Dammit! When did the driver ahead put on the brakes? Ian slammed on his. At the same time, he shot his arm out to keep Chloe from moving forward. With a loud grinding noise, the antilock brakes kicked in, bringing the vehicle to a stop inches from the other car’s bumper.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Chloe told him. Perhaps, but he could feel her chest rising and falling against his forearm. He should have paid closer attention. “You’re right about the other drivers being skittish,” she said. “It’s getting rough out there.”
Much as he hated to admit it, she was correct. The farther west they drove, the more conditions deteriorated. Seemed like for every mile the wind velocity gained, visibility lost one. Ian didn’t want to say anything, but he’d seen more than one set of lights fishtailing as vehicles swerved on the slippery surface. It served him right for failing to check the regional weather forecast before leaving New York. Stupidly, he’d thought that, it being spring, the frozen weather was behind them.
“Regretting your decision to come along?” he asked
“For the last time, no. If anything, the storm adds to the adventure.”
“Interesting attitude. That why you’re squeezing your seat belt?” He could feel her arm muscles tensing beneath the cloth.
Too bad the traffic demanded his attention and he couldn’t enjoy the color he knew bronzed her cheekbones. “All right, so maybe I’m a little nervous.”
He gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know.” The surety in her voice made his heart catch.
“Read a few more articles and you might not feel so confident,” he replied.
“I’ve read enough. Besides, why would you being a bastard in business affect your ability to drive?”
“You’d be surprised.” Knowing more about his sins would erase some of the faith from her voice. Her confidence unnerved him. He’d become far more comfortable with people’s disdain.
Give her time. Seriously, how long could he keep her friendship? Even now, while she smiled trustingly in his direction, he was focused on how her leg muscles tensed and released. Every blessed shift made his groin twitch. A better man would lift his hand away. He wouldn’t contemplate sliding it down toward her knee and back along the inside of her thigh, measuring her length by the reach of his fingers. What kind of friend did that?
Just then, a gust of wind shook the car. Mother Nature ordering him to keep his hands to himself. Squeezing the leather as tightly as possible, he silently thanked her for the intervention. “On second thought,” he said aloud, “do you still have cell service?”
“Barely. The storm’s cutting into my signal, why?”
“Dial 511 and see if you can get a traffic update. I’m wondering if there’s more than weather slowing us down.”
While Chloe fiddled with her cell phone, he played with the radio tuner. With luck he’d find a local station and get an update on the weather. Learn whether or not they’d be stuck with these conditions all the way to the state university. He’d already ditched any plan of arriving midafternoon. Late afternoon was more likely. Hopefully not much later than that. After all, it was Saturday night. College kids went out on Saturday nights, right? Frat parties and all. Maybe Ian should call his son again, let him know they were coming. For that matter, he should check to see if Matt had returned yesterday’s call yet.
“No luck,” Chloe announced. “I can’t get any signal.”
He wasn’t having much luck finding a local broadcast, either. The few stations that didn’t have static were out of either New York or Philly. “Hope you were serious about adventure, Curlilocks,” he said, “because we’re about to have one.”
He nodded toward the emergency vehicles in the distance.
* * *
Oh, yay. Chloe shivered and tucked her scarf tighter around her legs. It wasn’t the approaching accident that had her on edge, however, but the way her nerves came to life when Ian’s palm rested on her thigh. The touch he’d meant to be reassuring burned through two layers. She swore a palm imprint marked her skin.
Over in the driver’s seat, Ian tapped out an impatient message on the steering wheel. “A lot of flashing lights up there,” he said. “Explains the backup.”
“Hope it’s nothing serious.” Chloe spotted red and blue, indicating a variety of rescue vehicles. Tucking her hands beneath her scarf so Ian wouldn’t notice, she returned to squeezing her seat belt. It wasn’t that she worried about Ian’s driving skills—she really did have confidence in his abilities. After watching him take down her mugger, how could she not?
No, she was more nervous that they would stop abruptly and he would fling his arm across her body again. Stupid, getting anxious over a man’s touch. But the protectiveness and strength felt so damn good, it scared her.
Drawing closer, they discovered four police cruisers parked facing oncoming traffic. Beyond them, a set of fire trucks surrounded an overturned 18-wheeler. “Looks like she lost her cargo,” Ian remarked.
Sure enough, dozens of plastic water bottles were being blown across the pavement, lodging under truck wheels and jamming up against the guardrail. One rolled under the feet of the police officer routing traffic. Poor guy could barely keep his balance in the wind as it was. When the bottle struck his leg, he literally slid several inches. Chloe swore she saw icicles forming on the brim of his hat, as well.
“What do we do now?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.
“Follow along and get back on the highway at the next exit,” Ian said. “We don’t have much choice.”
Nothing a control freak hated more than an unplanned game change. While Ian looked calm on the outside, Chloe didn’t miss the way his jaw muscles twitched. “Look on the bright side,” she said, “at least the traffic’s moving now.”
Except the traffic didn’t move. Half an hour later they hadn’t gone more than three miles. Outside her window, Chloe watched as a dead branch fell from a nearby tree. The wind pushed it end over end until it smacked the base of a brightly colored sign. While the limb struggled to break free, Chloe shifted in her seat with a sigh. She knew how the branch felt. No telling how long they’d be stuck in this line. Making matters worse, Ian had turned off the radio, plunging the car into silence. She understood why—he wanted to eliminate distractions so he could concentrate on the stop-and-go traffic. Unfortunately for her, the silence had the opposite effect. Without noise, every breath Ian took became like thunder, every crinkle of his leather jacket a reminder of his proximity.
“La-roo would be miserable,” she said. Even if Ian didn’t answer, at least her voice made some noise.
“Who?”
“My friend Larissa. She hates cold weather. Put her in a storm like this and she’d never stop complaining.”
“Lucky me I’m not with Larissa then. I prefer your attitude.”
He was giving her points for not complaining, nothing more. Still, Chloe warmed from the inside out. “How are you doing?” She hadn’t forgotten the real reason for their trip: to see his son. All these setbacks delayed their reunion.
“Me? I’m dandy. Nothing I like better than crawling along a country road behind the slowest drivers in America.”
“Really? I’d never guess,” she said, biting back a smile. “If you like we can switch places. I’ll drive and you can be the passenger.”
“You’re kidding.”
The look on his face was priceless. Half horror, half utter disbelief. Chloe let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m completely fine with you fighting the roads. I’ll just curl up here and enjoy the scenery.”
“Such as it is.”
She smiled again. Petulance and impatience worked to make his voice rougher. “Are you kidding? Have you looked outside?” She pointed to where the same tree branch continued waging war on the same roadside sign. “Where else would you see an advertisement for a place called the Bluebird Inn and—” Ian had flung his arm across her chest again, cutting
off the rest. “What...?”
“Another rear end collision. Four cars up. We’re stuck while the drivers check out the damage.”
“Oh.” She’d take his word for it. At the moment, all she could think about was the forearm pressed against the underside of her breasts, and whether or not Ian could feel her heart racing. “What do you want to do?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t move his arm, either. Too deep in thought to notice, probably. Taking a slow breath, Chloe gently lowered his hand to her lap. The new position wasn’t much better—she’d stupidly let his fist rest between her knees but it beat being wrapped in a faux embrace. “Ian?”
Finally, he shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What isn’t? The trip?” He wasn’t turning back, was he? After they’d come this far?
Rather than answer, he pulled to the right and began inching his way along the side of the road. Ice crunched beneath his tires as they moved up and over frozen mounds of dirt. “Sign back there says there’s a restaurant two miles from here.”
The Bluebird Inn and Restaurant, the sign she’d been reading before they stopped. “You want to go to lunch?” Whatever plan she expected, stopping at a cozy country inn didn’t come close. “What happened to the no side trip rule?”
“That was before we got stuck in the highway death march. I figure we’ll grab something to eat, and if we’re lucky, by the time we’re finished, the traffic will have eased up.”
“And if it hasn’t?”
“Then hopefully the inn has internet service so we can look up an alternate route.” He flashed a broad grin. “See, I can roll with the punches as well as the next guy.”
No quick answer came to mind. Chloe was too busy recovering from his smile.
* * *
The Bluebird Inn and Restaurant turned out to be a large stone farmhouse atop a hill. It took Ian two tries before their rental car made it up the wooded drive to the parking lot. “Guess we’re not the only ones with the idea,” he said, pulling next to an oversize pickup truck. Sure enough, there were several other cars in the lot. A few, like the truck, were covered in ice, indicating they’d been parked for a while. But the others looked like more recent arrivals.
“Ready to brave the storm?” he asked.
“I thought that’s what we’d been doing?” Chloe replied, reaching for her ankle boots. The insides were warm from being near the heating vent, causing the rest of her body to shiver in comparison. “These shoes might have been a mistake, though.” The stylish heels were made for city walking, not ice storms. “Do you promise to catch me?”
“Why, you planning to fall?”
“I’ll try not...” What was that about falling? In the gray of the rental car, Ian’s eyes shimmered like icicles on a sunny day, the pale blue bright and beautiful. Far warmer than their color implied. Chloe found herself thrust back to the other night, as the familiar warmth wrapped tightly around her, the closeness sending her pulse into overdrive. She felt light-headed and grounded at the same time.
Ian’s eyes searched her face. Looking for what, she didn’t know. Whatever it was, the inspection caused his pupils to grow big and black. A girl could fall into such eyes.
Falling. Right. She blinked herself back to reality. “We—we should probably get moving,” she stammered. “Waiting won’t make the storm go away.”
“No. No it won’t.” Must have been the left over brain fog making Ian’s voice sound rougher than normal as he backed up to the driver’s side door.
Snatching her scarf, she tied the square into a makeshift head cover. “I’m ready. And don’t worry, I’ll do my best to keep my feet on the ground.”
A sign on the building said the structure was over one hundred years old. In better weather, Chloe would have been more appreciative of the building’s old-world charm. Things like the bright blue storm shutters and matching farmhouse door. As it was, she was too busy trying to keep her promise to Ian. An icy crust covered everything. Only the fact that the parking lot was loose gravel saved her from wiping out completely. Chloe managed to keep her balance by jamming her heel through the crust into the stones beneath. Her shoes would be ruined, but at least she wouldn’t land on her bottom.
They were halfway to the door when Ian’s arm wrapped around her. “You look like you’re going to topple over any second,” he said, his breath warming her dampened skin. Chloe fought the urge to curl up close and wind her arms around him in return. Funny, but if she’d been with Aiden or someone else, she wouldn’t have thought twice about holding tight.
The front door was painted a vibrant blue. A pair of potted pines decked with white lights stood sentry on either side. Thanks to the overhang, they were the only three items not covered in ice. Ian opened the door and guided her inside.
It was like stepping into another time and country. With its exposed beams and stenciled walls, the room reminded Chloe of an alpine cottage, or what an alpine cottage might look like in her fantasies. The high-back chairs near the window were made for drinking hot cocoa and sketching the world outside, and the aroma...spiced pumpkins and pine. Who knew a room could smell perfect?
A fire crackled merrily in the nearby fireplace. Drawn by the warmth, Chloe walked over and held out her hands. Ian joined her, his leather-clad shoulder brushing hers. “This place is amazing,” she whispered, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice if she wanted to.
“Certainly beats fast food,” Ian replied.
“Tell me about it, although part of me feels like I should head out to the barn to milk the cows or something.”
“Well, you do kind of look the part.” He fingered the edge of her scarf, which she still had tied like a kerchief.
Chloe ducked her head, afraid to look him in the eye for fear she’d get light-headed again. As it was, his touch was having way more effect than it should. Every brush of his hand, every moment of contact brought with it a wash of sensations. Comfort, attraction, closeness, wariness...so many feelings she was beginning to have trouble naming them.
“I thought I heard the door.”
They turned around to find a man standing at the top of the stairwell. “I am Josef Hendrik. Welcome to the Bluebird Inn.”
If the lobby was her old-world fantasy, thought Chloe, then Josef was her fantasy grandfather. Portly and gray-haired with a cherry-colored nose, he wore a beige cardigan sweater that barely buttoned across his torso. He leaned on the banister as he worked his way down to the landing, all the while speaking in a faintly accented voice. “I am afraid, thanks to the storm, both of our king-size rooms have been taken, but we still have a couple nice queen rooms available, one with a view of the field....”
“Actually,” Ian said, “we’re only here to eat. The sign on the corner said you served lunch.”
“Only Sunday through Friday.” Josef, who was in the process of sliding his round frame behind the front desk, paused. “I am afraid the dining room is not open to the public until five on Saturdays. You have several hours to wait.”
“That’s a damn shame,” Ian replied. “You sure you can’t make an exception? We’d really hate to have to go back outside in this weather.”
“I am sorry, son,” the man replied. Chloe found the idea of anyone calling Ian son rather amusing. “I wish I could, but thanks to this storm, we are understaffed. It is only my wife tonight, and she has her hands full getting dinner ready for our overnight guests.”
“Did the overnight guests get lunch?”
“Of course. The kitchen is always open for them.”
“Perfect. Then we’ll book a room.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped as Ian pulled out his wallet.
* * *
“I’ve dated a lot of guys who called themselves spontaneous, but none of them ever booked a room simply so we could eat lunch,” Chloe said, popping a piece of roll in her mouth. Of course, none of them could have afforded a room, or if they could, they weren’t inviting her to lunch.
&nbs
p; “There was nothing spontaneous about it. I was being decisive.”
“Potato, potahto.” Grinning, she popped in another piece of roll.
She didn’t think it possible, but the inn’s dining room made the lobby look modern. Rustic and romantic, the room relied on windows instead of overhead light. With the storm killing all sunlight, candles and firelight filled the void. As the sole occupants—the other “guests” having already eaten—she and Ian were seated by the stone fireplace, where the heat warmed the wood and flames cast shadows across their faces.
The shadowy atmosphere suited Ian almost as well as the coffee shop. Jacket shed, sweater pushed to the elbows, he seemed to occupy the whole room. That’s what happened when you weren’t used to dating men of real substance; they always appeared larger than life. Not that he and Chloe were on a date. They were two friends taking a respite from traffic delays.
“Use whatever term you want,” her non-date was saying. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I saw no need to go looking for a different place when there was a perfectly good dining room right here. You’ll notice they got us lunch.”
Yes, they did. As soon as she and Ian “checked in”, Josef and his wife, Dagmar, wasted no time in making sure they were comfortable, which in this case meant serving them big bowls of squash soup and a basket of piping hot rolls. The food was delicious, far better than anything they’d grab at a rest stop.
“More coffee, Mr. Black?” Dagmar came out of the kitchen brandishing a coffeepot. Unlike the innkeeper, she was decidedly not Chloe’s fantasy grandparent. No grandmother of hers would look like an aging film star. Dagmar brushed a stand of her silvery-blond hair from her face. “I just made a fresh pot.”
Ian matched her smile. “Don’t mind if I do. Lunch, by the way, was delicious. I appreciate you opening the kitchen for us. I know you’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
“No trouble at all,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “The pleasure is mine. If you need anything else, you let me know, yah?”
“Absolutely. I will do just that.” He was using the same lazy growl he’d used the day Chloe had met him, the low silk-on-sandpaper voice meant to wrap around a woman’s spine. Apparently it was his charm voice.
Swept Away by the Tycoon Page 7
