“Go grab some snacks, and I’ll figure something out.” I skipped the clerk because he was a kid, and I went directly to a robust trucker piling relish on a dog. “Do you think the pass will open back up tonight?”
Although he had a Santa Claus face, he delivered a Grinch message. “Nope. The whole side of the hill came down on the highway. It’ll take hours for the road crews to clean that up.” He pointed to the television hanging above the register which showed the breaking news. “I’d bunk up for the night. If you ain’t got a place, I’d hurry and find one before they’re all taken. There’s a motel one block down and one over. It’s not much, but it’s clean.”
I swiped a few toothbrushes off the shelf and went in search of Jess, whom I found debating between powdered-sugar and chocolate-covered donuts. “Grab both and anything else you might want. Looks like we’re stuck for the night.”
Her head snapped up. “Are you kidding me?”
“Not a chance. You know me, I don’t kid. Let’s go.” I paid, and we hopped in the beat-up Accord toward the only place I knew existed for lodging.
Pine Lodge was nothing to look at, but given the alternative—sleeping in the drafty car—it looked downright five-star. “I’ll get each of us a room. Stay here.” I was out of the car before she could argue.
The front-desk clerk looked like he’d just walked off the set of a B movie: clueless, out-of-touch, likely to smoke his lunch and drink his dinner. So, basically, he fit in perfectly with the shabby Pine Lodge.
“Good evening.” It was close enough. The last of the light from the hidden sun was setting behind the peak, and a gray dismal day was turning to black.
“Yep. What can I do for ya?” He shuffled through the newspaper ads on his desk.
“I need two rooms, please.”
His head was shaking back and forth before I even finished my sentence. “No can do.”
I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and laid it on the counter. The corner of a crisp bill from my recent ATM withdrawal peeked out of the fold.
“Surely you can.” I pulled the bill from my wallet and pressed it across the counter. It was only a twenty, though I was willing to pay anything to get Jess into a room.
“I don’t have two rooms. I’ve got one.”
“Please tell me it has two beds.”
The man took the twenty off the counter and pushed it inside the front pocket of his worn-out jeans. “I can tell you it has two beds, but I don’t much like to lie.”
The bell on the door rang, and another stranded person walked in, looking hopeful.
“I’ll take it.” I was a businessman, and I knew when I’d been offered the best deal. A one bedroom was it today.
When I got back out to the car with our room key, Jess was leaning against the window, drawing circles in the ice that formed inside the glass. She turned around, and even in the twilight, her eyes were like sparkling gemstones.
“I have good news and bad news.” I put the car in reverse and pulled it to the end of the building.
“No more bad news. I can’t handle anything more.”
I parked and rushed around to open her door. Under the bright streetlights, I could see the damage from the crash was more significant than I’d originally thought. The whole panel was flattened.
“Good news it is.” I reached past her to grab the bag of sweets and my briefcase. “We got a room.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I was worried that with all the cars in the lot, we wouldn’t get rooms.”
She followed me to room 134. I opened the door and let it swing wide. The Ritz it wasn’t, but it was clean, and there was a bed.
“What room number are you in?” She walked past me and snatched the key from my hand.
I looked at the door. “That’s the bad news. There was only one room left.”
She looked at me. Looked at the bed. Looked back at me. “No. This will never work. I’m not sleeping with my boss.”
Chapter 8
Jess
Oh lord. What the hell was I supposed to do? I’d fantasized about getting Mark in bed at least a thousand times, but this wasn’t how I’d envisioned it going down.
“You couldn’t come up with one more room?” I stared at the bed. It wasn’t even king-sized. “You are the master negotiator. What happened in there?” Did he hear the panic in my voice? Was it written all over my face?
“You can’t get what’s not available, sweetheart. I did the best I could.” He closed the door and walked inside. Mark was a big man, and his presence swallowed up the room.
“I’m sorry.” I plopped down on the bed. “It’s just been a crazy day.” My fingers went to the bump on my forehead.
“Does it still hurt?” He stood in front of me and took a knee. Deft fingers unzipped my boots and tugged them off. His warm hands rubbed at my cold sock-covered toes.
“If I say yes, will you continue to rub my feet?” He was so close. I trapped my hands under my thighs so I didn’t reach out and thread my fingers through his hair.
“I’ll rub your feet for as long as you need me to.” He moved from my toes up the sensitive arch and settled his palms around my ankles. “What you really need is a hot shower and a couple of aspirin.”
“You’re probably right, but I appreciate the foot rub, nonetheless.” I rose from the bed, making him scoot back to allow me room. I discarded my jacket and tossed it over the worn wooden desk chair.
“How about you take a shower, and I go find a bottle of wine? Maybe a glass will help you relax and fall asleep.” He stood up and walked to the door.
“That sounds good.” I looked down at my black slacks and my silk shirt. It was all I had. I’d worn it all day, and it looked like I’d wear it all night. “If you’re going back to the truck stop, can you see if they have a something I can wear to bed besides this?”
He nodded before he walked out.
My first task was to call my parents. I hadn’t let them know of the change of plans. I figured I’d call them when I got to Aspen but seeing as I hadn’t made it to Aspen …
The phone rang three times before my mom answered. “Are you almost there? I’ve been worried sick about you. The storm is crazy, and the roads are a mess.”
“Hi, Mom.” Most conversations started with a greeting.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I was so worried I forgot the pleasantries. How are you? Where are you?”
I pulled out the chair and sat. “There’s been a glitch in my plans.” I had called last night and told them I’d be a day late, but now I wasn’t sure I’d make it at all. If the weather didn’t let up, I might be stuck here for days. “The weather has been a problem.” I explained about our flight changes, the car accident, and now the pass closure.
“I’m not sure if I want to hate your boss or love him.”
“You can do both. He’s big enough to take it all.”
“You’re safe, right?”
“I am. Mark got a room, and as soon as I hang up, I’m taking a shower and crawling between the sheets to watch meaningless television.”
“Wait … did you say a room, or he got you your room?” Mom was a librarian and a detail person.
“He got the only room left.”
“Two beds?”
I gave her a moment of library silence. “It’s not ideal, but it will work out all right.”
“Well, he can sleep on the couch.” Mom was matter-of-fact. “He’s already inconvenienced you enough. I know you, Jess, and it’s like you to give up the bed. Don’t.”
I looked around the room, which had a bed, a stained turquoise colored chair in the corner, and a desk and chair against the wall. Mom was used to higher-end lodging, but like Mark said, You can’t get what’s not available. “We’ve got it worked out.” We didn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.
She told me to keep her posted before we hung up.
The shower was basic, but it was hot. I stood under the stream and let the water wash away all the bad from
the day. A tap sounded at the door, and I stuck my head out of the curtain.
“Is that you, Mark?”
He inched the door open and dropped a plastic bag on the floor. “I got what they had. It’s not much, but it’s clean.”
“Thank you.”
“Jess,” he said from the crack in the door, “I’m really sorry about this.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like you planned it.”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, if this had been planned, you wouldn’t be alone in that shower.” He closed the door, leaving me with that vision in my head. And what was that comment supposed to mean?
Out of the shower, I towel-dried my body and my hair. When I opened the bag, I laughed. The T-shirt had already been unfolded, and the words I Put Out for Santa stood out in neon red against the white background.
“You’re kidding me!” I called out. “That’s all they had?”
His footsteps neared the bathroom door. “No, they had a rich assortment with sayings that ranged from cock-a-doodle-do-me to pet my pussy. That was the least offensive of the bunch.”
“I can’t imagine.” I pulled out a pair of shorts that said juicy across the ass. “Really?” I cried out again.
“There were only two options in shorts. The ones I bought or ones with a dachshund on the back.”
I slipped on the boxers and opened the door. Mark was leaning against the doorframe. Only he wasn’t suited up anymore. His once pristinely pressed dress shirt was untucked, unbuttoned and hanging open. There was no question now about coffee putting hair on his chest. He was testosterone on overload.
Stunned for a second or maybe a full minute, I stared at the hair that begged to be touched. The accident hadn’t killed me, but tonight would. I raised my hand to touch him but thought better of it and walked away.
“What was worse about the dachshund?”
“It said I love wieners. I can go back and get you those.” He lifted a brow.
“Oh lord, what’s wrong with people?”
He turned and leaned back against the wall. The shirt fell open farther, giving me a perfect vision of his broad chest and hard abs. My heart galloped up into my throat. What the hell was I going to do?
“I bought some stuff for dinner. It’s not the Michelin-star restaurant I was looking forward to, but it will do.” He walked into the bathroom and came out with two plastic cups. “I’ve opened the wine to let it breathe. Help yourself.” He turned and shut the door.
When the water started, all I could think about was Mark Cantwell naked under the steamy stream.
Without hesitation, I poured a glass of the cheap red wine and turned on the television. Hoping to make a bad situation better, I rearranged the desk so we could sit on opposite sides.
I pulled up the two chairs we had—one the soiled fabric chair, the other a rickety wooden ladder-back.
I fan-folded a few Kleenexes and turned them into what almost resembled a flower and poked a pen through the bottom to make a stem.
I opened the bag to see what he had managed to bring and wrote the offerings down on a piece of notepaper, which I folded into a tent in front of his place setting.
With the menu in place, the flower on the table, and the food getting cold in the bag, I kicked back on the bed and waited. It wasn’t star-rated cuisine, but at least it was better than a floor picnic.
Mark came out of the bathroom with wet hair and no shirt. The lower half of his body was covered in a pair of black sweatpants; his face, covered in amusement. Mark rarely smiled, but when he did, it was beautiful.
“You’re amazing,” he said, surveying my table setting. Much to my disappointment, he pulled on a T-shirt. On the front was a plumber with a speech bubble that read, I’m Here to Lay Pipe.
“Look at us.” I looked at his shirt and then down at mine. It was too much to take in. I handed him a cup of wine. “Here’s to a better tomorrow.”
Mark shook his head and raised his glass. “At least you’ll have a story to tell your parents when you make it home.”
I hopped off the bed and walked toward the dining table. Mark’s eyes followed my legs the entire time. Or was I concussed and imagining all his come-ons?
“About that. It’s unlikely we’ll make the ten o’clock meeting. Should I contact Mr. Braxton and reschedule?”
“I’ve already done that. He’s willing to meet for dinner. Will you be okay staying the night tomorrow at the hotel? I’d feel better knowing that you’re around should I need something.”
I pulled out the wooden chair and sat down with a thunk. He took his place in the upholstered chair. It was a good decision because he sank so low he had dwindled to just a few inches above my height.
“Best decision I made all day,” I said, looking at where the table pressed against his chest. “If I’d sat there, I would have had to scoop my food from the surface to my mouth.”
Mark reached for the wine and topped off my glass. “I hope you like the red. It was the most expensive at $9.99 a bottle. Only the best for you.” He shook out a paper napkin and placed it on his lap.
I leaned forward and pushed the menu toward him. “What would you like tonight?”
He looked up from the makeshift menu and ate me up with his eyes. Maybe under the dessert selections, I should have put my name. Too much wine gave me impure thoughts. Oh, who was I kidding; too much Mark gave me impure thoughts.
“I can’t believe you made a menu.”
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “We got lemons. I make lemonade.”
He looked down at the menu and said, “I’ll take the deep-fried burrito and a side of cold fries.”
“Excellent choice.” I reached for the bag and laid out his meal. I put the chicken sandwich and bag of chips in front of me. “Enjoy your meal.”
We ate in silence until Mark spoke up. “You get another day of bonus pay. Will that help ease the pain of this disastrous trip?”
“I can’t say the money won’t help.” I sipped at the wine, already feeling a little tipsy. “My sister bought my parents a cruise and then told me I owed her for half.”
His jaw dropped. “I’m telling you. I hope I never have to meet your sister. She sounds like a piece of work.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah, a real masterpiece.”
“If you were home now, what would you be doing?” He dabbed at his lips like his napkin was cloth and we were in a fine restaurant.
“My home or my parents’ home?” I took a bite of the sandwich. It wasn’t bad for sitting in a warmer for hours and then cooling in the room for the past thirty minutes.
“Both.” He leaned back, making the white T-shirt stretch across his chest. The damn man was distracting me.
“At my parents’, I’d be making cookies instead of staring at your chest.” I quickly covered my mouth with my hand. “Damn wine. No filter.”
He picked up the bottle and poured me some more. “I like you when your guard is down. Drink up.”
“At home, I’d be curled up in the corner of my couch watching some mindless television.”
“Let’s make ourselves at home.” He scooted the chair back and walked to the bed where he made himself comfy leaning against the headboard. He turned on the television and scrolled through the stations while I finished my sandwich and chips.
“I called my mom when you were in the shower, and she said you have to sleep on the couch.” With the bottle of wine in one hand and my cup in the other, I walked my juicy-emblazoned ass over to the bed and climbed on top of the comforter next to him.
Chapter 9
Jess
“Did you tell your mom we didn’t have a couch?”
“No. I just let her think my virtue was safe and would remain intact.” I pulled my plastic cup to my lips and took a long drink. My thoughts were not far from Mark and what it would be like to sleep with him. He was a detail man. Someone who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. Oh, to be wanted in that way by him. A girl could dream.
I pointed down at my shirt. “No, I put out for Santa.”
He laughed. “You know, a little-known secret is my middle name is Santa.” His laugh was so robust that it shook the bed and upended my cup, which landed on his chest, sending red wine soaking into the white cotton.
“Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, I straddled the man and started to pull his shirt up and off his body. “Mark, I’m so sorry.” Once it was past his head, I went to work on dabbing the red liquid from his skin. “I’d fantasized about what you looked like naked, but it never happened with me dumping cheap wine on you.” Realizing that I’d just had another non-filter moment, I pulled the stained shirt to my face. “God, did I say that?”
His hands wrapped around my wrists and pulled the shirt down from my face. I was certain the color of my cheeks matched the scarlet wine now soaked into his shirt.
Those damn bedroom eyes stared back at me. A sexy-as-sin smile lifted the edges of his lips. “You said it. Did you mean it?”
I squirmed and prepared to crawl off his lap. This day was going from bad to worse in a heartbeat.
He let go of my wrists and gripped my hips, holding me in place.
I chewed my inner cheek, wondering how I should answer. There wasn’t a right answer; there was only the truth. But was I brave enough or tipsy enough to be honest?
My head fell forward, and my hair created a curtain to hide my embarrassment. “To be honest, I have a crush on you. I know it’s not right, and it’s not professional, but it is what it is.”
While one hand kept me locked in place, the other hand reached up to move my hair aside. He lifted my chin, so I was forced to look at him. “You have a crush on me?” There was a softness in his eyes that I’d never seen before.
I nodded. “Guilty.”
Wrapped Around My Heart Page 5