Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks

While Anna shoveled Jake forward to make the acquaintance of the staff, Moriah filled out paperwork then grabbed the key to the available cabin. Her gaze drifted over the six-foot-two-inch, raven-haired man who’d given her a bad time during the hour drive to the resort. Sex, sex and more sex indeed, she mused, chuckling. She’d never heard such a crock of malarkey from one of her guests.

Of course, most of her guests came willingly, after a panic attack or some physical ailment that alerted them to their high-level stress. Jake Prescott, the King of Denial, had to be deceived into his two-week stay. His sisters were firmly convinced that Jake would never agree to come here on his own accord.

Moriah shook her head at the outrageous exaggerations Jake had concocted when she tried to make him aware that he’d become stuck in the rut of working non-stop without time off for relaxation. She didn’t believe that nonsense for a minute because J.T.’s sisters had filled her in completely.

According to Kim and Lisa, their older brother had become entrenched in routine and went through each day like a programmed robot. He left his house at precisely the same time each morning, stopped for a pastry and coffee, worked through the lunch hour, then returned home with a briefcase full of work projects. He had no social life worth mentioning. The only dates on his calendar were the ones his concerned sisters set up for him in attempt to alter his monotonous lifestyle.

Moriah was sure Jake would be a hard-core case that demanded extra time and effort. He refused to open up to her, refused to admit he led a mundane, predictable life that was devoid of entertainment and pleasure. Of course, the first difficulty for Jake to overcome was admitting he had a problem that needed to be addressed. Considering the resistance he raised, it could take a week for him to realize he needed to kick back and relax.

It might be a very long week, Moriah predicted.

Moriah appraised her new guest while he glanced around the spacious dining room. Black suit, white shirt, and nondescript black tie. According to his sisters, Jake had a closet full of black suits and white shirts. They were his standard business uniform—no deviation allowed. No bright, cheerful colors to spice up his wardrobe. Amazing, since Jake was touted as a highly creative design wizard.

Obviously, there was an interesting, unique man trapped inside that black suit. Moriah wondered if he would emerge in two weeks. Jake was definitely going to be a challenge, considering his tendency toward the stubborn and contrary. But she’d find a way to teach him to relax and enjoy his vacation.

Again, her astute gaze flooded over his lean physique and eye-catching profile. Jake Prescott wasn’t classically handsome. His features were a mite sharp and defined, and his displeased frown could be quite severe. She ought to know, having been on the wrong side of his displeasure during the long drive.

Moriah guessed Native American blood ran through his veins. His sisters bore a similar resemblance with their dark complexion and high cheekbones. Three peas from the same pod, and a family devoted to each other to boot, Moriah mused. Kim and Lisa were determined to save their beloved brother from his monotonous life, and Moriah was being well-paid to ensure the transformation took place—beginning now.

“Jake! Are you ready to settle into your cabin?” she called out to him.

He half-turned to stare down his nose at her. Yep, she definitely had her work cut out for her, she decided as she mustered another cheery smile to counter his aggravated frown.

2

MORIAH MOTIONED for Jake to follow her outside. When she stopped by the sport-utility vehicle to retrieve the suitcase he hovered over her, all but breathing down her neck.

“What’s that?” he questioned grouchily.

“Your sisters packed casual clothes for you,” she reported, handing him the luggage.

Moriah bit back a giggle when he stared at the baggage as if it were a live cobra. The reality that he was staying and that he needed several changes of clothes obviously hit him full force. The poor man was in for a shock when she left him at his cabin with his suitcase of casual clothes and nothing but free time on his hands. She sincerely hoped he didn’t freak out.

Jake hefted up the luggage and tossed her a smirk. “It’s a relief to hear you didn’t pack for me. I wouldn’t look worth a damn if I were impersonating a flag.”

Another cheap shot about her attire, she noted. If he thought trouncing on her feelings would get him out of here sooner then he was mistaken. She had her reasons for dressing colorfully, not that it was any of his business why she did it.

“Your sisters packed jeans and bland-tan and hohum-green chambray shirts,” she informed him. “I believe the term they used when referring to you was ‘a drab dresser’.”

He glanced sharply at her and frowned. “I believe the correct terms are conventional for me and outrageously flamboyant for you.”

Moriah shrugged lackadaisically as she made the three-hundred-yard hike to cabin number seven. “Outside dressing is really of no concern here at Triple R,” she assured him. “We aren’t the least bit superficial and we’re more interested in acknowledging and being kind to the true, inner self.”

He snorted at that. He was nothing if not predictable, Moriah thought.

“So, who actually owns this place?” he asked, falling into step just enough ahead of her to indicate he refused to leave the impression he was being led around. “Some stressed-out corporate executive who needs an occasional hiatus to revive those inner juices you keep harping about?”

“No, I own the place,” she informed him.

“You?” He glanced down at her. “You can’t be over twenty-five. Is Daddy’s money paying for this resort?”

“Actually I inherited the land when my mother died. My dad had a stroke three years ago because he worked constantly.” She sent him a pointed glance, then a smile. “Dad lives in the apartment beside mine behind the lodge. I’m thirty, by the way, not twenty-five, but thank you for the compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be one,” he didn’t fail to remark.

Moriah grinned at him. “Really? I was so hoping you’d have one nice thing to say about me.”

Before she could unlock the cabin door, Jake slapped a big hand on the doorjamb and stared her squarely in the eye. His expression was solemn, his onyx eyes intense. “We better get something straight from the get-go. I have no intention of being reformed by you or big brawny Tom Stevens, or stout Anna Jefferies or the rest of your staff. I like my life dandy-fine, thank you very much. How about if you give my well-meaning but misdirected kid sisters their money back and save yourself the wasted effort of cramming this compulsory R-and-R down my throat? In case you haven’t figured it out yet—and, smart lady that you are, I’m sure you have—I’m not planning to cooperate. In fact, I plan to be anything but cooperative.”

Moriah nodded in mock seriousness as she stabbed the key into the lock. “I understand completely and I realize this vacation will cramp your voracious and kinky sex life. But the contract states there will be no refunds, except in the event that you die of boredom.” She grinned at his ferocious scowl. “Then, of course, your sisters will be cheerfully reimbursed.”

“Real cute, Miss Chipper,” he muttered sarcastically.

“A compliment! Thank you kindly, Mr. Predictable,” she gushed as she shouldered through the doorway.

“Good God…” Jake halted on the threshold, his verbal sparring obviously forgotten. He stared at the interior of the cabin in such frantic horror that Moriah nearly burst out laughing at his reaction. “There’s no TV, no radio, no phone, no…” His voice gave out as his goggle-eyed gaze circled the room to appraise the overstuffed, sprawl-all-over-me couch and come-here-and-let-me-rub-you-all-over massage recliner. Then his astounded gaze leaped to the Murphy bed that folded down from the cedar-paneled walls.

Moriah watched his comical reaction to the simply furnished room that was equipped with soothing music, designed to relax tense guests, and decorated with the peaceful landscape paintings that depicted the timeless essence of snow-covered mountains, a rippling seashore and a rolling prairie. Most of her guests suffered minimal culture shock when they first arrived at the resort, but Jake reacted noticeably and made no attempt whatsoever to disguise his disapproval. Clearly, electronic-gadget withdrawal had hit him hard and fast.

He gaped at her, as if he’d been sentenced to two weeks in torturous hell. “You can’t be serious!” he choked out. “What the devil am I supposed to do with myself in this cabin for two tormenting weeks? And don’t give me that crap about tuning in to my inner self again or I’ll have to strangle you!”

He looked so thunderstruck and dismayed that she reflexively reached out to give him a consoling pat on the arm. Moriah was astonished at the tension pulsing through him. Lord, the poor man had no idea how desperately he needed to escape the rat race.

“Everything is going to be fine, Jake. You aren’t going to self-destruct in this unfamiliar environment, I promise.”

“Yeah, right. I’m self-destructing as we speak,” he said, and snorted.

“We have several activities scheduled to make your transition easier. We have a nine-hole golf course and the nearby river provides excellent fishing. There’s horseback riding, a hiking trail, indoor swimming, canoeing, paddleboating, a spacious hot tub and horseshoe games.”

He wrenched his arm free from her light grasp and then glowered laser beams at her. “I haven’t played golf in ten years. I’m not going to watch a damn cork bob on the river while trying to catch a blasted fish. I have a pool in my apartment complex if I want to use it. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a kid, which is fine by me. And there’s no way in hell that I’m taking up the game of horseshoes unless I can pitch them around your neck!”

His voice rose to a shout. Moriah winced and cautioned herself not to lose her temper. None of her other guests put up this kind of fuss. Jake had been goading her for nearly two hours, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let him rile her, she promised herself fiercely.

In a burst of bad temper Jake lurched around and stalked over to the designated kitchen area in the far corner. “Great,” he muttered sourly. “Three feet of cabinet and counter space, plus a piddly little sink.” He jerked open a drawer, then shot her another seething glance. “What? No knife so I can slit my wrists and end this torture?” He hitched his thumb toward the small bathroom, then leveled her with another glare. “No soap-on-a-rope so I can hang myself, I suppose?”

She tried out another encouraging smile on him, not that it did a whit of good. If anything, it seemed to infuriate him further. Moriah was pretty sure Jake held her personally accountable for the anger simmering through him. “No knives or ropes, but I do have a puppy to keep you company. Pets have a calming influence on people.”

He gave her one of those don’t-even-think-about-it glowers before she pivoted to intercept Chester Gray, the golf course manager and groundskeeper, who strode up the wooden porch with the pooch cradled in his arms.

“Thanks, Chester,” she murmured as she cuddled the pup against her chest.

“You bet, Mori. Tell Jake the movie starts in forty-five minutes and Anna has his supper tray heated.”

Scratching behind the pup’s ear, Moriah pivoted to face Jake who growled ferociously. The puppy huddled fearfully in her arms.

“You expect me to take care of that spitwad of a dog?” he muttered crossly. “Think again, my dear Mo. You don’t mind if I call you Mo, do you? It’s not nearly as stuffy and sophisticated as Moriah.”

Leave it to Jake to throw her words in her face. She angled her head and appraised the frown that caused his thick brows to form a V over his glittering obsidian eyes. “You really aren’t taking this well, are you?”