Excerpt from
Winter Heat
by Larissa Emerald
CHAPTER ONE
Secrets. Everyone had one.
Kelsey cranked up the radio with an outstretched pinky, careful not to dip the paintbrush onto nearby papers. Tucked in her office within calling distance from the resort’s front desk, she blended a flare of red onto the canvas as last night’s dream lingered in her mind. The same weird fantasy she’d been having since she was a teenager.
Good thing her family didn’t know about her wicked imagination. They’d disown her.
Though, the dream definitely explained her restless mood.
Her mother would have popped something to calm down, but Kelsey just sighed and swirled her brush in the paint. Funny how, Mama and disquiet usually occupied her thoughts simultaneously.
No, she wasn’t going to be like Mama, looking for answers in a pill bottle.
But as much as she longed to blame her mom, or the dream, or even the inches of snow that nature dumped on her little chalet ski resort this morning—which now required lots of shoveling and slope grooming—the real reason she was edgy had yet to walk through the lobby door.
Dr. Jared Michaels.
Online research revealed he was a thirty-four year old man of diverse interests, a savvy dermatologist whose Michaels Corporation included real estate development and film production among its many enterprises. He had money and clout, which equaled highly paid lawyers who could destroy Chalet Romance and the safety net Kelsey was trying so hard to build should he decide to sue the resort.
She stared blankly at the painting, tuning out a commercial jingle on the radio.
She hadn’t personally spoken with Dr. Michaels when he’d called. The inn’s receptionist—and her good friend—Amy conveyed the message, and she’d said he’d made it perfectly clear his visit was on behalf of his injured sister.
What did the universe have in store for Kelsey now? In the six months since she’d taken responsibility of the resort, there had been one mishap after another. First a fire in the restaurant, then a ski lift chair derailed and fell—without passengers, thank God—and finally resort guest Tiffani Michaels nearly died on the slope in a horrible ski accident. Wasn’t bad luck supposed to end with three?
She hoped so. Because she couldn’t deal with a brother’s revenge on top of everything else she had on her plate.
Kelsey rotated her stiff shoulders and forced that worry to the back of her mind with a vow: she would fight with everything she had to keep Chalet Romance. Her dad would be well enough soon to take control of the resort again and then she could get back to her own life, the one she’d put on hold when he’d had a stroke six months ago.
She would never abandon her dad, though. No, she knew how that felt too well.
She dabbed her brush vigorously on the pallet, blending blue onto her red brush. Too much of it. But one of her favorite songs resonated from the radio, and Kelsey tossed back her hair and allowed the music to inspire her, raising her confidence almost instantly.
Let it go. Mustn’t live in fear.
* * *
Jared Michaels dropped his luggage on the floor as he glanced around the empty lobby of the Colorado mom-and-pop ski resort. Someone had gone through a helluva-lot of trouble to turn the average chalet into the hot, image of a “love nest” that had lured in his sister.
The vase of long-stemmed red roses on the counter gave the place a classy touch. Not bad. Then again, Valentine’s Day was last week. He almost wished he weren’t here on personal business and that he actually had a woman in his life.
“Hello. Anybody here?” he called.
No response.
When no one came to greet him after another few minutes, he impatiently whacked the old-fashioned bell parked on the counter. The sharp, dinging jingle made him wince. But as the tinny sound evaporated another replaced it. From some obscure room, a sultry voice belted out that Shania Twain song about feeling like—a woman.
The rich tone ran wild fingers over his entire body.
Woman.
Jared chomped down on the wad of gum in his mouth—he’d been aggressively chewing gum for days in an effort to quit smoking—and he listened. Each word packed a punch—drawn out, dynamic, sexy.
He scanned the edges of the room stopping on the open bar in the far corner—no one. But he knew he had to meet the woman whose voice warmed him like a bonfire. And he was a man who trusted his instincts and knew a good thing when he saw it—or heard it. He’d positioned his dermatology practice so it would appeal to the Denver elite, and he’d also hired the medical professionals and staff who eventually took it over from him. He’d ventured into real estate deals that would generate a tidy profit, resulting in more than enough money to finance his vast and diverse interests. Which meant the movie production company he’d founded two years ago was nearly ready to show off its first project. Yes, he accomplished what he set out to do every time.
He smiled, listening again.
The sultry voice drifted to him with a deep, throaty rumble. He angled his ear toward the song, distinguishing the live sounds of this mystery woman from those of the background music. His gaze shot to a short hallway on his right. Still no sign of the receptionist. He didn’t really care anymore, though. He was far more interested in that voice.
He drew in a long breath. What he needed was a real vacation.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Come Monday he’d be back in Denver, negotiating the terms of a hotel complex he was acquiring, followed by overseeing the release of his first small feature film at the end of the week.
Leaving his luggage behind, he skirted the counter to pursue the sound of the voice. He unfastened his winter coat as he went, taking long strides to a U-shaped dead-end, where there was a cluster of office doors.
The music was coming from behind one partially opened door.
“Hello?” he said.
No response. Again.
He dipped his head through the crack to look inside the room.
A young woman with wavy, shoulder-length blond hair stood, bobbing her head and doing a damn fine karaoke skit to the audience of—a painting.
She faced an easel and canvas, giving him the full view of her firm backside. Apparently lost in her own world, she balanced a paintbrush in delicate fingers and zipped the tip of the brush through the air in time with the beat, then dabbed a few strokes onto the canvas. Light poured through a set of three tall windows, washing her body in a sunny late-afternoon glow while giving perfect illumination to her painting. She worked in oils, and the pungent odor of paint and turpentine drifted out the door and into his nostrils. Offhandedly, he noted the picture’s abstract, brash strokes and bold hues. Rather like her, from what he could tell.
Jared rolled his gum around in his mouth with his tongue, mesmerized. She rocked her hips, bouncing them in a two-beat rhythm from side to side. Jeez, watching her heated his blood more than a shot of Jack Daniels. Forget that he’d just stepped inside from twenty-five-degree weather.
As he swallowed and rapped a knuckle on the door, she performed a little two-footed jump-stomp move, shooting her arms up into a victory stance, all attitude. “I feel like a—”
She glanced over her shoulder, spotted him, and froze, her eyes narrowing.
Woman, he thought.
Oh, yes. She wore low-riding, chocolate-brown corduroy, a clingy off-white sweater that didn’t quite meet the waistline—make that hipline—of her pants, revealing a scant half-inch of pale skin.
With the toe of his Oakley hiking-boot, he nudged the door open a bit more.
She turned to face him, and he was struck by the eye-catching impact of pert, full breasts that rose and fell with each inhalation.
“Very nice,” he said in a voice loud enough for her to hear over the music.
Lowering her chin, she peered at him from beneath long, dark lashes. “Which? The singing, painting, or dancing?”
“All of it.” His laz
y gaze ran down to her slender waist and shapely hips, and that morsel of flat, bare skin that taunted him so. Her sweater puckered in a tiny tuft over her navel. A belly piercing? He looked up to her heart-shaped face, dying to find out.
But she was busy giving him the once-over, as well. He crossed his arms over his chest, and noticed her nipples were peaked, showing their delicious outline against her sweater.
She blushed, laughed, then lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I always paint to music.” Leaning sideways, she punched the OFF button on the outdated radio. The room grew silent, and she smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”
Jared hesitated a moment, trying to take in the total package—the singer, the dancer, the painter. Wide hazel eyes blinked at him as she tilted her head and showed him the five-carat dimple in her right cheek. Mid-twenties, he’d say, and that killer smile—She was meant for the stage.
“Ahem,” she said while she cleaned a brush.
Mmm. The throat-clearing sound was deep, vibrating, and down-right sexy.
He worked his gum. “Yes, I’d like to register.”
“Oh, yeah, Right. I’m watching the desk.”
“Really?” he snorted, feeling his lips twist upward.
She turned back toward the easel, unflustered, placed the paintbrush near a pallet, then wiped her hands on a towel.
Jared directed another prolonged glance at her body-hugging sweater as she flipped the towel over her shoulder to land on the table.
“Amy had to take her poodle to the vet,” she explained as she walked toward him. “An emergency.” She paused, looked him in the eye, and continued. “The poor thing was attacked by a larger dog. Part wolf, I think.”
By the inflection in her voice, he felt like there was some double meaning there that he was supposed to get.
“That’s too bad,” he said, puzzled. He stepped back to allow her to pass and lead the way back to the front. The tropical scent of her hair caught him off guard as she eased by him. He breathed in a second deep whiff.
She moved into the bathroom across the way instead of toward the lobby. Everything about her made him smile, it seemed.
“Give me a second to wash my hands and get rid of this paint cleaner,” she called over her shoulder.
With the door wide open, she bent over the sink. He waited across the hall and leaned a shoulder into the doorframe, appreciating the view of her bottom. The theme of the song she’d been singing surged through his head. Woman. Womanly.
Damn fine.
He forced himself to focus on the reason he was there—business. It wasn’t hard to make a few snap judgments about her in that regard, though. She was indeed fresh and sexy as hell, but appeared unprofessional, undisciplined, and irreverent. The carefree, artsy-fartsy type. The sort he was accustomed to dealing with in Denver at the night-club.
This all added up to someone who might spill the details surrounding his sister’s terrible ski accident with only the slightest encouragement. If she knew anything, that was.
Maybe his visit would be quick and easy after all.
He mentally sighed. Since when had his life ever been easy?
When she finished washing up, he followed her to the front desk where they separated as he stepped to the foyer side and the dancing artist sauntered to the business side.
As soon as she glanced down at the desk, her relaxed demeanor changed dramatically. Her body—what he could see from her waist up, at least—tensed, and she lifted a slip of paper, holding it between her fingers as if it reeked of urine. Her breathing stuttered as she read what appeared to be some sort of disturbing note. All the while her brow crinkled in a perplexed frown.
“Is everything okay?” Jared asked.
She crumpled the paper. “Yes… Yes, sorry.”
She immediately began to punch computer keys with a fervor that surprised him, and he reached for his wallet in his back pocket.
“Okay, Dr. Michaels. Do you have a charge card you’d like to put this on?” she asked a little too pleasantly.
He jerked his head up, blindsided that she’d used his name even though he’d intentionally omitted introductions. His phone call yesterday had been hasty and upon consideration he’d hoped to assume a low profile. Too late. Obviously, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. “You know who I am?”
Her earlier vivacious glow had completely faded, replaced by a creased brow. A shadow dulled the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him. “I visited your sister at the hospital. A nurse told me you were Tiffani’s brother. Plus, you called, remember? My name is Kelsey Moore.”
“Any relation to James Moore?” The resort-owner bastard who didn’t even have the correct medical support lined up to handle on-slope emergencies like his sister’s. There were numerous things about the accident that didn’t add up. Jared was here to personally do some digging.
“He’s my father,” she said.
“I see.” Every muscle in his back stiffened. Even so, one uncontrollable thought threaded past his hostility—She said father, not husband. He ignored the purely male instinct to imagine what a date with this gorgeous woman would be like. “And yet you didn’t seek me out at the hospital?” he asked, getting back on track.
“Let’s just say you weren’t in the mood to receive my sympathy.”
“Sympathy?” He narrowed his eyes and pinched his card between his fingers. Well, jeez, what did she expect? His baby sister was in friggin’ traction for heaven’s sake, and all because of something that happened on Chalet Romance’s turf. Recalling his mama’s old axiom about catching more flies with honey, he breathed deeply, presented her with his card, and adopted a more amiable tone. “Okay. It was nice of you to stop by.”
She took the card and held his gaze for a gaping, silent moment, as her fingers brushed against his ever so slightly, the touch almost electric. He snatched his hand away. Save it for the movies.
As he considered her again, an inner voice urged him to get this task over ASAP. Forget about her sultry voice, her gorgeous body, her dynamite smile.
“How’s Tiffani doing?” she asked.
“They’re not sure if she’ll walk again,” he muttered, praying it wasn’t so.
The click of keys stopped. And he thought he heard her swallow, hard. Her reaction gave him pause. Perhaps she did care.
But either way, it was damn heartbreaking to see Tiffani confined, lying in a hospital bed like that. She’d been athletic and had talent as a marathon runner. She was fast, too, and had often chased him down, he thought sadly as he recalled their childhood romps in the backyard.
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” She slid his card, keycard, and a resort map over the counter to him.
He gazed into her alluring hazel eyes, thinking she sounded sincere and recalling the performance he’d observed earlier. A knee-jerk response pressed him to get to know her. This was, after all, a resort for romance. But unfortunately, he kept his promises, which meant the sort of amorous adventures the resort advertised weren’t for him.
He needed to face the facts. Reliable answers required objectivity, he reminded himself.
Opening the map, she pointed out his chalet. “It’s a tricky layout, and it’s getting dark. I’ll show you where the chalet is and you can bring your car around later.”
“And the desk?”
She shrugged, grabbed a red parka from behind the counter, and slipped it on. “It’s Friday. We’re full, and everyone else has already checked in.”
He picked up his bag. What did it matter to him? It was her problem.
They were halfway through the lobby when a young man entered. He looked as though he belonged on the slopes, and his ancestry could have been Norwegian given his fair complexion and light-blond hair. “Hiya, Kels,” he said.
“How’s the snow?”
“Excellent.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She paused as if with an afterthought, turning back. “Hey, Taylor, you mind hanging out at the desk for a fe
w minutes until I get back?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” She resumed walking, indicating with an outstretched hand that they were changing directions, then she led him down a hall to a side exit. “Your chalet is one of the ones set apart from the main lodge. It’s worth the short hike, though, because the view is awesome.”
Outside, a cold, clean burst of air washed his face. He followed her as she proceeded along the snow-covered walkway that took them up the mountainside. Without glancing over her shoulder, she moved forward as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
When they reached a replica of a quaint Swiss chalet, she halted. A stand of giant pines spread wide, looming limbs overhead.
“You should find everything you need, but if not, please call the office,” she said, pushing a clump of snow around with her shoe.
Hiking boots, he noticed. He hadn’t caught that earlier. Cute. “Thank you,” he said.
“At the side of your chalet there’s a pile of firewood.”
“Got it.” Was she stalling?
She pulled herself straighter, her gaze direct and unwavering. A show of spunk returned as a warm puff of air wisped past her pink lips. She advanced on him, moving close enough that he could touch her, if he wanted to. He pushed his hands in his pockets.
She hesitated, then said, “I suspect you’re here to check out the resort’s liability concerning your sister’s accident. I’ll be glad to answer any of your questions.”
He admired her guts and straightforwardness. “Then we’ll be talking.”
“We did all that we could,” she added.
He gave a reluctant nod.
A sudden gust whipped through the pines, shaking loose a clump of snow that landed on him, breaking the building tension.
She brushed snow off his shoulder and laughed softly. He couldn’t miss her stunning dimple. Then his gaze was drawn to her lovely eyes.
“Where do I find you if I have questions?”
She jerked her head a little to the left. “Hiya, neighbor.”
Past another stand of pines, there were two more chalets identical to his. “You’re right next door?”
Awakening Fire: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 1) Page 25
