and power drills filled the halls.
At the front desk, Rachel and another clerk, Edwin, had been assigned to clean out all the cubbyholes and drawers and to inventory the office supplies. Other employees were counting linens or bar glasses or liquor bottles.
