How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  “Okay.” How hard could it be? The one-man tents were small.

  “First you’ll want the ground cover. It’s the thing that’s silver on one side and red on the other. Silver side up to preserve body heat.”

  Libby was a fast learner. And she was determined to acquit herself well. “Got it.”

  Patrick pointed. “Leader tents go over there.” He stood, hands on hips, while she struggled to spread the ground tarps and smooth them out.

  Next came the actual tents. Claustrophobically small and vulnerably thin, they were actually not that difficult to set up. Lightweight poles snapped together in pieces and threaded through a nylon sleeve from one corner of the tent to the opposite side. Repeat once, and it was done. The only thing left was to secure the four corners to the ground with plastic stakes.

  All in all, not a bad effort for her first time. Even Patrick seemed reluctantly impressed. He handed her a rolled-up bundle that was about eighteen inches wide. “Look for a valve on one corner. It’s not difficult to blow up. And it won’t look like much when you’re done. But having this pad underneath your upper body and hips makes for a much more comfortable night.”

  He was right. Even when she inflated the thin mattress, it didn’t seem like much of a cushion. But she wasn’t about to say so.

  To give Patrick his due, he didn’t go out of his way to make her feel nervous or clumsy. Still, having someone watch while she learned new skills was stressful.

  At last, both tents were up, pads and sleeping bags inside. The full realization that she and Patrick were going to spend the night together hit her hard. No television. No computers. Nothing at all for a distraction. He was gorgeous and unavailable. She was lonely and susceptible.

  Nevertheless, the job was what she needed. Not the man. She couldn’t let him see that she was seriously attracted to him. Cool and casual was the plan.

  She stood and arched her back. “What next?”

  Four

  Patrick hadn’t expected much from a young, pampered, New York socialite. But perhaps he was going to have to eat his words. During the morning, he had set an intentionally punishing pace as they made their way through the woods. Libby stayed on his heels and never once complained.

  Was it the past year that had made her resilient, or was she naturally spunky and stubborn? That would remain to be seen.

  He glanced at his watch. Even with this current spring-like spell, it was still February, which meant far less daylight than in two months when he traditionally scheduled his first team-building treks. Kneeling, he pulled a small camp stove from his pack. “I’ll show you how to use this,” he said. “The chef at the retreat center has a couple of part-time assistants who prepare our camping meals the day before.”

  “I assumed the execs would have to cook for themselves. Isn’t that part of the outdoor experience?”

  “In theory, yes. But so far, we’ve only done short trips...two days, one night. So our time frame is limited. Since we want them to do a lot of other activities, we preprepare the food and all they have to do is warm it up. We don’t spend too much time on meals.”

  Once Libby had mastered the stove, she glanced up at him. “Surely you don’t expect the entire group to use something this small.”

  “No. I have a group of local guys who come along to carry the food, extra stoves and extra water.”

  He stared at her, disconcerted by feelings that caught him unawares. He was enjoying himself. Libby was a very soothing person to be around. When she stood up, he walked away, ostensibly picking up some fallen limbs that had littered the campsite.

  Grappling with an unexpected attraction, he cursed inwardly. With Charlise, he never felt like he was interacting with a woman. He treated her the same way he did his brothers. Charlise was almost part of his family. While he was delighted that she and her husband were so happy about the upcoming birth, he would be lying if he didn’t admit he was feeling a little bit sorry for himself. Silver Reflections had been going so well. He had honed these outdoor events down to the finest detail. Then Charlise had to go and get pregnant. And his mother had saddled him with Libby. A remarkably appealing woman who’d already managed to get under his skin.

  What was he going to do about it? Nothing. It would be a really bad idea to get involved personally with his mother’s beloved Libby. Not only that, but with Charlise out of commission, he had no choice but to work twice as hard. And ignore his libido.

  Surely he could be excused for being a little grumpy.

  Libby called out to him. “What now?”

  He turned around and caught her rolling her shoulders. She’d be sore tomorrow. Backpacking used a set of muscles most people didn’t employ on a daily basis.

  “I’ll show you how we string our packs up in the trees,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  He sighed, the look of befuddlement on her face the sign of an outdoor newbie. “Once we set up camp, we won’t be hauling our backpacks everywhere. We’ll use this as home base and range around the area.”

  “Why can’t we leave the packs in our tents?”

  “Bears,” he said simply.

  Up until that point, Libby had done an admirable job keeping her cool, but now she paled. “What do you mean, bears?”

  “Black bears have an incredible sense of smell. And they’re omnivorous. Anytime we’re away from camp—and at night when we’re sleeping—we’ll hang our packs from a high tree limb to discourage unwanted visitors. Don’t keep any food in your tent at all, not even a pack of crackers or scented lip balm or toothpaste.”

  “I washed my hair with apple shampoo this morning.” Her expression was priceless.

  “Not to worry. I should have told you. But the scent won’t be strong enough by the end of the day to make a difference.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled as she glanced over her shoulder, perhaps expecting a bear to lumber into sight any moment.

  Patrick unearthed a packet of nylon rope. “There will be plenty of tall men around to do this part, but it never hurts to gain a new life skill. Watch me, and then you can try.”

  “If you say so.”

  He found a rock that was maybe four inches around and tied it to the end of the rope. “Stand back,” he said. Fortunately for his male pride, his first shot sailed over the branch. He reached for the rock again and removed it. “Now all you have to do is attach one end to your pack, send it up, and tie it off.” When Libby seemed skeptical, he laughed, his good humor restored for the moment. “Never mind. I won’t make you practice this right now. We have better things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  He grabbed a couple of water pouches and a zippered nylon case, then hefted both packs toward the treetops, securing them. “I’m going to show you where I teach the groups how to rappel.”

  Libby’s expression was dubious. “Does Charlise do the rappelling thing?”

  It was the first time she had seemed at all reluctant to approach something new. “No. Not usually. So if you don’t want to try it, you can watch me. But I do want you to get a feel for the whole range of activities we offer. C’mon...it’s not far.”

  As they passed the two tents, neatly in place for the upcoming night, he felt his pulse thud. He’d never thought of camping out as sexual or even sensual. When he spent time with a woman, it was in fine restaurants or at the theater. Perhaps later on soft sheets in her bedroom. But certainly not when both parties were sweaty—and without a luxurious bathroom at hand.

  He stumbled. Damn it. Libby was messing with his head.

  The large rock outcropping was barely half a mile away. He strode automatically, only slowing down when he realized that Libby was lagging behind. When she caught up, he moved on without speaking.

  Though she had been cooperative and pleasant all d
ay, his inadvertent insult from Friday hung between them like a cloud. He would have to address it sooner or later, whether she liked it or not.

  When they arrived at their destination, he unzipped the bag and pulled out a mass of tightly woven mesh straps. “Sometimes, if we have women along, I might ask you to help them get into their gear. If a female seems extremely modest or uneasy, it can be difficult for me or one of the guys to help with the harness...you know...too much touching.”

  Libby nodded. “I understand.”

  She stared at him intently as he prepared the equipment. Something about her steady regard made the back of his neck tingle. “I’m going to go around the side of that ridge and come out on top,” he said. “That cliff is only about thirty feet high, but it looks really far off the ground when you’re standing up there, particularly if you’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He tossed her a thin ground cloth to sit on. “Feel free to relax while I get up there. And you don’t have to worry about ticks or other bugs. It’s still too early for a lot of creepy crawlies.”

  * * *

  Libby hadn’t been worrying about creepy crawlies, but she was now. Ick. Her legs itched already from the power of suggestion.

  If her companion had been any man other than Patrick Kavanagh, she might have assumed he was showing off. He could have explained how the rappelling worked without a demonstration. Maybe he just liked doing it. It was a sure bet he didn’t have any interest in impressing her.

  Without Libby to slow him down, he appeared at the top of the small cliff in no time at all. She shaded her eyes and watched as he secured himself to a nearby tree. He checked all of his connections and waved. Then, looking like an extremely handsome and nimble spiderish superhero, he stepped backward off the rock shelf and danced his way to the bottom.

  His skill was striking.

  Something about a man so physically powerful and at ease with his body was very appealing. For a moment, she thought about other, more primal things he might do exceedingly well...but no. She wouldn’t go there.

  Once before when she was young and immature, she’d fallen under the spell of a magnetic, powerful man—with disastrous results. History would not be repeating itself. She was older now, old enough to be tempted. But sex and romance were off the table. Keeping this job had to be her focus.

  The demonstration took some time. Once Patrick reached the bottom, he had to go back to the top and untie his ropes.

  Finally, he reappeared, striding toward her. She handed him his water. He dropped down beside her, barely breathing heavily, and took long gulps. Already, the sun was sliding lower in the sky, and a chill began to linger in the shadows.

  Libby pulled her knees to her chest and linked her arms around her legs. “That was pretty cool. Have you always been fond of the outdoors?”

  Patrick wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. “Would you be surprised to know that I worked in advertising for several years in Chicago?”

  She gaped at him. “Seriously?”

  His smile was self-mocking. “Yes. I loved the competitive atmosphere—stealing big accounts, coming up with the next great ad campaign. Brainstorming with smart, focused, energetic colleagues. It was a great environment for a young man.”

  She snorted. “You’re still young.”

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Then what changed?”

  He shrugged. “I missed the mountains. I missed Silver Glen. I didn’t know how deeply this place was imprinted on my DNA until I left. So one day, I turned in my notice, and I came home.”

  “And started Silver Reflections.”

  “It took a couple of years, but yeah...it’s been a pretty exciting time.”

  “So who’s the real Patrick Kavanagh? The man I just watched scramble down a cliff? Or the sophisticated guy who roams the halls of his übersuccessful, private, luxurious executive getaway?”

  His quick grin startled her. “Wow, Libby...was that a compliment?” Without waiting for an answer to his teasing question, he continued. “Both, I guess. Without the time in Chicago, I doubt I would have understood the needs of the type A men and women who eat, sleep and breathe work. I was one of them...at least for a few years. But I realized my life was missing balance. For me, the balance is here. So if I can offer rest and recovery to other people, then I’m satisfied.”

  “And your personal life?” Oops. That popped out uncensored. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  He chuckled but kept silent.

  They were sitting so close, she could smell his warm skin and the hint of whatever soap he had used that morning. Not aftershave. That would be the equivalent of inviting bears to munch on his toes. Even mentally joking about it gave her a shiver of unease.

  Not long from now, it was going to get dark. Very dark. Her nemesis, Patrick Kavanagh, was the only person metaphorically standing between her and the wildness of nature.

  To keep her mind off the upcoming night, she asked another question. “Do you have any regrets?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I said something so stupid and unkind, and I’m sorry you heard it.”

  She flushed, though in the fading light, maybe he couldn’t see. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it. You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  He touched her knee. Briefly. As if to establish some kind of connection. “I admire the hell out of you, Libby. I didn’t mean what I said on Friday night. My mother is one of the best people I know. Her instincts are always spot-on. Her compassion and genuine love for people have influenced my brothers and me more than we’ll ever know.”

  “You called me a misfit.”

  Patrick cursed beneath his breath. “Don’t remind me, damn it. I’m sorry. It was a crappy thing to do.”

  “I think the reason it hurt me was because it’s the truth.”

  Patrick leaped to his feet and dragged her with him, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He looked down at her, his jaw tight. He was big and strong and absolutely confident in everything he did. With the five-inch difference in their heights, it would be easy to rest her head on his shoulder. She was tired of being strong all the time. She was tired of not knowing who she was anymore. And she really wanted the luxury of having a man like Patrick in her life. But survival trumped romance right now.

  “You’ve been a trouper today,” he said quietly.

  “But I’m not Charlise.”

  One beat of silence passed. Then two.

  “No. You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable in your own way.”

  He wasn’t dodging the truth. Where she came from they called that damning with faint praise.

  “I can learn,” she said firmly. Was she trying to convince Patrick or herself?

  His small grin curled her toes in her boots. “I know that. And I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I’m not usually such an animal. Please forgive me.”

  She wasn’t sure who was more surprised when he bent his head and kissed her. When either or both of them should have pulled away, some spark of longing kept them together. At least it felt like longing on her part. She didn’t know what Patrick was thinking.

  His lips pressed hers firmly, his tongue teasing ever so gently, asking permission to slide inside her mouth and destroy her with the taste of him. Her arms went around his neck. Clinging. Her body leaned into his. Yearning. It had been well over a year since she had been kissed. Echoes of past mistakes set off alarms, but she ignored them.

  The moment of rash insanity set her senses on fire, helping her forget that she’d walked through her own kind of purgatory. It felt so good to be held. So safe. So warm. She trembled in his embrace.

  “Patrick...” She whisp
ered his name, not wanting to stop, but knowing they were surely going to regret whatever madness had overtaken them.

  He jerked as if he had been shot. Staggered backward. “Libby. Hell...”

  The exclamation encompassed mortification. Shock. Regret.

  It was the last one that stung, despite knowing that keeping distance between them was for the best.

  She managed a smile, though it cost her. “We’d better get back to camp. I’m starving, and it’s going to be dark soon.”

  His apology should have erased the friction, yet they faced each other almost as adversaries.

  He nodded, his expression brusque. “You’re right.”

  This time, following him through the forest came naturally. No matter the strained atmosphere between them, in this environment, she trusted him implicitly to take them wherever they needed to go.

  Dinner was homemade vegetable soup warmed on the camp stove. The chef had made the entrée and added fresh Italian rolls to go with it. While Libby tended to the relatively foolproof job of preparing the meal, Patrick started a campfire and rolled a log near the flames so they would have a comfy place to sit.

  With the cup from a thermos, Patrick ladled soup into paper bowls that would later be burned in the fire. He’d explained that the aluminum spoons they used were light in a pack and good for the environment.

  Libby ate hungrily. It was amazing how many calories one consumed by walking in the mountains. Neither she nor Patrick spoke. What was there to say? He didn’t really want her here. Not to replace Charlise. And beyond that, they were nothing to each other. Virtual strangers. Except she normally didn’t go around kissing strangers. She jumped when an owl hooted nearby. Though she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the day had been warm, she scrambled to find her jacket. Huddling into the welcome warmth, she stared into the fire and tried not to think about the night to come.

  If she had any hope of convincing Patrick that she was capable of filling Charlise’s shoes, she had to act as if spending a night in the dark, scary woods was no big deal.