“Baked potatoes.”
“What the hell is baked potatoes?” I sputtered, looking at him like he’d had a stroke.
“They didn’t carry mashed potatoes in their pockets, Ms. Morgan, they carried baked potatoes, heated in the very ashes beneath the kettle of hot chocolate.” He took off his glasses, cleaning them on the edge of his red paisley tie. “Mashed potatoes,” he scoffed. “Where are you going?”
“I’m off to the kitchen to slam my head in the oven a few dozen times, maybe toss in a few potatoes while I’m at it,” I shouted over my shoulder as I flung the door open and walked out of the meeting.
“Make sure you prick them first or they’ll explode” was what wafted out before the door shut, his tone telling me he thought he’d won this round.
“You know what,” I started, going right back into the meeting like I’d been using a swinging door, “I’ll give you something to prick—”
“Let’s take five, everyone, shall we?” Jonathan interrupted, as eleven department heads scattered from the conference room like buckshot, Archie being the last to saunter out casually with a satisfied grin.
“Fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-three,” I seethed as he walked past.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking down over the bridge of his glasses at me.
“Fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars is what you spent last year on hot chocolate supplies.”
He blanched.
I stuffed my notebook in my bag and headed for the door, passing just under his nose. “I haven’t even started adding up how much this place spends on freaking lemons for your special old-timey lemonade you serve in the summer. This is the shit, Mr. Bryant, and I’m sorry for the choice of words, but this is the shit that tanks old resorts. When you’re ready to discuss the very real and practical ideas I have to keep this place afloat, and keep your hot chocolate flowing, you let me know.”
Ooh, but he made me mad! I had no idea how to break through to the guy. I’d tried to apologize, several times in fact, but he either changed the subject, talked over me, or flat out walked away.
In another world, I’d give up. I’d chalk it up to a missed opportunity, get the job done, and walk away knowing I’d been able to do my job and do it well in spite of the fact that the boss’s son hated my ever-loving guts. Sometimes people just didn’t like me, and I could deal with that.
Two things made this other world not possible. One, I was up for partner. And while Barbara technically was in charge, she did have other partners who needed to weigh in, and I didn’t think Archie would be too kind on my final report card. And two, I still really wanted to apologize. I overstepped my bounds; I’d literally pried into his personal life like a gossip and worse, was caught while I was doing the prying! But now I was being denied my chance to correct that.
My feet pounded the gravel, the terrain getting wilder as I moved higher up the mountain. I adjusted my gait, adjusted my breathing, and continued on. What could I do, how could I get the chance to talk to him, and make him listen to me? Really listen to me. No more potato fights.
Speaking of listening, over the crunch of my own feet I could hear other feet crunching. Someone else was on the trail, and not too far ahead. I saw a whisper of movement around a corner, the switchbacks up here getting shorter. Speeding up a bit, I saw a bright yellow windbreaker moving steadily along the trail, attached to long, strong legs, and a shock of auburn hair.
Archie. Up on his mountain. Alone.
And he wouldn’t be able to get away from me.
I put my head down, took a deep breath, and began to give chase.
Now, I realize the optics of this, a perfect grade school scenario. Girl chases boy, literally chases boy, as he runs away.
I ran faster. As he rounded another corner, he glanced over his shoulder and saw me barreling up the mountainside toward him, hell-bent for leather. I was close enough that I could see his expression. He was surprised, but then he scowled and proceeded to run faster.
For fuck’s sake.
So I ran faster too, because see . . . right before he scowled, there was the briefest flash of something else.
Challenge.
Come on, Bryant. Show me what you’ve got.
We both increased our pace. I gained five feet, then lost three when he put on a burst of speed around a boulder. He lost his footing on a loose patch of gravel and I pulled to within slapping distance, but then I lost my own footing on the same patch and slipped behind once more.
I was breathing hard, but I was close enough now that I could hear him too. The switchbacks were almost a ninety-degree incline by now, and the landscape was blurring by. I scrambled over a downed tree he’d touched just seconds before; he whirred around a puddle. The trees thinned for a moment and I caught the briefest glimpse of the lake, now far, far below us.
I saw the end of the trail—we were nearly at the top. I dug deep, and willed my feet to move faster, all out sprinting to the top. Our legs moved together now, pumping fast, mud and gravel splashing and spitting up between us. I was groaning, panting; he was grunting with every step. My chest burned, my feet ached, my legs trembled, and there was no way this motherfucker was going to beat me to the top.
I pushed harder than I’d ever done before. I willed my legs to become pistons, my muscles cramping but pushing me higher and higher and higher. We were even now, both of us flying, perpetual motion, limbs a muddy blur of mixing color.
With one last grunt and groan, and a triumphant grin on my face, we rounded the last corner and raced onto an open field, tied at the top. No winner. No loser.
But kind of me, winner.
I ran a few more paces, slowing down now, gulping air, my lungs grateful. I could feel the sweat pouring down my back, my hair plastered to my face as I turned it skyward, feeling the morning sun. Here, on top of a mountain, with nothing around but trees and sky and dirt and grass, I could feel that high creeping in, dulling the cramps and the pain that would most assuredly creep back later on. But for right now, bliss was settling in.
I ran another twenty feet or so, toward a stacked stone tower at the edge, the observatory. I could hear him behind me, just a few feet away, his feet as heavy as mine. As I neared the tower, the world stretched out before me, farms and streams and beautiful red barns marching away into an almost endless horizon. On a clear day you really could see forever.
I peered back at him to offer a congratulatory grin and, when I could speak again, thank him for such a great race, but when I saw his face, I froze.
“You,” he grunted, reaching me quickly since I had frozen solid. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?”
“Who chases someone up a mountain?”
“Who runs away from someone chasing them up a mountain?” I fired back. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk to me? You want to talk to me, you ask me. You request a meeting, you send me an email, hell, you pass me a note while I’m sitting next to you at a meeting for Pete’s sake, you don’t chase me up a mountain!”
“I request a meeting?” I shouted back, incredulous. “What the hell is wrong with you, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I want to talk to you, I’ll talk to you.”
He got close, really close, in my face. I took a step back, then another, backing up until I was against the tower.
“Don’t you get it? Whatever it is you want to say, whatever it is you seem to need to tell me, I don’t want to hear it.”
“But if I could just—”
I couldn’t say anything else. Because his mouth was on mine, fire and heat and burning searing against my lips.
Shocked, my eyes stared into his, which were swirling with anger.
I bit down on his lip, then pushed him away. “The fuck?” I said, frowning, brow crinkling as he panted in front of me.
And then my hands were filled with his jacket as I yanked him back against me, fingernails digging i
nto his chest, pulling his face to mine and kissing him again, hard and insistent.
I slapped at his shoulder as he groaned against my lips, slanting, as my tongue pushed inside his mouth. I moaned, growling as he nipped at my skin, his hands now rough, slipping around to the small of my back, pushing everything together. I could feel the stone digging into my back, my hips bumping into his as I scrambled to get my legs under me, but after that run they were jelly.
“You’re a fucking lunatic, you know that?” he asked, tugging me into him hard, everything hard, everywhere hard.
“I’m the lunatic?” I asked, biting down on his lower lip again, this time hard enough I tasted blood.
He dipped his head down, his eyes level with mine. “Don’t do that again,” he warned.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I warned back, digging my hands into his hair and pulling it back, tilting his neck and allowing me to nip at his skin there. It was warm, and sweaty, and sticky, and I could taste salt on my tongue.
One hand shot up and slapped at the stone behind me, while the other tugged me closer, circling his hips against mine and pressing himself farther between my thighs.
“You’re infuriating,” he said, his voice heated steel. “And you’re too short.” And with that, he picked me up against him, my legs wrapping clumsily around his hips as he held me against the tower.
Now eye level with him, I glared. “I’m exactly the right height.” And as he pressed his lips against my neck, his tongue darting out to lick and suck at my skin, I let my head fall back against the stone with a thud. “And you’re an asshole.”
His hips surged forward, my legs spread wider, and as he ground into me I held his head, his mouth trailing down, pushing under the edge of my jacket, his lips dropping hot wet kisses along my collarbone. I kissed the very tip of his ear softly, then whispered, “And I’m sorry.”
He froze. Then his head snapped up, his eyes, which had been filled with lust, began to be crowded by confusion and sadness and . . . fear.
The moment was over and he set me down, gently unwrapping my legs from his waist and, as I tried to tilt his face back up to mine to tell him again that I was sorry, he shook his head.
“I’m . . . Jesus, I can’t do this.”
He backed away, turned, and headed down the mountain.
I didn’t chase him this time.
I stayed up there for a good thirty minutes, watching the morning take over the valley. My mind was racing, running through possibilities, calculating the risk and benefit and realizing that I needed to step down, step away. With Archie, I’d scratched at something I had no business scratching at. This was bad on so many levels, and I needed to shut this down, tie it off, and forget it ever happened.
But did I want to forget this happened?
My fingers fluttered up to my lips, feeling the heat that was still there. I could still taste him, could still feel him as he pressed his mouth against mine again and again. It’d sparked something deep within me, an instant heat, an instant lust, a carnal reaction so quick and fiery, I had to admit I was surprised by the intensity. I’d never felt something like this before.
But it’s for your boss, so . . .
Right. Right! I shook my head to clear it, taking in big gulps of cold, clean mountain air. He was my boss, and I needed to straighten this out. A couple of great kisses couldn’t derail everything good I wanted to do up here, no sir.
I loved it up here, would have loved to stay up here and do everything I knew how to do to make this right. But I’d stuck my foot in it, and now my tongue, and I knew better than to get in deeper.
I wandered toward the top of the trail and saw the resort from this angle. It had been photographed from this place many times, and was really the million-dollar view. The lake, the grounds, the dock, everything was beautiful from up here, as the website, postcards, and prints in the gift shop boasted.
I took one last look, then headed down, ready to search him out, find him, and explain to him exactly why this could never ever happen again.
Waiting for me at the bottom of the trail was Archie, looking way hotter than I needed him to be.
Chapter 9
“ We need to talk.”
Good goddamn he was attractive.
“We need to talk,” he repeated.
Like not just attractive, insanely handsome. Classic good looks, strong jaw, broad shoulders but a nice tapered waist, maybe he—
“Ms. Morgan?”
“Hmm?” I asked, my eyeballs not able to move up from the white T-shirt peeking out above his fleece.
“I’m asking you to listen to me,” he interrupted. His lower lip was puffy from my teeth, and I could see at least one scratch on his neck from my fingernails. His hair was tousled, his jacket was almost completely unzipped, and I smiled in spite of myself when I saw the muddy prints my shoes had left on the sides of his running pants.
I shouldn’t talk. I shouldn’t get in any deeper than I already was. But I’ll admit I was curious. And dammit, I was still 100 percent turned on by this gorgeous but infuriating ass.
See, dangerous.
Get in your head!
“Mr. Bryant, yes, got it, right here with you,” I said, dazed. But regaining control. “No need to talk, we’re good. Won’t happen again, this isn’t a thing, doesn’t need to be a thing, let’s just move on, shall we?”
“Oh, I think we better talk before we move on,” he replied.
Against every part of my brain screaming at me to push past him, to go directly to my room, I nodded and let him lead me toward a small summerhouse a little ways off the main trail.
Settling onto one of the wooden benches, I waited to hear him out. Like he said, I’d chased him up the side of a mountain, so I wasn’t about to be the one to go first this time.
He paced a few times, walking the length of the gazebo back and forth, his gait smooth and even. I should’ve known he was a runner, his frame practically ensured it. Long and lean, every step measured. Conserving energy.
But when he let that energy run wild and free? Damn. I shifted a bit on the seat, the feeling of his fingertips digging into my skin still burning. I’d be willing to bet that by tonight I’d have ten little bruises on my hips.
Why the hell was that so thrilling?
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”
Whoa. “Um, what?” While I’d been ruminating on my hips, he’d stopped pacing and asked me a question. He repeated it.
“I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”
He looked skyward, dragging his hands over his face. His hair really was still messed up.
“I’m asking because I’m trying to explain why I had such a reaction to you asking about Ashl”—a look of pain crossed his face—“about my wife.”
Oh boy. “Listen, I’m really sorry about that, I never meant for you to hear me and it wasn’t like I was trying to gossip or anything, I just . . .”
“Because the longest relationship I’ve ever been in was the one with my wife, and it started when we were in high school. To be fair, it started long before that. I knew her almost my entire life. I assumed I’d spend the rest of my life with her. Turns out, it was only the rest of her life.” He blinked, and his eyes were so very blue. “So even though she’s gone, and I know she is, sometimes it rears up to surprise me in the strangest ways. You can’t . . . know someone that long and suddenly know how to handle it when they just disappear from your life. You can’t be with someone that long and not still feel the need to step in, to fight for them, to protect them.”
I couldn’t believe he was talking to me, like really talking to me. This was such a one-eighty from everything that had happened up until now. He’d been so closed off and angry up to this point, and now he was opening up? And about something so tragic. “I can’t even begin to imagine.” And that was the truth. I’d never felt the need to protect anyone other than myself. There was certainly no one to watch out for
me. Ever.
“I meet new people every single day in this business. They come into what I feel like for all intents and purposes is my home, and I welcome them and make them comfortable. No one knows the story, no one knows what happened, because these are all new people you see, and they’re just here for the lake and canoes and the hiking.”
“And the fireplaces, you have some really great fireplaces,” I added, and he grinned. He really should grin more, it does incredible things to his face. There’s a sense of heavy that I sometimes feel around Archie, a sense that he’s seen too much for a young man. When he smiles, that goes away. The lines soften, smooth out, lines that I now know were put there by tragedy.
“And the fireplaces,” he agreed. “The people who work here, they’re my family. They know the story, they know everything, so they never mention it. Why would they? So you see, it’s a very safe place for me. And then someone comes in, someone I never wanted here in the first place.”
I raised my hand. “That would be me.”
“That would be you.” Another smile. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Am I supposed to answer that?”
“You asked about my wife.”
I took a deep breath. “I did.”
“Why?”
I wanted to walk to him. I wanted to go over to him and lean up on my tippiest toes and press a soft kiss on his cheek, but oh boy, there were ninety-nine reasons why I shouldn’t and no real reason why I should.
Other than every single fiber of my being wanted to do so, and not stop there.
So I did the only thing I could do. I sat on my hands. And tried to explain. “You’re also a huge pain in the ass, and I don’t mind telling you that. In fact, someone should tell you that, repeatedly and often. But when I found out about your wife”—his eyes sprang open, searching—“you became more than just an ass. It’s not pity, but I did feel sad for you. I asked the wrong person. I should’ve asked you.”