Tall, Dark And Daring

“How much longer will I have you?”

She knew he didn’t mean the question in the provocative way her ears heard it. That didn’t stop the shiver that tripped through her in response.

She took a deep breath and told herself she only had a few days to endure the sensual torment of just being in the same room with him. She could do this.

Braving his gaze, she repeated the motivational mantra she had been using to fulfill Ines’s dare. “I leave in just one week.”

3

MITCH STARED into her green eyes, willing her to change her mind. Yet he could tell by the mutinous thrust of her chin he wouldn’t be any more successful at a Vulcan Mind Meld now than he had been the last time they’d parted.

As he walked her to his truck, however, it occurred to him that he had infinitely more life experience than the last time she’d left him. And he had more than his heart to forfeit this go-round. The job security of everyone in his company rested on whether or not he could get his snowboard line off the ground.

That meant he’d have to commit himself to making Tessa stay. If she was quitting the job because she worked too hard, maybe he could woo her into helping him by showing her a good time. When was the last time Ms. Trench Coat and Heels had some fun?

With only one week to change her mind, Mitch knew he couldn’t afford his slower approach anymore. As of now, he was a man on a mission.

TESSA OPENED a reluctant eye and scanned her hotel suite for the source of the incessant pounding that woke her before her alarm sounded. She abhorred the thought of leaving her nighttime cocoon of flannel sheets and down comforter. She also couldn’t go back to sleep until the knocking ceased.

“Tessa?” Mitch’s gravelly baritone drove through her door. “You awake?”

She groaned a reply, hoping her incoherence would be enough to send him away. She’d have a hard time living up to the dare if she had to confront such a sexy voice first thing in the morning.

“There’s at least a foot of new snow from last night,” he called. “You should see it.”

Like a child rooting for a snow day, Tessa brightened at the weather report. She shimmied partway out of the covers. “Did they clear the pond yet?”

“Nope. It’s pristine. Untouched. You can be the first snow angel out there if you hurry.”

A little tremor of excitement skittered over her, but she couldn’t be sure if it had to do with eagerness to get outside or a desire to see Mitch again. What would it hurt to have a little fun? And they wouldn’t be anywhere near a bed….

She tossed off the remaining blankets and slid to the floor. “Ten minutes, tops. I’ll meet you out front.”

“I think you’ll want to let me in,” Mitch persisted.

“Not a chance. Unless you have coffee?” She dashed around the room, flicking on lights, pressing the button for a gas flame in the fireplace, running a comb through her hair.

“Among other things.”

Curious, she jabbed her toothbrush around her mouth then opened the door a crack. “Like what?”

Mitch thrust forward a room service box with two powdered doughnuts and steaming cups of coffee. “Breakfast.”

She opened the door wider to admit him. She ignored the starchy voice of her conscience that balked at entertaining a client in her hotel room. This was Mitch, after all. It seemed dishonest to pretend they’d never meant anything to each other when they had spent two weeks of their lives practically glued together.

The mental picture accompanying that thought sent a sensual wave of heat through her thighs and belly.

She hoped her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. “Great! I’m starved.”

Wandering inside, he set his offering on a polished pine coffee table.

How could he look so good first thing in the morning? Her gaze drank in his lazy stride, his easy smile. He wore a long wool coat with a red scarf trailing the collar—a far more conservative look than the trademark neon apparel he used to wear in his snow-boarder days. His one concession to his former fashion sense was a tiny troll with neon yellow hair pinned to his lapel.

She looked away when she noticed he was observing her as candidly as she had been regarding him.

He cleared his throat. “You look very nice in red, by the way.”

Had he meant to comment on the blush she felt on her cheeks or the flannel pajamas she’d bought in the gift shop?

“These are the most comfortable clothes I’ve ever worn.” She dropped onto the sofa and pulled a corduroy pillow onto her lap. The tasseled blue bolster seemed a pitifully inadequate barrier between her and walking animal magnetism.

“But they’re not very practical for making snow angels.”

She grabbed a doughnut. “I’ll come up with something suitable. Have a seat.” She motioned toward the wing chair. The one farthest away from her corner of the couch.

He remained standing, one arm behind his back. “Like what? The trench coat?”

Tessa frowned, wondering what he was hiding. “What have you got back there?”

The sound of crinkling paper greeted her ears as he jiggled whatever he concealed. It sounded like a paper bag.

“Something suitable.” He tossed a bag with the pro shop logo on her lap and sat down.

“Mitch, I can’t—”

“It’s nothing.” He took the lid off her coffee and handed her the cup. “The owner always gets the best deals.”

She took a sip of coffee, telling herself she shouldn’t open the bag. But she knew it contained clothes of some sort. She had a damnable weakness for clothes. “I really shouldn’t.”

Mitch bit into his doughnut, sprinkling white powder down his sweater and groaning at the presence of vanilla cream in the center.

“Actually, this is a necessity. If you’re going to familiarize yourself with my product, you’ll need protective gear.” He handed her a pastry. “It would be unprofessional of you not to accept.”

“Unprofessional?”

“Definitely.”

How could she refuse? “You really missed your calling, Mitch. Your selling skills would knock mine off the chart.” Laughing, Tessa set the doughnut aside and tore into the bag. “Snow pants!”

“Ski pants.”

She admired the trim black spandex and thanked God his company made snowboards instead of surfboards. Ski pants would be much kinder to her legs than a French bikini high-rise. “Is there a difference?”

“Aerodynamics. You can pick a jacket to go with them on our way out. I wavered between green or red.”

“Is a jacket considered protective gear also?”

“Absolutely.”