She pulled into Ashford in the rapidly gathering gloom, past the Pizza Hut, the cafes and B&Bs. As she continued beyond Ashford, Mt. Ranier towered above her in the dusk light, an eerie glimmer limning the volcano’s glacial snow. Seven more miles down Highway 706, then three miles along a private gravel road and she’d reach the cabin. Norma would likely be there already, and maybe one or two other staff if they’d left early enough to avoid the Friday crush of traffic.
The cabin. Where she and Mark made love the first time. Where they’d spent two days of their honeymoon before a crisis back at Denham cut it short. They’d packed more passion in those forty-eight hours than should have been humanly possible. Those erotic memories still visited her some nights, deep in her dreams.
For those two days everything seemed right between them. Now nothing was.
Okay, she’d been an ass on Monday. She could still see the pain in Mark’s eyes, hear the hurt behind his carefully neutral tone. Her propensity for foot-in-mouth disease had got her into trouble again. The wrong words had a tendency to leap from her lips without benefit of forethought. Mark exacerbated it, especially when he touched her...or smiled at her...or stood in the same room as she did. In a way, it really was all his fault, but she was too much of a lady to blame it on him.
So engrossed with Mark, she sailed right past the turn for the cabin, then had to drive another mile in search of a turnout on the narrow, winding road. Once she reversed direction, she resolutely shoved aside the image of Mark’s sad, puppy dog face.
Better to focus on the other disasters du jour of the past few days. Tuesday, the Chocolate Magic stabilizing ingredient, always the most problematical component of the formula, turned the day’s test batch a nasty shade of green. On Wednesday, she was still digesting that disappointment when the Mother’s Day sales figures dropped on her desk. She’d expected bad, but those numbers were just plain ugly. Then as a last straw, Rochester had made a mad dash to freedom yesterday morning, skittering past her when she’d opened the door for the morning paper. By the time she found him, he’d breakfasted on something, which he puked on the living room carpet the moment she brought him back inside.
She finally spied the marker for the private drive and slowed the Camry to make the turn. Norma had warned her the road hadn’t been graded yet this year, but that still didn’t prepare her for the six-foot-deep pothole that swallowed the Camry just after the turn. She bit her tongue and smacked her elbow on the side window, but no damage to the car. Foot ready on the brake, she squinted in the headlights’ dim glare as she puttered on down the road.
Truly the last several days hadn’t been much worse than the week before. The Chocolate Magic team already had another avenue to explore. Marketing put their heads together and had derived an excellent strategy to increase sales. Rochester might be in a snit over his minuscule weekend accommodations at the kitty B&B, but at least lizard or whatever he’d eaten would be off the menu.
To be honest, it had been the start of the week that had made the rest of it so difficult to bear. The Mark Situation.
He wouldn’t answer her calls, didn’t acknowledge her e-mails, ignored her faxes. He was always tied up in meetings or had just stepped out or hadn’t arrived yet or had already left for the day. No matter what time of day she tried, she never reached him.
She suspected Norma knew more than she was telling. Whenever Kat asked if Mark had called, her assistant shook her head, blushed and turned away.
Fritz inexplicably had taken a powder, too, which made Kat even edgier. By definition, Fritz out of view meant he was up to no good. If she couldn’t oust him from Roth entirely, she’d prefer to have him in plain sight, not skulking about, surreptitiously wreaking havoc with Kat’s life.
A soft glow filtering through the thick trees caught her eye and she hit the brakes. Was that another car? She thought she glimpsed the glint of metal but as she peered through the windshield, straining for a better look, the light extinguished. Space aliens, no doubt, landing in the woods. She eased her car forward again.
Kat finally bumped down the last curve to the cabin. The headlights strafed the creek, the wide sloping lawn with its barbecue pit, the cabin and finally the carport. Where were the other cars? Norma’s little Geo Metro should be in one of the two spaces in the carport; the others’ vehicles should be lining the drive along the back side of the cabin. She’d asked Norma to notify the attendees they could leave work early to avoid the traffic. Surely someone would be here by now.
Visions of ax murderers dancing in her head, Kat rose from her car and looked around her. The cabin’s one exterior light created shadows that striped the creek-side lawn. The firs and pines, dark silhouettes against a purple sky, writhed gently in the breeze.
Faint unease prickling across her skin, Kat leaned in to grab the fat legal-sized packet her father had sent over. What had Norma said when she’d left at noon? She had to tie up a last few
loose ends. Make sure all the supplies and materials were ready for the weekend. Come to think of it, Norma had been a bit vague as to her own arrival time. It was Kat who had leapt to the conclusion her assistant would be here when she arrived.
Kat tapped the bulging lavender envelope against the top of the car door. So where was everyone else hiding? The team- building activities didn’t start until tomorrow. Maybe the rest of the management team had checked into their rooms back in Ashford. Norma had the details of who was where so Kat would have to wait for her assistant to arrive before she could check on the weekend’s guinea pigs.
Tipping the lavender packet toward the Camry’s dome light she studied the logo on the sealed packet. Ornate with curlicues and flourishes, the letters CLR were inscribed across the front. CLR, which stood for...what? Calluses Look Raunchy? Cheap Losers Rejoice? According to Norma, Kat’s father swore by this company and he’d thoroughly vetted them. More likely, he stumbled across them while surfing the Web and liked the color scheme of their home page. They were all doomed.
Resolute, she tucked the packet under her arm and slung her waist pack over her shoulder, then went to the trunk for her suitcase. As she trudged across the lawn toward the front door, a memory sprang from out of nowhere and hit her squarely in the chest. Her and Mark, playing the “chase me, catch me” game across a blanket of snow. He’d tumbled her down into the icy white fluff, then had carried her off to the downstairs bedroom. They didn’t come up for air for three hours.
The envelope slipped from her hands and thumped onto her left foot. Whatever CLR had packed in there just about crushed her baby toe. At least she could focus on the physical pain instead of the ache in her middle.
She nearly dropped the packet again as she dug in the waist pack for the keys, then wearily opened the front door. Despite her exhaustion, she dragged herself up the stairs to the bedroom on the second level. No way would she sleep downstairs. There was so much baggage in that room, there wouldn’t be room for her suitcase. Norma could sleep in the larger, downstairs room.
At the end of the landing, she nudged open the door and flipped on the light with her shoulder. The room was tiny but welcoming with its four-poster bed topped with a worn antique quilt, a window seat overlooking the creek, and a rag rug on the polished wood floor. It was cozy and charming and completely memory-free.
Setting her suitcase in the closet and the waist pack on the dresser, she considered opening the lavender envelope. The brief instruction sheet that had accompanied the packet had advised it be opened when all parties were present. She was tempted to take a peek anyway, but the bed looked so soft and comfy. She dropped the packet to the floor and sprawled across the top of the quilt. It would just be for a few moments. A little bit of rest, then she’d check her cell for messages. She really ought to go get it from the car, and if she wasn’t so sleepy she would have.
Why wouldn’t Mark call her back? The question drifted into her mind, adding to the ache inside.
She’d nearly drifted off asleep, when she tho
ught she heard the sound of a car engine. She roused herself to listen. Had Norma finally arrived? But no, this engine was moving away from the cabin, not approaching. Probably someone driving on another of the small private roads crisscrossing the area. Sound traveled peculiarly in the woods.
She relaxed again and quickly fell asleep.
* * * * *
Mark’s shoulders sagged in relief as his roadster rolled up the drive of the Roth executive cabin and eased into the carport. It was nearly midnight, the two-hour trip from Seattle mind-numbing. He’d had so many loose ends to tie up from a grueling week, it was ten before he could pack and head up here to the cabin.
Now he had a weekend sales seminar to face, filled no doubt with those “I love you, man” kind of exercises that always embarrassed the hell out of him. That had been one of the few points of agreement between him and Kat, an absolute loathing for pop psychology weekend bonding.
But there was no turning back now. The note his mother had dropped in his in box yesterday morning had been packed with accolades for CLR’s cutting-edge productivity improvement program. After signing Denham up for the seminar, his mom had connected with Patti Roth and set up two-and-a-half days at the executive cabin. The only upside was he hadn’t had to go over the material before he left Seattle or he wouldn’t have made it up here until Saturday morning.
As he grabbed the fat lavender packet and extricated himself from the car, he realized the place was deserted. He would have thought one or two of the sales team might be here, drinking Roth’s fine, aged whiskey and soaking in the hot tub before they returned to Ashford for the night. His mother’s note hadn’t included a list of who would be participating in this boondoggle. When Mark asked Rod, he discovered his assistant had been left out of the loop entirely. Mark supposed he’d find out soon enough in the morning when everyone arrived for the nine o’clock start time.
Retrieving his suitcase from the trunk, he wended his way along the gravel pathway to the broad front porch. Painful as it was being back here at the cabin, he was grateful it was spring instead of winter. The sight of snow on that sloping lawn, icicles dripping along the eaves, would have pushed him over the limit, especially after Monday’s disaster. He didn’t need any more reminders of lost chances and broken hearts.
He dropped his suitcase in the living room, then fished out his toiletries bag. Once he’d finished his evening routine in the downstairs bathroom, he grabbed his suitcase and headed for the bedroom. Flipping on the overhead light, he stopped short in the doorway, incapable of taking another step.
The wide king bed with its rich navy quilt seemed to sneer at him. The bed’s fat white pillows exposed by the turned-down quilt flooded his mind with memories. There were a couple new pictures on the walls and the Roths had replaced the bedside lamp Kat had swept from the nightstand during a particularly acrobatic session in the bed. Even so, the room seemed frozen in time, a harsh reminder of the past.
He recalled with crystal clarity the night Kat broke the lamp. Her laughter as she climaxed under him, the room plunged into darkness, the lamp shattered on the floor.
Twenty-four months later, their marriage was shattered and Kat wasn’t laughing anymore. At least not with him.
Lord, he was getting morose in his old age. Must have something to do with tipping past the midpoint of his thirties. He killed the overhead, then turned away from the bedroom and its memories. Switching off lights as he went, he headed upstairs.
A small nightlight glowing in the small second-story bedroom gave him enough illumination to avoid tripping over the furniture, so he left the overhead off. The upstairs bed hadn’t been turned down, but whoever had last made it up had done a pretty poor job of it. The covers were rumpled, the pillows askew. He would have thought one of the sales staff had taken a nap in the bed, but there was no other sign of anyone.
A fanciful notion popped into his head. Maybe it was Goldilocks who mussed the quilt. Jeez, he was more exhausted than he thought.
He dropped the lavender packet on the nightstand then stripped down to his skivvies. With a sigh, he pulled back the quilt on the bed and crawled between the sheets. He’d expected the linens to be cool; instead, the smooth fabric felt warm against his bare skin. Had the Roths installed some kind of bed warmer?
With a sigh he snuggled into the soft mattress, grateful to be finally prone. He ought to set an alarm to be sure he woke on time, but he just didn’t have the energy.
In the distance, he heard a car engine start up and he wondered who would be driving off somewhere this time of night. Whatever. It had nothing to do with him.
He wouldn’t have thought memories of Kat would have chased him into the upstairs bedroom. They’d never made love up here. But somehow, a trace of her scent tantalized him, tugged at his heart. Damning his overactive imagination, he closed his mind to his heart’s trickery and tried to ease himself into sleep.
* * * * *
After nearly falling asleep on the toilet, Kat dragged herself from the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Stripped down to her panties, she’d left her clothes and shoes piled on the bathroom rug. No way was she searching in her suitcase for her sleep T. She’d slept in the nude often enough before; it wouldn’t kill her to do it tonight. The fact that she slept in her birthday suit on a regular basis while married to Mark she wouldn’t even consider.
Once she had the bed more or less in her sights, she shut her eyes, too tired to keep them open. When her thighs bumped the bed, she felt for the edge of the quilt and pulled it back. One knee up on the mattress, she planted a hand on the sheet and settled herself down. Rolling on her side, she scrunched down into the middle of the bed...
...until she pressed her back into something warm and firm and she leapt from the bed with a shriek.
* * * * *
The opening credits had just rolled on Mark’s X-rated dream starring himself and Kat when a scream yanked him from slumber. The glare of the bedside lamp hit his pupils with the force of a klieg light and he had to cover his eyes to give them a chance to adjust. When he could finally make out Kat standing there in pale pink panties, arms crossed over her naked breasts, he thought he might still be dreaming.
But the Kat in his wet-dream-to-be hadn’t been screeching. Nor had the dream-Kat been staring at him in horror, as if he had no right to be sleeping in the Roths’ bed, as if he were some kind of interloper.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted.
In her outrage, one arm slipped, providing him an enticing glimpse of her left breast. She must have caught him looking, because she ran back into the bathroom, and when she reappeared she was wearing a rumpled shirt the exact shade of a cherry cream center. He couldn’t seem to resist contemplating the color of her nipple. It had been closer to the cherry itself, and just as tempting.
Pushing himself up in bed, he scrubbed at his face as Kat stood over him, hands on hips. It wouldn’t do to think about the trim waist set off by those slender hands, let alone the peek show he’d gotten when her arm had slipped. If the past week hadn’t run him through the gauntlet the way it had, he would have copped a plea, apologized for disturbing her and gone to sleep in the car.
But he was tired and grumpy and horny as hell imagining Kat’s body under that shirt. Damned if he would go down without a fight.
Arms folded over his chest, he leaned against the knotty pine headboard. “I’m here for Denham’s sales team feel-a-thon.”
She stared at him as if he’d just beamed down from an alien space ship. “You can’t be.”
The chill in the room had an interesting physiological effect on Kat’s breasts. The tips pressed against the thin pink fabric of her shirt, drawing his eyes to her breasts again.
With an effort, he dragged them away. “You should have checked with your father before driving all this way. The cabin’s booked.”
Her brow furrowed. “My father...”
He felt pretty smug now that he was about to prove himsel
f in the right. He didn’t win many battles with Kat. “I’m sure your stepmother would have told him. My mother arranged with Patti for the use of the cabin this weekend.”
Just seeing Kat here lifted the pall that had hung over his week. He should still be angry with her over Monday’s nastiness, but somehow having her here washed it all away.
“But my father...” She shook her head and her hair, appealingly rumpled, brushed her brow. He wanted to hook those silky strands behind her ears, then follow the path of his fingers with his lips.
Then her hands came up to cover her face and her elbows concealed that nifty view of the front of her shirt. “Oh, my God,” she murmured.
If he got up, he could pull her hands down, expose the front of her shirt again. He could tuck back her hair, kiss the shell of her ear, fulfill all those fantasies at once.
Then she dropped her hands of her own accord and sank down on the edge of the bed. This was even better. Now she was within easy reach. She was like a Christmas gift under the tree, and he couldn’t decide which ribbon to untie first.
Number one on his top ten was to run a finger along the length of her bare leg from her knee to the hem of the shirt, then work his hand underneath...She cut short his fantasy when she bent to grab something from the floor. When she straightened again, she held out what looked like the CLR packet he’d brought with him.
“How’d that end up over there? I set it...” His own fat lavender envelope still sat on the nightstand. He picked it up, compared the identical fussy CLR scrawled across the front. “Where did you...”
“My father. He sent me up here to conduct a management retreat.”
He dropped his envelope on the bed. “I’m supposed to be running a sales productivity workshop.”
She just stared at him, her Belgian chocolate eyes kicking up the fantasies again. “This is diabolical.”
“It could be an honest mistake.”
Sweet Dream Lover Page 7
