Or...
Call your mother.
Leaning back in her chair, she dialed her mother’s cell and waited.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. Why haven’t you called me back?” she asked by way of a greeting.
“I’m...” Jo gazed about the large room. The log walls made the space feel warm and rustic, and they were complemented by Southwestern accents: rugs, pillows, throws. “On assignment,” she finished absently.
“Well, I need to firm up the meal for the twenty-fifth. Your father wants halibut this year, so if you could bring a pilaf or risotto and a salad... Your brother is bringing the wine. We’ll eat at two and then I’m on call at the hospital from eight to eight.”
Jo squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not—”
“Oh, and no gifts this year. We’re donating to Oxfam in lieu.”
“—coming.”
Silence.
Finally, “Excuse me?”
Taking a couple of deep breaths first, Jo said, “I won’t be there.”
“Why not?” Her mother’s tone was not disappointed or hurt. Just curious.
“I’m on assignment,” she repeated. “So, I won’t be in Chicago for Chris...for the twenty-fifth.” As theirs was an atheist household, Jolie’s parents did not approve of using the word Christmas. Instead they called it “the holiday,” “the twenty-fifth”—anything but “Christmas.”
It’s disrespectful to celebrate a day that honors the birth of someone or something we don’t believe in was the explanation she’d received when she was eight years old.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why can’t you say?”
Yeah, Jo. Why can’t you say? “I’m investigating something.” She surfed through news articles on the web, hovering over the link to one about a trial involving alleged members of an organized crime ring. Clicking on the article, she skimmed while her mind made up a tall tale to tell her mother. “It’s a big story. Organized crime. If I can be the first to break it, my career will take off.”
“You should talk to your brother. He’s prosecuting a case right now involving organized crime.” Her mother’s tone was emotionless, which made it impossible to determine if she was trying to be helpful or making an assumption that Jolie needed the assistance of her brother.
“Look, Mom, I’ve got to go.” She paused. “Tell Dad I said hi.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Let me know how the story goes.”
“Sure thing,” Jo said, but her mother had already hung up.
She sat for a minute, staring blindly at her screen before finally snapping the laptop shut. What had compelled her to lie? Why hadn’t she just told her mother she was spending the holidays with friends or that she wanted to know what it was like to really celebrate Christmas?
Sighing, Jo pushed herself to her feet and went to open the blinds that covered the French doors leading out onto the deck. It was the reason Gloria had said this was the best room—next to hers and Dillon’s on the second floor, of course. This one had direct access to the deck and the brand-new hot tub.
She rolled her shoulders again, groaning because her neck and upper back were stiff and sore from the tension of driving through a blizzard at night. Falling flat on her ass probably didn’t help either.
Relaxing in a hot tub would be wonderful. Too bad she hadn’t thought to bring a swimsuit.
She unlatched the lock and pushed the sliding door open before stepping out onto the covered portion of the deck. Though she couldn’t see past the edge because of the inky blackness and falling snow, from the pictures on the internet, she knew the view from here would be spectacular. She closed her eyes, envisioning the picturesque scene she would wake up to tomorrow: forests and fields with mountains in the distance. A pond out front, surrounded by snow-covered trees.
Idyllic.
Jo opened her eyes. The soft whirring of the hot tub’s motor drew her close. She flipped the lid and steam rose up to greet her.
Go ahead and use it, if you’d like. Nothing like a hot soak on a snowy night, Gloria had said.
Jo trailed her fingers through the hot water. Oh, it would feel so good...
She glanced up at the house. The lights that should have been shining through the French doors and windows off the main floor had all been extinguished. Her hosts must have gone to bed.
She was the only one up. The only guest.
“Why not?” she whispered to herself, pulling her sweater over her head and dropping it on a nearby table. Next she pulled off her leggings and socks, followed by her underwear. She squealed softly when the cold air caressed her naked skin, and scurried up the steps of the tub. She stepped in gingerly while covering her bits before sinking beneath the water.
“Ahhh,” she sighed, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “This is the life.”
If her mother could see her now, she knew exactly what she’d say. Hot tubs are breeding grounds for bacteria.
She laughed softly to herself. Then her smile faded as she considered the lie she’d told. Why had she done it? It probably had something to do with the fact that her family thought her career choice was a waste of time.
You can’t make a living as a writer, her father had chided when she’d told him she was taking creative writing at college.
So, she changed majors and went into journalism.
Unfortunately so far, even with a journalism degree, her father had been right. Since graduation, the only writing gigs she could get were for online publications—for pauper’s pay—and freelance travel articles. Which paid only marginally better, and that wasn’t saying much.
Jo was determined to prove her family wrong. All she had to do was break a big story—kind of like the lie she’d told her mother this evening—and she’d be taken seriously as a journalist. The problem was, she had no big story. No leads.
Nothing.
Jo turned her head. A control panel blinked to the left of her and she tested some of the buttons. The first one turned on music, a mellow jazz something or other. That was nice. She tried another button and the lights inside the tub came on.
A downward glance revealed her state of undress and she pressed the button once more, except instead of turning off, the lights simply changed color from blue to red. Another touch of the button and the lights turned green.
“Seriously?”
One more time and the internal lights flickered, strobe-light-style, as if there was a dance party going on in the tub. One she was not keen to take part in.
Before she could hit the button again, the sound of a dog barking froze her in place, her finger stuck in pressing position.
Glancing up, she gasped to find the hand standing on the far side of the tub, grinning. “Well, heya, miss. Something I can help you with?”
2
The best thing about traveling alone is you get to be the person you want to be because no one knows any different.
Jo Duval
THAD HAD SEEN the flashing lights as he made his way from the barn to the bunkhouse, and something had drawn him over. Had he known the dog hater would be naked—apparently she wasn’t all arms and legs—he’d have steered clear.
Probably.
“Just press that button one more time and the lights will go off,” he said as he backed up a step to give her some privacy
. He could be a gentleman if he had to be.
The lights inside the tub went out and the woman became nothing more than a shadow surrounded by a cloud of fog. “Thanks. You can—”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Thad murmured to the hazy outline of the woman. “Ms. Gloria and Dillon just got the soaker last week. Haven’t tried it out yet myself, but I installed it, so I know how it works.”
“Right. Um, would you mind—”
“So, how long are you here for?” Thad asked, biting down on his lip to control his grin. He could be a gentleman, but he could also be a right jackass. Why he felt the need to torture this woman, he couldn’t say exactly.
“Oh, um...eleven days.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to be—”
“Right on into the New Year? That’s a nice long stay.” Thad was having a hard time containing his enjoyment as he pressed on. “Do you enjoy winter sports? Skiing, ice-skating? That sort of thing?”
“I’m sure they’re fine, but—”
“Lots to do around here. I’m your man if you’re interested.” That sounded like a come-on, which was not his intention, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from tormenting this woman.
“Look, Mr... What did you say your name was again?”
“Thad. Thaddeus Knight, at your service.”
“Mr. Knight. I’m all good. You can leave now.”
“Of course. Didn’t mean to disturb you, miss,” he lied.
“You didn’t disturb anything.” Her voice was high. Nervous.
“Okay then. You enjoy your soak and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mmm-hmm. Bye, now.”
He glanced over his shoulder only when he hit the edge of the deck. Sound always traveled better at night, and he clearly heard the ornery woman swearing beneath her breath as he took his leave, the very mutts she scorned waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.
He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have taunted her, particularly when he realized she was bathing in the raw. His grandmother would have said the devil possessed him, and that might be true. But he didn’t think that was all there was to it. There was something about the woman, something that drew him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
* * *
JOLIE LAY SNUG under the covers, existing in that space between sleep and wakefulness. It was her preferred mode of waking every day because it was when her imagination took over, ungoverned by inhibitions and the critical internal editor who was her regular companion during the rest of the day—though so far, this morning had remained completely silent.
Perfect.
Jo revisited the scene in the hot tub, but this time she wasn’t embarrassed by her state of undress. This time she was bold and flirty. This time she flaunted her nakedness, turning the lights on in the tub—to red—instead of turning them off.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Thaddeus Knight. At your service.”
“You said you’re a hand. What does that mean, exactly?”
“I could tell you, but showing you would be way more fun.” His gaze swept over her body, his blue eyes dark with desire.
“Then you’d better show me.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
He removed his hat and winter jacket—
It was one of those cowboy-style ones. They had a name, oilskin or something? She’d have to look it up later...
“Shh,” she muttered to herself as her internal editor started to rouse. She willed herself to focus once more on the vivid scene playing out behind her closed lids.
“Close your eyes,” he said in that deep Southern drawl.
She obliged him, then rested her head against the edge of the tub, feeling the submersion of his body by the way the water lapped higher up her chest.
“Give me your hand.”
Languidly, she lifted her hand out of the tub and presented it to him.
“You have nice fingers. A nice hand.”
“Thank you.” She sighed with pleasure as he began to massage her palm. “So do you.”
He did have nice hands. Big and strong—she remembered how they’d felt when he’d tried to help her up after she’d freaked out.
“Shh,” she said aloud, working a little harder this time to slip back into her fantasy.
Thad worked the tender part of flesh between thumb and forefinger before sliding his hands up to her forearm, massaging as he went.
“You’re very good at this.”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”
“I bet you are,” she purred.
“Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved up higher to her shoulders, pausing to massage before caressing her collarbones and then dipping down her chest to her breasts.
“Is this okay?”
“It’s wonderful.”
He fondled over and under before gently pinching a nipple.
She groaned.
“You’re so beautiful. I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”
Jolie’s eyes popped open.
I wanted you from the moment I saw you?
Seriously?
Creating sexual fantasies featuring a virtual stranger as a sort of ranch gigolo? Ridiculous. How did she ever expect to make it as a serious journalist when she wiled away her spare time coming up with this sort of nonsense?
Jo sat up, threw off the quilts and swung her legs out of bed. She went to the French doors and drew back the blinds.
“Beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly. The view was exactly like the panoramic shot on the webpage.
While she might not be an acclaimed journalist yet, she was still here to do a job, so she sat down, opened her laptop and called up her travel article. After tapping out a few awkward sentences and random ideas, she stared at the screen.
Screw it.
Going over to her bag, Jo took out her leather-bound journal, a gift from her father last year.
I know writers do everything on computer, but I thought you might like this. Or not. Here’s the gift receipt if you decide to return it.
She hadn’t returned it. It was the best gift her father had ever given her. Opening the journal up to her last entry, she reread what she’d written a couple of days ago and then began writing—longhand. She didn’t even have to think; the words just poured out of her as she filled page after page, like she was merely the conduit for ideas coming from another realm.
The aroma of fresh coffee and bacon drew her out of the story and back to reality, her stomach growling.
After dressing, she joined her host in the dining room, where breakfast was already laid out.
“I hope you slept okay,” Gloria said while she poured the coffee.
“Amazing.”
“The rest of the guests arrive today. Festivities begin once everyone’s here. We’ll go out and cut a tree and then decorate it tonight while we celebrate Tip’s Eve.”
“Tip’s Eve?” Jo was thankful to have something else to discuss.
“It’s a tradition of Thad’s, from his Catholic roots, I think. Anyway, it’s a pre-Christmas party, always on the twenty-third. We thought it would be fun for the guests.”
“Sounds like it.” Jolie smiled as warmth infused her, starting at her core and radiating out to her extremities. The sensation had to do with the thought of celebrating any kind of Christmas tradition and had nothing to do with the mention
of Thad’s name.
Nothing whatsoever.
“How many guests do you expect?”
“Only five, including you. It’s our first time opening up the ranch to guests over the holidays.”
Jolie nodded and took a bite of omelet, which she’d drowned in ketchup.
“So,” Gloria said, drawing out the one-syllable word as she sat opposite her. “You’re a writer?”
“Journalist.” Why did she correct her? She liked the title of writer.
“And you’re doing an article about the ranch for Travel America?”
Jo looked up, nodding as she chewed.
“I hope you’ll take into consideration the fact that we’re still in the development stage...”
“Oh.” Jo wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin. “This isn’t a travel critique of the place or anything. I’m here to enjoy myself and then write about it. That’s all.”
“Okay.” A blush crept up Gloria’s neck and into her cheeks. “I’ll be honest—I’ve been feeling a bit of pressure knowing you were coming. I just really want this ranch to take off, you know?”
“Please think of me as just another guest.”
Gloria released a big sigh. “Right. Well, you let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all. And if I can’t help, then I’m sure Dillon would be happy to. Or Thad.”
Jolie’s throat felt funny.
“Well, speak of the devil.”
The omelet in her stomach flipped over at the sound of boots approaching on the wooden floor. Head bowed toward her plate, she looked up through her lashes to see Dillon enter the room, still wearing a winter parka, his cheeks rosy from cold. Following close on his heels was Thad and another man Jo hadn’t met yet.
“Morning, boys. How are things?”
“Good.” Dillon kissed his wife, and Jo couldn’t help watching as Gloria gently rested a hand on her husband’s chest. Jo quickly averted her eyes. Unfortunately, they ended up landing to the right...which was where Mr. Thaddeus Knight was standing.
He winked.
“Thad tells me you tried out the hot tub last night,” Dillon said.
A Christmas Seduction Page 2