by Whitley Cox
Rowan snorted.
Austin gulped.
Will made a manly noise in his throat that Amber couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“You’ve all been carefully selected, put through my computer, and your perfect match is here.” Wary and intrigued gazes drifted around the room, sizing one another up. Wondering, hoping, fantasizing. “But . . . ” Daisy raised one crimson painted nail in the air. “I’m not going to tell you who you’ve been matched with. That’s up to you to figure out.”
“You can’t be serious?” Amber muttered under her breath.
“Amber, you’re probably rolling your eyes right now. You’re probably getting ready to leave. Well, why do you think I had you take a shuttle? Give it a week. Enjoy the cabin, go skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing. Just get to know one another. The fridge is stocked, there’s lots to drink, and you even have a doctor on site in case one of you sprains an ankle. Right, Will?”
They all turned to look at the big doctor with the bright white smile, but he wasn’t in his spot. The sound of ice being cracked free of the tray drew everyone’s eyes. Will started pouring scotch into six glasses.
“If you don’t find love,” Daisy went on, “well, so be it. But my algorithm has resulted in over thirty marriages, nineteen babies, and that was only in the first two years.”
“She never said how many failed matches,” Rowan added snidely.
“I have an eighty-seven percent success rate, Rowan, the eternal pessimist.”
Rowan spun around. “Fuck, is she here? Does she have hidden cameras somewhere? Are we on a nanny cam?”
“You’re not on a nanny cam, don’t worry. I just know you all very well and know who’s cynical and who’s not.”
“Well, fuck,” Rowan grumbled under his breath.
“Now, have a holly jolly Christmas, enjoy getting to know one another, and . . . here’s hoping you get some use out of that mistletoe. Merry Christmas, everyone. The shuttle will be back to pick you up at noon on December 28th.”
The screen went black.
The sound of ice rattling around in glasses caused heads to swivel toward the noise. Will wandered back into the living room, his arms bogged down with a tray. “Who wants a drink?”
Chapter Two
Amber put her phone back in her pocket. She’d texted Daisy almost as soon as the screen had gone black. What on earth was her friend thinking? Putting six complete strangers in a cabin on Christmas? That was nuts, and certainly not how Amber wanted to spend her favorite holiday.
But then, where else did she have to go?
Rowan sipped his drink before talking. “Well, I’m not sure about everyone else, but I’m starving.” He gauged what was left in the glass, shrugged and then tipped it back up and drained it. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m going to head into the kitchen and rustle up some grub. Anyone for grilled cheese?”
Juney smiled at him. “That sounds perfect. Do you need any help?”
He nodded. “If you’d like.”
“I’m going to start a fire . . . in the fireplace,” Austin said with a boyish grin, as he wandered over to the enormous round stone hearth and opened up the cover.
“So, we all agree then?” Will asked, making his way over to the big bay window that looked down onto a small, snow-covered gully. “We’re going to try this harebrained idea of Daisy’s and spend Christmas together?”
Amber lifted one shoulder and brushed her red bangs out of her eyes. She needed a haircut. A moment ago she’d been against the idea, spending her favorite holiday with a bunch of people she didn’t know. No way! But the longer she looked at the gorgeous tree, took in all the decorations and Mr. Sexy-Doctor-Man and his sexy doctor throat and sexy doctor hands, the more she didn’t think Daisy was that off her rocker anymore.
What was the worst that could happen? She’d spend five days and her favorite holiday eating food, drinking booze, snowboarding and hopefully getting ploughed from here to kingdom come by the M.D. over there? Where M.D. stood for Mighty Delicious.
“Why not?” she said, shaking her head and peeling her eyes away from Will’s taut derriere. “All expenses paid, essentially. A beautiful place to spend Christmas. Might as well. I know I have nothing better to do. It was either this, or a road trip down to California with my brother’s family, and he has three kids under five.”
Out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw Will shudder.
Ha!
Her sentiments exactly.
Once the fire was roaring, everyone wandered through the living room into the kitchen, and sidled up to the bar that hung over the island in the rustic-meets-modern kitchen. It was an open concept designed cabin, so even from their perch they could still feel the warmth of the fire and see the snow falling outside. Everyone watched as Juney and Rowan, two people who had never met before that day, worked seamlessly together preparing a late lunch. With dark red brick, dark cherry wood cupboards and copper pots hanging up over the range, the kitchen was definitely cabiny and extremely homey. But then toss in the stainless steel top-of-the-line appliances, and suddenly the rustic wasn’t so rustic anymore.
“This is some pretty gourmet grilled cheese,” Juney joked. “I was thinking cheddar between two slices of whole wheat. But this, wow!”
Rowan’s grin was wide and warm. “I like to ramp things up . . . especially food.” He handed her one of his knives and a couple of shallots. “Be careful, please, these knives are incredibly sharp.”
Her lips curved faintly with the subtle hint of a smile. “Got it!”
“Let’s get to know one another.” Hunter beamed, pulling a barstool up next to Austin and accepting a drink from Will. “See if we can figure out who Daisy thinks belongs with whom.”
“Are you willing to start?” Austin asked, turning to face her.
Hunter swayed where she sat, and Amber chuckled softly to herself. Yeah, the dude was hot. Not as hot as the big black alpha-doctor, but hot. Austin’s eyes were the most intense green she’d ever seen. Dark like fern or red cedar bow or something, but with vibrant specks of gold. And that dark red scruff that hugged his chiseled cheeks and jaw made him look roguish and rough.
Pink dashed across Hunter’s cheeks. “Sure.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Austin’s mouth. “Okay . . . and go.”
She rolled her eyes. “All right, well, I’m Hunter. I’m twenty-six and own Breathe, Babe, Breathe clothing line.”
“Wait, you own it?” Austin asked. “I know this company. I like this company. I’m pretty sure I’m wearing your…I mean their underwear right now.”
Hunter bit her lips and nodded. “Yeah.”
Austin’s eyes, along with everyone else’s, were growing wider by the second. “As in all the stores?” he asked, a slight crack to his voice.
She nodded again with a smile. “Yeah. I started the company. It’s my baby. Anyway, I own Breathe, Babe, Breathe and Curiously Kinky at-home romance parties. I enjoy snowboarding, yoga, running, and when I can find the time to actually sit down and pick up a book, reading historical romances, particularly ones about ancient Europe, 1700s era.”
Austin’s eyebrows nearly shot clean off his head. “Holy crap,” he muttered, the pep in his voice suddenly disappearing. “I—I didn’t put two and two together when you’d been talking about your snowboard bag. I thought you’d gone and bought some eco-friendly fabric and knew your way around a sewing machine. But own.” He swallowed and he pulled his elbow away from Hunter’s. They’d both been resting their arms on the granite counter, less than an inch between them. Even though he hadn’t moved, based on his facial expression alone, it was as if the man had grabbed a big blanket and pulled it over his head.
He was shutting down.
“You said you’re twenty-six?” Will asked, his biceps flexing as he crossed his arms in front of his well-defined chest. Dear God, the man wore dominance and sexy like most people wore T-shirts. Amber’s nipples tightened against her bra as
his strong throat undulated when he swallowed his scotch. What did that throat taste like? Will must have caught her staring, because his gaze roamed to her face, lingered on her lips, which she hadn’t realized until that moment she’d been licking, and returned to her eyes. One dark eyebrow slowly, sexily drifted up half an inch on his handsome face. His eyes darkened to the color of warm whiskey. Amber tightened her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open.
“Yeah.” Hunter nodded. Her answer snapped Amber out of her erotic reverie.
“And you started this company all on your own?” Will continued, his gaze flicking back to Hunter and appearing genuinely curious. The blood in Amber’s veins suddenly started to run hot.
No. No. No! He can’t be interested in the little blonde.
Hunter nodded again, looking down at her knotted fingers.
“What’s your name again?” Amber asked, curiosity taking a front seat, despite her building jealousy.
“Hunter Kingsley,” she whispered.
“Hold the phone!” Amber raced back over to the living room and sifted through a few random magazines, coming back a second later. “Is this you?” She held up the magazine and Hunter cringed, burying her face in her glass but not actually taking a sip.
It was an image of her standing next to a bunch of bamboo stalks, wearing one of her popular bamboo dresses and holding up a sign that said, “Organic, Fair Trade and Competitively Priced,” a subtitle below said, “Hunter Kingsley, turning the clothing industry on its head, one sexy hemp dress at a time.”
“Oh God, I hate that picture. I hate that article,” she grumbled. “That is so not me. I’m not a bragger like that. But it was good for business, and my PR rep set it up before I could say no.”
“Holy crap,” Austin said again, rubbing his whiskered chin as he stared at her in awe.
Hunter rolled her eyes. “Yeah, anyway, I’m up here because as successful as my businesses are, I’m in a funk. You know how authors get writer’s block? Well, I’ve got designer’s block. Or entrepreneur’s block, or whatever you want to call it. I usually have a sketchpad full of ideas, but right now it’s empty.”
Will rested his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, humor in his deep brown eyes. “I find drinking helps. Not that I’m creative, but it helps get the ideas flowing, whatever they may be.”
Hunter nodded and took a sip of her drink. “Ah, yeah, that helps.”
Will grinned at Hunter. “Beautiful, successful and someone who appreciates good scotch. I guess the only question left to ask is . . . Stones or Beatles?”
A wash of invisible flames danced up Amber’s neck and cheeks. Was he flirting? Damn it, he was. Will liked Hunter. Shit!
Hunter’s amber eyes sparkled up at him and she grinned wide. “Stones, of course.”
Rowan drew out the big knife from his knife set and placed it on the cutting board. He picked up a couple of the bell peppers Juniper had washed and started to slice into them.
“All right, who’s next? Juniper?” he asked.
She flipped the grilled cheese in the pan as Rowan opened jars of olives and pickles. “You can call me Juney. Everyone does.”
He nodded. “Okay, Juney . . . what’s your story?”
Will, who appeared to be on his third or fourth drink, snorted where he sat, a cocky grin on his face. “Yeah, Juney, what’s your story?”
Rowan fought the urge not to glare at the man. Whether conscious of it or not, everyone seemed to be deferring to Will. An air of authority percolated the air around him. Maybe it was because he was a doctor, or appeared to be the oldest of the bunch, or that he was the biggest, tallest and most muscular, but either way, when Will spoke, everyone listened. Rowan wasn’t particularly bothered by that, either. He was cocky when it came to all things food-and kitchen-related, but as far as bravado went, he left that for the bigger guys. His skills, his expertise, his bravado were with a knife and a skillet. He didn’t need to seep alpha-juice from his pores to be considered a worthy adversary or person worth getting to know or admiring. No, Will could have the limelight. Rowan would earn their love through his food.
Juney let out a big sigh. “Well . . . I’m Canadian.”
Rowan’s head snapped up from where he’d been watching his blade slice through the peppers. “Really?”
She chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, is that going to be a problem?”
He quickly shook his head, admiring her knife skills and the expert way she julienned the carrots. “No, not at all. And now that I think about it, that totally explains your incessant apologizing earlier in the coffee shop. When you ran into my back, you said ‘sorry’ like eight times.”
Juney rolled her eyes, a pretty flush racing up her slender neck and into her cheeks. “I did not. Maybe only five.”
Laughter surrounded them.
“Well, you don’t seem as weird as some Canadians I’ve met,” Rowan chided. “But the jury’s still out.”
“Thanks?”
“What do you do?” Hunter asked her, coughing slightly as she took a big sip of her scotch.
“I run my family’s vineyard,” Juney answered. “Golden Sunrise Vineyard in Mission. We’re getting ready to open a restaurant and a new tasting room as well. And I’m a writer.”
“Wow!” a few voices murmured. Bellies grumbled at the sight and smell of what was currently sizzling on the grill.
“What do you write?” Rowan asked as he put together a plate of pickles, olives, cocktail onions and raw veggies. “Sappy romances? Women’s fiction? Books about finding yourself and being happy with the life you have? I mean, I have no problem with those kinds of books, but they’re definitely not my cup of oolong.”
Juney’s mouth twisted wryly as she sipped of her scotch. “Uh . . . mostly, paranormal and fantasy novels.”
“Really?” Rowan finished plating everyone’s grilled cheese and began passing them out. “Like what books?” He was a big fantasy nerd. His latest series kept him up until the wee hours of the morning, and he was growing rather impatient for the author to finish the next book. He was dying to know what happened when Turprol the Shefling rogue had gone into The Temple of Forbidden Life. The book ended with him walking in unarmed and alone. Rowan normally hated cliffhangers, but his favorite author knew how to do them just right.
“Have you heard of the Envious Souls Series? Not a lot of people have, so it’s okay if you haven’t.”
Smash!
Rowan dropped the plate he was holding, and his food splattered to the floor. The ceramic shattered into a dozen or more sharp pieces. “Shut the fuck up!”
Everyone stared at him wide-eyed, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even care that his lunch was currently in a mangled heap on the floor and covered in plate shrapnel. He took off to his room at a dead run and was back less than ten seconds later.
“You wrote this?” he asked. Well, more like accused. He held up the latest book in Juney’s Envious Souls Series, Nothing but Ashes. “You’re J.J. Davidson?”
Juney knelt down and began to collect Rowan’s meal off the floor. Hunter, who’d run and located a broom, stood next to her, waiting to sweep. Everyone else in the room was dead quiet.
“You’re J.J. Davidson?” Rowan asked again, this time with less accusation and more awe in his tone. Like a child who was finally getting to meet Santa, or their favorite sports hero or something.
Juney stood back up and opened the cupboard beneath the island to toss the sandwich into the trash. “Yes,” she said finally, lifting her head and meeting his gaze. “Juniper Jane Davis. But I tweaked my last name because Davidson has a better ring to it.”
“And you’re a woman?”
Will gave Rowan an incredulous look. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Amber glanced up at Will and grinned at him. “Exactly,” she said. “What does being a woman have to do with it? Women can do anything men can do. In fact, they can do more. And often do it better.”
Rowan shook his head, realizin
g how he must look and sound. “Sorry. It’s just, well, I love your books. They’re amazing. I have them all in hardcover, and I pre-order everything. I subscribe to your newsletter, follow you on Facebook. I just had no idea you were a woman. The way you’re able to write men. Do you have a bunch of brothers or something?” He was blathering like a fool, but he didn’t care. Some people want to meet celebrities or great scientists, politicians or religious figures, but Rowan? His list consisted of world-class chefs and J.J. Davidson.
Juney shook her head as she started making him another sandwich with some of the leftover ingredients. “Nope, two older sisters. Rose and Fern.”
“Are your parents into botany or something?” Will asked with mirth in his tone.
Juney rolled her eyes and laughed through her nose. “Or something.”
“Alliteration too?” Austin asked.
“Yup. Rose Renee and Fern Fiona,” Juney said with a snort.
“Well.” Rowan coughed, having finally regained some semblance of composure. “You’re definitely able to get into the head of men better than a lot of female writers. You’re . . . you’re one of my favorite authors, and I can’t believe I’m meeting you. It’s . . . ” He looked down at his feet at the sudden realization of how fanboy he was behaving. Embarrassment prickled along his skin, and the temperature in his face began to climb. “It’s an honor,” he said quietly.
Juney’s lip twitched. She put the spatula down and held out her hand, waiting for him to hand over the book. He did so, but with the excitement of a groupie or fan finally meeting their idol and getting their autograph. She reached into her purse and pulled out a fancy pen, flipped the front cover open and scribbled. A few seconds later she closed the book and handed it back to him with a faint smile.
“There you go. Now don’t ask me when the next one is coming out, because I haven’t even finished it yet. I’ve been so caught up trying to find a chef for this new restaurant that my manuscript has taken a back seat for the past month.” She flipped the sandwich and gave him a shy but genuine wink.