by Blue Saffire
Plus, to be honest, it was hard to complain about that.
She was still twisted up in the comforter, motionless, with one tanned leg thrown outside the blankets when I came back in from using the bathroom.
Was she awake?
A fresh topping of snow a couple of feet deep covered every surface through my floor to ceiling windows from the front drive and around the side of the house. She was staying again all day today.
I walked to the edge of the bed and stared at the twitches of Savannah’s nostrils as she breathed. I thought I saw her eyes peek open. Maybe not. I couldn’t keep staring at her like a creep, so I snatched up my robe off the footboard and left to go make coffee.
With the caffeine in progress, my stomach woke up and demanded breakfast. I cracked eggs into the pan next to the frying bacon and heard a slow shuffle behind me.
Savannah emerged from the downstairs hallway and peeked around the entryway fireplace. As she ducked around the corner, part of a blanket from my bed swung into view. I glanced across the kitchen island into the great room where her clothes were still scattered in front of the now-dormant fireplace.
“I’m, um, gonna shower and call the airline.” The nervous pitch of her voice gave me a perverse thrill.
She kept shuffling by the stairs, but I still couldn’t see her. “We had over two feet of snow last night. I don’t think you’re getting out today. Even if flights are taking off, it’ll take today to clear the roads between here and there.”
“I’ll just see what the airline says.” Hope stretched in her voice, carrying it another octave higher.
So that’s how it was. She was going to run as fast as she could. Her evasion both suited and annoyed me.
“When you’re done with your phone calls, I’m making scrambled eggs. I’m going to get outside for a bit later. Nothing like fresh snow. It should be a beautiful day.”
A mumbled “okay” is all I got in response to my implied invitation.
When I finished my breakfast, she still hadn’t come back downstairs. I left the cold leftovers for her to consume as she saw fit.
I had plenty I needed to do. Plenty I’d been avoiding myself.
My second cup of coffee warmed my hands as I went to my office. I paused at the doorway of my open bedroom door at the end of the hallway, bringing up images from the night before. My cock stirred.
Not now.
She’s probably upstairs in the shower. Or making taking another bath.
I ignored the suggestion from below my waist, walked to my desk, and sat, huffing. Emails had poured in overnight, and the one from my lawyer marked urgent seemed to swell on my screen. I counted down from five in my head and clicked on the message.
I don’t know why Taylor bothered marking the message urgent. There was no news yet. Irina’s test results were supposed to come back days ago, but her attorneys weren’t responding. Taylor thought this was good news — whatever that meant.
I stretched back with a tilt in my office chair and dragged a palm down my face. Tightness coiled from my hips to my ribs.
I had been so thrilled. Grinning and whooping like a fool. Calling my parents almost immediately even though protocol said to wait a few weeks.
“Irina is pregnant!”
Congratulations streamed through the phone from my mother and then, in the background, from my dad. They were supposed to be the only ones who knew, but my mom was not the best at keeping secrets. A handful of other family members, including my aunt and both my grandmothers, had been told under the premise that they would tell no one. Who knew how many in the family were now waiting to feign surprise when I announced that not only were Irina and I getting married, but that we were expecting.
Then came the report. Taylor never trusted Irina. In an occasional fit of narcissism, I would think maybe Taylor was jealous. We dated in college, then went our separate ways. A few years later, I hired her to be my personal attorney.
In preparing the prenuptial agreement, Taylor had seen fit to hire a private investigator, and while I’d been furious, I couldn’t argue with the wisdom of having done it. Irina had another boyfriend — some guy in New York, a childhood sweetheart. Irina and Ivan had both been born in Kiev. Their families left Eastern Europe just a couple of years apart. Ivan, it seemed, spent nights at Irina’s apartment whenever she was in the city and I wasn’t.
Confronting Irina about the guy had been messy. Lots of screaming and crying and denial, then spitting, wild-eyed accusations. I worked too much. I didn’t pay enough attention to her. Whatever her justifications, it left us in the same place. I took the ring back and demanded she get a paternity test as soon as medically possible.
But now, there was my family waiting on an announcement. There were my parents calling all the time asking about Irina and the baby. I didn’t know how much longer I could duck them. Every other voicemail in my phone right now was a pissy one from my mother about my cousin’s wedding.
“I don’t care how rich and famous you are. Or how smart you are. Family is family. And I can’t believe you’re not coming to the wedding.”
I couldn’t face a wedding at this point. I wished them the best, but I didn’t want to see a happy couple planning their future right now. A few weeks before the wedding, I explained things to Steve and begged him to understand and to say nothing—not even to Michelle—until I found out if Irina’s baby was mine.
The plan had been to wait until the wedding party left and come up here to be alone. Now, I had the world’s most alluring maid of honor in my house and in my bed, helping me forget for a few scintillating moments that my life was a shitshow. But it still was.
This little diversion was either going to clear my mind and help me get my head straight or screw everything up all over again. With my track record, the smart money should be the latter.
A groan punched its way out of my chest. I didn’t have time to mull consequences. I couldn’t think about the shaky, nascent trust in her eyes when I asked her to sleep with me last night.
Trust? I shut my eyes and willed the thought of her to dissipate. This was my problem. I made things more serious than they were. Savannah and I were passing the time. I knew that. She knew that. This was just a fling.
I needed to talk to my assistant. I messaged her to see if she was available, and two minutes later, she Facetimed me.
The first face popping up, however, wasn’t Denise. Instead, her three-year-old daughter, Ella, came into view, squirming around in her mother’s arm. Then, Denise emerged from beneath the desk in her home office holding a small, rumpled toy.
“Sorry,” she said. “I have a visitor. I can call Nate in to come get her.”
“It’s fine. This shouldn’t take long. How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Extremely loud. Nate’s family just left this morning. All twelve of them.”
My nose turned up. “Did they really all stay at your place?”
“Of course, we have all this room, and family doesn’t stay at hotels for the holidays,” Denise said with bright eyes and a joker’s smile. “Grandma Evelyn was very clear.”
Ella giggled at the mention of her paternal grandmother and snatched the toy from her mother. “She gave me a paper turkey, Mister Ian.”
“I see. Is that what that is?”
Denise grinned at her kid. “It’s what it was. It’s getting a little…post-Thanksgiving turkey at this point. May it rest in peace. I saw the news. Are you snowed in?”
“Just for a day or two. They’ll clear the roads, and things will get back to normal—at least for Montana.”
“You have snow?” Ella perked up and moved closer to her mother’s laptop camera, filling my screen with a cherubic, brown face and Afro-puff pigtails. Her nose was winter snotty, and it was disgusting and adorable.
I threw my hands wide. “Lots of snow.”
“Really?” An edge of disbelief slanted into the little girl’s squint.
I nodded. “Really. A lot of snow.�
��
Ella’s lashes flashed up and down, and she wriggled like an excited puppy, almost falling off her mom’s lap. “A lot like to make a snow man?”
“Like to make a thousand snow men.” I laughed.
“Can I come visit?”
Denise piped in to quell the imploring note in Ella’s voice. “Everything’s all closed because of the snow. We can’t get there. Ella B.”
“Can Mister Ian make me a snow man?”
Denise shifted Ella to her other leg and swiveled toward the door behind her. “We have work to do, sweetie. In fact, I think I’m going to get your dad to come get you. You can watch a movie.”
Ella pouted and squirmed while her mother shouted for her father. Nate arrived, and Ella’s face contorted in protest. Her disappointment pulled at something inside me.
“I’ll tell you what, Miss Ella. You let your mom and me get our work done, and I’ll build you a snow man and send you a picture.”
“You will?” At this point, I could only hear her squeal as her father lifted her out of frame.
“Yes. I promise. I’ll talk you later.”
“Say, bye bye, Ella. Talk to you later, Ian.” Nate’s deep baritone was muffled as he turned out of the room over Denise’s shoulder, closing the office door.
“Sorry,” Denise repeated. “I don’t know why I thought I could keep her quiet with a dead paper turkey.”
“It’s fine. She’s the cutest thing ever.”
A sharp longing cut through my chest. That’s what I thought I was going to have soon—a little family. The truth twisted into empty pain. Family with Irina? What a fool.
Denise rested her head in her upturned palm, leaning onto her elbow. “I saw the message from Taylor. No news yet.”
As my assistant, she had access to all of my email.
“None that Irina’s lawyers are sharing.”
Denise brightened. “It sounds like that means…at least that Taylor thinks…it’s not…That would be good news at this point, right?”
“Yes. Yes. It would be. Then, one day, maybe, I can have a baby with someone and not worry that they’re a lying, cheating, gold-digging leech. A nice kid like Ella without fifty percent questionable DNA.”
“Of course, you will, Ian.” Denise leaned into the camera. “And if you anytime want to take Ella off our hands, Nate and I will listen to offers.”
“You’re terrible.”
Denise smirked and pulled out her business planner. “I know. I’m the worst. If the holiday visits with my in-laws teach me nothing every year, it’s how shitty I am at mothering and wifeing. Now — we need to talk about progress on the next feature release.”
“We do.”
I leaned back and let Denise take me through all the open issues we had to address before I came back to the office next week. The woman was so efficient, I knew if I were buried under an avalanche, she could probably run things for months before anyone noticed. An hour and a half later, we each had a to-do list. Hers, admittedly, longer than mine.
“What are you up to the rest of your glorious snow day?” she asked.
“I was going to walk around to check how the property fared. Then, I need to make a snow man.”
Denise chuckled. “You don’t have to do that.”
I tapped my pen on the side of my computer. “Of course, I do. I promised. Expect a text message with a picture of a beautiful Montana snow dude.”
“Okay, but make it a little one. I don’t want you to have to spend a bunch of time. Ella has probably already forgotten.”
“Fine. A little snow dude. Although,” I hesitated, but Denise always found out everything anyway. “I have some help.”
My assistant raised a brow. “Griffin doesn’t seem like the snow man type.”
“Not Griffin.” I covered my face with my hand.
“Who else is still up there?” she asked in a rush of exasperation.
I peeked at her through my fingers.
Denise’s shoulders slumped. “Ian? It’s a woman. Isn’t it?”
I said nothing.
“Ian! I thought you were up there alone.”
My shoulders hugged my ears, and I put up my hands in surrender. “I was supposed to be. One of the wedding guests was staying in town and then got stuck, so she came back to the house. All the hotels are booked up for Thanksgiving.”
Denise shook her head like I was a dog who’d peed on the rug. “I take it it’s not someone’s seventy-year-old aunt.”
“No. I don’t think she’s anyone’s aunt. Her only sibling is the bride.”
“She’s pretty.” In Denise’s mouth, the compliment turned into an accusation. “Oh, she’s real pretty. Jesus. Just don’t. Oh, hell. It’s none of my business.”
Denise gave her head a hard shake and threw her pen to the desk.
“She’ll be gone tomorrow,” I said. “Then, I’ll be alone.”
Denise’s side-eye slanted at me through the computer screen. “Hunh.”
“She had nowhere to go. And she’s Michelle’s sister, which makes her…family.”
My assistant’s eyes rolled up like a window shade. “Family? Only if it’s Game of Thrones.”
“It’s not like that.” The words came out in a defensive squeak that reminded me of my houseguest.
“I can tell by the amused, guilt-ridden look on your face that it’s exactly like that. Just take it easy.” She sighed. “Your personal life is complicated enough.”
“I know. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ve known you for fifteen years, and I know when it is and is not a big deal. I shouldn’t know, but I do. I swear, it’s like I’m your mama, and I’m two years younger than you.” Denise’s chin dropped into her upturned palm, and she stared into the camera, circling her finger at me like a laser pointer. “This is a big deal.”
I laughed at her and said goodbye, dismissing her proclamation. She didn’t know me that well.
7
Stepping out of the marble encased shower, I felt like that’s all I’d been doing since I arrived at Ian’s house. Constant washing and nakedness.
As irresistible an idea as sleeping with him had been last night, this morning, all I wanted to do was pull the posh goose down comforter over my head and figure out a way to transport myself magically to the airport.
Unfortunately, Ian was right. Flights were still cancelled. The overnight snow left the roads away from his house unpassable. However, as long as we didn’t get another heavy snow tonight, they should be clear in the morning.
I reminded myself that there are worse places to be stuck than a gorgeous mansion in the mountains with a fuckable man. Despite the wayward weather, the windows glowed with sunlight and the promise of a gorgeous day. It wasn’t even that cold outside — just in the forties. I actually wouldn’t mind getting out of the house with Ian. Unfortunately, that meant talking to him, and the tongue that I used to explore him from penis to pecs had seized up.
What the hell did the sirens do when they were done with their captives? I think the answer was kill them. However, Dr. De Laurence failed to cover that part of the siren lifestyle in her book, and Ian had been too nice to me to murder.
When I closed my eyes, I could see him coming out of the bathroom this morning, stark naked and lean, his cock impressive even when not at full mast. I caught just a glimpse before slamming my eyes shut and pretending to sleep. It didn’t matter. I could still feel the heat from his eyes and his body and still smell him on the sheets. His Ian-ness was all around me and the sensation of him inside me.
Sweet Lord.
My nipples still burned. If he buried me up to my neck in snow, I’d still feel the heat.
I shook my head and clutched the towel around me.
“Get dressed and pull it together, Savannah,” I said to the empty room.
Ten minutes later, cloaked in my dirty airplane sweater and lined leggings, I headed downstairs.
There was a plate of cold eggs and bacon
on the counter, but no Ian—just a stillness that matched the stellar views of white-tipped evergreens and an expanse of silken whiteness all around outside. The visions through the windows called to me more than breakfast. I ran back upstairs for my coat and then back down and out the door into the chilled air.
Snow had blown across the covered patio, and it crunched under my waterproof hiking boots, getting deeper as I neared the edge of the flagstone. It was too deep for someone who didn’t have proper boots, so I skirted the patio near the house as it wrapped around on the right.
Ian had a circle of large chairs and a chiminea. Then, just past a broad set of steps leading down to the tennis courts, which were covered for the winter, the lawn sloped upward away from the house. A blurry red figure was leaning over rolling a colossal snowball.
I walked closer and tested a couple of steps into what was normally the grass. The snow came up to my shins.
Ian stood up and put his hands on his hips. “You’re in it now, so you might as well join me.”
I wiggled my freezing toes in my insufficient footwear. “I only have my hiking shoes.”
“Ask yourself,” he shouted. “Can you can get more snow in your shoes at this point?”
“No, but I could lose a foot to frostbite,” I shouted back.
“Then, keep moving. Besides, we won’t be out here that long. I just have to build a snow man.”
Had to? I trudged through the snow a couple of feet. He was right, I had maxed out the amount of cold and wet I could stuff in my shoes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m building a snow man.”
“Why?”
“My assistant’s three-year-old heard that I was surrounded by snow and insisted. I don’t think she’s ever seen snow.” Ian pounded on the ball he’d made and tested its sturdiness with his boot. He had snow boots and gaiters.
“That’s sweet.” It was. It was charming and endearing, and I was going back inside. “Do you have any cocoa? I’ll make hot chocolate.”
