by Lisa Jackson
“You’re joking . . .”
But she took off, flying down the hill, the wind screaming past her face as she sliced through the snow.
Jake caught her midway down, waved and left her to maneuver expertly down a narrow part of the run to the lift below. “You cheated,” he exclaimed, laughing as she slid to a stop, spraying snow all over his pants.
She giggled. “Just a little head start. Besides, it didn’t help. How about a rematch?”
“You’re on.”
The next run ended same as the first, with Jake flying by her expertly, despite the fact that she was skiing better than she remembered. At the bottom of the hill, she flipped off her goggles and held up her hands in mock surrender. “I give up,” she said, laughing and seeing her breath fog in the air.
Jake hugged her. “Just to prove that I’m not an obnoxious winner, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“You’re on,” Kimberly agreed. Together they skied back to the lodge, and she was only vaguely aware of the tall, ski-masked figure in navy blue gliding effortlessly down the slopes.
Once inside, stripped of goggles and gloves, they found a table near a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. In a far corner stood a bushy Douglas fir decorated with silver bells, scarlet ribbons and winking lights.
“Until last night,” Kimberly said, cradling a cup of Irish coffee Jake had ordered, “I’d almost forgotten about Christmas.”
“Is that possible with a five-year-old?”
“Not really. But I was so wrapped up in this custody thing I hadn’t really felt much Christmas spirit.” Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the lighted tree. “Thanks for bringing me up here.”
“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” He toasted her before resting both elbows on the table, his coffee cup cradled between his palms. His eyes were warm and flinty, and when his gaze found hers, a spreading awareness—like an early-morning mist—filled every corner of her soul.
They ate in relative silence, devouring grilled salmon and wild rice until Kimberly was stuffed. “If I eat another bite,” she groaned, motioning with her fork at the remains of the pink, flaky salmon on her plate, “I won’t be able to ski anymore.”
Jake’s lips twitched. “You’re not getting out of another run that easily.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Good. Let’s get back out there. Double or nothing.” Reaching down, he snapped the buckles on his boots, then left some money on the table.
“Hey—whoa. What’re you talking about?”
“Let’s race again. The bet’s double or nothing.”
“But we didn’t bet the first time!”
“So, let’s bet now,” he suggested, his eyes glinting like liquid silver as they walked outside.
“For what? A dollar? A drink?”
“Come on, you can be more imaginative than that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me—just like junior high, right? The one who loses is the other’s slave for a week?”
Laughing, he shook his head. Snowflakes collected in his dark hair. “Now, that would be interesting, but how about something not quite that bizarre?”
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“The one who loses has to spend one entire day helping the other one around his or her house.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“Well, for example, I’ve got some clothes that need mending, windows washed, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, great,” she murmured, but thought of the busted back door lock, the paint peeling off the swing set, the faucet that wouldn’t quit dripping and the rotten front steps that had needed to be replaced for over a year.
“I’ll give you a head start,” he encouraged, eyes dancing.
“How far?”
“Two slopes. I won’t take off until you pass the warming hut.”
“But that’s nearly a third of the way down.”
“I know,” he taunted, grinning with the self-assurance of one who assumes he’ll win.
Kimberly thought she had an even chance and would have dearly loved to wipe that cocky smile right off his face. “You’re on, counselor. But let’s up the bet. Whoever wins gets two days of free labor.”
“And how many nights?” he asked.
She lifted a brow coyly. “That depends.”
“On?”
“How much I win by.”
His white teeth flashed in the night. “So, what’re we waiting for?”
He won, of course.
Just when Kimberly had thought victory was within her grasp, Jake swooshed past her in a blinding spray of snow.
Awestruck and furious, she skied the remainder of the run, asking herself why she’d been so stupid as to go along with the bet. Even though she’d sped down the hill at the top of her game, he’d passed her as if she were standing still.
“Idiot,” she chided herself under her breath as she struggled up the hill by the lodge. He’d already taken off his goggles and hat and was trying nobly to wipe the smirk from his face.
“I’d like to accuse you of cheating,” she charged, “but I can’t.”
His teeth gleamed. “What about double or nothing now?”
“No way!” she caught the teasing glimmer in his eyes and tried to remain stern. But her traitorous heart began to pound, and she could feel a dimple creasing her cheek.
Laughing, he linked his arm with hers. “For starters, I need all my shirts ironed, and the curtains could be cleaned and pressed. Then there’s dinner. I’ll expect three courses, no less—”
“I get the picture,” she said dryly. “We are back to a slave-for-a-day.”
“Two days,” he corrected. “Starting tomorrow.”
“This weekend?”
“Right.”
Why not? she thought, glad for any excuse to spend more time with him. “Okay, then this weekend,” she agreed, refusing to listen to the doubts crowding her mind, the doubts that reminded her he was her lawyer and she should keep her relationship professional.
Laughing, they trudged back to the parking lot, and Kimberly noticed the solitary skier in navy blue carrying his skis to a white station wagon. He stopped at the car and wiped his goggles, but his back was to her and she couldn’t get a glimpse of his face. She felt as if she should know the car—or the driver—but before she had a chance to say something, Jake clipped their skis into the rack and helped her climb into the Bronco.
* * *
Jake noticed Kimberly’s fascination with the man in the white wagon, and it bothered him. Did she know him? Why didn’t she stop and say hello? Looking back, it seemed as if the man had been dogging them, following them down the slopes.
“Let’s go,” he said a trifle impatiently as he slid behind the steering wheel. Kimberly’s expression was clouded, and he wondered what she was thinking.
“Someone you know?” he asked, nodding toward the car with its wheels spinning in the snow.
“No—at least I don’t think so.” She flashed a smile toward Jake and that caught him unaware. Her fiery brown hair fell past her shoulders in tangled curls, and snowflakes, now melted, sparkled like tiny diamonds nestled in the vibrant strands.
The interior of the Bronco was foggy as the car idled, and ice slowly began to melt on the windshield.
“Warm enough?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm.” She shivered, her cheeks rosy, her eyes luminous as the snow-globe world they were entrenched in. Damn, she was the most fascinating woman he’d met in years.
“Coffee?” she held up the thermos.
“Great idea.” He watched as she poured.
“You should take all the credit,” she murmured, sipping from the red plastic mug, then made a face as if the coffee was hot and strong—too strong. “Here—if you want this, it’s yours.”
“I’ll pass,” he said, seeing her grimace.
She poured the dregs back into the thermos, then tightened the lid. Slanting a glance in his direction, she said, “Thanks for
tonight. I’ve enjoyed myself.”
“Me, too.” Her eyes were hypnotizing as they stared up at him through the sweep of dark, curling lashes, and seemed to cut right into his soul.
“We’ll do it again,” he promised, wondering why he would make such a rash statement. Knowing in his heart he couldn’t get involved with her, that she didn’t want emotional entanglement any more than he did, he rammed the Bronco into gear and he picked his way through the other cars, trying not to think ahead to the night stretching long before him.
Had the situation been different, he would have begun planning his seduction right now. He couldn’t help it. Desire had flared hotly as the hours with Kimberly had passed.
Lapsing into silence, he tried to ignore the gentle curve of her knee so close to his hand on the gearshift, willed himself not to notice the soft rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed or the soft power of her lips.
She rested her head against the far window and closed her eyes, seeming all the more seductive with her hair falling over her cheek.
He felt a tenderness for her that went far beyond reason. Without thinking, he pushed the wayward lock of hair from her face with one finger.
Her eyes blinked open, and she smiled, a soft grin bored quickly into his heart. “Are we home yet?” she asked, yawning.
“Just a few more miles. Go back to sleep,” he whispered gently, touched by the slumber still clouding her gaze.
His throat felt raw, and the burning deep within him didn’t let up. Swallowing with difficulty, he attempted to concentrate on the road before him and the lights of Portland stretching endlessly beneath the inky sky. The asphalt was icy. Snow still fell, but Jake had trouble keeping his eyes on the highway ahead. As if having a mind of its own, his gaze wandered back to her perfect face.
Never had he wanted a woman more. In all his years, including a stretch of regrettable lust during his teens, he had never burned with a passion so hot as when he burned for Kimberly Bennett.
The Bronco slid a little, and Kimberly moaned softly. Jake eased down on the brakes, forcing himself to concentrate on the road and the trip home.
CHAPTER NINE
Kimberly stretched and worked the crick from her neck. She wasn’t yet ready to give up on the dream—a dream that promised the happy family she had worked so hard for....
Opening her eyes, she watched as Jake slowed and wheeled into her driveway.
“Finally wake up?” he asked as he switched off the engine.
“I think so.” She yawned. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“It must’ve been all my sparkling, intelligent conversation.”
“Must’ve been,” she repeated dryly as she shoved the door open and a blast of icy wind knifed through the Bronco’s cozy interior.
Snow fell silently, and her yard was covered with a thick, white blanket. Street lamps cast an ethereal glow over the whiteness, and some houses still displayed colorful lights, brilliant points of green and red reflected in the icy white powder.
She grabbed her boots and bag from the back of the Bronco as Jake unstrapped her skis and shouldered them. “You want these back in the garage?”
“That would be great.”
Hunched against the wind, she carried her bag to the back door, then stomped the snow from her boots on the porch.
Inside, the house was dark and cold. Kimberly fumbled with the switches, turning on the lights and adjusting the thermostat before plugging in the coffee maker.
She tossed her jacket over the foot of her bed, then, on impulse, dashed into the living room and flipped the switch that was connected to the Christmas tree. Red, yellow and green lights winked in the shadowy room.
It was suddenly important that Jake see the house as she saw it—warm and cheerful. And seductive? She swallowed hard and leaned over the grate, striking a match to the logs in the fireplace, unable to find a suitable answer.
The dry kindling caught, popping and hissing. Flames licked the mossy trunks of oak. She heard the back door creak open, felt the chill of a breeze seep through the room. “Come on in,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make us something hot in a few minutes—but don’t expect anything as fancy as the drinks up at the lodge.”
Jake chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that filled an aching void within her—a void that had been empty for so very long.
“I don’t care what it is,” he said, his voice nearer. Her heart began to pound. “Just as long as it’s warm and liquid.”
“That, I can promise.” She felt his arms circle her waist, his chin balance gently on her crown, his warmth envelop her.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he admitted with a heartfelt sigh. The fire crackled.
“Me? Drive you crazy?” But she, too, had felt a special warmth at his touch. And she’d seen the naked sensuality in his gaze.
“You know things have changed between us.”
Her throat worked. “Have they?”
His hands splayed across her abdomen, one thumb tucked beneath her breast, and his breath whispered through her hair. “I want you, Kimberly,” he conceded, his voice low. “I want you more than I’ve wanted a woman in a long time. Maybe ever.”
Her heart soared. It was pounding so loudly, it echoed in her ears. Or was that thundering the sound of his heart beating out of control? She tried to reason, to be calm and rational and clear thinking. But emotion clouded all her thoughts, and when his hands drew her closer still, surrounding her with his arms, all she could feel was the wonder of him, the sheer maleness demanding of him, the hard evidence of his desire planted firmly against her hips. A thrill of anticipation darted up her spine.
“Tell me this’ll never work,” he whispered.
“We both know it won’t.” But she entwined her fingers in his and felt his lips brush against her hair. The shadowed corners of the room closed in around them, and she felt that being with him could never be wrong.
“Tell me I should stop.”
“You—you should.”
His hands moved upward, one thumb tracing the weight of her breast as his lips covered invitingly over her neck.
“Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I can’t,” she admitted, her throat catching. There was no need to lie. They both knew the power of desire, the galloping, thoughtless heat of passion stirring deep in their souls. Slowly he turned her so that she was forced to look into the depths of his silvery eyes. Lost in the erotic gaze, she wound her arms around his neck.
“I thought we had a deal.”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing on paper,” he murmured. “Remember who you’re dealing with—if it isn’t signed, it isn’t valid.”
“You should have warned me.”
He laughed quietly. “You should have warned me. I wasn’t ready for this.”
“Neither was I.”
He stared at her for a few heart-stopping seconds, then his lips claimed hers with a fire as hungry as the flames burning in the grate, a passion as hot as the red embers beginning to glow in the fireplace.
His tongue probed her lips, and she parted them willingly, unafraid. Despite her doubts, she responded, arching her back, pressing her breasts as close to him as possible. Her tongue embraced his, eagerly meeting the delicate thrusts and teasing retreats.
Her fingers ran through the hair, felt the drops of melting snow still lingering in the dark strands as slowly, with his weight, he pushed them both to the couch where they had nearly made love before.
Lying over her, his eyes delving deep into hers, he felt his throat constrict. “Don’t say no,” he whispered, his hands deftly removing her jacket and finding the hem of her sweater.
“Don’t worry,” she promised, her voice as breathless as the soothing whisper of the fire.
He lifted her sweater over her head, and once the heavy garment was removed, stared down at her, gazing at her right breast peaking delicately over the sculpted lace of her bra, her firm nipples s
training through the sheer fabric, dark, dusty circles that invited him . . . tantalized . . .
“Kim,” he whispered hoarsely, then, taking her lips in his, he kissed her with the fever burning deep in his heart. Her lips, full and red, parted in invitation.
As his hands moved upward, skimming over her ribs to toy with the edge of her bra, Kimberly’s breath seemed to stop somewhere between her throat and lungs. Sensations as warm and seductive as a summer breeze enveloped her.
He kissed her breasts, his tongue lazily caressing first one nipple, then the other. Against the wet fabric, dark buds blossomed.
“Please . . .”
“Please what?” His breath fanned the wet lace, fueling fires of passion sweeping through her blood.
Make me yours, she thought wildly, her words trapped deep within as her fingers worked feverishly on his jacket, sweater and shirt to discard them on the floor. When his dark chest was exposed, gilded by the flickering light of the fire, he unclasped her bra, dropping the tiny scrap of lace onto his clothes.
“Make love to me,” he whispered, his eyes locking with hers.
She couldn’t help herself. Lost in the wonder he created, she felt his fingertips skim beneath her ski pants, grazing the soft flesh of her abdomen. Moaning, she heard the rustle of her bibs as they glided easily down the length of her legs.
After kicking off his ski pants, he lay over her, the soft down on his legs pressing intimately to hers. His lips found hers again, and his hands spread over her shoulders, lifting her up to meet him, a satiny glow spread across her skin.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.
“You won’t.”
“And I don’t want us to make any mistakes.”
She tried to think, but his hands against her skin were playing havoc with her reasoning skills. “Mistakes?”
“I don’t want to get you pregnant.” The words sounded harsh, though he’d spoken them gently.
She tried to think straight—tried to consider the days of the month, but they blurred together as he caressed her. Pregnancy was the last thing on her mind. “You—you won’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“We’re good,” she said dreamily, mentally calculating the days, then gasping as his thumb toyed with her nipple.