The 48 Hour Hookup (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  He was…breathtaking.

  Clearly, she’d spent too much time at work, around all those soft-in-the-middle stuffed-shirt types. This guy was stupidly ripped.

  And she, stupidly staring. Again.

  “Nice place,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her attention.

  Flustered, not even having realized he was off the phone, she glanced around. The ceiling soared, cobwebs billowing between the exposed beams. The two-story main room was lined on its upper half by a natural wood-railed balcony, from which hallways led to guest rooms. There were ten suites, all upstairs. Downstairs, adjacent to the common room, there was a large kitchen, a dining area, and a couple of club rooms. Some of the space had been repurposed over the decades, she was sure, but the current version held all of her memories.

  And the Hot HVAC Guy.

  “It was pretty amazing back in its day,” she said, somehow managing to trip over the words.

  “It’s amazing now,” he said. “I love old buildings like this.”

  “You do?” He’d surprised her, though she wasn’t sure why. Just…the only two people who knew where she was—her best friend, Jessie, and her station manager—had both made faces when she mentioned retreating to an abandoned lodge. Jessie had pointed out the city was plenty big to disappear into, if she just kept her head down, but her station manager had actually looked relieved, once the initial reaction to I’m going to hide in the woods had faded.

  “Yeah,” Liam said, still looking around, his eyes even brighter with interest than they had been when he was glaring at her for wrecking his truck. “We work in a lot of old places in the city. There’s just something about the history that fascinates me.” He turned his attention from a visual tour of the walls to rest his gaze on her. “Old buildings are kind of like people,” he said. “They all have a story.”

  “Do you?” she asked. “Have a story?” Belatedly, she realized the question had an odd intimacy in the cavernous old lodge. Being the only two people in the place, and probably on the mountain, made intimacy a thing whether they wanted it or not. And though she didn’t, she was pretty sure she’d just asked a loaded question that could easily be interpreted as a flirtation.

  After a measured moment, he said, “Considering you dropped a tree on my truck, you can consider yourself the most interesting part of it.”

  He softened that sentiment with a smile she couldn’t help returning. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or feel sorry for you.”

  He laughed. “To be honest, I don’t know either. What kind of sleeping accommodations do you have in here? Just the floor?”

  “You may have heard we don’t have any heat,” she said. “Except for the fireplace. I’ve spent the last three nights in a recliner, but you can have your choice of guest rooms if you don’t mind being cold or stale odors. The linens are folded and put away, and all the furniture was covered, but it’s all been sitting for a few years now.”

  “I’d rather camp out by the fire, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure, we can share.”

  His brow lifted.

  “The room. The fire. The…never mind.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Yeah,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “That would be great.”

  Sure it would. Because she was alone with a man who had no clue how many orgasms he’d coaxed out of her. A man who liked to sleep naked. One with whom she was now sharing a blizzard, a mountain lodge, and a roaring fire. Adding coffee to the mix would only leave her jacked up on caffeine so she could spend the night wide awake, woefully aware of every move he made.

  And especially the ones he didn’t.

  He might be a walking neon sign of a bad idea, but he was also the only man she’d wanted in months. He was never supposed to exist in her real life.

  There was no way this could end well.

  Chapter Five

  Liam wasn’t sure if she really had coffee or just wanted an excuse to get away from him. He wasn’t convinced it mattered. He did feel somewhat guilty that she felt the need to flee, but she was cute when she was flustered. Way cuter than the polished, unflappable television version.

  He’d never really noticed her until the Runaway Bride scandal. He probably would have, had he watched the local news more than every once in a while, but it was a lot easier to scroll through the morning headlines on his phone. Those headlines pretty much said it all, anyway, at least until hers had hit the screen.

  He almost felt sorry for her, especially after reading some of the nasty comments. And he really wished he could ask what happened, but even if she knew he knew who she was, he wasn’t sure he’d pry. He had firsthand experience with wanting to leave infamy behind. He doubted she’d want to rehash anything.

  Still, walking away from a wedding couldn’t have been easy. Doing it twice…he was sure the personal nightmare that prompted it far outweighed the impact of public opinion, but he’d learned from his own ongoing stint with infamy that the attention sucked. The added combination of criticism and mockery was unfathomable.

  She may have landed in a shuttered lodge in the Catskills, but she seemed to be holding together pretty well. In fact, had he not recognized her, he wouldn’t suspect she had half the city mocking her. Or maybe she didn’t know. He’d put a lot of effort into avoiding potential run-ins, especially in person, with all things Hot HVAC, so maybe she was no different.

  Ironic they had so much in common, yet he’d bet she would be just as loath to mention it as he. Or maybe she’d like to find an ally in him, but probably not. She’d probably just be upset he’d opened his mouth and wrecked her place of solace.

  An ear-piercing scream cut through the air.

  So much for solace.

  Liam was on his feet in a second, tearing after her. Or at least down the hall. He wasn’t sure where she’d gone past that point, but he headed for the light toward the back of the lodge and came to an abrupt stop in what ended up being the kitchen entry. Claire had her back to him.

  After a quick glance around the room, seeing nothing, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  The response was a terrible grunting hiss kind of noise, and it wasn’t from her.

  But it made her back straight into his arms.

  Where she fit entirely too well.

  In the absence of any obvious reason for her screaming, he was immediately distracted by the curve of her ass against the front of his jeans and a trace scent of melon in her hair. He might be staring past the top of her head, but all he could see were those stunning blue eyes. They’d put that brilliant mountain sky to shame, and damned if he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than a mountain sky.

  Some kind of feral Sasquatch mating call emanated from the opposite side of the kitchen island, dragging him out of what had quickly morphed into distraction.

  The commotion was followed by a ferocious chattering-type noise that sounded like something from a Nat Geo special.

  “What. Is. That?” he asked Claire, who only pressed harder against him. After a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped her in his arms, mostly because it felt like the right, protective thing to do, but also because the woman was gorgeous. Also, he’d never gotten this far without the need of a pickup line. Although they’d probably left that milestone in a pile of sawdust somewhere.

  The thing chattered what Liam was sure was a warning.

  “I think it’s a raccoon,” she said.

  He relaxed a notch. “A raccoon?” An oversized rat. Rats were all over New York City. Big ones. Ones so big they chased away cats. Raccoons weren’t so different. Liam loosened his hold on her and eased to the side, expecting to see some cute little masked woodland creature, its head cocked over the intrusion.

  Yeah, not so much.

  As he stepped toward the island, Claire shuffled to stand directly behind him. Having her pressed to his front had been one thing; having her against his back was another, and no less erotic. The woman
was clinging to him, giving him all kinds of bad ideas. He almost forgot about the stupid raccoon, even as he edged around the piece of furniture blocking his view.

  The raccoon apparently hadn’t forgotten about him. The critter had fallen strangely quiet—something he hadn’t heard over the noise of the rush of hormones attached to full-body contact with Claire—but it must have seen him before he saw it because the growling and hissing came back in force. Demonic force.

  He voiced a string of profanity that would have made Sawyer proud. Raccoons were supposed to be cute and friendly. This fat, mangy, fanged thing with the crazy eyes hadn’t gotten that particular memo. “Do you have a broom?” he asked Claire.

  “Yep. Right in that pantry beside the raccoon.”

  After a few more choice words, he asked, “Do you know how he got in?”

  She edged to stand beside him, staying close. “If I knew of an opening for something that big to get in, don’t you think I would had done something about it? Besides, I think they can open doors.”

  “Locked doors?” The woman was from New York City, where all things needed to remain locked at all times. Otherwise, even the shit that was nailed down would walk away.

  “Why would the door be locked?”

  He shot her a sideways look that backfired. Instead of getting his are you kidding me message across, he found himself drowning in an endless sea of blue. He would have been content to drift there if not for the nasty hissing, so astutely fierce that it almost sounded like a joke. But Liam knew a raccoon could tear a person up. One thing he hadn’t rescued from his truck was a first aid kit, and along with his intention of keeping his appendages to himself, he wanted them intact. Which meant not sharing space with wild, angry animals. “Maybe you could lock it to keep raccoons out. I don’t know…that might be a start.”

  She glared. “Because I absolutely expected this to happen.”

  The raccoon stared, less defensive now, then oh-so-epically-casually climbed first to a stool, and then to the counter, then ripped into a candy bar that had been lying there.

  “Do you see that?” Claire said, edging to stand beside him. “He’s sitting there on his haunches looking me in the eye while he eats my chocolate.”

  “The door isn’t open,” Liam said, trying damned hard not to sound amused. “Do they open and close doors? Is this the politest raccoon of all time?”

  “No, I don’t think he is,” she said, turning toward Liam to give him an indignant stare. “Because as I previously mentioned, he’s staring right at me as he steals my food.”

  Liam was sorely lacking in a smartass reply, probably because when she’d looked at him, her face tipped toward up his, he didn’t see the annoyance. He saw a delectably expressive mouth, and he wanted to taste it. Probably as much as she wanted her chocolate.

  The raccoon sat, watching, his beady-eyed, crooked-masked face displaying what appeared to be mild curiosity. Either that, or some kind of dare to do something about his intrusion. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop him from calmly eating that chocolate bar.

  “Is there another entrance to this room?” Liam asked. “Besides the two I can see?” The hallway at his back went to the front of the lodge, while the door straight in front was shut firmly. The fact that it didn’t budge in the rising wind attested to that.

  Monk hadn’t been exaggerating about the storm. It was setting in fast, and there was no way he was getting off this mountain. He just hoped Monk had, and with Liam’s truck in no more pieces than it had started. Liam was really beginning to wonder if he’d ever seen that truck again. Hell, he’d just replaced the thirty-day tags with the permanent plates.

  Claire shifted her attention from the raccoon to Liam. “Right around the corner of the pantry, there’s a short hall to a service porch of sorts. It’s shut, though, or there’d be a terrible draft in here.”

  No kidding. He’d left a relatively warm New York City that morning in a perfectly pieced together truck, and a few hours later, he was standing on the leading edge of what sounded like a blizzard, his truck a wreck, while a raccoon foraged through the food stash. He hoped the latter had consisted of more than a candy bar.

  He really should have tuned in to the weather at some point, but the sky had been blue, and he’d had just enough of the media in pretty much every form. Allowing that aversion to extend to the weather forecast hadn’t been his brightest move.

  “You haven’t seen him in here before?” he asked of the raccoon.

  Claire’s incredulous expression almost made him laugh. “Do you think I would have left my candy bar out if I’d known it was an offering to this…thing?”

  “Can we close off the kitchen?” he asked, attempting to temper his smile.

  “Just give him the run of the place?” She sounded so shocked over the idea that he almost lost that fight not to grin, not that he was particularly amused.

  This day was officially a disaster, and that he was standing there in a face-off with a raccoon, utterly distracted by a client who had wrecked his truck was just the icing on the cake. Not that he had cake, but if he did, he’d hope like hell it was chocolate so he could hand it over as a peace offering to the chocolate-eating pest. And he’d never handed over a piece of chocolate cake without a fight. He had three brothers who would attest to that.

  “To the contrary,” he said. “I don’t know how he got in, and I doubt he’s going to let me take his paw and lead him to the exit, so we shut him in here and don’t let him have the run of the rest of the place.”

  She stood there, arms crossed, worrying a lip. “What if he can’t get out?”

  He’d had that thought, but he kept it to himself. Besides, the thing wouldn’t like being trapped, if that was the case. “Then by morning, he’ll probably be more than willing to exit via the door.”

  “Why don’t we invite him to do that now?”

  Liam shot her a look. “The wind is smacking that door so hard, I doubt he’s going to want to go headfirst into it. Besides, he doesn’t exactly seem uncomfortable.”

  “Of course he’s not,” she grumbled. “He has my chocolate. What are we going to do about food?”

  “Do you have any food?” He realized the minute the words left his mouth that it wasn’t the most intelligent of questions. Of course she had food. She was living there.

  “Yeah, a little. In the fridge and upper cabinets. Where my candy bar should have been.”

  “Stay here,” Liam said. “If I scare him, I’d rather he not go down the hall. I don’t want to wake with claw marks on my face.” His back, now that was another thing.

  She clung to his arm, holding him back. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Getting food. What should I be looking for?” He hoped he wasn’t about to risk the bottom half of his jeans getting shredded over some tofu or whatever those television personalities ate. Of course, Claire wasn’t one of those wafer-thin types. She was slender, but she didn’t look like she’d blow away in a stiff wind.

  “There’s some deli,” she said. Her grip on his arm tightened. “What if he has rabies?”

  He gave her an utterly somber look. “I don’t anticipate being bitten, but should the worst happen, you might have to remove my pants and take care of me.” He’d been trying to be cute, but belatedly, he realized how awkward the attempt had sounded and cringed.

  “Is this an attempt at coming on to me? Because I’m a little concerned about your timing,” she muttered.

  And so it begins. He tried to just cut himself off there, but his nervous flirting tic wouldn’t be denied. It was like his mouth was having a seizure. “Should that become a thing, I’d like to be a more active participant. Playing the victim has never been a fantasy of mine.”

  She gave him a look that suggested he’d be safer with the raccoon. “So I just watched this HBO special… Didn’t Clarence Thomas try that line on Anita Hill?”

  He tried to conjure one of those sexy, reassuring, manly stares that suggested tha
t even wounded he’d be able to play the hero—especially against a little barky forest creature—but he didn’t feel sexy. He felt like he winced.

  Her brow furrowed. “Do you have something in your eye?”

  Yeah, so he didn’t have the look. “I’m fine,” he reassured her, privately cursing the bet that had seemed at one point like an easy win. At this rate, the only way he’d score a date would be if she felt sorry for him, which might make for a technical victory but would do nothing for his ego.

  She still watched him, concern blanketing her face. “Are you sure?” She stepped closer, peering intently into his right eye. At least now he knew he wasn’t imagining that twitchiness. And also that she smelled like fresh air and driven snow. Two of his favorite things.

  Perfect.

  He eased out of her grasp, hating that he had to, even if was definitely a better idea that staying close.

  He skirted the room, keeping to the perimeter, and found a window open on the porch off the kitchen. Cold air blasted through, but he wasn’t going to close off the animal’s avenue of escape. “Have you noticed that window open before?” he asked, pointing in its direction.

  She nodded. “A couple days ago, but I closed it.”

  More likely they had a crafty visitor. And now Liam stood between it and the exit.

  One of those low rumbling, screechy demonic growl-noise things emanated from the other side of the fridge. Liam flattened against the double-capacity appliance, feeling like some kind of ridiculous B-reel detective.

  He managed a grip on the handle that would open the far door, which he assumed was the refrigerator half, and shot a look back at Claire, who nodded. He took that to mean his death wasn’t imminent, so he yanked it open and grabbed the deli and a couple of other things, including a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread that had been sitting on top of the appliance, and backed away, kicking the door shut as he went. He still couldn’t see the raccoon, but he didn’t feel the thing attacking him, either, so that was good.

  He retraced his steps around the outskirts of the room, not daring a sideways glance until he was no longer between the critter and his escape.