by Diana Miller
“My pleasure.” His smile was warm, his eyes even warmer. Her body heated as she stood there, staring at him.
He broke eye contact, pulled up his sleeve, and glanced at his watch. “It’s ten after four,” he said in the easy tone he’d used all afternoon. “How much longer do you want to ski?”
Jillian forced herself to match his tone. “I’d better stop now. I was supposed to meet Kristen at the lodge at four, and if I’m any later, she’ll worry I broke something major. Thanks for your help.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“Maybe I’ll run into you again. Hopefully not literally.” She started for the lodge.
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
Jillian turned back toward Mark. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Of course, she wouldn’t accept, even though he’d told her he was single and unattached. Skiing together was one thing, but a date was an entirely different matter. She never dated any man she hadn’t checked out and certainly not one she’d met on the ski slopes who might be lying about his marital status, his name, even be a vacationing serial killer for all she knew. She opened her mouth to refuse.
And met his dark velvet eyes. On the other hand, she’d drive herself, and how much trouble could she get into at a crowded restaurant? “I’d like that.”
* * * *
“You have a date tonight and didn’t tell me before now?” Kristen Bartlett plopped down on a brown leather sofa in the living room of her parents’ townhouse. Despite a day of skiing, her shoulder-length dark hair fell in a smooth, shining bob, and her makeup was as flawless as when they’d left the townhouse that morning. Then again, Kristen always looked perfect. Tall, naturally thin, and model beautiful, she was also one of those woman who never had a bad hair or fat jeans day, never got dark circles, zits, or chipped a nail. She even looked good when she cried.
Jillian had decided long ago that if she hadn’t loved Kristen like a sister, she would definitely have hated her.
“I waited until we got somewhere private because I knew you’d make it into a big deal, even though it isn’t,” Jillian said.
“It’s a very big deal.” Kristen rested her stocking feet on the reclaimed wood coffee table. “You haven’t had a single date in over six months. I didn’t even take that long after my divorce.”
“I’ve been busy.” Jillian walked to the kitchen. She really didn’t want to have this discussion again.
“Bull. You’re a lot less busy than during your residency, and you found time to date then. You’re still upset Andy left you for Tiffany.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Jillian grabbed a bottled water and slammed the refrigerator door shut. As she strode back to the living room, she pointedly avoided the oversized mirror on the dining room wall. She didn’t need to look to know her ponytail was limp yet frizzy and her supposedly all-day blush and lipstick had faded from her pale skin. She wasn’t the perfect type. Her lips twisted as she loosened the bottle top. Perfect women didn’t get dumped for twenty-year-old file clerks.
“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” Kristen said with a sincerity Jillian knew was genuine. They’d been best friends since college. “I was simply explaining why this date is so terrific.”
Jillian sat down in a beige and brown striped armchair next to the fireplace. “It’s just one date. Mark lives in New York City. After tonight I’ll probably never see him again.” She took a long drink of water.
“Andy lives in Denver.”
“So?”
Kristen’s satisfied smile telegraphed she was about to top Jillian’s date in the big deal department. “He called me a couple days ago. He’s broken up with the Barbie doll.”
“Why? Did he find someone even younger?”
“He’s clearly realized there’s more to a relationship than tits and ass. He’s going to call you after we get back. Would you consider getting back together with him?”
Jillian opened her mouth to say of course, but closed it before the words emerged. Andy had hurt her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk that again. More important, while she’d thought she’d loved him, had even thought they’d end up married, after the initial shock she hadn’t been as devastated as she’d expected. She wasn’t sure how much of the hurt was from a broken heart as opposed to the humiliation of being dumped for Tiffany. “I don’t know.”
“Andy’s been my friend since law school, but he was a jerk to you, and I hate him for that,” Kristen said. “I don’t want you to risk trying again with him unless you’re sure. I’ve been worried that if you haven’t been near another man in six months, you might mistake lust for love when you see Andy. But now that you have a date—” She waved her hand.
“I’m not sleeping with Mark.” Jillian took another drink of water then set the bottle on the fireplace hearth. “To be honest, I’m not sure I should even go out with him tonight. Something about him makes me nervous.”
Kristen’s forehead creased. “Do you think he’s dangerous and might hurt you?”
“That’s not it.” It was more the way Mark had gotten her to ski then convinced her to meet him for dinner when she’d meant to refuse. It was as though he’d used his mesmerizing eyes to hypnotize her into doing things she’d never have considered otherwise.
“I think the only thing making you nervous is that you haven’t been on a first date for more than two and a half years,” Kristen said. “You’ve got first date jitters. Suck it up and go out and have fun.”
Chapter 2
Mark scanned the dining area one last time. All clear. He dropped the hand he’d held close to the gun hidden under his sport coat then strode to the black lacquer podium the restaurant hostess was stationed behind.
“Jillian isn’t here yet, but thanks for letting me check,” he said. “Either she’s even later than I was, or I’m being stood up.”
“If she doesn’t show, let me know.” The hostess smoothed her wavy dark hair with both hands in a movement that accentuated her impressive bust. “My break’s in fifteen minutes, and I’d be happy to keep you company.” She smoothed her hair again.
“I’ll remember that.” Although Mark had no doubt Jillian would be here, since she wasn’t late at all. He’d told her he’d make a reservation for seven-thirty then made it for seven. He’d arrived at ten after seven and told the hostess he wanted to check whether Jillian was waiting in the bar occupying one side of the restaurant. He’d actually surveyed the entire place, the bar, the dining area, even the men’s room.
His friend wasn’t here.
The hostess shifted her attention to a tanned, silver-haired couple who’d come in.
Mark positioned himself against a wall in the shadow of the coat check, with a prime view of the double glass doors serving as the only public entrance.
Funny how things worked out. When he’d gotten to the ski area, he’d realized that good as his disguise was, it would be better if he added a woman. Someone might have been bribed to pass on his current description, but that description would fit many men on the slopes. Being with a woman would prevent him from standing out as a conspicuous lone male. It might even be uncharacteristic enough to keep his friend from giving him a second glance. He had a reputation for liking women, but also for treating them considerately and certainly never endangering an innocent one. No one would expect him to be with a woman now, under these circumstances. As long as he just skied with her, the woman would be perfectly safe. Even if he were recognized, no one would risk shooting him on a busy ski slope.
He rubbed the beard he’d finally gotten used to. When he’d bought his lift ticket, he’d spotted Jillian in the meeting area for group skiing lessons, talking to a woman he’d bet had been a Longhorns cheerleader thirty years and pounds ago. Jillian had confessed that despite dozens of lessons, she freaked out whenever she got near a chairlift, was only there because she’d promised her best friend she’d give skiing one last chance, and had been so agitated
she’d spilled coffee on some poor man at a gas station on the drive to Keystone. Her nervous chatter had convinced him that she was exactly the kind of woman he needed, slightly timid, pretty but not hot enough to attract universal male attention. The kind of woman an accountant would like. So he’d signed up for Jillian’s class, taken the chairlift in front of her, and made sure she’d run into him. After that, it had been easy.
The outside door opened, admitting two men and a woman. Mark slid his hand underneath his sport coat and grabbed his gun. He didn’t recognize any of the trio, and they went directly to the hostess without sparing him a glance.
Jillian certainly hadn’t turned out to be the sweet, fragile type her appearance implied. She was an ER doctor at Denver County Hospital, for God’s sake, a place that treated the kind of guys who ended up in his business. He’d only offered to help her so she’d ski with him outside of class, which had given him freedom to look for his friend. Even though she wasn’t at all his type, he’d enjoyed talking to her much more than he’d anticipated. He’d figured he could safely take her to a crowded restaurant, have a few hours of intelligent conversation, and a decent meal, then send her on her way.
The glass door opened again. He stuck his hand under his sport coat then relaxed when Jillian stepped inside. She’d left her blond hair loose tonight and with her small frame and wide, pale blue eyes, she looked more like a preschool teacher than an ER doctor. Then again, he knew firsthand how deceiving appearances could be.
He smiled and stepped toward her.
* * * *
Jillian slipped from the frigid outside air into the restaurant’s aromatic warmth. Mark stood against the wall right inside the entrance, wearing a gray tweed sport coat over his black jeans and shirt. He smiled, and her relief—and increased temperature and heart rate—proved Kristen had been right about the first date jitters. Of course she was nervous. She hadn’t been close to a man without her stethoscope in more than six months.
After she checked her ski jacket, the hostess appeared, one of those beautiful, sexy twenty-something women even more prevalent in ski areas than SUV’s. She led them through the restaurant’s dimly lit, sophisticated décor, past tables filled with diners dressed from casual to semi-formal. The hostess spent the entire walk flirting with Mark then left Jillian with a menu and him with a suggestive smile.
To his credit, Mark didn’t watch her saunter away. He helped Jillian into a black and taupe chair then sat down on her right. They spent several minutes studying the menus and ordering.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Mark asked.
“When I was a kid I actually wanted to own a pet store,” Jillian admitted. “Mostly because I wanted a dog, and my mom refused to get one.”
“Why did you give up on the pet store idea?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I worked in one during high school. Although I still want a dog. I’m getting one as soon as I pay off enough school loans that I can afford to rent a place with a yard.”
“What made you pick ER medicine?” Mark lips curved slightly. “I’d think an admitted control freak would choose something more predictable.”
A familiar question. “I grew up in a Chicago neighborhood where nobody went to a doctor unless they had to. ER doctors were the only ones anyone ever saw. Besides, ER’s are usually a lot calmer than on TV, and we’re trained to keep control when things go wild.”
Their waitress delivered a glass of cabernet to Jillian and a beer to Mark.
Mark sipped his beer then set the glass on the table. “Chicago’s a great city. Is your family still there?”
Jillian shook her head. “My parents are both dead, and my only brother’s in Philadelphia. What about your family?”
“Everyone lives in Connecticut.” He grinned. “Which is close enough to New York for all of us, even though we get along. Have you ever been married?”
“Never. What about you?”
“I was. My wife died six years ago.”
“I’m so sorry. How?”
Pain flashed over his features. “A car accident. I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You weren’t.” Mark looked down at Jillian’s hands. “You said you broke a finger skiing. Which one?”
“The little one on my left hand, so I didn’t get much sympathy.” She wiggled the offending finger. So what if she’d smashed it in a locker inside the lodge? Her agitation about skiing had caused her clumsiness, making it a skiing-related injury.
“That must have hurt.” He took her hand, examining her finger as he stroked it with his thumb.
Shivers shot up her arm, across her shoulders, down her spine. “Uh-huh.”
“It looks a little crooked.” He stroked her palm, his thigh pressing against hers.
Her breath caught. “Uh-huh.”
The waitress set a plate of crostini with three spreads on the table.
Jillian jerked her hand and thigh away from Mark’s.
Mark slathered some of the red spread on a piece of toasted bread and took a bite. “Excellent.”
Jillian followed his example, more out of nervousness than hunger. He was right. It was a superb combination of roasted red peppers, balsamic vinegar, almonds, and cilantro.
Mark sampled the dark brown spread next. “Try this.” He held his bread to her mouth, an intimate gesture that made her stomach clench.
She savored the wild mushrooms. “Delicious.”
He nodded, his eyes on her lips.
Her mouth went dry. It had definitely been too long since she’d been close to a man. She grabbed her glass and gulped cold water. “Movies.”
“What about movies?”
“Do you like them? I mean movies?” She’d sounded as flustered as she felt.
“I love movies.” Mark had clearly decided to take pity on her. “Did you see…”
* * * *
Mark paid the bartender for two mineral waters then picked up both bottles with his left hand. It was almost 11:30. Unbelievable. He’d only planned to have dinner with Jillian, but he’d enjoyed talking with her so much they’d gone to a nearby bar afterwards. Then again, his opportunities for pleasant conversation had been rather limited lately.
Scanning the room, he worked through the crowd to their table. His right hand rested close to his gun. He set the bottles on the table and sat down.
“How did you break your leg?” Jillian asked.
“My leg?”
“The reason you haven’t been skiing for a while. I realize it can’t compete with a broken finger, but—”
“Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” Mark got to his feet. “How much I’d like to dance with you.” He’d forgotten all about his pretend broken leg. Hopefully dancing would distract her from his slip. He draped his sport coat over the back of his chair, taking care to conceal his gun, and extended his hand.
He led Jillian onto the packed dance floor, keeping his sport coat in view. He hated leaving his gun, but she might have noticed it. He took her in his arms.
His body reacted with a vehemence that surprised him. He usually wasn’t attracted to petite, serious-minded blondes. He pulled Jillian closer.
She sighed and relaxed into him, resting her cheek on his chest. The scent of her hair, cherries with a hint of vanilla, stiffened a part of him he’d have sworn couldn’t get any stiffer. Jesus, you’d think he was back in high school. But he’d graduated long ago and had the self-control of the Pope when he needed it. As soon as this song ended, he’d plead jet lag, walk her to her car, and send her home with a kiss on the cheek.
He enjoyed holding her until the last guitar and keyboard chords faded, and the band announced a fifteen-minute break. “I should go. I’m a little tired.” He said the words, but didn’t release her.
“A two-hour time difference can throw you off. Especially at this altitude.”
He nodded. The last co
uple on the dance floor was always conspicuous, but she felt so damn good he didn’t want to open his arms. Although Jillian wasn’t his usual type, something about her obviously was.
Sure, he had a self-imposed rule about avoiding women while he was working, but he’d swear no one had spotted him, and his sixth sense about that was virtually infallible. He’d spend a couple mutually satisfying hours with Jillian without putting her at risk. Anyone later learning he’d been with her would conclude he’d had a one-night stand when he’d realized nothing was going down tonight.
“I’m only tired of the crowds,” he whispered against her hair. “Would you come back to my townhouse for a while? I’ve got a terrific chardonnay in the refrigerator.”
Jillian lifted her head and stepped back. “I think I’d better go home. I’m a little tired myself.”
Mark brushed a strand of silky hair from her face. “And miss hearing about my juvenile delinquent dog?”
Her eyes widened. “You had a dog?”
He’d hit the mark. But then, manipulating people was one of his specialties. “When I was a kid, and you may be happy you didn’t when you hear about Charlie.”
Jillian’s ice blue eyes stared into his for a couple seconds. Then her gaze fell to the scarred wood floor. “I’ve got to be honest. I don’t do one-night stands, not even on vacation. I’m sorry.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you some more, but someplace quieter.” He’d never forced himself on an unwilling woman in his life, although if he got her back to his place, he’d bet he could make her willing. If not—well, they’d talk some more.
