Immersed: Book 6 in The Ripple Effect Romance Series (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella)

by Jennifer Griffith

  “I’m aiming for the snow bank,” he said, calm as a spring zephyr.

  Lisette may have screamed. Luckily her screamer had been mostly exhausted on the black diamond run this morning, and all she could manage was a gurgle.

  Thunk!

  The front end of the car hit the pile of snow with a force that pushed Lisette’s chest hard against her seatbelt and would have sent her forehead careening into the windshield if she hadn’t worn the restraint.

  “Ow,” she whimpered, lifting her hand to the place where the thick fabric met her collarbone. “Wow. Erik? Are you okay?”

  Beside her, Erik sat stunned. His eyes were open, but he was breathing hard.

  “Whoa. Sorry about that. Speed finally got the best of me.”

  Both of them sat, gripping their door handles, catching their breath a minute before Lisette spoke, timid. “Are we going to be able to get home?”

  “The question is, are we going to be able to get out?” Snow was stacked high, up to the middle of the windows on both sides of the car.

  The sun had fully set by now. It was dark—no moon, nothing. And to make matters worse, it had started to snow. Hard. A full-on blizzard. Mountain weather could change on a dime.

  “The word for this weather is ‘blizzard,’” she said.

  “Blizzard,” he repeated.

  Erik pressed on the door, but it was wedged shut. Lisette’s too. And this wasn’t a sedan with two more doors as exit options.

  “If we had to, we could roll down the windows and climb out.” He’d kept the engine running, and he cranked the heater. “Or put the top down.”

  “So we’re not doomed, encapsulated forever inside here?” Lisette pictured them being un-mummified with the spring thaw.

  “We could get out,” Erik said, peering up at the dark sky. “If we wanted to.”

  And go where? They were fifteen miles from town now—as the crow flies. More on the winding road.

  “But, it’s cold. Really cold. Instantly freeze the road cold,” he said. “And,” looking at his cell phone, he declared, “no bars.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “I mean cell phone reception.”

  Oh, right. Fear had made her stupid. Again. Thoughts of the car getting buried ten feet deep in the falling snow, of starving to death, or of freezing as soon as the car ran out of gas shot through her mind like arrows. By next week they’d be the Donner Party of two.

  Erik rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lisette. It’s okay. It’s going to be fine.” He’d sensed her terror. “A snowplow will come along by six a.m. We’ve got enough gas to idle for the next several hours. This thing is incredibly efficient.”

  A thought hit her. “We’ve got the roast beef sandwiches.” They wouldn’t have to turn cannibal after all. She relaxed a bit. “You didn’t do this on purpose did you?” She shot him a suspicious glance with a grin. “After all, you have these mad driving skills and should’ve handled that easily, especially if you were raised in Iceland. Ice. Land. Come on.”

  He shrugged, and that roguish glint twinkled in his eye again. “I guess there’s nothing for us to do but stay in here and talk all night.” He said “talk” all night, but his body language and wry grin said something else.

  Conflicting urges battled in Lisette. Here she sat, with the best looking, nicest, most fascinating man she’d met in years—yeeeears—and he was coming onto her, despite her best efforts to look her worst up to now. And she liked it. And she liked him. And he kinda, sorta, seemed to like her. Memories of when his partly chapped lips had brushed her forehead back in the jewelry store made her upper lip itch to test how they might feel brushing against her own lips.

  No one would ever know.

  This situation was desperate, right? And people do desperate things in desperate situations, despite their better judgment.

  All along with Erik, she’d been a total Alice in Wonderland, giving herself such very good advice and hardly ever following it. Her mind said close off, and her heart made her open up to him. Her mind told her to pull back, and her heart made her reach out.

  If he came close, she might, just might, let him kiss her.

  Suddenly her head itched where the wig met her forehead. It’d been a long day with the greasy, matted mess. In the whoosh of the heater, it did what it always did this time of day—drove her crazy until she whisked it off.

  But she couldn’t. Not tonight. She’d have to wear it all night. Desperate, she launched into what Erik originally suggested: talking—a blue streak—in hopes of occupying her mind against the itch.

  “So, you were saying about the stormy thing and the sea?” She did legitimately want to understand this. Aunt Corky always said knowing how a man treated his mother was a clue to his whole inner character. In the past, all her boyfriends had either been estranged from or clinging to their mothers, and she’d doubted there were any men between those extremes.

  “Oh, wow. Right.” Erik shook himself and blinked, like cold water hit his face. “Seems like a long time ago we were talking about that.” It did, though it was just a couple of minutes. A lot had happened. “There’s this bird. It’s called the stormy petrel. It’s a sea bird. I’ve always compared them to my mother.” He adjusted in his seat so he could look at her better. “These birds, during a storm, they fly out over the sea and seek out birds that are lost. They guide them back through the wind and rain until the lost birds can find land.”

  Lisette listened and pondered. Maybe Aunt Corky’s advice was worth taking.

  “Your mother is a stormy petrel then? A rescuer?”

  “She is. We lost my dad a long time ago, but mother nurtured my sister and me, and lots of others. My school friends all called her mom.”

  “That’s really admirable.” She gazed at him because he was looking away. He was really admirable. He looked back at her, and the air between them got fizzy, electric again. Her attraction to him—he had to be feeling it.

  Lisette had to dial things back a notch, or she’d do something she would regret as soon as the snowplow rumbled up. She’d have to change the subject.

  “You haven’t told me what Gunnarson Dynamics does.”

  They talked about his business, which he said was dull to non-scientists, and which she didn’t understand much of. The gist was their company made parts that made machines run better. That, she could grasp. And she was right—it was safe again. An hour or so went by, safe as could be.

  “Clearly you’ve done things right. I mean, look at the results. And that ‘facility’ on the mountainside.” In Aspen. With the profits.

  He gave a modest shrug.

  A question burned in her, and she shouldn’t ask, except under the influence of the gathering snow and the heater, and the (albeit mild) possibility of death.

  “That woman. In the parking lot that night. With the black hair?” Lisette bit her lip. “Is she an employee?” A warm arrow of jealousy shot through her.

  “Danika? No, just a friend.”

  Right. All the times Lisette had been blindsided by cheating boyfriends they’d always defined these bombshell women as just a friend. Men didn’t have friends that were beautiful women. They may have frumpy women as friends, but usually not even then. They either had love interest in the woman or no time for them. At least single men seemed that way. It’s what Aunt Corky said all the time, and she knew psychology.

  “In fact, Danika is a childhood friend. One of the little birds my mother brought home.” He looked at her, really looked at her, almost into her. “You don’t believe me.”

  He could see that? This guy could see everything. Erik—he could see what she thought, even through all the bad makeup.

  “Look.” He dug in his pocket for his wallet. From inside he pulled a wad of credit cards and a few photographs. One was of his family. Erik stood with his arms out, much younger, and with terrible, untamed hair. And that gold chain. Ew. Another showed Erik, a cute young girl, and someone who must be his mother.
The stormy petrel. The rescuer bird. She was lovely.

  Erik held out another, showing the raven haired diva in a wedding gown. “Danika. And her husband, Lester. Lester and I went to school together, too. They asked me to be godparent to their daughter, who turns six months old today.”

  Warm relief flooded her, and the jealousy dissolved.

  Then again, who was she to feel relief? In just a few days, her mom could be in the clutches of that conniving Mort Bartholomew. Her mom had given up hope on Lisette—without reason, and it made her ache. After all these years of believing in her, to give up now hurt so much.

  “Is something wrong?” Erik placed a hand on Lisette’s leg. It was warm, comforting, and exactly what Lisette needed. Throwing professional caution to the wind, she allowed it to stay there, to soothe her fears. Much as she hated herself for it, she loved his touch. She placed a hand over his. He put his other hand atop it, and they lingered there a moment while Lisette decided whether to confide in him. He was so good to her. Maybe he could help. At this point, he might be a client, but he was quickly becoming her best friend.

  Well, maybe not in the friend zone.

  She looked into his eyes and saw someone she could trust, and she told him all about the bad contract with Bartholomew.

  Hearing it, Erik sat forward in his seat and pounded the steering wheel. “I’ll pay off the man. Today. Give me his address, and I’ll show up with my checkbook in five minutes.”

  “We’re stuck in a snowdrift, Erik.” Lisette smiled wanly. “I mean, it’s not something I’d let you do, anyway. It’s between Mom and Mr. Bartholomew and me. We have to work it out.”

  Simmering down, Erik nodded, like he respected that sentiment. “Okay, but I can’t imagine a contract like that could possibly hold up in a court of law. Not in America. It’s almost slavery.”

  Lisette bit her lip. “You don’t know this guy. He’s smart. He doesn’t let detrimental loopholes into his contracts. Mort Bartholomew is a force no one can reckon with.”

  “Mort Bartholomew?” Erik frowned. He looked so beautiful when he frowned. He got these little crinkles by the sides of his eyes. Lisette’s heart skipped a bit. “I know him. Tough as nails. Look, you get me the contract. I’ll have my best lawyers look it over. It’s got to be nullified.”

  The word nullified should’ve surprised her. But he did know a lot of business words now. He was getting so good at English. These six weeks were miraculous.

  He muttered a few things in Icelandic, then he put his arm around her and pulled her head onto his shoulder, stroking her upper arm. “I will figure this out, Lisette. Don’t you worry. Not for another second.”

  Lisette sighed and relaxed into his strong arms. It’d been so long since anyone had offered to simply take care of her, and it felt like a lead jacket was being lifted from her soul. Erik Gunnarson could help her. She believed that. She believed him. A wave of relief and… love (if she hadn’t refused to admit it) washed up on her shores.

  Brotherly love. Best friends’ love. Yes. Best friend who was her shoulder to cry on love. That was it.

  Another wave hit her just then—weariness. The skiing, the travel, the adrenaline surge from the car accident—they’d drained her. Her daily life didn’t include black diamond runs, no matter what her elliptical machine thought of itself. She let her eyes close, and she murmured, “So you’re the spiritual guide for this little girl’s life? How are you planning to do that?”

  But she didn’t get to hear the answer because sleep overtook her.

  A shiver in her stomach awoke her, shaking her core. It was still dark, but a grey light hinted at coming dawn. The snow only covered a few inches higher on the passenger side window. The engine was off now, making it cold inside.

  “Erik? Erik. Wake up.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost six. What time did you say the snowplow would come around?”

  He jolted upright. “Snowplow. Right.” In a minute he was out of his seatbelt and had rolled down his window, crawled free, and shoved his way through the waist-deep snow to get a few flares from the trunk. He handed Lisette a flare—“For when we hear the plow”—and her roast beef sandwich as well. “This’ll take the edge off.”

  And it did. Within about fifteen minutes, they’d flagged down a passing plow, and the driver offered to take them into town. Erik climbed aboard first, and Lisette followed. The cozy cabin only had room for one passenger. “You’ll have to sit on my lap,” he said. “Come on. I can give you a hand.”

  It was a long way up. Lisette hesitated. She couldn’t sit on his lap for forty-five minutes or more of snowplow riding. And now that it was day again, he was a client. But what choice was there?

  Lisette settled herself on his knees, trying to minimize his discomfort, eventually, leaning back against him, mostly so her head wouldn’t bump against the windshield. As the ride went on, his hand slid higher up her back, resting in the small of it, between her coat and her shirt. It was warm, and it’d been so long since Lisette felt warm that she didn’t even protest the license he was taking. Until he let it slide to her waist. And put pressure just above her hip. It was almost like he was making a move on her.

  No. Not possible.

  But there it rested, his hand on the small of her back, sending its radiant heat through her. Against her better judgment, she relaxed into it.

  “So, how long were you folks stuck on the side of the road?” The snowplow driver made conversation, cutting into Lisette’s wandering, unprofessional thoughts of Erik. They told him about the black ice and the roast beef sandwiches.

  “We’re just glad you came along. As soon as I can get some bars on my phone, I’ll line up some help.” Erik had the situation in hand, but kept that hand on her back until they emerged from the steep walls of the canyon into a more populous area. When he removed it to make calls to line up their return home, Lisette felt that instant chill again—that sudden emptiness, as though part of him belonged with her always.

  Oh, bosh. She shouldn’t let herself start thinking these things. He’d be gone in two days now, off her client list, away in Florence, and he’d immediately forget about the homely chick who tutored him. He might even breathe a sigh of relief to not have to look at her daily anymore.

  She could get her heart broken if she didn’t watch out.

  But maybe he would call. After all, they seemed like friends now—more like friends than she’d been with any of the guys she’d dated in the past five years. More friends than she ever expected to be with a man as handsome and successful as Erik Gunnarson. Who really wasn’t a jerk. She mentally kicked herself for ever trying to force that idea.

  “And so that’s why I have to hurry back. Right, Lisette?”

  “Huh?” She’d missed something.

  “Because you’re going to be my date to the Miro Business Awards banquet tonight.”

  “That’s right. I read about it in the paper,” the driver, whose name was Roger, said. “Your boyfriend here is getting the biggie.”

  “I’m sorry?” The boyfriend thing sent her mind on another tangent, leaving her unable to process anything else. Did Roger the plow driver just call Erik her boyfriend? She shook her head. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my client.”

  Roger’s mouth quirked, and he looked askance at them.

  “Oh, no, no, no. Not that way. No.” She could’ve died a thousand deaths. “I’m his English tutor.”

  “Right.” Roger kept his eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel.

  “Really, it’s true,” Erik insisted, his Icelandic accent suddenly much heavier. “I am a business person, as you know. I want to do business in America? I must speak the best English. This Lisette Pannebaker, she is best English coach.” He was dropping articles and making wacky verb tense, proving his point, sort of.

  Lisette rolled her eyes. “What’s this dinner thing?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I asked you. Last night, in the car.” Right. When the air was all zingy with electr
icity between them, shorting out her brain circuits. How could she be responsible for remembering this? “It’s at the Colorado Chautauqua. Eight o’clock, but there will be dinner. Eight is late for dinner, don’t you think? I like to eat at five-thirty.”

  Date. She was his date. To the Chautauqua. She’d have to wear a formal gown.

  But she didn’t date clients. No, absolutely not. It was in the contract. And she’d signed it, just as much as he had. This would never do.

  They pulled into town, to the very gas station where they’d fueled up the afternoon before. She looked around for a friend, maybe the dreaded Danika, who’d give them a lift home, but loud thwopping and a horrible wind made it hard to do much of anything besides hang onto her haircut.

  “Have you ever flown before?” Erik took her elbow after paying Roger a generous tip and shaking his hand good-bye.

  Not in a helicopter, she hadn’t.

  She did not date clients. She did not ride in clients’ helicopters. She did not date clients.

  Oh, what should she wear?

  Aunt Corky rode up beside Lisette on Old Paint. The dry spring had made the pasture less muddy, and very little had splashed up onto Lisette’s riding pants as she exercised Quasar around the fenced area of the riding club where Uncle Charlie worked, now that he’d retired from his university research job. Pine trees flanked the white fences, enclosing the pasture.

  “You took that hedge really well. It’s like you never took a break from riding.” Aunt Corky leaned over and patted Quasar’s neck. He’d worked up a lather, and Lisette looked forward to rubbing him down in the stable in a few minutes. For now, they cantered beside each other to visit and let the horses cool down.