How To Sleep With The Boss

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Then what changed?”

He shrugged. “I missed the mountains. I missed Silver Glen. I didn’t know how deeply this place was imprinted on my DNA until I left. So one day, I turned in my notice, and I came home.”

“And started Silver Reflections.”

“It took a couple of years, but yeah...it’s been a pretty exciting time.”

“So who’s the real Patrick Kavanagh? The man I just watched scramble down a cliff? Or the sophisticated guy who roams the halls of his übersuccessful, private, luxurious executive getaway?”

His quick grin startled her. “Wow, Libby...was that a compliment?” Without waiting for an answer to his teasing question, he continued. “Both, I guess. Without the time in Chicago, I doubt I would have understood the needs of the type A men and women who eat, sleep and breathe work. I was one of them...at least for a few years. But I realized my life was missing balance. For me, the balance is here. So if I can offer rest and recovery to other people, then I’m satisfied.”

“And your personal life?” Oops. That popped out uncensored. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

He chuckled but kept silent.

They were sitting so close, she could smell his warm skin and the hint of whatever soap he had used that morning. Not aftershave. That would be the equivalent of inviting bears to munch on his toes. Even mentally joking about it gave her a shiver of unease.

Not long from now, it was going to get dark. Very dark. Her nemesis, Patrick Kavanagh, was the only person metaphorically standing between her and the wildness of nature.

To keep her mind off the upcoming night, she asked another question. “Do you have any regrets?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I said something so stupid and unkind, and I’m sorry you heard it.”

She flushed, though in the fading light, maybe he couldn’t see. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it. You’re entitled to your opinion.”

He touched her knee. Briefly. As if to establish some kind of connection. “I admire the hell out of you, Libby. I didn’t mean what I said on Friday night. My mother is one of the best people I know. Her instincts are always spot-on. Her compassion and genuine love for people have influenced my brothers and me more than we’ll ever know.”

“You called me a misfit.”

Patrick cursed beneath his breath. “Don’t remind me, damn it. I’m sorry. It was a crappy thing to do.”

“I think the reason it hurt me was because it’s the truth.”

Patrick leaped to his feet and dragged her with him, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He looked down at her, his jaw tight. He was big and strong and absolutely confident in everything he did. With the five-inch difference in their heights, it would be easy to rest her head on his shoulder. She was tired of being strong all the time. She was tired of not knowing who she was anymore. And she really wanted the luxury of having a man like Patrick in her life. But survival trumped romance right now.

“You’ve been a trouper today,” he said quietly.

“But I’m not Charlise.”

One beat of silence passed. Then two.

“No. You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable in your own way.”

He wasn’t dodging the truth. Where she came from they called that damning with faint praise.

“I can learn,” she said firmly. Was she trying to convince Patrick or herself?

His small grin curled her toes in her boots. “I know that. And I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I’m not usually such an animal. Please forgive me.”

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised when he bent his head and kissed her. When either or both of them should have pulled away, some spark of longing kept them together. At least it felt like longing on her part. She didn’t know what Patrick was thinking.

His lips pressed hers firmly, his tongue teasing ever so gently, asking permission to slide inside her mouth and destroy her with the taste of him. Her arms went around his neck. Clinging. Her body leaned into his. Yearning. It had been well over a year since she had been kissed. Echoes of past mistakes set off alarms, but she ignored them.

The moment of rash insanity set her senses on fire, helping her forget that she’d walked through her own kind of purgatory. It felt so good to be held. So safe. So warm. She trembled in his embrace.

“Patrick...” She whispered his name, not wanting to stop, but knowing they were surely going to regret whatever madness had overtaken them.

He jerked as if he had been shot. Staggered backward. “Libby. Hell...”

The exclamation encompassed mortification. Shock. Regret.

It was the last one that stung, despite knowing that keeping distance between them was for the best.

She managed a smile, though it cost her. “We’d better get back to camp. I’m starving, and it’s going to be dark soon.”

His apology should have erased the friction, yet they faced each other almost as adversaries.

He nodded, his expression brusque. “You’re right.”

This time, following him through the forest came naturally. No matter the strained atmosphere between them, in this environment, she trusted him implicitly to take them wherever they needed to go.

Dinner was homemade vegetable soup warmed on the camp stove. The chef had made the entrée and added fresh Italian rolls to go with it. While Libby tended to the relatively foolproof job of preparing the meal, Patrick started a campfire and rolled a log near the flames so they would have a comfy place to sit.

With the cup from a thermos, Patrick ladled soup into paper bowls that would later be burned in the fire. He’d explained that the aluminum spoons they used were light in a pack and good for the environment.

Libby ate hungrily. It was amazing how many calories one consumed by walking in the mountains. Neither she nor Patrick spoke. What was there to say? He didn’t really want her here. Not to replace Charlise. And beyond that, they were nothing to each other. Virtual strangers. Except she normally didn’t go around kissing strangers. She jumped when an owl hooted nearby. Though she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the day had been warm, she scrambled to find her jacket. Huddling into the welcome warmth, she stared into the fire and tried not to think about the night to come.

If she had any hope of convincing Patrick that she was capable of filling Charlise’s shoes, she had to act as if spending a night in the dark, scary woods was no big deal.

She stared into the mesmerizing red and gold flames, listening to the pop and crackle of the burning wood. The scent of wood smoke was pleasant...a connection, perhaps, to her ancestors who had lived closer to the land.

She and Patrick had eaten their meal in complete silence. Libby was okay with that. All she wanted to do now was get through this overnight endurance test without embarrassing herself.

She cleared her throat. “So, it’s already dark. And it’s awfully early to go to bed. What do people do in the woods when they camp out during the winter?”

Patrick’s face was all planes and angles in the glow of the fire. He was a chameleon—dashing and elegant as a Kavanagh millionaire, but now, a ruggedly masculine man with unlimited physical power and capability. Looking at him gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The sensation was no secret. She was seriously in lust with her reluctant boss, despite his arrogance and his refusal to take her seriously. He could be funny and charming. He had been remarkably patient, even when saddled with his mother’s charity case.

But the truth was, he didn’t want her on his team. And when it came to the attraction that simmered between them? Well, that was never going to amount to anything, no matter how many hours they spent alone in the woods. She pressed her knees together, her heart beating a ragged tempo as she waited for an answer to what was one part rhetorical question and the other part a need to break the intimate quiet.

If she had a tad more experience, or if she honestly believed that Patrick felt a fraction of the sexual tension that was making her jumpy, she might make a move on him. But despite his kiss—which was really more of a hands-on apology—she didn’t delude herself that he had any real interest in her.

Women like Charlise were more his type. Athletic superwomen. Not timid females afraid of the shadows.