One Winter's Night

His eye for art impressed her. “Yes, once a year I take a trip abroad. I spend most of the rest of my time planning it. It’s a passion of mine, researching cities, finding the exact perfect accommodations, planning meals and putting together a schedule.”

She rested casually against him and told him about the countries she’d visited, sharing stories about some of the sights she’d seen and places she hoped to go in the future.

“One place I need to return to is Italy,” she said. “I’d completely misjudged the amount of time I’d need to see the sites on my itinerary. In the end it wasn’t enough, but now that I know, I can do a better job planning out the next trip.”

“Have you ever just packed a bag and taken off?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “No schedule. No plans. Just go where the day takes you.”

She tried to imagine that but couldn’t. Granted, she knew people who traveled on the fly like that, but Monica preferred knowing exactly where she was going and what she would be doing.

“I like to be a little more organized than that.”

“It’s not about organization, it’s about adventure. One night you might find yourself in a hostel. The next you could be the personal guest of a family you just met.” He sipped from the glass of cognac then set it back on the table. “Some people find it exciting.”

Monica shook her head. “I’d find it unsettling.”

He slid lower under the blankets, turning to face her and drawing her close so that their noses nearly touched. “You should give it a try. Come out to my ranch in Austin.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I can have my pilot ready to fly out in an hour.”

“Your pilot. You have a plane?”

“With my lifestyle, it’s a necessity.” He kissed her nose and brushed a tender finger across her cheek. “I promise to have you back at work bright and early Monday morning.”

She blanched. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why not?”

“A thousand reasons. I’ve got a preliminary report to read for one. It requires my comments and narrative.”

“Read it on the plane. It will work out good. I’ve got calls to make anyway.”

She pulled away and sat up. “It could take hours. I’d already cleared my weekend to get through it.”

“I’ve got a nice quiet study at the ranch.”

“But that would be rude. I can’t come as a guest to your home then spend half the weekend ignoring you.”

“I’d like to think of you as more than just my guest. And as far as ignoring me, as long as you have dinner with me and sleep in my bed I’ll be satisfied.”

She clasped the blankets to her chest, feeling panicked and silly and nowhere near ready to entertain the idea of a trip. She hadn’t even come to terms with tonight’s encounter, what it meant about their relationship—if it was a relationship. And if it was, she still wasn’t sure it should be. For the moment, she’d accepted a one-night stand, though technically now it was two. Jetting off to Texas for the weekend?

He tugged the blanket off her shoulder and began pressing kisses up her forearm toward her neck, circling that tongue ever so lightly, which only scattered her thoughts more.

“I’d have to pack,” she started. “I’d have to consider what to bring. I need my laptop. I left it at the office. That alone will take, ooohhhh—” He’d found a sensitive spot right at the tip of her spine.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

She lolled her head to the side while he spoke between kisses.

“I think your problem isn’t your laptop or packing or being a rude guest. I think you don’t like surprises.” He pressed his lips to each vertebrae, slowly trailing his way down her spine. “You need to always stay in control and you can’t do anything that isn’t precisely planned and thoroughly considered.”

She scoffed. “That’s my mother, not me.”

He slipped a warm hand over her breast as those succulent lips neared her tailbone. “So that’s where you get it from.”

“I’m nothing like her. She’s a homebody, I’m an executive.” His mouth touched the curve of her butt before he turned and went back the way he came. “Honestly, the woman drives me crazy. She’d had my life planned out while I was still in the womb. To this day it burns her that I didn’t settle in the Hamptons with a surgeon husband and two-point-seven kids.”

“I’m sure your mother’s proud of you,” he uttered.

“Maybe, but she wasn’t pleasant to live with. I don’t know how my father handles it. Everything has to be done exactly her way. She has ideas in her head how everything should be, and heaven help the person who tries to change her mind once it’s made up. You should have seen her planning a family reunion last year. Every minute of the day was—”

She stopped and gasped. “Oh, my, I really am like her.”

“I’m sensing similarities,” Kit said casually.

Monica stared blankly at the shelves on the wall—the ones she’d meticulously placed and decorated with books stacked exactly so. She recalled the day the maid dusted and mistakenly put things back in the wrong place. She’d noticed immediately, couldn’t do another thing until she’d taken it all down and put it back the way she had it.

How could she have gotten to this age and never seen it?

Everyone always said she was exactly like her father. And in many ways she was. But in the face of this discussion she realized that she’d also picked up a few traits from her mother, too—and not the ones she’d preferred. The perfectionist, unbending and controlling—Monica wouldn’t have believed it, yet here she was, shooting down Kit’s suggestion exactly the same way and using the same unyielding attitude she would have expected of her mother. She didn’t want to be that person.

“I can’t believe this,” she uttered. “I sound exactly like her.”

Kit took her hand and pressed kisses to her fingers. “Then I like her already.”

Monica shook her head. “No, not in a good way.”

She’d never noticed the similarity before, but it seemed obvious now, and her reaction was nothing short of pure horror.

“Let’s do it,” she said. “Let’s go to Austin.”

She tossed the blankets, intent to prove that she didn’t have to be that person. The best part of self-awareness was the ability to make a change, right? So just because she’d inherited a few of her mother’s least desirable traits didn’t mean she had to accept them. But when she scooted from the bed Kit clasped her forearm and pulled her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to take me to your ranch.”

“In a minute.”

He nudged her down and began ravaging her like he’d done several times this evening. “First, I need to make love to you again.”

Heat spilled through her as flesh connected with flesh and those dark eyes took on the familiar glaze of sultry intent.

“What’s this? Another sudden change in plans?” she asked.