“I must have misunderstood,” she said. “Jet lag messes everyone up, doesn’t it?” She gave him a big smile to show that they could move on and forget all about this awkward situation. At least now that he realized there was no hope, he would leave once the blizzard was over.
“I told Betsy I was interested in you in order to sidetrack her. She seemed determined to get me into that Murphy bed.”
“She sure did!” Ally managed a hearty laugh, although she felt sort of depressed that he could so easily come up with a cover story to explain away his obvious infatuation. “That Betsy’s hot to trot, isn’t she? Okay, time for one of us to test this moose-meat pie!” She stuck her fork into the mixture on her plate, which looked a lot like beef pot pie.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course I believe you, Mitchell.” She took a tiny taste of what she had on her fork. “You know, this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Forget where it came from and try it.”
He left his fork on the table. “You don’t believe me. I can tell. But I grabbed the first excuse that came my way. Then when I was worried that you might be getting involved with Rudy, I decided to use the same tactic to get him to back off.”
“Wait a minute.” She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She’d been willing to cut him some slack, but he’d just managed to hang himself with all that extra rope. “Are you telling me that you disapprove of Rudy?”
“Not in general. He’s a great guy, but if you’re talking about hooking up permanently with him, then—”
“Hey! Time out!” Now that she’d sobered up, she didn’t think Rudy was an appropriate boyfriend, either, but she’d defend to the death her right to make that decision for herself. “I don’t know if you’re interested in me or not. You say you’re not, but I can’t think of any other reason why you’re here.”
“I’m here because—”
“But whether you’re interested is not the issue on the table.” She barreled on, pointing her fork full of moose meat at him for emphasis. “You are my grandmother’s personal assistant. You are not in charge of choosing which men are appropriate for me and which are not. End of discussion. If I want to date Rudy—hell, if I want to marry Rudy—I will!”
He gazed at her, his expression unreadable. “Are you finished?”
An adrenaline rush made her long to toss the moose-meat pie in his face. But she was sober now, and she couldn’t override years of training in the social graces in order to do it. Besides, the food was actually pretty good. The onions, potatoes, and carrots added a lot to the mix.
Giving herself time to calm down, she took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“If you’ve said your piece, I’d like to say mine.”
“I may not stick around to listen.” But if she left, she was taking her plate with her.
He nodded. “You’re right. You’re your own boss. I can’t choose your dates or your husband. And you’re also worth a hell of a lot of money.”
“That’s not important to me.” She speared a potato wedge and popped it into her mouth.
“Meaning you plan to take no responsibility for it? Because that’s the message I’ve been getting for weeks, and I need to know if that’s the case.”
Well, damn. He had her by the short hairs, now. He was coming off as Mr. Reasonable and Responsible, while she was coming off as Ms. Spoiled Brat who didn’t appreciate the privileged position she’d been given and didn’t want to have any obligations as a result.
She did appreciate it. Because of Grammy’s generosity, she had the financial freedom to pursue any career she wanted, or no career at all. She’d chosen wildlife photography, and she had the money to stay in Alaska for as long as she wanted while she took pictures and learned her craft. Most people would have to juggle that with a day job. She didn’t have to.
Swallowing her food, she looked at him. “I don’t intend to waste the opportunities available to me. You know, you should really dig in, Mitchell. This isn’t half bad.”
“What would you do if I decided to quit?”
She abandoned her food and launched into fullblown panic mode. “Are you considering it?” Oh, God, what if her rejection had wounded him to the point that he wanted nothing to do with her or Grammy’s estate? She’d counted on the fact that Mitchell liked his job, but maybe she’d just taken all the joy right out of it.
“Never mind whether I’m considering it. What would you do?”
She’d have to find a new Mitchell. And she wasn’t sure they were all that thick on the ground. He was loyal and conscientious. She’d never for a minute doubted his integrity, and that was pretty damned important. Sure, there were checks and balances built into Grammy’s trust, but Mitchell was smart enough to find ways around those if he’d wanted to, and so far as she knew, he hadn’t. Grammy had chosen well.
“I don’t know what I’d do,” she admitted. “But definitely I would have to put this photography plan on hold until I found your replacement.” If I can find a replacement.
“Well, I’m not quitting.”
She let out her breath. “Thank you. You about killed my appetite with that subject.” Ready for a truce, she gazed across the table. “Go ahead and eat, Mitchell. I’m not planning to get engaged to Rudy, and you’re not quitting your job. And it looks like we won’t be having a wild and crazy affair, despite having a supply of condoms not twelve feet away. So there’s nothing left to do but eat this moose-meat pie. Think of it as smoking the peace pipe.”
His mouth twitched.
“Feel free to smile, too. It wouldn’t kill you.”
He did more than that. He laughed. “Since you’re not gagging and rolling on the floor, I guess this meal is safe to eat.”
“Nice. You let the heiress be your food taster. I thought it was supposed to work the other way around.”
“But you don’t want to be treated like an heiress.” He took a sizable bite and stuck it in his mouth.
“You’ve got that right.”
He chewed and swallowed. “You know, it really isn’t bad. A little gamey, but what can you expect from road-kill?”
“Exactly.” She settled in to enjoy the rest of her meal. But when she’d nearly cleaned her plate, she suddenly thought of how close she’d come to disaster tonight. She glanced up. “Mitchell, please don’t ever quit.”
His brown gaze softened. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
That’s when she knew for sure. No matter what he said, he had the hots for her. But he’d pretend that he didn’t, and that was okay, too. She could do worse than having a secret admirer like Mitchell.
Chapter Six
Mitch wasn’t entirely happy with the status quo, but at least he and Ally had managed to finish the meal and do the dishes together without getting in a fight. She still thought he wanted her, and maybe that was okay. For one thing, he did want her, and he was having a tough time pretending not to.
Women had a sixth sense about these things. No matter what he said, she’d picked up on his lust vibes, and he didn’t know how to block those. Her bulky red sweater and jeans didn’t entirely disguise the curves that he’d spent way too much time thinking about.
True, he had to pay close attention to catch the moments when the sweater shifted to reveal the line of her breast. He had to keep his eyes open so he wouldn’t miss the times when she leaned over to put away a pan and her jeans would pull tight over her ass. He didn’t miss anything. He tried to rationalize it as his PI training kicking in. Yeah, right. What he was doing was engaging in covert ogling.
Not covert enough, either, because he felt certain she was aware of his thinly veiled obsession with her body. She probably liked it, the little tease. Matter of fact, he was convinced she liked it, because her green eyes got all sparkly during their dishwashing episode.
“So where did you learn to wash dishes?” he asked, as she finished wiping down the counters.
“In college.”
“No, I joined a sorority. As a pledge, I had to do chores around the sorority house. I was bad at it, but eventually I learned out of self-defense.” She set the sponge on the back of the sink.
He knew about the sorority gig, and that she’d graduated with honors. “Because they’d make you do it over?”
She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “No, because they’d make fun of me for being a rich bitch who didn’t know how to do anything useful.”
“Ouch.” He tried to concentrate on what she was saying. He needed to ignore the way her breasts thrust forward, pushing against the red sweater.
“Being Madeline Jarrett’s granddaughter hasn’t always been a bed of roses.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t.” He pictured her lying naked in a bed of roses, while he scooped up a handful of petals and let them drift over her skin…
“I don’t know which was worse, the people who did mean things out of envy, or the ones who spent all their time sucking up.”
“It must have been hard to know who your friends were.” And speaking of sucking, he had another image going in his fevered brain.
“Very hard.”
And if he didn’t get out of this kitchen soon, he would be, too. He faked a yawn. “You know what? I’m bushed. I think I’ll turn in.”
Ally glanced at her watch. “It’s barely nine o’clock.”
He knew that, but he figured the safest place for both of them was in their own bedrooms. Hanging around in this empty lodge with Ally wasn’t a good idea. And he couldn’t face the prospect of battling their way back through the wind and snow to the Top Hat.
Besides, he needed some privacy to read his e-mail. He’d probably run up a hell of a long-distance bill, but that couldn’t be helped. “Yeah, I know I sound like a wimp, but it’s been a long day and I’m ready to hit the hay.” He started toward the lobby.
“Then I guess I will, too. Maybe we should turn out some lights.” She nipped the switch on the wall and the kitchen went dark.
In the lobby, Mitch walked over to the front door and turned off the overhead there. “We’ll leave that Tiffany lamp on by the registration desk, so it’s not completely dark in here if Betsy comes back.”
“Okay.”
The glow from the lamp gave the lobby just enough jeweled light to make it very romantic. Inviting. Ally looked way too appealing standing by the stairs. In another era, she could have been a lady of the night, waiting to go upstairs with a client.
Mitch shook his head, as if that could derail his one-track mind. “I guess that’s it. The place is shut down for the night.”
“Time for bed.” Ally stretched, arching her back like a cat.
He swallowed a whimper of longing. “You can have the bathroom first.”
She paused in mid-stretch. “Oh. That’s right.” She gave him a wary look. “I guess we need to give some thought to logistics.”
“Just lock the door that opens into my room. When you’re finished, unlock it. I’ll do the same.”
“That should work.” She smiled and started up the stairs. “It’s not like we haven’t been living in the same house for months. This isn’t all that different.”
“I guess not.” It was enormously different, but he wouldn’t point that out. He followed her up the wooden stairs, their footsteps creaking in rhythm. He shouldn’t be watching how her cute little butt moved as she mounted the steps ahead of him, but he was a guy, and guys did that.
He’d always thought that this supposedly polite behavior of allowing women to go upstairs ahead of men had nothing to do with manners. The whole “after you” game was designed to give men a better view as they contemplated whether or not they might get lucky when they reached the second floor.
And no matter how much he tried, Mitch couldn’t throw off the impression that they were about to share a bed. Maybe that was because they’d just finished eating a meal in the kitchen, washed the dishes together and turned out the lights.
“Listen to that wind,” Ally said.
“I’m glad we’re not out in it.”
“Me, too.”
He thought the blizzard outside might be another factor. They were tucked away from the wind and snow, safe in a cozy retreat. Now it was time to roll around in the sheets before going to sleep.
He’d never come close to having those thoughts back in Bel Air. For one thing, no blizzards. For another, he’d never followed Ally up the stairs at night. And they’d never been alone, not with the staff of twenty servants the mansion required.
In the mansion Mitch had been relegated to the south wing and Ally had slept in the north wing. The endless hallways that had separated them made it seem as if they lived in different zip codes. When Madeline had hired him, he’d taken a tour of the mansion and grounds to double-check the security system, and that had been the only time he’d stepped inside Ally’s bedroom and attached bath.
The Loose Moose was quite a change from what she’d been used to. And yet she hadn’t said anything that made him think she missed all that luxury. Instead she seemed to relish her new and unfamiliar surroundings.
He could see this plan working for her, if he didn’t suspect that Kurt Jarrett figured into it somewhere. If Ally had come up here on her own for on-the-job training in wildlife photography, he wouldn’t be particularly worried. Yes, she might get in over her head in some wilderness situation, or misjudge the danger of stalking certain animals with only a camera to protect her, but those were acceptable risks, in his book. People had to live, after all.
Madeline hadn’t foreseen that kind of danger, anyway. She’d focused on the twin issues of men who would want to marry Ally for her money, and Kurt, who might do anything to get the inheritance he thought he deserved. Mitch needed to read the latest report on Kurt from a PI in Anchorage and find out if Ally’s uncle had been up to anything special.
“See you in the morning,” Ally said as she walked down to her room and opened the door. “Let’s hope it’s stopped snowing by then.” She paused, her hand still on the doorknob. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back to L.A.”
So she’d had to get in one last dig. “I really do have papers for you to sign,” he said. But they weren’t anything important. She’d know that the minute he dragged them out.
“How about I do that now?”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough.” He wanted to delay showing her the piddly documents he’d come up with on short notice. A person would have to be incredibly anal to think those papers mandated a flight to Alaska. Either anal or in love. Ally probably thought he was both.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” She went into her room and closed the door.
He had the oddest feeling, as if a light had just snapped off. He hadn’t realized how much energy surrounded her and how empty the air felt without it. Telling himself he was only doing his job, he walked into his room and activated his recorder so he could hear what was going on in her room.
Then he smiled. She was singing an old Bee Gees tune from Saturday Night Fever. She was way off-key and her fake falsetto was horrible, but the subject of the song was perfect. She was singing “Stayin’ Alive.” He’d drink to that.
Pulling his laptop out of its case, he took off the glasses he didn’t need, plugged a phone cord into the jack beside the bed and logged on to the Internet. The dial-up chugged along, taking forever, but eventually he got on. Sure enough, there was a message from Pete, the PI he’d hired in Anchorage to keep an eye on Kurt.
Through that contact he’d learned that Kurt lived with a woman named Vivian Altman. Vivian was in real estate and Kurt sold used cars. At least that was his most recent job. He’d never hung on to a job for long.
From purchases Kurt had made at an X-rated shop, Pete figured Kurt and Vivian were into S and M. Normally Mitch was ready to live and let live when it came to kinky sex, but the
S and M connection fit in with Madeline’s estimation of her stepson, so it was important information.
He opened the latest e-mail from Pete as Ally wound down her rendition of “Stayin’ Alive.” He wondered if she added dance steps to the tune. After seeing her on top of the bar this afternoon, he wouldn’t doubt it. But the show was over, and she was rustling around, gathering something together. Moments later he heard footsteps indicating that she was headed into the bathroom.
The lock on his door into the bathroom clicked. Then the pipes squealed, followed by water drumming on the sides of the metal shower stall. And thanks to Betsy’s comments earlier, he now pictured Ally stripping off her clothes and stepping naked into the spray.
He forced his attention back to the e-mail, dated today. Jarrett bought a new Dodge Ram truck, silver, and a fully equipped fifth wheel at 9 A.M. Weather coming in should prevent him from taking it anywhere real soon. More later. Pete.
Now Ally was singing in the shower, and he didn’t need a listening device and receiver to hear it. She’d switched to the theme song from The Secret of My Success, “Walking on Sunshine.” She couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in volume.
Damned if he wasn’t plagued with a vivid image of her soaping up in time with the song. He wondered if she used a washcloth or just the bar of soap. The bar of soap painted a far more erotic image, especially when she moved it down between her legs…
And here he sat with an erection and his long-distance minutes going right down the drain, along with Ally’s soapy water. With a snort of frustration, Mitch keyed in his response. If Jarrett leaves Anchorage with truck and fifth wheel, call me at this number. Mitch checked his electronic daybook and typed in the number of the Loose Moose. Apparently cell phone reception lousy in Porcupine. Will have to use land line. Mitch.
He signed off, irritated to think he’d used Internet time to fantasize about Ally. He’d have to get a grip, and fast.
Nerd Gone Wild Page 6
