The Double Deal

She would finally win her family’s full approval by contributing more than her legal advice to the business. She needed this for herself and for her child, a stable future. Strategy mattered more.

Royce opened the door to the glass igloo—and a beast of another kind came bounding out. A huge Saint Bernard leaned into him, sniffing, taking in all the surroundings. The air was heavy with scents of pine, the lingering smell of the spent flare gun still carried on the blizzard breeze.

“Tessie,” Royce commanded in a soft rumble, “inside, girl.”

Panting, the Saint Bernard shifted away from the front stoop and let them enter.

Bracing a hand against the door frame for balance, Naomi glanced around the space and found it much like ones her family had vacationed in over the years. God, those were amazing memories, a time before her mother and sister had died in a plane crash. Before Naomi had gotten cancer. A time she’d innocently thought could last forever. But those times had ended prematurely, like a short Alaskan day.

She looked upward, tipping her face toward the sun’s rays. The igloo’s glass dome let in the last beams of light. Only one wall was opaque, a wall with a platform bed against it, and almost certainly the bathroom and closet tucked cubicle-style behind.

Half the room had a long, curved sofa along the glass. Tessie had taken up residence on the couch, watching Naomi and Royce with wide brown eyes. The rest of the room held a kitchenette and dining table that was currently being used as a computer desk. No doubt, the keys to his research kingdom were inside that computer. Not that she expected him to have anything less than the best security.

“So?”

Royce Miller’s voice pulled her back around.

“Yes, well...” She searched for the right words. She’d spent so much time figuring out how to find him and get here, she hadn’t given much thought to being here. With him. Alone. “Thank you so much for saving my life.”

He unloaded the shotgun with a swift efficiency that shouted his Texas upbringing, and pocketed the ammo. “What in the hell coerced you to venture out in this storm?”

“Whoa, hostility check, big guy. Is that any way to speak to the person who brought your supplies?” she asked with the charm that had won over dozens of tough-as-nails juries. “Without my trek up here, you could have starved, not to mention run out of deodorant.”

“Supplies?” He eyed her warily, shrugging out of his parka and shaking the snow onto the doormat.

He made flannel look good.

But she ignored that and kept talking. “Yes, that’s what I said. You have contracted a delivery service for your supplies while you’re isolated up here.” And she’d slipped the driver a hefty tip to let her bring the supplies up to her supposed boyfriend. The driver had been an old softie, a real romantic, and was easily persuaded. Lawyer skills with word craft came in handy out of the courtroom too. “And I’m here to restock your pantry. I thought I’d left in time to beat the storm, but it came on faster and heavier than expected. And, well, here I am.”

Sure, she’d quibbled, insinuating she worked for the rental company’s supply business. Truth be told, she hadn’t outright said so. She could talk her way around that equivocation later. Because if he knew she was a part of the oil mogul Steele family, he would have likely left her to the bear.

“And you are?”

“Naomi.” She said just her first name carefully, toying with her parka zipper. Then catching the nervous twitch, she stopped. No outright lies to backtrack from, she reminded herself.

She studied his face closely to see if her name sparked even a hint of recognition. Nope. Nothing. She didn’t doubt her read of him. She’d been top of her law school class and had yet to lose a courtroom battle.

“Naomi, thank you for the supplies that you drove here in the middle of a blizzard,” he said tightly, “but what do you expect to do now?”

“I expect for us to unload the supplies in my car before things freeze.”

Sighing, he reached for his parka and started toward the door. “Have a seat. I’ll get everything.”

She raised a manicured hand. “Don’t forget the flare gun in case our ‘friend’ returns.”

“Got it.”

“I can back you up with the shotgun if needed,” she added, already sensing he would insist no, no and hell no.

He paused at the door, hand on the knob. “I’ve got it,” he repeated, then stepped outside.

Ah, and just as predicted, he’d assumed she was as defenseless as she looked. For a smart man, he had a weakness and she’d found it fast.

He coddled women.

Some would think that rocked, and soak it right up. But she valued her independence. Her strength.

Her health.

She’d fought hard for her life, battling cancer as a teen, then battling all over again to elbow free of her family’s overprotective ways. And yes, she’d gone overboard at times asserting herself, pushing through boundaries, which gained her a wild child reputation. She’d been bold. She’d partied and lived every day to the fullest. And she’d let her reputation become larger than life, more risqué than reality.

A choice that was coming back to bite her now that she genuinely gave a damn about being a part of the family business.

Speaking of which, she needed to get her butt in gear before Royce returned. This window of time while he was unloading the supplies was precious. She could recon his cabin. She would need every clue at her disposal to get past his defenses.

Two (#uc2a845e6-38b8-5e2e-8e66-a088f32b2a8a)

Head ducked into the wind that was picking up speed and throwing icy dartcicles, Royce carried the last box inside—his fifth trip. This Naomi was one hell of a delivery person. He had enough to make it through an apocalypse. Or thereabouts.

Frankly, the hauling—while done on a day colder than the coldest day in hell—had given him a chance to air out his thoughts regarding this unexpected turn of events at a time when he needed unwavering focus.

A visitor at his private retreat. A woman.

A drop-dead gorgeous woman.

He stepped back inside, his dog there to greet him with a nudge of the nose and wag of the tail. Wide brown eyes seemed to ask about this new addition to their haven. Royce didn’t have an answer yet. But he would.

“Hey,” he said, “last box.”

“Sorry the weather stinks so badly.” She stood at the kitchen cabinets with the other boxes at her feet, unloading canned milk.

Naomi’s parka was long gone and...damn, she was a sight for hungry eyes in formfitting jeans with silver studs and a red fuzzy sweater that all but shouted, I’m soft—touch me. Her dark ponytail swished in a silky glide as she reached upward to slide the can in place, then ducked back down to unload a jar of granola.

Eyes off her ass.

He set the last box on one of the two kitchen chairs, cushioned with leather for comfort and the kind of chair that could be used in his office or in the living area. Everything in the space was efficient and multipurpose. “Isn’t someone going to be worried when you don’t return?”

“I texted one of my brothers while you were outside.” She wriggled her toes in thick socks, stacking cans to make room for the granola container.

Texted? “How did you manage that? The signal up here sucks.”

Sure, he could call out and email, but his equipment was top-of-the-line with a portable minisatellite dish.

“I have a really good phone,” she answered simply over her shoulder, inky-black ponytail stroking along her back in a way that made him consider what it would feel like to trace her hair’s path, then test the texture in a gentle fist.

“That’s advanced tech equipment for a delivery person.”

Stepping down, she faced him, smile bright, her full lips glistening with fresh gloss. “My family’s generous. And, um, I was helping a friend by making the delivery since they were overwhelmed with storm purchases.” She tugged at the hem of her red sweater, a slight flush staining her cheeks. “I don’t actually work for the supply shop.”