CHAPTER SIX
WHEN ZOE CAUGHT HER BREATH, she realized she was plastered up against Jason, arms and legs wrapped around him like a monkey, her face pressed hard to his throat.
Way to resist him, Zoe. She pulled free and got off the bed.
“Zoe?” His voice was low, husky. One hundred percent sated male.
Because just the sound of him softened her resistance, she turned her back to him so she could straighten her panties and fix the cups of her bra. She was bending for her jacket when she heard the low groan.
It wasn’t a pleasure-filled groan, either. And she now knew the difference. Grimacing at her weakness, she whirled around to find him struggling to his feet. And he was struggling, pain etched in every line of his face.
With a sigh, she moved back to the bed, putting her hands on his bare chest. “Stop. You’re going to make it worse.”
Ignoring her, he slowly and cautiously straightened.
“Jason, stop. Stay in bed.”
Swearing, he started to reach for the blanket and went pale. She grabbed the thing and wrapped it around him, her fingers brushing his perfect torso as much as possible.
“Say the word and the blanket is gone,” he said.
Her gaze flew to his. “You’re hurting. How could you possibly want round two?”
“Testosterone,” he said simply. “Testosterone would follow a woman with an ass as sweet as yours straight into the depths of hell.” He paused. “And you should talk. You just totally felt me up while you were wrapping the blanket around me. You want round two just as bad as me.”
“Two years,” she repeated.
“Why so long?” he asked softly.
Since that was a question that she didn’t want to face, she bent and searched for her heels, locating them just under the bed. Jamming her feet into them, she headed out of the bedroom. “We aren’t going to speak of this to anyone.”
He was following her, but said nothing. She decided to take his silence as agreement but made the fatal mistake of looking back at him.
His hair was more rumpled than ever, and still dead sexy. He hadn’t shaved this morning, maybe not yesterday, either. And she knew firsthand what that dark scruff felt like on her skin. She had the whisker burns on her breasts and throat to prove it. He was holding his head at a funny angle, assuring her that however much she wanted to be gone, he was still absolutely hurting. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked.
He arched a brow. “If I said no, would you jump my bones again?”
She felt the blush spread across her cheeks. Good. He was still an ass. That made resisting him easier. “I need my files.”
“I told you, I don’t have them. It was supposed to start snowing tonight. Has it started?”
She peeked outside. Tiny little flakes were coming down. “Just, the roads should still be okay.” As for the missing memory stick, she’d live. It would involve embarrassing herself in front of her boss, but she’d email him and admit to needing another copy of the specs, and she remembered most of her notes and ideas. “I meant what I said. Promise me that this stays between us.”
“Which? The fact that I gave you two orgasms, or that you lost your own files?”
“You were counting?”
“Not necessary. Each time you came, you dug your nails into my back.” His expression was pure smug male. “Well worth it, of course.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that despite his best efforts, the blanket was slipping. She knew damn well he had to be freezing. Not that she cared. She huffed out a breath. “Look, we’re not teenagers. It’s happened, it’s done, we deal with it. All I’m saying is that we don’t ever have to discuss it.”
“It?”
“Our…nakedness,” she clarified.
“And the orgasms.”
“Yes, those, too,” she said with what she felt was remarkable calm.
“And the cuddling afterward?” he asked. “Is that off limits as well, the way you curled into me all soft and warm and purring like a well-fed kitten?”
“I did not—” She grated her teeth. Okay, so she had. “Are you saying you want everyone to know about this?”
Instead of answering, he turned and walked into the kitchen, still moving in a way that gave away his pain. She let out a breath, torn. Torn by him, dammit. How could it be that she didn’t want to go? “Jason.”
He didn’t answer, but she could hear a cell phone going off. His, she decided by the ringtone. Then she heard him swear, and then the sound of glass shattering.
Zoe ran into the kitchen and found Jason standing barefoot amongst shards of glass on the floor. “Did you cut yourself?” she asked.
“I’m not a complete moron.”
“Don’t move.”
“I won’t,” he bit out. “I can’t.”
She could see that was true. He was very still, probably because he couldn’t move without pain. Since she had her heels on, she walked right up to him and crouched, scooping up pieces of glass. “What happened?”
“I got a text from Mike and I dropped my glass.”
The glass had broken in six or seven pieces. She carefully picked them up one at a time, trying not to notice his bare feet. A man’s feet shouldn’t be sexy, and yet there they were. Being sexy. “Must have been some text,” she said.
“Mike has your damn file. He sent you up here thinking he was playing matchmaker because he didn’t want me to be alone on Christmas.”
Still kneeling at his feet, Zoe went still, then tipped her head back to look at him. “What?”
“Yeah,” Jason said grimly. “That’s my brother, always the helpful one. Look, I’m sorry, he’s an asshole. Although you thought I stole the damn file, so that means you were sure I was the asshole, so…”
She shook her head, unable to process anything past the roar of the blood in her own ears. “We were had by your brother?”
“Seems like it.”
“Oh, my God.” She rose to her feet, fists clenched. “He wanted us to—”
“Which we did,” he pointed out.
She stared at him. “Ohmigod,” she repeated.
That sexy muscle in his jaw bunched again. “I’ll apologize for my idiot of a brother, Zoe. But no one forced us to—”
“Don’t say it,” she warned, pointing at him, shaking with anger. Or maybe that was just humiliation. All your own fault, she reminded herself, suddenly painfully aware of their conflicting ambitions and how much was at stake here if word got out of what had happened between them. “We aren’t discussing it, remember? Ever.” She let out a breath and shook her head. “You didn’t text him back, right? You didn’t tell him that we—”
“Christ, no. Although I might kill him. You don’t mind that, right?”
“I’ll hold him down for you,” she said grimly.
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
She searched out the trash can, dumped the glass in it and found a little hand broom, using it carefully so he wouldn’t have trouble after she was gone, hating that she even cared. “I saw a bear box for the trash outside when I came in. I’m going to go dump this there and then be on my way.”
“Wait.” He vanished for a minute and then came back and handed something to her. A memory stick. His.
“Jason, I can’t—”
“My design isn’t on there, but all the specs are, so at least you can get something done before you get yours back from Mike. If you want.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
She stared down at the stick, not sure how to reconcile all her feelings. She’d been so mad, so hurt…and then naked.
And now he had to go and be such a good guy.
It was quite the offer. She knew how ambitious he was, and his talent backed up that ambition. He wanted to win this design, this promotion, every bit as much as she did, maybe more.
She curled her fingers around the stick. Maybe her best bet was to work
with him. They could submit their plan to Steele together and then their boss could decide based on their past work who’d get the promotion…
No. It was crazy. It was.
“Promise me, Jason, that this whole sex thing is as good as forgotten.”
Something flickered in his eyes, coming and going so fast she couldn’t put her finger on the emotion. “I promise,” he said softly. A victory.
But for some reason it felt hollow as she walked out the back and into the night.
JASON GOT HIMSELF BACK TO BED, carefully lowered his body to it, then did his best to get comfortable, which turned out to be an impossible task. At least the Midol Zoe had given him made him sleepy.
Or maybe that had been the mind-blowing orgasm.
In either case, his neck hurt like hell and his feet were cold, but there was nothing he could do about either so he made himself relax.
Promise me, Jason, Zoe had said, that this whole sex thing is as good as forgotten.
Her words bounced around in his head. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that she’d extracted a promise from him that he should have been happy to make, but he hadn’t, not at all. Nope, against his better judgment, he didn’t want to forget a single minute of it. In fact, he wanted more.
ZOE GOT ABOUT A MILE DOWN the road on the very narrow, very curvy two-lane highway when she realized she was leaving for the wrong reason. So she’d been manipulated by Mike, so what. Yeah, it was all a big joke and she’d gotten caught up in it and slept with Jason.
It was nothing.
But she couldn’t make herself believe it. Mostly because she never got caught up in a man, not like that, not even when she had a silly little crush on the guy—which she’d had.
Had. Past tense, she assured herself. Crush over.
Fingers tight on the wheel, she made a sharp turn and slid a little bit on some ice. Her heart was in her throat when she steered out of it. She slowed way down but there were no city lights, no streetlights and no other cars. The only thing relieving the relentless dark was the white of the heavy snow and the two inconsequential beams of her headlights.
When she slid again, she pulled over. Mother Nature was trying to tell her something, the same something her gut was trying to tell her. Her cell vibrated an incoming text, and she read the message from her oldest sister.
The roads are iced over up here. If you haven’t left SF yet, don’t. Wait until daylight.
Zoe stared out her windshield for a long moment. She could go a few miles, where she’d come to a small mining town with a few inns. Or she could turn around and go back to Tahoe where there was a man in nothing but a blanket and enough testosterone and pheromones to keep her warm until morning…
It was really no contest. She turned around and drove back to the cabin. She knocked, a sense of déjà vu coming over her when Jason didn’t answer.
Once again, she let herself in, but this time she found Jason asleep on the bed.
Feeling like Goldilocks, she tiptoed out of the bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to wake him up, and she certainly couldn’t crawl into bed with him. So she went out to her car for her bag.
As she hauled her bag out of the trunk, her gaze landed on the Christmas decorations she’d promised her mom that she’d bring to the cabin.
She grabbed them along with her other things. What the hell. If she wasn’t going to spend the evening with her family decorating, she could do it here.
Inside the cabin, she lit a fire, proud of her ability to do so even if it took almost a full box of matches until she got the thing crackling with heat.
By now the snow was coming down, casting a beautiful blanket of white over everything.
She’d made the right decision. So why was she feeling so…discombobulated? She glanced toward the bedroom.
Because you’re playing Goldilocks…
She nibbled on her lower lip, not sleepy. If she had made it to Quincy, she’d be in the midst of her family right now, arguing and bickering and being reminded that no matter what she did she was still the baby of the family and could never catch up to her siblings’ accomplishments. She sent them all a text, then strung pretty little white lights along the small bar and fireplace. There was a potted pothos plant in one corner, nearly as tall as she was. She turned it into a Christmas tree, hanging small red and gold balls from the branches. The boughs of holly she spread on the mantel and on the windowsills. She went a little bit crazy with the tinsel, but the flashes of silver and gold felt cheery. The whole place felt cheery. And cozy. And warm.
She’d told herself she’d done it only for her own enjoyment, so she wouldn’t get sad about not getting to Quincy. But when she was finished and standing in the center of the living room, enjoying the ambience, she realized she hadn’t done it for herself at all.
She’d done it for Jason.
So who was the liar now?
God. She scrubbed a hand over her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but it wouldn’t clear. Instead, it was stuck replaying those few moments hours ago, when she’d been in Jason’s arms. She was staring into the flickering flames, but all she could see was the look on his face as he’d emptied himself into her, his head thrown back, the muscles corded in his throat, groaning her name.
Confused and aroused and angry at herself all over again, she got her bag and pulled out her laptop. She plugged in Jason’s memory stick, brought up her design program and went to work. And for the first time in two weeks, her brain kicked into gear. Probably because the alternative activity—climbing into bed with Jason—was an even more terrifying prospect than not having a design for the Weller project.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASON WOKE AT SOME POINT just past dawn and lay perfectly still, taking stock of his situation. The bedroom was warm, which was strange since he’d never gotten around to starting a fire. His neck and shoulder weren’t sending a stab of pain through him with each heartbeat, which he took as a good sign. He tested himself by carefully shifting.
An ache answered. And a twinge. But compared to the stabbing pain of the night before, he was ready to go. Maybe not mountain biking, but he could probably put on his own socks today, so that was a bonus.
The hot bath the night before had helped.
So had Zoe’s massage.
And the orgasm…that had been a very unexpected bonus. The image of Zoe riding him to her own pleasure was one he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. In fact, just thinking about it made him wish she was still here.
And not just for sex, although he wouldn’t turn it down. The truth was, he’d enjoyed her company.
A lot.
Who’d have thought that the woman who’d been dogging his tail at the firm, chasing his dream, even beating him at his own game was not just a challenge but someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know better.
Groggy as hell, he staggered into the bathroom and took a shower. Not a morning person, he used all the hot water in the hopes it’d wake him up, but it didn’t happen. The only thing that could possibly save him was coffee. He’d give his left nut for coffee.
Which he’d forgotten to bring or buy.
Still in the bathroom, he pulled up the protective shades on the small window. “Holy shit,” he said, stunned to find that a foot of snow had fallen overnight. His car was covered.
As was a second car, next to his. What the hell? He left the bathroom and entered the living room, stopping in shock in the doorway.
There were lights. Lots of lights, blinking in bright colors. And were those…balls hanging from the rafters? Yes. Yes, those were indeed balls, in red and gold. And the tinsel. Christ, the tinsel would take him hours, if not days, to get rid of.
His gaze slid to the couch and the woman slowly sitting up.
“Hi,” Zoe said, voice morning thick. She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she attempted to pat down her hair.
It’d broken free of its clip and appeared to have rioted, floating around her face and shoulders lik
e a fiery red cloud. He could have told her not to bother trying to control it. He happened to like the way it caught the lights and glimmered under them, but knew if she glimpsed herself in the mirror, she wasn’t going to feel the same way.
But none of her crazy and utterly unintentional sexiness could take away from the fact that she’d decorated.
“Do you ever wear clothes?” she asked.
He looked down at himself. Once again he was wearing only a towel. “Wait right there.” He vanished into the bedroom, where he rifled through his duffel bag and came up with a pair of Levi’s and a long-sleeved Henley. His feet were still bare, but his neck was giving him twinges again and he wasn’t going to move more than necessary. He left the bedroom and went straight to the couch, which was now empty of one Zoe Anders.
Turning in a circle, he saw she’d gone into the bathroom. He could hear the shower running, and went to warn her that he’d just used all the hot water. He lifted his hand to knock, but suddenly there was a feminine screech of shock and outrage.
With a grin, he let his hand fall to his side. Served her right, Ms. Decorating Queen. He was still staring at the living room, the sparkling, twinkling living room, when she came out of the bathroom.
She was wearing a bright red hoodie, trimmed in white with two tassels that bumped against her gorgeous breasts, and a zipper that went right between. His first thought was to take the tab of the zipper between his teeth and tug down. But that might have been his early-morning erection doing his thinking for him. Her black leggings were nice, too, emphasizing those mile-long legs that he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around him again. But the fantasy was hard to put together with all the blinking lights.
“I didn’t get far on the road,” she said. “It was snowing really hard and my tires—”
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