by Stacy Gail
By that time tomorrow morning, she had no doubt that every room in the resort would look like the photos he’d taken.
The fourth floor was the Concierge Floor, and it was a traveler’s nirvana. It came complete with a lounge that was prepped to serve food for guests around the clock, and a small concierge desk where Quinn told her guests on that level would be able to make dinner reservations, get lift tickets, sign up for personal butler service, and arrange for spa time.
While use of the spa was part of the concierge package, all of Whiteout Mountain’s future guests would be able to use it. That explained why it took up a sizable portion of the fourth floor. As fabulous as the spa appeared to be, they were going to be busy.
“Earth tones everywhere, a nice apricot color on the walls and great indirect lighting so that any skin tone is shown at its best, bamboo touches and a nice waterfall feature in the reception area… wow. It’s absolutely gorgeous, Quinn.” Hopping up onto a massage table, Mia brought her feet up to sit, lotus-style, as she looked around the empty spa. “You can keep your ski runs and half-pipes and snowmobiles. This is where I’d spend my vacation. That, or in a sauna or hot tub.”
“We’ve got all those here.”
God, she loved this place. “If I weren’t so hell-bent to get to Seattle, I think I’d be tempted to never leave Whiteout Mountain.”
“Funny way of putting it.” He came right up to her and placed his hands on her knees like he thought he had a right to. Awareness shot through her, thick and hot, and while she told herself it was discomfort at having a virtual stranger be so familiar with her, she knew it was a lie. She knew it, because she didn’t shove his hands away. “Why are you so determined to get to Seattle?”
“Because my fiancée is there.” She had a fiancée, she repeated to herself, trying to picture Jackson and coming up blank. She had a fiancée. She had a fiancée…
Lord, Quinn’s hands were smoking hot.
He leaned in, just enough to make his hair cascade in a lush fall over his shoulder. Her fingers ached to do something about it. “He’s been there for seven long months, Red, but you haven’t been hell-bent on getting to him until now. Why?”
“Because…” She bit her lip and tried looking away from those dark sapphire eyes. But he squeezed her knees, compelling her to look up at him while the heat of his hands sank into her skin, her blood, into every part of her being.
Was it possible to be seduced just by the touch of his hands alone?
“Why, Mia? Tell me.”
“He’s cheating on me.” She sucked in a pained breath as she heard herself admit it out loud for the first time. Her pride rocked with the blow, and she clenched her jaw against the resonating ache of it. “I mean, I think he’s cheating on me. I need to talk to him face-to-face to know where we stand. To know where I stand with him. I don’t want to make the mistake of misunderstanding the situation, because I don’t believe in dropping people like they don’t matter.”
The hands capping her knees gave a comforting squeeze. “What makes you think he’s cheating on you?”
She didn’t want to talk about this. Damn it, she didn’t. Just thinking about it hurt, as if she carried a deep, bleeding bruise inside that went all the way to her soul. But even more than that she felt like a fool, and she didn’t want Quinn to feel that way about her as well. If she could have just gotten to Seattle without having to talk it out like this, she could have ignored the worst of the embarrassment, and the pain. If she could have just delivered those frigging papers and brought an end to this mess once and for all…
“Mia.”
Damn it. “He’s posted… things… on his Facebook wall.”
“Things? What things?”
She took a shuddering breath while her pride shriveled up and died inside. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What things?”
“Things that an engaged man shouldn’t post.”
“Like what?”
Dear God, he was just so impossible. “If you’re going to cheat,” she said instead of answering, at last unleashing the thoughts that had kept her awake for weeks, “would you be so stupid as to post about being unfaithful online? That’s why I don’t know what to think. That’s why I need to talk to Jackson and get the official word one way or another. Are we engaged, or aren’t we? That’s all I need to know.” And then, she thought grimly, she would finally follow through with what she’d set out to do in the first place. She’d deliver those papers, and free herself at last.
She needed to do that. Sometimes it felt like she needed to do it more than her next breath.
“What has he posted?”
She let out an angry hiss. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“No. What’d he post?”
“Photos of himself and a woman. Dressed to the nines and arm in arm at the theater. Holding each other on a ferry boat in Puget Sound. Necking at the botanical gardens. Kissing while at a restaurant. Kissing while on a dock with some stupid, isn’t-it-fucking-romantic Ferris wheel in the background.” The only thing missing was an artistic black-and-white shot of them going at it like rabbits between the sheets.
“And… you’re going to Seattle to confirm that he’s seeing another woman?”
His disbelieving tone snapped her attention back to him, only to find him staring at her as if he thought she needed to be medicated. “I want an explanation.”
“Babe, I can give you an explanation. This so-called fiancée of yours is a dog. He’s forgotten everything you’ve done for him, forgotten you even fucking exist, and he has moved the hell on. It sucks that he didn’t have the balls to officially let you go so you could do the same, but he’s probably hoping you can read the writing on the wall—the writing that says he has dumped your ass.”
She winced. “Damn, Quinn. Say what you really feel.”
“Okay, I will. And don’t forget you asked for this.”
Oh, no.
“This guy you got tangled up with is a total piece of shit who gives good men like me a bad name. He’s a user and a self-centered asshole, but above even that he’s a goddamn coward, something I consider especially unforgivable. He didn’t have the guts to tell you that you two are done, so he did it like the pussy he is and let you know about it along with the rest of the world online. Unless…I don’t know, maybe he is stupid. Maybe he didn’t think before he posted those pics, or maybe he thought you and all the people who both know wouldn’t see what he’d posted.”
“No, he’s not stupid.” And considering what their agreement was, she also had a pretty good idea why Jackson hadn’t contacted her in any way to officially break their engagement. But even that dodging of responsibility made Jackson look like the coward Quinn believed him to be.
“I don’t know what hold this bastard has on you,” he continued, shifting closer. “But you’ve got to let him go, Mia. You’ve got to get on with your life.”
“I’m trying to get on with my life. That’s why I made this trip in the first place. I need to force Jackson to tell me to my face that we’re over.”
“You can’t force a man to have balls, Red. Either he’s got them or he doesn’t, and he’s already proven which category he belongs in. Just be grateful you’ve been cut loose by the ball-less wonder without ever having to lay eyes on him again.”
“You don’t understand.” She had to lay eyes on Jackson at least one more time. To move on with her life, she had to get to Seattle.
“I’m thinking you’re the one who doesn’t understand. That polar vortex that landed you here did you a huge favor. It saved you from wasting another second of your life on that limp dick. Even more than that, it landed you on the doorstep of a real man who appreciates a spectacular woman when he sees one—a man who’s ballsy enough to do everything he can to make sure she understands that.”
She had no idea what to say to that, but apparently he didn’t need a verbal response. Without another word he leaned down and pinned her mouth
under his
Suddenly, her world had a new standard for the term hot.
For a heartbeat she fought to keep from responding, because she wasn’t some morally bankrupt slut who messed around while engaged to be married. But being stranded on Whiteout Mountain was waking her up to a few undeniable realities.
The reality that maybe she wasn’t as engaged as she’d believed.
The reality that she was holding on to a dream that wasn’t worth the devotion she’d given it.
The reality that Quinn Kingfisher could really freaking kiss.
Above all the other realities, that one was by far the most important.
There was nothing chaste about the pressure of Quinn’s lips this time around. As crazy as it was, she had the distinct feeling that in his mind, this was their first kiss and he was determined to make an impression on her that she wouldn’t soon forget.
As if she could ever forget anything about a man as fan-freaking-tastic as Quinn.
The pressure his mouth applied opened her lips. The moment she did, his tongue was in there for a thorough, wet taste of her. Feverish heat stormed through her, crackling under her skin like fire. She loved it. Greedily she invited him to delve deeper by dancing her tongue against his, while his hands on her knees coaxed her legs to unfold and frame him as he moved in between her thighs like he owned that space. It was a dominating move. Arrogant. A taking of what he wanted, and not apologizing for it.
It was the hottest damned thing she’d ever experienced.
Her hands weren’t still either, sliding around his waist to rake over his back. She wanted to learn the hard plains and contours of his long and lanky torso, and she was dedicated to her education. His fingers tightened on her braid before he tugged it free, making her scalp tingle as he pulled her head back so she could take the full force of his invading kiss. It was raw, edging on violent, because the need was so urgent, and if he pushed her back on that massage table she wouldn’t even consider resisting.
He was really that good of a kisser.
Instead of pushing her back, he lifted his head and looked down at her as if trying to memorize her face, his fingers slowly sifting through her hair to loosen it completely from the braid. “Licked it,” he said, and the hunger threading through his tone was almost unbearably exciting. “Mine now.”
That dashed some cold water on her inner fire. “I hope you didn’t just diminish my existence to the level of a cupcake.”
“You got a problem with that? Okay, fine. You licked me.” He leaned in until his mouth was close enough for her to feel the breath of his words hit her lips. “I’m yours now. You can lick me any time you want.”
Her heart hammered against her sternum like it was trying to get out. “Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“You’re the boldest beast I’ve ever met,” she said, and even she could hear how rattled she was. “You weren’t kidding about being ballsy, were you?”
“You got a problem with me letting you know that just being in the same room with you makes me hot enough to melt a glacier? You don’t scare that easily, do you? Because that’s not hot.”
“Neither is hitting on a… an engaged woman.” At that, she looked away, her thoughts and all-over-the-place emotions converging in a head-on pile-up. Even before she’d met Quinn, she hadn’t been sure where she and Jackson stood—though wherever it was, it was probably on quicksand. She’d convinced that if she could just get face-to-face with Jackson she could remind him of what they’d meant to each other.
But with Quinn’s kiss branded onto her lips, she couldn’t remember why it was so damned important to hold onto someone who didn’t want to be held. Not by her, anyway. Her aunt was right; she deserved more than the crap Jackson had given her. Or at the very least she deserved to have someone in her life who didn’t have to be held against his will. It hurt that after everything she and Jackson had shared together—after everything she had given up for him—he could still walk away without so much as a word.
That was absolute rejection.
Considering that was what she’d gotten from first her mother, then her father, she probably shouldn’t be surprised the first love of her life wound up treating her the same way.
But she wasn’t devastated. Hearing herself admit that Jackson had found another woman hadn’t crushed her. It should have, but it didn’t.
The only thing that had devastated her—in a feverish, delightfully chaotic way—was Quinn’s kiss.
Why?
Rebound response, she thought, putting a hand to her heated brow while her blood continued to simmer with edgy, unfulfilled hunger. Jackson’s rejection had wounded her female pride, so this was her way of soothing the ache, proving she was still desirable. Classic, ego-stroking behavior, and totally understandable, under the circumstances. But it wasn’t fair. She couldn’t use Quinn that way.
The thing was… she wasn’t.
He was the one pursuing her. And her response hadn’t come from a need to prove she was still alluring. If anything, she’d done her best to discourage Quinn. Almost against her will, she’d noticed how sexy Quinn’s rangy, lanky body was, and how tempting his gorgeous hair was, and how his crooked smile could charm the devil himself. And his kiss… she had to press her lips together to keep from sighing out loud. Damn, that kiss of his. It was so off-the-charts good it erased all other kisses from memory. Even Jackson’s.
That meant only one thing.
Her response to Quinn was the genuine article.
The problem was that she didn’t know what to do with that.
“I wouldn’t kiss an engaged woman like I just kissed you, unless she was my engaged woman.” The velvet rumble of Quinn’s voice brought her attention back to him, and she gazed up into eyes that instantly had her pinned to the spot. “Since I kissed you—and you sure as hell kissed me back—you need to start realizing that no one is engaged around here, and you’re free to do whatever you want.” He waited a beat, as if expecting her to contradict him. When she didn’t—because damn it all, his words felt like the truth—he leaned in like he was going to kiss her again, and this time the excitement that sky-rocketed through her outstripped the alarm. “What is it that you want to do next, Mia?”
“Finish the tour and… and think.” God yes, she needed some space to get her head screwed on straight, and that was never going to happen with him short-circuiting her at every turn with his sexy glances and sexier kisses.
God help her if he ever took her to bed. Her damn head would probably explode.
He watched her unblinkingly—for a wild moment she feared he might see her thoughts of hitting the sheets and getting busy—before he nodded and backed away to help her off the table.
The man had her so confused she could only feel crushing disappointment at his retreat.
Chapter Eight
The snow had lessened to intermittent flurries by the time Mia went to bed, and the next morning greeted her with beautiful blue skies beaming down on a dazzling winter wonderland. Whiteout Mountain was a majestic sight, skirted low in dense evergreens, while high above the tree line the mountain’s jagged, craggy terrain was shown in harsh relief against a mantle of snow. The ski runs that had been carved into its rugged face snaked through the trees in white swaths, and she could see from the great room’s vantage point that two of the ski lifts and the red and black gondola cars were moving along smoothly.
Everywhere she looked, it was absolutely breathtaking.
Well aware that Quinn had again stayed up late to finalize a deal with a helicopter company, Mia tried to keep it down as she poked through the kitchen to see what she could make for breakfast, and got inspired when she saw a six pack of beer. Fifteen minutes later she had beer biscuits sliding into the oven and a simple country gravy simmering away on the stove. She saved frying off the bacon for last, noting that the fridge was packed with this staple far more than any other item.
No doubt about it—Quinn probably needed a
twelve-step program to deal with his bacon addiction.
She’d just turned on the coffee maker and was getting down mugs when she heard shuffling behind her. Turning, she found Quinn leaning against the open doorway, eyes closed, a Whiteout Mountain robe in navy blue hanging open so she could see he wore black sweatpants…
And nothing else.
Wow.
Between the open panels of his robe, she couldn’t help but notice an unflawed expanse of golden skin stretched tautly across a smooth chest. Even in his relaxed state, his pectorals were well-defined, and the right one was decorated with some kind of colorful tattoo, but thanks to the robe she couldn’t see the overall picture.
The sweatpants hung precariously off his hipbones, giving her a magnificent view of a killer set of abs and that yummy Y-formation of obliques arrowing down to that barely covered part of his body.
She stood there, ogling him like she’d never seen a man before, while heat washed over her in ever-intensifying waves. He was born to give women the kind of trouble that started with hot flashes and ended with a broken heart. He had the kind of physique sculptors wanted to sculpt, painters wanted to paint, and women wanted to lick. She was neither a sculptor nor a painter, but she was a woman who damn well knew what to do with her tongue.
And she wanted to use it in the worst way.
Even as that thought made her moisten her lips, she realized there was one thing that stood out with such clarity it might as well have had a spotlight on it inside her head. The mere sight of Jackson had never made her so hot her panties got damp. In that moment she couldn’t even remember what the hell he looked like. But she knew she’d live and die never forgetting her first glimpse of Quinn’s body. It was just that spectacular.
“Mm-mm.”
She blinked when he made a closed-mouth noise, and a blush sizzled her cheeks at being caught checking him out. But when her gaze jerked back up to his face, she relaxed when she saw his eyes were still closed, and she belatedly recognized he’d attempted to greet her with the word “morning” without going to the trouble of opening his mouth.
