Can't Buy Me Love

by Heather MacAllister

  “I don’t know. Maybe this leads to a meat locker that needs to be defrosted. There can’t be this much snow. It’s May. My wedding.”

  Dylan climbed up the drift and began digging. His hands, warm Southern hands, went numb almost at once. A muffled howling grew louder.

  “What’s that?” Alexis asked.

  “I don’t know.” It sounded like a wild hungry animal, but he chose not to share that with her.

  “Can you see daylight?”

  “I see dark.”

  “As in evening dark?”

  Dylan was silent for a moment, his brain trying to process what he saw. He suddenly had a memory from his Midwestern farm childhood. “It’s blizzard dark.”

  “What’s that?” Alexis had grown up in south Texas. She hadn’t seen much snow.

  “It’s snowing so hard it’s dark.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Dylan slid back down the snowdrift and marched over to her. “Say something so I know where you are.”

  “Dylan?”

  Smiling grimly to himself, he cupped his icy hands around her neck.

  She squealed.

  “Yeah. It’s cold. Too cold to joke. Now, I’m going to shine this puny little light over there and you’re going to climb that snow mountain and go through the opening at the top of the doorway. And you’re going to hurry.”

  Dylan’s fingers were so numb he had a difficult time pressing the button. Alexis was already climbing up the snow, laughing all the way.

  Ho. Ho. Ho.

  He was glad somebody was having a good time.

  They emerged outside into a moaning wind and snowflakes that felt like pieces of ice against their faces, which, to be sure, they were.

  “Where are we?” Alexis shouted.

  “Who knows. Someplace hidden from the entrance to the old house.” He pushed her forward. “Go that way and keep touching the wall so we don’t wander away from the inn.”

  “Is this the way back inside?”

  “I don’t know, but if we stand here arguing about it, we’ll freeze.”

  Dylan couldn’t remember ever being this cold. Just a few hours ago, he’d been walking the quaint touristy streets of Maiden Falls. Now, he was trudging through an icy wilderness, fighting for his life.

  Alexis was doing a pretty good job of fighting for her own life. In fact, she was leading. He should be leading. He was the man. But she made a most excellent windbreak.

  “I found a window,” she shouted.

  Dylan was tempted to break it, but they had nothing to break it with except their shoes and all he needed was frostbitten toes to go with his frostbitten hands.

  Alexis apparently had no fear of frostbite because she’d already removed her shoe and was pounding on the window.

  Even if she succeeded in breaking the double-paned thermal glass, how did she think she was going to get inside?

  In fact, the pounding attracted the attention of someone inside who motioned for them to keep walking. Ten feet away was the door. It was snowing so hard, they’d been unable to see it.

  They stumbled inside and found themselves in the mudroom outside the kitchen.

  “Come in, come in!” One of the staff said, then shouted for someone to get blankets.

  Dylan and Alexis were led toward the ovens where they stood and dripped, probably breaking all sorts of health codes, until someone from housekeeping brought a mountain of blankets that they wrapped themselves in.

  In the meantime, the chef hurried over to Alexis. “I could not find you earlier.”

  “I—I was locked in the cellar.”

  The man actually paled. “But how did you get out?”

  “We read about the secret door during Prohibition and looked until we found it,” she told him. “It led outside, but there was this snow.”

  He threw up his hands. “This storm is unbelievable. I am making good old-fashioned chicken soup for tonight. Would you two like a bowl now?”

  Alexis and Dylan nodded and sat at a long stainless-steel prep table. The chef, himself, brought them bowls of soup. Dylan thought he might just be able to make his fingers work now.

  “I know it sometimes snows in May,” someone remarked, “but nothing like this. I hope no one else is trapped outside.”

  “And the news hasn’t made any special mention of it, so it must be very localized,” added another of the kitchen staff.

  “One thing, no one is getting in or out tonight,” the chef said.

  “What about tomorrow?” Alexis paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Vincent! And my wedding!”

  The chef seemed unconcerned. “The hotel has snowblowers or you can move the ceremony to the ballroom.”

  “Oh, Tracy and the union guys will love that,” Alexis muttered.

  Personally, Dylan thought the wedding location wasn’t as much of a problem as the lack of a groom, but who was he to point that out? Well, the best man, but still he was going to stay out of it and eat his soup.

  They shivered and gobbled soup for the next several minutes as the chef and his staff worked around them.

  “I feel so much better. Thank you.” Alexis carried her bowl over to the sink.

  Dylan figured he’d better go, too. The staff was already deep into dinner preparations and they were only in the way. “Thanks.” He saluted the chef and followed Alexis out of the kitchen.

  They both looked like taupe mummies in their blankets, but Dylan was the last person to care. “You never finished choosing your wines,” he said. “Want to change clothes and meet back down there?” He grinned so she’d know he was kidding.

  “Very funny. I’m headed for a nice hot bath.” She punched the elevator button and leaned against the wall. Even tired, she had her guard up. Those dark eyes of hers told him nothing.

  “I might go for cognac or brandy or something that’ll burn its way down my throat and then go for the hot bath,” Dylan told her.

  “Thanks for getting me out of there,” she said.

  “You had just as much to do with it. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Sure. It wasn’t like we were stranded on a mountain, or anything.”

  Mechanical sounds from the shaft announced the arrival of her elevator. Just as well. Her hair had been damp and had dried naturally into wild curling wisps that made her look more approachable than she’d been all weekend. And, in spite of the finality of their earlier conversation, Dylan definitely wanted to approach. He supposed he’d always feel that way about her.

  But the only thing Dylan was entitled to approach was a bottle of something in the bar. “See you tomorrow.”

  She gave him a tired nod and he watched as the elevator doors closed. He trailed his blanket as he squished his way to the bar, then sat down and ordered a double.

  “A double what?” asked the bartender.

  “I’ve been out in the storm and tomorrow I’m going to be the best man, not the groom—important distinction—best man at the wedding of the woman who might just be the love of my life. Give me a double of whatever you think I need.”

  The bartender stared at him, then poured an amber liquid into a brandy snifter. “On the house, man.”

  Dylan raised it to the bartender. “Thank you.” When he sipped, he felt the warmth all the way down to his stomach. His stomach didn’t need warming. The soup had taken care of that. His heart needed warming, but Dylan had a feeling it was going to be a long, long time before he recovered from this weekend.

  The thing of it was, he wouldn’t compromise on the pre-nup issue for one important reason. It represented a basic lack of trust on Alexis’s part and an unwillingness to fully commit to a marriage. She wanted to hold something of herself in reserve. She wanted an escape hatch.

  In Dylan’s mind, a person was either committed, or not. Anything less was setting the marriage up for failure.

  He swirled the liquid in the snifter and took another sip. He didn’t know why she felt this way. Her parents were stil
l married, so he guessed she’d been hurt by somebody. Maybe several somebodies.

  He stared into the glass thinking he was probably one of those somebodies. What irony. Before, she was willing to commit too much, now not enough. She was protecting herself, that’s what she was doing.

  Dylan sat up. He hadn’t convinced her that she could trust him. That was the trouble. And had he told her he loved her? No, because he hadn’t known himself. He should go do that. He should go do that right now.

  “Bartender, I’d like another one of these to go.” He signed his room number and with a sense of urgency he didn’t understand, and took both balloon glasses upstairs to Alexis’s room.

  “VHAT IS VIZ ALL ZEE SHOUTING? You know he cannot hear you.”

  “Hello, Countess,” Sunshine croaked from her seat at the bar. “I was hoping he could sense something. I think he finally did. He’s on his way upstairs and he’s got two glasses.”

  “Mebbe he just vants to get drunk.”

  “No, I think he’s going to see Alexis.”

  “So zee shouting is finished? Good. You vere disturbing our poker game.” The Countess swept the train of her robe out of the way and stalked back to the parlor.

  After mimicking the Countess’s regal strut behind her back, Rosebud drifted in. “You might have overdone it on the snow. You nearly froze them to death.”

  “I didn’t want that other man coming back.”

  “No problem. Nobody is coming or going.” “Good.” Sunshine beamed. “And now, Rosebud, come and see what I can do with bubbles.”

  “MOM?” AT THE SOUND OF her mother’s voice, Alexis gripped the cell phone tightly. She could use a good motherly hug right about now. “What room are you in?”

  “We’re stuck in Denver. You’re snowed in.”

  “You mean, you mean you aren’t here?”

  Patty O’Hara’s voice assumed a calm tone mothers of brides had been using for centuries. “That’s right, we’re in Denver.”

  “But…but…”

  “Honey, these people know how to deal with snow. They’ll have the roads plowed by tomorrow and we’ll be able to get there in plenty of time for the wedding.” Her mother may have been overdoing the calm.

  Alexis should try some herself. “Oh. Great.” Even to her ears, she sounded less than convincing.

  “Oh, honey. I wish I could be there with you now, but you’ll be fine. Take a long warm bath and go to bed early and tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

  That’s what she was afraid of. “Okay. Good night, Mom. Drive safely tomorrow.”

  Alexis just couldn’t tell her mother everything that had happened—and she wasn’t talking about getting locked in the cellar and the trudge through the white wilderness. No, she was talking about her little conversation with Dylan.

  Why bring it up? Nothing had happened. In spite of all the talk, everything was the same, except she was a little colder. That, she could fix.

  Alexis had filled the claw-footed tub with bubbles and she intended to soak until she was a prune. She lit the candles she’d been going to use with Vincent and got into the tub. The water was scaldingly hot but she eased herself down and felt immediately better. She loved the shape of the tub. It was huge, but deep and curved in a way that allowed her to rest her head back.

  She felt as though she were in an ad for bath products, except she needed longer hair so she could sweep it up and let a few sexy tendrils escape. Instead, her hair was one giant tendril. Fine. She couldn’t see the mirror from the bathtub, anyway.

  Tension seeped from her, but irritation remained. Dylan, the King of Pre-nups, didn’t intend to have one for himself. Was that hypocritical, or what?

  Not only that, he expected her to break off with Vincent this weekend before he’d discuss a future with her.

  Okay. He had a point there, but not one she liked. Maybe if he’d given her a hint…No. If she really felt that tempted by anything Dylan might offer, she should break it off with Vincent right now.

  Except she had never pretended to love Vincent. So, basically, she was tempted by different things.

  No. There was no tempting. Vincent was her future. Dylan was her past.

  The door to the bathroom slowly opened, letting out all the lovely warm air. Great. The lock must not have caught. Alexis didn’t want to get out of the tub, so she scooted forward and stretched her leg toward the door. Just a little further and she could kick it shut.

  “Alexis?”

  It sounded as though her past was calling her.

  “Alexis?” There was alarm in Dylan’s voice and she could hear him coming closer.

  He was in her room? How did he get into her room?

  “Alexis? Are you okay?”

  “Dylan! Don’t come in—”

  But he was already at the door of the bathroom. The open door of the bathroom. And there she was with her leg stuck in the air. She pulled it back into the tub. “I’m taking a bath,” she pointed out when he didn’t immediately leave.

  Dylan stepped inside. “You scared me. I came by and your door was open.” He exhaled and handed her one of the two brandy snifters he carried. “I brought you something warming.” He took a sip from his glass. “I can’t believe you’re in the tub with the door wide open.”

  And she couldn’t believe he was still in her bathroom. “It just came open!”

  “I’m talking about your room door. When I got here, it was standing open. You should be more careful. Anyone could wander in.”

  Alexis sank lower into the bubbles. “Anyone did.” She looked up at him and watched the expressions flit across his face until his eyes widened slightly and she knew he’d just realized that she was in the tub and that there was nothing between them but a bunch of rapidly popping bubbles.

  9

  AND SPEAKING OF BUBBLES…Alexis felt a draft and followed Dylan’s gaze in time to see a thin layer of those bubbles becoming rapidly thinner.

  Due to its location, Alexis wanted that particular layer to stay especially thick. She mounded some bubbles from near her shoulder and poofed them downstream. But darn it, there went another layer. She looked up at Dylan in suspicion, but, though he was breathing heavily, it wasn’t concentrated enough to move bubbles around.

  “I’m getting cold,” she complained.

  “Sorry.” He shut the door.

  And he was still on the inside.

  “Uh…” Not that she was a particular prude, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen everything before, but…

  “Drink your brandy. Or cognac. Or whatever it is.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I know it’s good.”

  Trying to remain nonchalant about him standing there, she took a sip. “It’s very…strong.”

  “It’ll grow on you. You’ll feel so warm and relaxed you’ll forget all about how cold we were in the cellar.”

  Speaking of cold, there had to be a draft in here because she was having the most difficult time trying to keep her bubbles arranged, especially when the amount of bubbles decreased by the second. She scooted farther down in the tub. “I appreciate the drink,” she said to encourage him to leave. “It was thoughtful when I know you’re eager to get into your own bath.”

  Dylan didn’t take the hint. Swirling the liquid in the brandy snifter, he wasn’t even making eye contact.

  No, he was watching as islands of bubbles formed where once there had been great continents.

  Beneath the surface of the water, Alexis made little wave motions with her free hand. Must keep Antarctica down south where it belonged.

  “I don’t have a claw-footed tub in my bathroom.” His eyes still watched the bubbles and Alexis still tried to pretend she was casual about him being in the bathroom.

  “You must be in the new building, then.”

  Dylan nodded absently, still swirling and sipping his drink. What was this stuff? She tasted it. Not bad. Dylan was right, the more she drank, the better it got. She should
be able to identify it.

  In her preoccupation, Alexis momentarily forgot about the arrangement—or lack of arrangement—of the bubbles.

  Dylan’s fixed stare alerted her. Looking down at herself, she saw that she was much higher in the water than she’d been. She scooted down, the resulting wave action lapping dangerously against her breasts.

  She squinted at the bubbles, now not nearly so opaque as they’d been.

  The time for subtlety was at an end. “Dylan, I think you’d better—”

  “Join you? I thought you’d never ask.” He set his glass on the floor by the tub and dropped his blanket.

  Alarmed—no, not alarmed. Thrilled more like, but she should have been alarmed. So, alarmed, Alexis protested as Dylan kicked off his sodden shoes. “I didn’t ask you!”

  Wearing a strange smile, and, at least for now, all his clothes, Dylan emptied his pockets. Cell phone, keys and wallet ended up in a pile on the bathroom counter.

  “Dylan, you can’t…”

  “Say it with more conviction, Alexis.”

  She drew a deep breath—not such a good idea—then let it all out in a whoosh when Dylan ripped off his socks and belt, then stepped into the tub, fully dressed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting warm. Getting relaxed. Getting lucky?”

  “Not on your life.”

  He laughed. “Scoot forward.”

  She hunched forward covering her breasts. “Dylan. Get out of the bathtub.”

  He stopped. “Do you truly want me to get out of the bathtub, or are you protesting because you think you should?”

  “Evil man.”

  Chuckling evilly he slid down behind her.

  “Dylan, water is sloshing over the sides.” And taking bubbles with it.

  “The blanket will absorb it. And I’ll clean up any leftover mess. Relax.” He pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around her.

  Relax? He was kidding, right? If anyone had told her a week ago that she’d be sharing a bathtub with Dylan Greene, she wouldn’t have believed it. She barely believed it now. It felt so good. So intimate. So incredibly weird.

  “Uh, Dylan?”

  “Hmm?” He rested his chin on her head.