by Karen Booth
She nodded at the big-screen TV in the living room, which was on, but the sound was muted. “The storm is tapering off. We’re just supposed to get flurries for the rest of the day, but it’s going to take a while for everyone to dig out. We got almost two feet of snow.”
“Wow.” There was his answer—he would definitely be spending the day with her. How did he get so damn lucky? He’d nearly run over a gorgeous, smart, highly successful young woman. Hopefully one without a single skeleton in her closet, or at least nothing of huge consequence.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck here in this house with me. I’m sure you have more important things to be doing.”
Was his work more important? Technically, yes. But more appealing? Definitely not. “You know, I think a day off is going to be really good for me. I don’t take nearly enough downtime.”
“Workaholic?”
The last year at Townsend & Associates Investments had been absolutely brutal, but the workload was entirely of Alex’s making. He’d been waiting for years to put his own stamp on the company and stop taking orders from his father. He could see now that he might have been overzealous, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. His hard work had paid almost immediate dividends. The money was rolling in and the world of finance was taking notice. Still, Alex had recognized two things over the course of the last twelve months—he never would’ve been able to work the way he had if he’d been married or had a serious girlfriend, and second, it was already getting old. If he didn’t make a change, he’d burn out before his thirty-fifth birthday. “Something like that.”
“Yeah. I can relate. I’m always working. But I love it.” The wall oven next to the range top beeped. “Oh. Oven’s preheated. I’d better get to work on breakfast.”
“I hope you aren’t going to any trouble. I don’t normally eat before lunch.”
True horror crossed Joy’s face. “Didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s the most important meal of the day?”
Alex’s mom had told him lots of things, but not that. In fact, the question of whether or not to eat breakfast had been answered when he was a young kid. His mother was a morning drinker and he couldn’t bear to be around it. So he usually kept to his room until it was time to leave for school. But he wasn’t about to share that with Joy. He never spoke of it to anyone, not even his brothers. “Sorry. No.”
“Well, you haven’t had my scones. I promise you will change your stance on breakfast.” She measured out flour, added a sprinkle of salt, and unwrapped a stick of butter, cutting it into small cubes, then scraped that from a cutting board into the bowl.
Alex took a seat at one of the barstools across the kitchen island and watched intently. She was so comfortable and at ease in the kitchen, humming to herself as she worked. This was not a woman with a treacherous past. He was fairly certain of that. “Now what are you doing?”
She had pulled out a fork and was mashing the mixture in the bowl. “Cutting in the butter. You want it in tiny pieces the size of a baby pea. That makes a flaky scone.”
“I take it this was part of your classical training?”
“I took a few baking classes, yes. A good chef has to be well versed in everything.” She turned and fetched a bottle of milk from the fridge. She added a splash to the bowl and mixed with the fork again.
“You don’t measure much. I thought baking was like science.”
“Cakes and cookies, yes. Bread and other baked goods are more like art and science mixed together. You need to learn what to look for. You don’t want the dough to be too sticky or too dry. With scones, you don’t want to overmix. With bread, it’s almost the opposite.”
“Interesting.” He took another sip of his coffee. He enjoyed being with Joy even when she was hesitant to answer his questions, but the times when she was chatty were certainly more fun and interesting.
“I’m sure this is boring to you.” She picked up a glass jar that had been sitting with her other baking ingredients. “How do you feel about dried cranberries?”
“Honestly? I never really thought about them enough to have a feeling one way or the other. But I like fruit, so sure.”
“Good. Because I love them.” She grinned and shook a handful onto the cutting board, chopped them roughly, then added them to the mix. She then pushed everything aside, sprinkled some flour on the counter and dumped out the dough.
“Now what are you doing?”
She picked up a rolling pin and shook it at him. “Please tell me you know what this is for.”
“Depends on your personal preferences in the bedroom.”
A smile played at the corner of her lips, making everything below his waist go taut. Finally, he was acting like his normal semi-witty self, not the idiot who asked questions she didn’t feel like answering.
“I’m not much for pain,” she replied, working on the dough. It was impossible not to stare at her shoulders while she worked. The display was poetry in motion.
“A bigger fan of pleasure?” He took a sip of coffee, happy he managed not to choke on it. Things were escalating, and he liked this new direction.
“Definitely.” She cut the dough into triangles, transferred them to a baking sheet, brushed them with cream and sprinkled them with sugar.
“The triumphant return of your good friends, cream and sugar.”
“Not a return, Alex. They are a fixture.” She smiled, even more effortlessly this time, then put the pan into the oven and set a timer.
Damn, he liked hearing her say his name. Her voice was so sweet and soft. It was hard not to wonder what it might be like to have her moan it in his ear. Down, boy. Normally, the thought of being stuck in a house with nowhere to go would bother him greatly, but not today. He had nowhere he needed to be, nobody he wanted to see, except Joy.
“So tell me why you’re here alone in this big house at the holidays. Why not go home to Santa Barbara?”
She busied herself with cleaning up the counters and putting dishes into the dishwasher. “Why aren’t you going home to Chicago? You told me yourself that you’re close with your family.”
There she was again, trying to flip the conversation so they ended up talking about him. Did the modesty she’d shown him last night when talking about her career cover all aspects of her life? Was she simply one of those people who didn’t want to talk about herself? “I asked you first.”
“I’m not sure you want to hear this. We hardly know each other.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m a good listener. I promise.”
She sighed, then nodded in resignation. “It’s difficult for me to go home. I have an ex-boyfriend who’s bad news. If he hears I’m around, he starts looking for me. It’s easier if I just stay away.” She seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed, and that made him feel horrible about having pushed the issue.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was something so serious.”
“It’s okay. We all have our stories, don’t we? It’s not a happy subject. And it’s the holidays. This should be a happy time.”
Alex had to respect her plea for privacy. “I’m not at home for Christmas because I needed a break from my father and his wife, if that makes you feel any better. They’re insufferable. My brothers are both off partying in the Caribbean. Call me old-fashioned, but I want snow at Christmas. I grew up in Chicago. I don’t know any other way.”
“I’m with you. I have to have snow, too, or it just doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m not a meteorologist or anything, but I’m guessing you don’t get much snow in Santa Barbara.”
She shrugged it off. “Oh. Of course. You know. Lots of winter getaways with my parents when I was younger.” The timer buzzed. Joy stepped over to the oven and removed the sheet pan. She carefully moved the scones to a plate, then presented them to Alex. The smells that filled the kitchen we
re unbelievable—warm, sweet, and comforting.
He took a scone from the plate, opened his mouth, but stopped shy of taking a bite. “Wait a second. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. What if you end up ruining me for all other scones? Then what?”
Joy brought two small plates and a stack of napkins, then took the seat next to him. “I can’t be responsible for other people’s shortcomings. If I blow your mind, I blow your mind. Not my fault.”
All Alex could think was that his mind was already blown by Joy. He still didn’t know what to make of her. She was so down-to-earth for someone who’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Perhaps her decision to pursue her passion had helped to ground her. Or perhaps it was whatever had happened with her ex, a situation he couldn’t dare let himself think about too much, lest his temper flare.
“Here goes nothing.” His teeth sank into the flaky pastry. As soon as he got a taste of the slightly sweet treat, he was a goner. It was buttery and rich, but light as a cloud. “Oh, my God. I have never had a scone that good. Not even in England.”
She took a bite herself and dabbed at the corners of her lips with the napkin. “Told you so. I don’t like to brag, but the customers down at the bakery are always raving about them.”
“Customers at what bakery?” He pointed around the kitchen. “You practically have a bakery right here.”
Joy coughed, almost like she was choking. Alex patted her back, then hopped up to fill a water glass. “Are you okay?”
Tears were misting her eyes. “Yeah. Just went down the wrong way.” She took several long drinks of the water and slapped her hand against her chest.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“So what bakery? Do you have your own bakery in town? I thought you were just visiting.”
Joy cast her sights away, probably getting ready to be modest again. “I’ve been working out of the bakery in town. I’m working on a cookbook and it’s good to do your research and recipe development when there are people around to test out your work. It’s much better than eating it all yourself. I’d be the size of a water buffalo if I ate scones all day long.”
“So you have writing aspirations. Sounds like being a chef goes well beyond just cooking for you.”
“Definitely. I’m not the sort of person who sits around all day long. I’d like to have my own empire at some point. A little empire, I guess.”
“Why would it have to be little? You could definitely have your own TV show. You’re more than beautiful enough to be on camera.” Funny thing was, he didn’t know her very well, but he could already see her doing those things.
Joy Baker didn’t seem like the type of woman who failed at anything.
Four
Joy was taken aback by Alex’s supportiveness. Sure, she’d had a lot of people appreciate her work, but very few acted as though her greatest aspirations, her biggest pie-in-the-sky dreams, might come true. And he thought she was beautiful? Alex was not only accustomed to beauty, he was apparently a big fan, judging by the photos she’d seen last night. The weight of the compliment did not go unnoticed. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Truly.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He looked right at her, for long enough that she could feel their connection all the way down to her toes. His eyes were so breathtaking, the most vivid shade of sky blue. It wasn’t easy to sustain a direct hit, but what delicious pleasure it was to stand firm and take it anyway. It left her feeling as though she was in the presence of greatness, and that was a wonderful sensation.
“You know, I’m sorry I knocked on your door last night,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just happened to come up the stairs for bed and I heard you up and about. This house is so quiet, it’s hard not to hear.”
So he hadn’t been eavesdropping or checking up on her—he’d been concerned. She needed to stop being so silly. Every guy was not Ben. Alex wasn’t even close. Hell, he’d expressed more enthusiasm for her dreams and pursuits in the last five minutes than her ex had been capable of showing in a lifetime. “Please. Don’t worry about it. I’m thankful you were worried enough about me to stay the night. Most guys would not do that.”
“The way I see it, I’m spending my day with a gorgeous future celebrity chef. I definitely won’t get bored or go hungry. I’m not exactly suffering here.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, delivering a clever look that left her breathless. Alexander Townsend was supremely confident in everything he did. Probably why he was so tempting to spend time with. He set down his mug and raised his arm, giving his armpit a whiff. “Although you might be suffering soon, unless I throw in some laundry. I had some gym clothes in my car, but that’s about it.”
She hadn’t considered that. “My friend’s son has a whole closet full of clothes in your room. You’re about the same build.” She knew she’d made a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. What was she doing? Offering to loan out Luc Marshall’s clothes?
“Do you think he would mind?”
What was she supposed to say to that? “Of course not. He’s a really good guy.” He wasn’t really. He was nice enough, but would he loan his clothes to a stranger? Joy doubted it, but she couldn’t renege on the offer now.
“Any port in a storm, right?”
Joy glanced out the window. The sky was still gray and unsettled. “I’d say this weather definitely qualifies.”
“Lead the way then.”
With every step up the stairs with Alex, Joy’s pulse began to pick up. She liked Alex. She liked him a lot. He’d been incredibly kind to her, and even when she’d worried that he might be getting nosy, she’d learned that he was being nothing of the sort. Did he like her the same way? And if he was interested, would they have a chance to pursue anything? She didn’t know how long it would take a plow to get up to their house and clear the driveway, but Rafe had made it sound as though it might take a day if the weather was bad. At the very least, she hoped she’d get a parting kiss. She needed more happy remembrances of nice guys. There hadn’t been nearly enough.
Now that they were alone in Luc’s room, she had to admit that she was more than a bit curious about Alex and what his demeanor might be like in a romantic situation. He had this very smooth veneer, but there was an underlying wit that had her intrigued. He also had a tender and sweet side. After all, what man comes back in a snowstorm to check on a woman he hardly knows? So the question was, where did the passion lie inside Alexander Townsend? And how much was there? What would his kiss be like? Soft and polite? Or would he skip right to the white-hot part, where things became frantic, hands were everywhere, and clothes started disappearing?
Alex came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ready?” He stepped around her and made his way to the closet. His touch was gone entirely too soon, but he left behind a lasting heat, like he’d branded her. She couldn’t help but notice that the bed was rumpled, bedding piled up in a heap. There was something so intimate about the sight, it sent flickers of electricity along Joy’s spine. Did the sheets still hold his warmth? Did they smell like him? A very big part of her wanted to experience the fantasy of being with Alex, have him take off her clothes and pull her down onto the mattress...put his manly hands all over her and give her the ultimate snow day.
Alex flipped on the closet light and stepped inside. Joy followed. The walls were lined on three sides with hanging clothes and rows of shelves topped with neatly folded garments. A round, tufted leather ottoman sat in the middle of the room. Why anyone needed so many clothes in a vacation home was beyond Joy. Plus, she had to wonder about the logistics. What did Luc do if he was getting dressed in Santa Barbara and remembered that his favorite shirt actually lived in Vail? Maybe he had two or three of everything.
“What do you think you need?” Joy watched as Alex perused the findings.
“Just a pair of jeans and a sweater for now.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her, flashing her a sly look. “I sleep in the nude, so I don’t need any pajamas.”
Between that and the rolling pin remark in the kitchen—was Alex leaving her a trail of sexual bread crumbs? Did he want her the way she wanted him? And if so, who would be the first to give in, break the ice, and just kiss the other person? “It looks like the sweaters are there on the shelves. It looks like the jeans are hanging next to them.” She sat on the ottoman, trying not to think about the fact that if Mariella Marshall could see her right now, Joy would never again work in the culinary world. Mariella was just that vindictive.
Joy instead tried to soak up the moment, being in this luxe setting with Alex. This was as close as she’d ever come to winning the lottery.
He pulled a chocolate brown sweater from the shelf and checked the label. “One hundred percent cashmere. Good. I can’t stand wool. And it’s a quality maker as well. This should work.” Alex whipped off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the ottoman. It landed right next to her.
Joy swallowed hard, staring at the garment, preparing herself to look while her brain was telling her she was an idiot if she didn’t hurry up. She planted her hand on the ottoman and crossed her legs, eying him as he threaded the sweater over his head. Wow. Alex was...built. Much more so than any other man she’d been fortunate enough to see without his shirt. She didn’t need to touch him to know he was firm, but damn if her palms weren’t itching to conduct a thorough inspection. He was solid. His pecs were defined, his abs a ladder of muscle. She wasn’t about to tear her eyes away, but then he poked his arms into the sleeves and tugged down the hem. The heavenly vision disappeared far too fast. But she’d seen enough to know she wanted an eyeful a second time. And a third.
