by Stacy Gail
“You mean like this dining table?”
His still-sleepy eyes widened. “What’s wrong with this table?”
“It’s a little big for this space, and you have the long side of it that puts peoples’ backs to the view, as well as putting someone in the hot seat—the chair that’s only a foot away from the fire. If that chair’s upholstery hasn’t already suffered some kind of heat damage—basically drying it out until the fabric splits—I’d be very surprised.”
He got up and ran a hand along the back of the chair in question. Then he grimaced, looked at the flakes of dried fabric that had come off on his palm, and set the chair aside.
“So you spotted that right away, huh?”
She shrugged. “That sort of thing is what I do for a living.”
“Is there anything else around here that hit you as wrong?”
Her eyes widened, horrified. “This place is perfect, Quinn. I’m not criticizing, really.”
“Your feedback isn’t criticism, Red, and I need it to be honest and on-target. What else have you spotted?”
“Nothing. I swear,” she added when he scowled at her. “You’ve done an excellent job in this chalet. You were right to say it’s like heaven on earth.”
“The chalet isn’t the entire resort, though.” He eyed her speculatively before nodding once. “That tears it. It was fate that diverted you here, so I’m going to take full advantage.”
“What does that mean?” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.
“It means I’m going to put your particular skill set to work. You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for, so I’m going to get everything I can out of you while I’ve got the chance.”
Quinn kept a firm hold on Mia’s mitten-covered hand the entire way to the main building, even though they were on a clear, heated pathway. She was such a fish out of water in his part of the world that he wouldn’t have been surprised if she somehow managed to get lost on this obvious path cutting like a black ribbon through three feet of snow. From the moment he’d spotted her, he’d had the feeling that she was lost, and that kind of thing usually wound up being deadly in his part of the world.
He’d heard her little coo of delight when she caught her first sight of the main building, and it made his chest expand with pride. Fashioned after Bavarian timber-framed architecture found all across the Alps, the steep, multi-peaked rooftops of the three-hundred room resort looked almost like a storybook castle. Every time he saw it, after years of planning and visualizing, it still gave him a rush.
“It’s funny, but I thought it would be a lot colder out there than it is, considering how the snow’s still coming down like crazy.” Ducking into the vestibule and drying her booted feet on the rough mat, Mia tucked her mittens into her jacket pockets and pulled off her cap. “This coat was almost too much to have on out there.”
“You’d be singing a different tune if you didn’t have solar-heated pathways and buildings around you to serve as wind breaks. Promise me you won’t underestimate the weather and go outside without covering up first.”
The look she shot him was drier than the Sahara. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I know this might be hard to believe, but we also happen to get winter in Chicago.”
Smartass. “Yeah, I remember one of your fellow passengers mentioning something about how special Chicago snow was.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“That’s when I first noticed you.” He chuckled, helping her out of her jacket before moving through the interior sliding door and into the main lobby. “When that dumbass opened up his yap, you did the most epic facepalm I’ve ever seen. I actually heard it from where I was standing.”
“I wanted to hold up a sign that said ‘I’m Not With Him.’ I sincerely doubt there’s anything I could tell a Montanan about snow. Wind, maybe, but not snow.” She took her jacket from him, all the while looking around with bright interest. “Wow, this lobby is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like those tree trunks indoors. Oh my God, I’m in love.”
Any second now his chest was going to burst. “Glad you like it.”
“Like is way too tame a word. This is absolute heaven.” Still smiling, she looked around like a kid in a candy shop. “Where do I put my stuff?”
“I can take it and put it behind the front desk.”
“That might be something to think about.” She followed him to the wide counter with three terminals on display, currently unmanned, while the murmur of voices emanated from the office area behind the counter. “I know most of your guests will have rooms where they can dump their bulky outer gear, but what if they don’t want to go all the way to their rooms to do it? What if they’re just waiting to meet up with someone to have drinks or go to the restaurant for dinner? Wait,” she interrupted herself, her aquamarine eyes widening. “Does this place have a restaurant?”
“Après Ski, a formal dining steakhouse and wine bar, open from five in the evening until two, and Powder Hounds, which is more of a fast food joint that’s open all day until midnight. We also have Carvaholics out on the viewing terrace, and that’s a walk-up snack bar serving basic fare like nachos, French fries and hot dogs, as well as alcohol and nonalcoholic beverages.”
“Man, this place sounds like a total blast,” she murmured, her expression oddly wistful. “So, if I’ve driven up from Whitefish to hang out with friends here for the day and spend some fun money, where would I put my stuff?”
“We have lockers provided for guests in the Gear Room, a building adjacent to this one and part of the Big Lift gondolas. The Gear Room is where our guests can rent equipment, visit the pro shop, buy their lift tickets and arrange for ski lessons or sleigh rides, but we don’t really have anything in the main lobby for that sort of thing in order to keep it looking polished and orderly. Usually this area is just a place people pass through on their way to somewhere else.”
“So storing a coat probably isn’t a big deal, then.”
“Coat racks lining the walls in all the vestibules wouldn’t mess up the lobby’s aesthetics any.” He took his phone out and began to thumb-type. “You think this place sounds like fun?”
“Oh my God, yes. I’ve never been to a place where everything related to winter is all in one place. I mean, sleigh rides? Ever since I saw my first Budweiser Christmas commercial I’ve wanted to go on one of those.”
“That’s what this place is all about—making dreams come true.” As he tucked his phone into his back pocket he studied her, and when she glanced up at him and found him looking, a visible flood of color glowed in her porcelain-perfect cheeks. Holy crap, it was an actual blush seen right there in the wild. “Geez. Cute.”
Those knockout aquamarine eyes blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re so fucking cute I can hardly stand it.”
Her rust-colored brows drew together while the blush got worse. “I’m too tall to be cute.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” To prove it, he loomed over her while forcing his hands to remain still and loose at his sides. But damn, it was tough not to reach for the hair she’d tightly French-braided to loosen it and mess with all those coppery curls. “With those pink cheeks and all that hair you think isn’t red, you’re the cutest damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Even her ears turned pink. “I’m a strawberry blonde.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Red. It just makes you cuter.”
“Telling me I’m cute is flirtatious behavior,” she informed him, like she thought he didn’t know. Gah. Cute. “You can’t flirt with me. I’m not available.”
“Then stop looking so cute and ringless.”
In an instant, fire blazed in her eyes and she rounded on him. “Will you stop hounding me about not having a ring? Not wearing Jackson’s ring doesn’t mean anything. Words are what matter.”
“Yeah, words matter, but a ring is a visible statement to every other man out there to back the hell off of private property.”
> “Property?”
“Look at it another way,” he offered reasonably when she did a decent impression of a volcano about to erupt. “Say there’s a plate of sweet, decadent cupcakes on a table, and all those cupcakes are topped with a ton of irresistible frosting. Now imagine that I’ve taken one of those cupcakes and licked off all that frosting before putting the cupcake back. No one would go near that cupcake because I licked it. Visual ownership, see? No one’s going to touch that cupcake because ownership has been established.”
“So you’re saying women are like cupcakes? They’re yours if you lick them?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Funny, you don’t look like a Neanderthal.”
“Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just play by them.” Smiling at the feisty fury in her eyes, Quinn caught her left hand in his right, and brought it to his mouth. His lips sampled the silky softness of her skin along her knuckles before he ran his tongue over the place where there was no ring on her second-to-last finger.
There.
Licked.
Her catch of breath was audible and there was an odd hesitation where her fingers tightened on his before her hand jerked away.
“I don’t play games,” she announced, puffing up. While it reminded him of a fuzzy little ginger kitten trying her best to look like a tiger, it didn’t slip by him that it brought her closer to him rather than making her shy away. “I’m being upfront with you, pal. I have been from the beginning, so I’m not playing this game with you.”
“That’s cool with me, Red,” he murmured softly, and would have leaned in those few inches to taste her mouth again if it hadn’t been for the voices in the office growing louder. “After all, the prize never plays. But it’s still the most important part of the game.”
Chapter Seven
Mia’s brain was overheating from all the contradictory messages her instincts and her rational thinking were sending her.
Instincts that urged her to lean into Quinn’s warmth and offer up her mouth because some part of her knew he hungered for it.
Rational thought that told her she was a low-class cheating slut to have those instincts in the first place.
Ugh.
She couldn’t believe how completely he had tangled up her once-orderly brain. Quinn kept pointing things out that she didn’t want to see, like whom she’d called before her phone died. It hadn’t even occurred to her to call Jackson. The sad fact was that Jackson’s determined absence from her life had taught her how to live without him. She didn’t even miss him anymore. He’d become a nonentity, and while it would have been easy to put all the blame on him for that, she couldn’t do it. The silence that existed between them was as much her fault now as it had been his.
Maybe that lack of communication between her and her supposed fiancée, just as much as the instinct to plaster herself against Quinn Kingfisher, was part of a bigger picture she just didn’t want to see.
Or, maybe she had seen the picture. Maybe that was why she’d finally gotten on a plane bound for Seattle, carrying those all-important papers that would decide what Jackson would mean in her life once and for all.
She had to get to Seattle. The rest of her life, one way or another, depended on it.
“I thought I heard voices out here. Is this our little castaway?”
Mia turned to see an older, lanky woman with dark blonde hair sculpted into a mature socialite’s bob and deep laugh lines fanning out from smiling sapphire eyes. Like Mia, she wore a Whiteout Mountain hoodie, though hers was a royal blue with a mountain silhouette design on the front, and there was a cascade of silver snowflakes hanging from her ears.
No doubt about it, the jewelry they had hidden away up in the Montana mountains kicked serious butt.
“I wouldn’t exactly call Mia little, though I do still have several inches on her.” Quinn put an arm around Mia’s shoulders to turn her toward the woman while she rounded the counter to join them. “Mia Flowers, may I present my mother and current HR headhunter, Elise Muir-Kingfisher, who hopefully has filled all the remaining positions left on the payroll, including a graveyard manager with an extensive background in concierge services.”
Elise rolled her eyes. “Like one of those is just going to pop up out of nowhere. It’s very nice to meet you, Mia,” she went on, offering a hand and a smile that was so friendly Mia couldn’t help but like her. “I see you’ve had a chance to get into the supplies I put together for you. Does everything fit all right?”
“Yes, everything’s perfect.” Mia smiled and stepped out from under Quinn’s arm to take Elise’s hand. It was either that or settle into his side and cop a totally inappropriate snuggle. “Thank you so much. I knew a woman put it all together.”
“I just thought of all the things I might need if I suddenly found myself stranded unexpectedly in the mountains. If I missed anything, please let me know.”
“You were so thorough I can’t imagine that you missed anything. I am curious, though, if there’s a gift shop or general store on the premises?” Mia asked, thinking of her lost phone cord.
Elise nodded toward one end of the lobby. “We’ve got The Hub over near the main bank of elevators, and the pro shop will be in the Gear Room. Unfortunately neither one is anywhere close to being fully stocked. What is it that you need?”
Mia dug out her dead phone. “Like an idiot, I left my phone cord somewhere along the way, so now I have a dead phone and a soon-to-be-dead iPad.”
“I think my son Brody has that same model, and I know he’s got an iPad.” Elise frowned, looking the phone over before patting Mia’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can get you charged back up in no time.”
“Have you seen Thomas around anywhere?” Beside her, Quinn glanced past the front desk toward the open office door. “He said he’d help me go over the heli-skiing bids this morning.”
“It’s not even ten in the morning, honey. He isn’t exactly what I’d call a morning person, you know.” Then she blinked, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Wait, what are you doing awake at this hour and so obviously coherent? Usually your eyes aren’t even open at this time of day.”
“I smelled bacon.”
“Ah, that explains it. Mia, I’ll talk to my son Brody to see if he’s got an extra cord you can use. He probably does, since he has everything that company makes,” Elise went on, giving her another smile. “I’ll also ask around today to see if anyone’s brought a cord in that you can use.”
“People came into work today? I thought the resort would be a ghost town thanks to the storm,” she explained when Elise’s brows went up. “Since they closed the highway, I can’t imagine that it’s any fun trying to get around anywhere.”
“The weather’s been pretty nasty, but it’s nothing that a souped-up snowmobile and layers of subzero gear can’t handle,” came the blithe response. “Right now there are about twenty or so people on the property itself, and most of them happen to be related in some way. That’s the key to this family’s success—guilt-trip anyone you can into helping on a project, and don’t quit until it’s done.”
Quinn made a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. Almost. “Yeah, sure. That’s how family works.” Then he shrugged and draped an arm over her shoulders, and his body warmth felt so good Mia couldn’t find the strength to pull away a second time. “And if that doesn’t work, I shanghai stranded airplane passengers and put their skills to work. I’m going to make sure you earn you keep today, Red.”
Elise recoiled as though her son had just suggested they take up human sacrifice. “Quinn Etienne Kingfisher! You’re not putting our first guest to work.”
Mia glanced up at him. “Etienne?”
“I was named after my French Canadian grandfather, who’s pushing ninety and still makes the best huckleberry wine you’ve ever tasted. Why are you looking so judgy? No one likes their middle name.”
“I like mine, and I’ve never even heard of hucklebe
rry wine. Sounds delicious.”
“It is. What’s your middle name?”
“Hope.”
“Mia Hope. My hope.” He studied her as if trying to look into her soul, and the sheer intensity of his gaze made her heart do somersaults. “Whoever named you did a damn good job. For your information,” he went on, shifting his attention back to his mother, “Mia’s a professional stager who’s got an eye for what works and what doesn’t. Think of her as Whiteout Mountain’s first guest who’s been asked to give feedback.”
“I can live with that. For a moment I thought you were going to have her shoveling snow or salting outside stairways.”
“I’ve got something far more interesting than that to keep her occupied,” he assured her, and Mia wondered if she was the only one who heard the promise ringing through his words.
As far as Mia could see, Whiteout Mountain Resort was a work of art.
They spent the day going throughout the main resort, from the completed rooms on the first three floors—doubles, queen and king sized single rooms with fully appointed bathrooms—to the two-room suites on the fourth floor. There were a few problems in the room layouts that made her inner stager nerves twitch, such as a random splitting up of matching upholstered chairs. These sets of chairs were in every room, and should have been with the table to define that area as a space that was separate from the sleeping area. Instead, in every room an upholstered chair had been set by one of the beds sickroom-style, giving the entire space an uncoordinated and unprofessional appearance.
There was a psychology to all living spaces, she’d learned in the years she’d worked for her aunt. Even without the sickroom setup making her uncomfortable, there was no clear definition of separate eating and sleeping areas. When she pointed this out, somewhat apologetically since every room had been set up the same way, he invited her to position the room however she wanted, with him doing the heavy lifting. Once the two spaces were more clearly defined and she was happy with the furniture’s orientation, he took pictures of it and spent a good half hour sending out texts.