by Nico Rosso
“You’d be in a heap of trouble if you’d broken down farther away,” he said.
“Can someone come out and put me back on the road before things get worse?” she asked.
“You don’t understand storms in these mountains, Miss.”
“Ms.,” she said. “Ms. Laura Barber.”
“Well, Ms. Barber, won’t nobody get out of here until the plows come through.”
“When will that be?”
“Days,” he answered. “Probably not a week, though.”
“A week?” Darn it all. She was supposed to be at the bottom of this mountain by evening and at an interview in the morning. She’d planned carefully to get ahead of this storm, but her plane had landed late. Still, she ought to have been able to make her destination. She’d grown up in Connecticut and had driven in winter weather before. Snow was snow, wasn’t it? Apparently not.
“What am I going to do?” she asked. “I can’t stay here for days.”
“That you can’t. I’ll be closing up and heading home in a few minutes.”
“Is there a motel nearby?” she asked.
“Nope. We’ll have to find a family to put you up.”
“I can’t impose on strangers for days.”
He shrugged. “Don’t see that you have much choice.”
Wonderful. Not only would she not make it to her interview but she’d also have to spend days with people she didn’t know. She managed well enough in business situations where procedures and rules of engagement were clearly laid out. In someone’s home, she’d have to interact. She probably couldn’t disappear behind her laptop without appearing rude.
“Unless . . .” Mr. Beaumont said. “Your solution might be pulling up right now.”
Headlights shone in from outside—bright enough to blind her for a moment—a huge SUV or pickup, with its engine at a low roar. The motor shut off, and the lights went dim. A man climbed out and headed into the store. A blast of cold air whooshed in through the front as he entered. “Hey, Phil.”
Mr. Beaumont shuffled off. “Hey, you young pup. What are you doing out in weather like this?”
“Business down in the city. Thought I could outrun the storm.”
The voice tugged at her memory. Low and dark. She knew it. Even though she hadn’t heard it recently enough to place it in her brain, something about the tone registered in her body.
She glanced over at the counter where he stood, his back to her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he commanded the space around him. She had a physical memory of that too, enough to warm her skin. Whoever this was, she’d do best to avoid him. But how?
“Good thing you’re here,” Mr. Beaumont said, gesturing toward her. “This lady is going to need a ride somewhere.”
The man turned and all the memory nudges turned into one huge sucker punch. Ethan Gould.
Good Lord, not him. It had to be five years . . . no, six. That night at the party. After three years of fantasies about the handsome guy who always sat at the front of the class, she’d decided to at least try to find out if the attraction was mutual. Tequila fortification, too much, had led to a night of humiliation. Oh God, all the things she’d said to him. Her stomach sank remembering them after all this time.
Other than that, they’d almost never interacted all through business school. He’d have forgotten her by now. Women probably came on to him all the time—women more remarkable than herself. He wouldn’t remember. Please God, don’t let him remember.
Sure enough, he smiled at her as he would at any stranger. A genial expression he used so easily. The famed Gould charm would come next. So potent it worked even on men. On women . . . well, forget trying to resist it.
After a moment, his brows knitted together. “Do we know each other?”
“No . . . I don’t think . . . haven’t met,” she said. Damn it all, how could he force this reaction from her after so much time? She’d actually lie about her identity if she could get away with it. She’d avoided him successfully since that horrible night. She’d actually followed his career so that she’d know where he was. He couldn’t have just happened on her on a snowy mountain, and yet here he stood, as tempting and as terrifying as he’d been at that party.
“This is Ms. Laura Barber,” Mr. Beaumont said. “You two know each other?”
“Right.” Recognition dawned in his amber eyes, followed by a slight tension to his jaw. Remembering, no doubt. Her skin went from warm to burning. By now, her face would be a bright pink.
He recovered quickly, with a big smile. He still had perfect teeth, of course, and perfect skin. Only his too-large ears kept him from total perfection, but the flaw made him all the more attractive.
“It’s been a while,” he said. “Good to see you again.”
“Hi.” A stupid reply but innocent enough, she thought.
“Seeing as you two know each other, won’t you mind taking Ms. Barber to where she wants to go?” Mr. Beaumont asked.
He rested a hand on a nearby rack of magazines and struck a casual pose. A light of cunning in his eyes belied his apparent ease. “Where are you headed?”
“The city,” she said. “I’m already late.”
“How’d you get this far?”
“Rental car”—she gestured toward the outside as if she could point at the thing—“I ran off the road.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, his gaze never leaving her face. She did her best to look straight back at him, but she’d never win a staring contest with this man. Eventually, she gave up and studied his shoes, instead. Boots, rather—the sort ranchers wore. His had a broken-in appearance, as did the faded jeans that covered his legs up to the hem of his shearling jacket.
“We won’t be getting to the city tonight,” he said. “But we can make it to my friend’s cabin.”
“Cabin?” she repeated. “In the middle of a blizzard?”
“My friend’s an engineer. The place is self-sufficient with a generator and solar panels.”
“The sun’s not out now,” she said. In fact, with the heavy snow, it was already dark.
“And storage batteries,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
“I haven’t agreed to go with you.”
“What choice do you have?” he asked, as he straightened and pulled a slip of paper from his jacket. “I’ll need a few things, Phil.”
“Coming right up.” Mr. Beaumont took the list from him and retreated to the back of the store.
“Look, this is really nice of you—”
Before she could get the “but” out, he took a step toward her. “ ‘Nice’ isn’t exactly the word I was thinking of.”
She made herself stand her ground, even though everything in her wanted to back away. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Don’t be silly. No one around here would put someone out on a night like this.”
“Mr. Beaumont said he’d find a family here to take me in.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you’re a social butterfly now? Happy to move in with strangers for several days?”
Damn him, he knew she wasn’t. He had to remember from graduate school that she kept to herself, quietly getting top grades from her place in the back of the class.
“I . . . I . . .” Damn it. He actually had her stuttering. She took a breath. “I can’t go with you.”
“Why not?” he asked, as he studied her, his gaze assessing and not without a light of admiration. Her heartbeat responded, speeding up. The feeling might be pleasant with another man—one who hadn’t heard about her sexual fantasies after she’d had too many margaritas. She’d told him about how her mind had wandered during boring lectures, imagining how his hands would feel on her breasts. About how she played images of him in her mind when she used her vibrator. She’d even asked if his sex was as big as she’d imagined it, and then giggled when she’d fumbled against his pants and discovered it was even larger. Oh God, humiliation. Utter and total humiliation.
“
Maybe you’re afraid to be alone with me,” he said. He might have read her mind.
“Ridiculous.” Okay, that was a lie, but she wouldn’t cower before him. She’d gone on from that night to establish a good career. As a grown woman with more experience since graduate school, she shouldn’t have to fear men any longer, even this one. Even if she did, she wouldn’t let him know he frightened her.
“Laura, you have a choice of crowding in with a family you don’t know or sharing a cabin with me. I won’t even speak to you if you don’t want.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Great. She’d agreed to go with him. No matter. A few days together, and she’d get away again.
“Good.” He smiled yet again, the blasted man. “The cabin it is.”
You could have knocked Ethan Gould over with a feather. First, to run into Laura Barber at Phil Beaumont’s store, way out here in the middle of no place. At least there was a logical explanation for that. She was probably up for the same job at Henderson that he was. A bit odd, as their talents—skill sets, she would have called them—lay in very different areas. But they were both übercompetent, as any headhunter would have to know. Still, what were the chances that she’d end up at that country store, needing a ride in one of the mountains’ worst storms of the season just as he pulled in? Fate was trying to tell them something, and he, for one, was listening.
The fact that she’d end up staying with him in an isolated cabin fell into a different category of unlikelihood. Impossibility, more like. And yet, there she sat in the bucket seat next to his, staring out at the snow as if it held some message.
Laura Barber, the shy thing who’d turned into a wild woman one night, nearly dragging him into an empty bedroom at the end-of-semester party. The woman who’d promised sex so uninhibitedly she’d singed the edges of his imagination. The woman who never spoke up in class but who’d whispered filthy words in his ear while she’d unfastened his belt and started in on the zipper of his slacks. Unfortunately, she’d given off enough clues of her intoxicated state to keep him from following through, just barely managing to stop things before they’d gone too far.
Laura Barber . . . the one who got away. Hell, the one he’d let get away. Damn his conscience all to hell.
“Do you own this truck?” she asked after several minutes of silence.
“Rented.”
“Do you always drive something so big?”
Right. The queen of green. “What were you driving?”
“A hybrid.”
“If you’d had one of these, you wouldn’t have gone off the road.”
“Touché.” She looked him in the eyes for probably the first time since she’d climbed aboard. “Truce?”
“Sure.” Although, how he’d manage that would take some mental gymnastics. She wore the same scent she had all through business school. Nothing exotic, just kind of clean and sweet. She’d wrapped the scent around him that night. It still went straight to his gut, and now he had the mother of all hard-ons. Truce, indeed.
He stared out the windshield. “That your hybrid up ahead?”
She squinted, peering forward. “It is.”
He pulled up beside the car, set the brake, and pushed the gear lever to park. “Leave the engine running for heat. Give me your keys.”
“I can get my bag myself.”
He held out his hand. “I thought we had a truce.”
After fishing in her purse, she produced a key on rental company chain and handed it over. Now, he could get away from her perfume for a few seconds. Maybe the cold would do something to ease his boner too.
He climbed out of the truck and shut the door behind him. His boots sinking into snow halfway to his knees, he trudged the few feet to the hybrid and used the key to open the trunk. She traveled light—just one carry-on and a suit bag. If he looked inside, which he wouldn’t, he’d no doubt find a formless skirt and jacket combination. She could almost, but not quite, hide her plush figure under all the layers of clothing she wore.
After closing the trunk, he scrambled back to the truck and stowed her things in the back. Then he took his seat in front and set the gear to low to take them down the frosted highway.
“You seem to know your way around,” she said.
“I grew up near here.”
“You look the part. All you need is a Stetson.” She actually smiled. Not much but enough to curve that tempting lower lip. No matter how hard she tried to blend into the woodwork, that mouth and her enormous brown eyes kept her from pulling it off. Great, now he was thinking about her mouth.
“What are you doing in these parts?” he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea of the answer.
“Job interview,” she answered.
“Henderson?”
“How did you know?”
“My interview is day after tomorrow,” he said. “Doesn’t look as if either of us is going to make it.”
She groaned. “Oh no.”
“Don’t worry. You still have a chance.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she said. “They’ll understand about the storm.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant the competition.”
“What . . . oh.” She glared at him. “You don’t think I can beat you for the job.”
He didn’t answer but only smiled.
“Competitive to the end, eh?” she said.
“Pot . . . kettle.”
“Is this your idea of a truce?”
“Sorry. Force of habit.” He turned the truck off the main highway onto the narrow road that led to Jeff’s cabin. Here, even the four-wheel drive wouldn’t help them if he made a bad move. He’d have to concentrate on something besides the chaos in his jeans. The heavy vehicle inched along while the wipers slap-slapped against the windshield and the wind howled outside, swirling the snow around them. Laura sat huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her ribs.
“Frightened?” he asked.
She bit her lower lip. Even a short glimpse of that out of the corner of his eye put his mind in places where it didn’t belong.
“A little,” she said after a moment.
“I’ll take care of you.” Boy, howdy, would he. Stop it, damn it. Now.
Normally, she’d have bristled at any suggestion that she needed help with anything. She must have been really scared not to say a word but just sit there, making herself small. If he wasn’t careful, she’d start tugging at his protective instincts. But then, when had he ever been careful where a woman was concerned? Well, maybe once . . . with this woman.
“Is it much farther?” she asked.
“A few more yards.” Of course, in a storm in the mountains, a few more yards could stretch on forever. How had the pioneers ever managed?
The cabin came up on him unexpectedly. He must have misjudged how far they’d come because the outline of the building appeared directly ahead of them before he’d realized they’d arrived. He let a breath out slowly, and his shoulders relaxed. Though he’d never admit it to Laura, navigating under these conditions was a bit of a crapshoot, and he hadn’t felt all that comfortable himself.
He steered the truck into the carport and cut the engine. When he turned off the headlights, they fell into darkness for a moment. All the better for him to sense the woman next to him. Her scent and the sound of her breathing filled the space around him. It was going to be an interesting few days.
If the cabin had appeared rustic from the outside, the interior somehow managed romantic and high-tech at the same time. Laura left her ruined shoes in the enclosed entryway, what Ethan referred to as a “mini mudroom,” and followed him into the main living area. When he hit the switch, lights came on around the baseboards, producing enough illumination to suggest the interior of an elegant restaurant.
“Solar power?” she asked as she tipped up her carry-on and draped the suit bag over it.
“From batteries beneath the house,” he said. “The system gives off heat as well as light.”
&nb
sp; “And the heat rises to fill the room.”
“Once I get the woodstove and a fire going, we’ll be toasty.”
“Nice.” They’d been bandying that word around a lot. This time, it didn’t carry extra meaning.
Ethan put the bag of groceries on the counter in the kitchenette. “Settle in.”
She glanced around. “Are there other rooms?”
“Bathroom.”
“Then, where would you like me to settle in?”
He paused in the act of stowing a carton of eggs in the refrigerator. After a moment, he straightened, placed his elbow on the door and assumed his too-casual pose again. “You take the sleeping loft. I’ll camp out on the couch.”
She checked the piece of furniture in question. “Is it big enough for you?”
“I’ll fold into it.”
“Because, I don’t really have to—”
“Take the loft. As you observed, heat rises. You’ll be comfortable up there.”
The baseboard heating was having an effect on the temperature, but not enough for her to remove her coat.
“I’ll lay a fire,” she said.
“You know how to do that?”
“It’s not rocket science.”
“Be my guest.”
While he continued putting away groceries, she went to the huge stone fireplace and knelt to check out the supplies. Plenty of wood and kindling. Starting with crumpled newspaper, she built what should soon be a good blaze. She found matches, lit the paper, and sat back on her heels to watch the fuel catch.
Out of nowhere, a male hand appeared in front of her, holding a glass of red wine. She took it and glanced up at the towering figure of Ethan Gould. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t know for sure if you’d want anything to drink.”
“I’m good with wine. It’s tequila I need to stay away from.” Damn it, why had she said that? She shouldn’t have mentioned anything that could remind him of that night. Or remind herself, for that matter. She sipped some of her drink and stared into the fire.
Of course, he didn’t do the easy thing and go back to the kitchenette and leave her alone with the memory. Oh no, he had to sit down beside her in front of the fire.
