She’d had a peek at the other larger bedrooms dotting the halls when looking for her own, and took another gander now to be sure she was happy with her choice. She was. She’d chosen the smaller room because it was close to the kitchen and because it had a bathroom attached. Her idea had been to hide out until the storm blew over—the literal snowstorm and the one brewing between her and Chase. A cowardly plan. There was no escaping the blizzard just as there was no avoiding what had happened last night.
Upstairs she found a sitting area surrounded by bookshelves. A chessboard stood on a side table with two straight-backed chairs. She could imagine Chase hunched there, a wrinkle of consideration on his forehead, his fingers resting against his mouth while he thought of his next move. The room suited him, but the shelves on the walls—with a few generic leather-bound books and a random vase or decorative bowl taking up the empty space—appeared more what his decorator had deemed appropriate and less what Chase would’ve chosen for himself.
The library’s window, pointed at the top to match the pitch of the roof and as wide as the room itself, looked over the deck at the back of the house and the snow-covered lake beyond. Natural light flooded in, but even the sun felt cold, too far away to melt the ice clouding the glass. In a pair of comfy sneakers, she stepped silently across the shining hardwood floors. A doorway beckoned her, the edge of Chase’s bed in plain view, his own sneakers standing at the foot of that bed.
Light choked this space, streaming in from more floor-to-ceiling windows where the bed faced. His comforter had been thrown over the bed in a half-assed attempt at making it, two pillows stacked on one side. Jeans and a button-down shirt were draped over the bed like he’d been about to put them on but decided against it.
Where is he?
She stepped deeper into the room and ran her hand over the cream-and-dark-blue quilt, her fingers grazing the sleeve of his shirt. She could picture him here. Last night. Right now...
“Having regrets about what room you chose to sleep in last night?” a voice asked from behind her. She placed her hand over her heart in an attempt to slow its speeding rhythm.
“You startled me,” she said breathlessly.
Facing him didn’t help her catch her breath. He was shirtless, barefoot and water rolled in rivulets down his naked chest. He held a royal blue towel over his hips, grasped with one hand.
“You’re wet,” were the only words she could think to say. The only two words that eked from her suddenly parched throat. The only appropriate words she could’ve said out loud—and even those didn’t sound appropriate. Her eyes feasted on the dark hair whirling on his chest, the trail of it leading down his flat belly and disappearing into the terry cloth around his hips.
Yeah, there were no words.
“I went for a swim. Finished it off with ten minutes in the hot tub.” He stepped into the room with her and she felt the steam coming from his damp skin. “You should try it.”
He ripped off the towel to expose he was wearing absolutely nothing at all. She jerked her eyes away and tried desperately not to replay the vision of the inviting appendage hanging temptingly between his legs.
Chase strolled toward his attached bathroom, not the least bit shy as he dried his arms and chest and his bare ass. She didn’t mean to stare. It just...sort of happened on its own.
He had a round, firm butt leading to thick thighs that planed up to a defined, muscular back. His shoulders were strong, his traps defined...
He continued dressing, talking to her as if putting on clothes in front of an audience was a regular occurrence.
“I checked the weather this morning.” He snapped the waistband of his boxer briefs and then tugged a T-shirt over his fabulous chest. “We’re expecting another six to eight inches today.” She didn’t mean to look down when he said that, but she did and he noticed.
With a grin, he continued, “Another four to five inches tomorrow and possibly another two to three the day after that.”
Covered in jeans and a T-shirt, he wasn’t any less tempting than three seconds ago. He slipped his arms through a blue button-down a shade lighter than the towel he’d discarded on the floor. And now that her brain was working again...
“When do they expect to dig us out?” she was able to ask.
“There’s no talk of digging anyone out, but there’s an emergency service hotline if anyone is without heat or food. Both of which we have at the moment. The problem occurs when the snow becomes too heavy for the power lines.”
“But you have a generator.” She didn’t bother putting a question mark on the end of that sentence—the alternative sounded too unpleasant.
“It’s on the fritz.” He finished buttoning his shirt. He left the top two buttons undone like she remembered. “We have fireplaces all over the house. We won’t freeze.”
“I can take a look at it.”
His face flinched into an expression of disbelief. “I took a look at it yesterday. The gas tank’s full, but it won’t kick on.”
“Yes, but I know how to repair a generator. Do you?” She propped one hand on her hip and sipped her coffee, letting that new detail sink in.
“Not particularly.”
“I’ve repaired one before. And don’t make a joke and ask if I brought my pink toolbox.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He sat to pull on his socks and slipped his feet into shoes he didn’t have to tie. “Again, I’m tempted to ask who the hell you’ve been dating. I’d never ask you if you have a pink toolbox. You hate pink.”
He remembered, and that made her smile.
When he stood, he stepped closer to her, smelling woodsy and fresh rather than like chlorine. He looked as delicious wearing clothes as he did out of them. Unbelievable.
“May I?” He held out a hand for her coffee mug and she gave it to him. He took a sip, swallowed and closed his eyes to let out a soft “ahh” before handing her mug back. “I swam before I indulged. That tastes incredible.”
She bet he did, too.
See? It was thoughts like that she needed to eradicate. Neither should she swoon because he’d remembered she hated pink.
“Um. Sorry to intrude,” she said belatedly. “I wanted to check out the rest of the house.”
“No intrusion.” His voice slipped into a seductive husk that she’d started accepting was simply his normal speaking voice. “You’re always welcome in my bedroom.”
“Very funny, Mr. Mayor.” She forced a droll tone.
“Can’t blame me for trying.” He smiled, his gaze fastened to hers and for a moment she wanted to say to hell with dancing around each other. She wanted to suggest they rid themselves of any restrictive, unnecessary clothing and make love on his massive bed while the snow fell and the wind howled. They could spend the rest of the day—the week—buried under thick quilts and silky sheets, leaving the room for food or drink. And only then to restore their spent energy so they could twist up the bedding again. Instead, she said nothing.
“The coffee is tempting. You’re even more so.” He drew her chin up with a knuckle and she got lost in the greys and greens of his irises. “But if I can’t have one, I’ll take the other.”
Eleven
“Grilled cheese isn’t the same without a ripe, red tomato.” Chase turned with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches—three of them. They were toasted to golden, gooey perfection, and Miriam’s mouth watered. “Especially if it’s from Texas.”
“You brought tomatoes from Dallas?”
Red fruit in hand, he gestured to her with it. “I wasn’t sure I could trust Bigfork’s produce department.” He set the tomato on a cutting board and cut it into thick slices. “Couldn’t risk it.”
“What happened to your accent?”
“Accent?”
“Yes,” she said with a dose of sarcasm, “you know, the one you were taught
in the great state of Texas.”
“You prefer it?”
“No,” she lied. “Just curious.”
He flashed her a brief smile, one that made her wiggle in the seat she’d taken at the island.
“Well, darlin’, if you want me to lay it on thick for you I can do that.” He gave her a wink. “Real thick.”
Rapt, Miriam twirled her hair around her finger, her other elbow resting on the island’s countertop. The second she noticed she was doing it she folded her hands in front of her.
She shouldn’t prefer his accent. It reminded her of being young and carefree and...stupid.
Stupid is the word you’re looking for.
“Voice coaches,” he said in an accent-free timbre. “Years of them. It creeps in every once in a while, when I let my guard down.”
Something he rarely did, she imagined. Everything Chase did seemed intentional.
Coming here. His career. Dumping her.
“No tomato on my grilled cheese sandwich. I’m a purist. Just cheese.”
He’d made the sandwiches with reckless abandon; three types of cheese oozed onto the plate from the center of the diagonally cut stacks.
“You don’t like tomatoes?” He put a few thick slabs in between the bread of his own sandwich.
“I do—I just don’t want them on my grilled cheese.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Do you have any pickles?”
“Sadly no. It’s tomatoes or bust. I thought you were a purist.”
She picked up a triangle. “There’s nothing purer than a pickle on a grilled cheese sandwich.”
If the crunch of the toasted bread wasn’t enough to send her into blissful abandon, the gooey, stringy cheese would’ve done it.
Chase lifted a half and took a bite. After he was done chewing he continued. “Damn. That is good. But no more moaning from you unless I elicit that response.”
Her mouth was full so she had to finish chewing and sip her water before she responded.
“Okay. I feel like we have to talk about the kiss.” She dusted her fingers onto a paper napkin.
“Okay.” He continued eating, gesturing for her to go ahead.
“You can’t kiss me and expect me to reciprocate.”
“You did reciprocate.”
“Going forward.” She karate chopped the air in front of her. “You can’t kiss me going forward.”
“That’s entirely up to you. But you can’t stop me from trying to seduce you.”
Shock unhinged her mouth. He was trying to seduce her?
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Do you think I trot out my famous grilled cheese for any woman? No, ma’am,” he said, his accent creeping in. “Only one who is willing to tromp through Bigfork’s worst snowstorm in a decade to bring me pie.” He picked up the other half of his sandwich.
“I’m being serious.”
“All right.” In a blink, he’d dialed down the charm and upped the intensity. “Let’s be serious.”
He polished off that half in three big bites, took his time chewing and swiped his mouth with a napkin. Once he’d swallowed a generous amount of water, he flattened his hands on the island where he stood across from her and leveled her with a look.
Miriam was beginning to panic and had no idea where to settle her gaze. On him wasn’t safe, but was by far the most appealing.
“You came here for a reason,” he said. “What was it?”
“I told you. To set you straight. And, as you concluded, to make sure you ate a decent Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What’s under that, Mimi?” His tone was serious, his expression patient. “What is this?”
He gestured between the two of them and she could only assume that by this he meant the thrumming sexual attraction saturating the air. Since the kiss last night that had picked up where it’d left off years ago.
He offered her another half of a grilled cheese. She accepted, but didn’t take a bite.
“Okay, fine,” she admitted. “Yes, there’s something here. But nothing we can act on.”
“Why not?”
“Um, in case you don’t recall, we failed miserably the first time.”
“We won’t make the same mistakes this time around. We’re older and wiser. I have no accent now. Totally new experience.”
Now, see? When he did that she wanted to argue that she wasn’t interested in a second “time around” and assure him as much as herself that she didn’t want to reexperience him...
But while her head was absolutely clear on that direction, her body was melting into a puddle. Chase was an experience—a fantastic one if memory served. And fantastic hadn’t been an adjective she’d used to describe anyone who had graced her bedsheets since the man standing across from her.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Mayor.” She laced her words with sarcasm and offered a laugh.
Then she took another bite—a big one—so that she wouldn’t have to give him an answer.
* * *
Mimi was putting up a good front, Chase would give her that.
Reading people was a talent he’d honed. It’s what made him a great politician. And since he knew how to read people, he could tell that as much as Ms. Andrix was protesting this truckload of sexual attraction, she also wanted to test the boundaries between them.
Last night her body had responded to his when he’d kissed her. She’d held on to him like he was the only thing keeping her from floating off the ground. But he had to be careful in his approach. Schmoozing her wouldn’t work, and neither would plying her with wine to lower her inhibitions. Inhibitions weren’t her problem—she’d been plenty bold with him before.
She was nothing like the women who’d been in and out of his life over the past several years. Mimi had never been impressed with his money or his status. If anything, those were in his con column. No, when it came to her, his only choice for getting to the yes they both wanted was brash, flat-out honesty. That, he could do.
“The sex would be good,” he told her. “Probably great but I couldn’t commit to that adjective until after.” He grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry, giving her a moment to absorb what he’d said. When he turned back, her eyes were wide with amusement.
“Is that so?” Done eating, she sagged on the barstool and folded her arms over her chest.
“I’m not playing with you, Mimi. It’s not my style. I’m letting you know where I stand. If you change your mind about having sex with me, let me know. I’ll have you out of those tight jeans and into my arms before your next breath. Either you’ll give me the opportunity to show you how serious I am about making you feel incredible, or you’ll refuse me until it stops snowing.” He looked to the window where it appeared it would never stop snowing. “Those snowflakes are the sand in our hourglass. Eventually, they’ll stop falling and then our time will be up.”
“I’m aware of what our time being up feels like.” Her expression was not one of hurt, but resolve. It was no surprise that she’d be cautious where he was concerned, a fact he’d overlooked until just this second.
“Guess when I implied you’d been dating some real winners, I didn’t factor in myself, did I?”
Some of the fire swept out of her and her mouth lifted on one side. “That was a long time ago.”
“You wear your heart on your sleeve. You always have. Meanwhile, I keep mine in a cage locked in a vault at the bottom of a dormant volcano.”
That brought forth a closed-mouth smile but he felt pride knowing she was fighting a grin.
“I’m sorry.”
Her smile swept away. “Don’t...”
“I’m sorry I hurt you and put you on a plane to Montana ten years ago. It was all so...”
“Juvenile.”
“No,” he argued, meaning it
. “Yes, we were young, but what we had wasn’t meaningless. And it wasn’t juvenile.” He raised an eyebrow. “Pursuing you now isn’t about my being an opportunist or checking off some bizarre sex bucket list. It’s about you. And me. And what we could make of our time together.”
“Scratch an itch?”
“Why not?”
“So, what is this conversation? A negotiation?” She smoothed her hands along the countertop in front of her. “Where’s my contract?”
“It’s an offer. Plain and simple.” He lifted the plate where the last half of a sandwich sat. “More?”
“I couldn’t. Thanks, though.” A gap of silence followed. Chase lifted the sandwich half at the same time Mimi stood and backed away from the island.
“I’m going to turn in.”
“At eight o’clock?”
“Yes.” Her smile was tight. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Sure.”
She grabbed her water bottle and walked away, and every step had him growing more and more confused. Had he completely misjudged her interest? Had he said the wrong thing—the wrong everything? He’d gone into this day sure of his ability to convince her. Especially after she’d hungrily eaten him up with her eyes this morning.
His instincts pushed him to go after her, but he rooted his feet to the ground. Ten years ago, he’d worn her like a second skin day and night. She’d responded to his every touch and kiss by igniting in his arms. Pretending they could pick up where they left off wouldn’t work.
He uncorked a fresh bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He wasn’t giving up, but it was time to change his strategy. She needed space, but he needed her.
They’d have to meet in the middle.
His eyes went to the snow—falling and filling in the gaps where he’d shoveled the deck this afternoon. He’d take as much time as Mother Nature would give him.
“Keep ’em comin’,” he said to the wintry white sky.
Twelve
Miriam awoke to a scraping sound, which she’d grown accustomed to over the many winters she’d spent in living in Montana. It was the sound of a shovel sliding over concrete and sweeping the snow aside. She stretched her arms overhead and let out a shudder from the chill in the room. It was a touch colder in here than it’d been yesterday.
A Snowbound Scandal (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 2) Page 8
