Speaking of checking out…
As he walked, she feasted her eyes on the strong muscles of his back, flexing smoothly under his skin. He had a battle-worn look about him, with a few scars across his back and even a puckered mark that she recognized as a healed bullet wound.
He’d mentioned before that he’d grown up in rough neighborhoods, and his body showed it. It took nothing away from his attractiveness, that was for damn sure.
Emphasis on the daaammn.
What were they talking about? She dragged her focus back to the conversation.
“Food is a lot more than fuel. I’m surprised you don’t see it that way. You’ve probably eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world.”
“I have. They’re fine. Don’t make much of an impression on me. I just don’t have that kind of palate. Never will, so don’t hold it against me.”
“I’ll try to overlook it, but it’s going to be hard,” she said lightly. “You’ve tried Renata’s venison chili, right?”
“It’s…tasty.”
“Tasty? That’s practically an insult. That stuff is divine. She has a secret ingredient that none of us can figure out. Once Jake and I camped overnight in the pantry so we could spy on her first thing in the morning when she was prepping it. But she caught us and made us weed the garden as restitution.”
His smile did such interesting things to his face, turned it from somewhat forbidding to magnetic. “That Renata is really something. I wish I had her running one of my companies.”
“Yeah, she’s the real deal. I don’t know how we would have survived without her after Mom died.”
They reached the living room, where Lyle switched on a table lamp. Its warm glow cast a golden illumination over the cozy couch and coffee table. “Have a seat. Midnight snack coming up.”
She set the box on the coffee table, which had been hand carved out of local hardwood by a master craftsman. All the best pieces had gone into this particular suite. She wondered if Lyle knew that, or if it was all the same to him. If food was just fuel, then furniture was probably just…well, furniture.
She kneeled on the shag rug next to the couch and carefully unlatched the fasteners on the box. The lid creaked as she lifted it.
Jackpot.
The box was packed full with Mead notebooks.
Her heart hammered at the sight. A wave of emotion swept through her—not the excitement she’d been expecting, but something more like awe.
Good lord, so many notebooks. How was she supposed to read all this? What was she even looking for? Did she want to dive this deeply into her mother’s life? These were supposed to be private. Amanda Rockwell had probably never dreamed that her daughter would read them. That was why she’d hidden them in a closet. If she hadn’t died too soon, maybe she would have burned them at some point. Wouldn’t looking inside these journals betray her mother’s confidence?
She was still staring at the box of notebooks when Lyle reappeared with a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of wine.
“I only have red, but you like red, or at least you did in Rome.”
Did he have to mention Rome? Every time he did, she wanted to hide her face in embarrassment. “No thanks on the wine. I’m trying to be a little more responsible these days.”
From his wry smile, he knew exactly what she was talking about. No more irresponsible nights with an attractive stranger and a bottle of wine. He set the plate on the table, then crouched down next to her and used one finger to lift the top journal. Steam rose from the eggs, making her mouth water. “Found them, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Aaaand…she put a hex on them to keep them private?”
Isabelle laughed. “Maybe so. I can’t bring myself to open them. They’re hers, you know? I’d die if someone from the future read my journals.”
“You’re not just any random stranger, you’re her daughter.”
“That might be even worse. What if I find out I was a nightmare child who made her life miserable?”
“Well, were you?”
“Probably.” She pulled a rueful face, which drew a laugh from him. “I’m sure she had to do a lot of venting. About all of us, not just me.”
“Maybe, but I bet you were a lot of fun, too. All of you,” he added, making it seem a little less of a compliment.
She sighed inwardly. She shouldn’t be wanting compliments from this man. He was still the one who’d disappeared after their night together, without a word. “I think I’ll take the whole box to my room. I need to think about this some more.”
“Sure.” He handed her a fork and lowered himself onto the couch.
She took a bite of the eggs, which were surprisingly fluffy and delicious. “You’re a pretty good cook for someone who doesn’t care about food.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything more than that, which piqued her curiosity. “Where’d you learn to cook?”
“Picked it up along the way. It’s a life skill. Pretty important for everyone to know how to feed yourself, even if you don’t have to.” He shrugged one shoulder, making her notice that he’d finally put on a shirt—a Rocky Peak Lodge t-shirt, with the outline of mountain peaks behind the lettering.
“I completely agree. I used to fight with Jake about that. He used to claim he was going to order takeout until he got married, and then his wife would cook for him. Made me so furious.”
“Was he joking?”
“Of course.” She grinned at him through a forkful of eggs. “But he always knew how to push my buttons. He did it on purpose and he was so good at it. I’d be in full battle mode before I realized he was yanking my chain.”
“Full battle mode, what did that involve? Swords? Lightsabers?”
“Anything handy. Snowballs were good. Mom would send us outside in the snow and tell us to come back at the first sign of frostbite.” She finished off her eggs and reached for his wine glass. “Mind if I take a little sip?”
He gave her a “go for it” gesture.
Sipping from his glass felt intimate, like something she’d do with someone she was dating. Or maybe one of her brothers, if they were in a sharing mood.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Lyle said abruptly.
“And you were waiting until I had wine in my system?”
“I was waiting until I had you alone.” That straightforward statement made her blood sing. “I guess it took you breaking into my guesthouse to make that happen.”
She laughed and took another sip of wine. “Should I be buzzed or sober for this?”
“Either way. It’s nothing bad or terrifying. If anything, I should be drunk for it.”
She slid the glass across the coffee table to him. “All yours.”
After taking a long sip, he cleared his throat. “I, uh, could use your help with something.”
“Sure. Need a kidney operated on? Appendix removed? Maybe a hernia repair?”
He tilted his head back and let out a laugh, a deep, long roll of laughter. “Nothing medical, thank you.”
“Oh.” She lifted her eyebrows, wondering what else he could possibly mean. “That’s really the only thing I’m good at. Surgery and skiing. I could definitely help you a little in the ski department too. Your form could use some work.”
“I only recently learned how to ski, so that’s not surprising. I had to, in order to impress a prospective partner.”
“Ski weekend, how romantic.” It irked her, picturing him on the slopes with someone else. She took the wine glass back and sipped again.
“Business partner,” he corrected. “Of course. Back then I did everything for business.”
“Oh.”
She liked that better, even though it should mean nothing to her either way. “Well, I admit I’m confused about how I could possibly help you with something that’s neither surgery nor ski-related. Something about the lodge? Your investment?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on hi
s knees, clasping his big hands between his legs. The position made his t-shirt strain against his biceps. “I want to change.”
“Change?” Even more confused, she glanced at his t-shirt and fleece pants. “This is the mountains, you don’t have to dress up.”
He shook his head, looking more and more uncomfortable. “No. Not like that. I want to change … well, myself. Me. The way I am.”
She blinked at him. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been told that I’m hard to reach. Too…closed off.” His jaw flexed, and she realized that this confession wasn’t easy for him. “Too focused on business.”
“Who told you that? Someone very brave, I imagine.”
“Amira is definitely that. She’s my executive assistant and she sent me this text while I was in Seattle.” He pulled up a message on his phone and read aloud. “Dear boss, I’m putting this in a text because even though I mouth off to you all the time, there are some things I would never feel comfortable saying to your face, so I’m hiding behind SMS. You asked me to find out what the board is thinking. I still don’t know all the details, but one big question that keeps coming up is that no one feels they know you.You’re too closed off. Too much of a machine. The Terminator of CEO’s, like I always used to say. That makes it easy for them to believe bad things about you. It would help if you opened up more. But you’re like a rock wall. I say this with love and affection, Boss.”
He emptied the glass of wine, then poured more from the bottle.
“Wow. She’s definitely brave, and honest.”
“And right. That night I met you, in Rome…that’s where I was at. That’s who I was. A hard-ass, driven, one-track-mind business guy.“
“That’s not how you seemed to me. I wouldn’t have used any of those words.” Fascinating, smart, funny, sexy…words like that would have been her choice.
“Exactly.”
Still perplexed, she stared at him, at the hard planes of his face, the cool gray of his eyes. “I’m still missing something here. How do I come into this?”
“You have a twin,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You’re in the middle of a family of five. A pretty close family. You loved your mother. You fought with your father, but you still seem to love him.”
“Most days,” she said with a smile. “Okay. All true. And?”
“I never had any of those things. I grew up with one foster family after another. Sometimes I made friends in school, but then I’d have to leave that family or that town.”
He related all this in such a neutral tone that it broke her heart. “That’s awful. That’s an awful way to grow up.”
“I’m not complaining or looking for sympathy. I’m just telling you for background. That’s where I came from, that’s what formed me. Then I went right into this rocket ship ride of rags to riches, beyond anything I would have imagined. All I did was work. Hard. Nonstop. Until that night I met you. Actually, until the next morning around four o’clock. I got a text from Amira.”
He paused, obviously reluctant to share too much.
She circled a finger at him, centered on his face. “That’s your problem right there.”
“Which problem?”
“You hold your cards too close to the vest. This isn’t a game of poker, or a business negotiation. This is a conversation.”
“Most of my conversations are just like poker games.”
She laughed. “Well, mine aren’t, because I have absolutely no poker face.”
“I know that. That’s why I need—” He broke off, then drew in a long breath.
She was wild with curiosity about what he’d almost said, but instead he changed course.
“Anyway. In her text that morning, Amira told me that my foster brother, Drew Clayton, was trying to get me ousted as CEO. He wants the job.”
“So that’s why you left so suddenly? Business emergency?”
He held her gaze with level gray eyes.
“I became filled with rage that Drew was stabbing me in the back like that. I left because I was so furious I barely knew what I was doing, but I knew I couldn’t be around another human being at that point. I walked out of the hotel and started walking. I walked all over that city, watched the sun rise, people going to work, getting their morning espresso. Nearly got hit by about six mopeds. Got cursed at in a few different languages. I didn’t care. I missed my flight again. I wound up calling Amira to set up a private plane for me. I was out of my mind, completely, just reliving the shit from my past, from when I first met Drew and his family.”
She held her breath as the words poured out of him. It was the most personal story she’d ever heard him tell, and every bit of it felt raw and authentic. “Okay, now that you explain it, I can see how you might forget that there was a woman in your bed.”
“I didn’t forget. I just couldn’t talk to another human being right then. Especially one like you.”
“Like me… you mean a female human?”
“No. Someone I…liked. Someone I connected with. I figured I’d find you somehow, eventually, and apologize. I did that, right? I apologized?”
“You did.” She ran her finger along the rim of the wine glass, making it buzz like a bee. “Which was very gallant of you. Very non-machine-like. I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Amira’s being too hard on you.”
“No, she isn’t. With you it’s different. I can say things to you that I don’t say to other people. That’s why I—” He broke off and gestured for the wine glass. She handed it back, smiling at the pattern they’d established. “That’s why I need you. I don’t want to be the hard-ass billionaire anymore. I’ve always been either a relentless boxer or a relentless businessman. That’s why I’ve been successful, up to now.”
“I’m still lost, Lyle. What am I supposed to do here? Did Amira have a suggestion?”
An arrested look crossed his face. “Yeah, she did. I need you, Isabelle. Maybe you should marry me.”
10
“Have you lost your mind?” Isabelle’s face went completely white.
What the hell had he just done? Mistake, mistake, mistake. Sirens blared, alarm bells rang.
Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought it out, the way he did most things. He’d just opened his mouth and out had come a—proposal. Of all things.
“It’s always possible,” he admitted.
“Is this some kind of business thing? Like you want to put some of your companies under another name, but it’s still really you?”
“This isn’t some white collar crime show.”
She gestured impatiently, nearly knocking over the wine glass. “You’re the one who said you’re all about business. You need your board members to like you more. And for some reason you’re turning to me.”
“What if I just want to be with you?”
Her forehead wrinkled in astonishment. “That doesn’t require marriage, you know that, right?”
“Okay, I retract that part. That was crazy, you’re right. A moment of…something. The thing is…” To escape from her incredulous gaze, he stood up and walked to the picture window that looked out on the forest behind the lodge. Right now the curtains were closed and it was dead dark outside, but it still gave him a chance to collect himself. “It’s hard to explain. I feel different around you. Not so wrapped up in business and battles. It’s relaxing.”
“Relaxing.” She didn’t sound very impressed by that word choice. Maybe it wasn’t flattering, though he very much meant it to be.
“I don’t feel like I have to prove something, or that you’re afraid of me, or intimidated.”
“I’m not. You’re right about that.”
“I like that. It gives me hope that I can…be different. Have a different kind of life.”
A clattering noise made him glance over his shoulder. Isabelle had gotten to her feet, brushing against the edge of the coffee table in the process. Now the wine bottle was teeteri
ng back and forth while she dove to stabilize it. She wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle just in time to keep wine from spilling over her mother’s journals.
“I shocked you that much, huh?” He tried to strike a lighter note, but mostly failed.
She straightened up, bottle in hand. “Well, yes, to be honest. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You want to marry me—”
“I took that part back.”
“Yes, I heard that. Very flattering. You wanted to marry me … briefly … so you can have a different, more relaxing kind of life. Do I have that right?”
“I…” That didn’t sound exactly right, but he couldn’t come up with the right way to correct her. “Sort of.”
“And what would be in it for me? Your weird proposal was all about you. What you would get, how it would make your life better. What about me?”
His mouth fell open slightly. Shouldn’t that be obvious? “Well, you’d be financially set. I’d make sure of that.”
Her whole body stiffened. “I do just fine financially on my own.”
He wondered if there was any wine left in that bottle, but at the moment was too afraid to ask her. “Of course, I didn’t mean to say you don’t. But you’d be even more financially—”
She waved that off, using the hand holding the bottle. “Forget that argument. It means nothing to me.”
“Really? From what I hear, Doctors Without Borders can always use more fund—”
“Seriously? What the hell, Lyle, would you seriously try to bribe me with a donation?” She marched toward him until she was only a couple feet away. Her eyes were so filled with outrage they could have been shooting laser beams. “What’s next, threats? You’ll pull your investment in the lodge if I don’t go along?”
“Jesus, Isabelle. No. Of course not.”
“Then leave your money out of it. Give me a good non-business reason why I should marry you. Ignoring for the moment that you took your proposal back.” She put the bottle to her lips and took a swig, then handed it to him by pushing the bottle against his chest.
On autopilot, he put his hand over the bottle. A funny feeling was developing inside his chest, like a wound opening up.
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