by Fox, Addison
“You, as well.”
“How are you getting on? With the inquisition, I mean?” A smile played the corners of his lips as he eyed the seats Mary, Julia and Sophie still occupied, holding court with the town.
“I’m doing all right. Still puzzled by all the fuss, but no complaints. Everyone has been so warm and welcoming.”
“The grandmothers. They like you. And your friend Grier.”
“They seem to like everyone.”
“Don’t let those sweet faces fool you.” Ken’s gaze roamed over the group of women, his eyes stopping on Julia. “Underneath there’s pure steel. Pure, stubborn steel.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
On a nod and a last look, he added, “Perhaps.”
“Dr. Cloud, I hope I don’t seem rude, but maybe you’d answer a few questions for me.”
He shifted his focus and Sloan felt the power of his direct gaze. Quiet and solemn, his dark eyes bespoke a knowledge and awareness and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a secret or two. This was clearly a man who kept his own counsel and liked it that way.
“If you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all.”
“Well, it seems like there’s all this stuff going on underneath the surface. And I can’t figure out if the contest brings it out or if it’s there all the time and the contest simply heightens everyone’s longing.”
“Everyone yearns, Sloan.”
“Do you think so?”
Again, those mysterious eyes stared back. “Don’t you?”
“Yearn? For what?” The idea itself was silly. Yearning suggested unfulfilled desires and an unhappy life.
She was happy. And, well, she would admit to having a few unfulfilled desires—regular sex for starters.
But yearning?
“For whatever we most want in the world.”
She turned over his words. “Is that what you think the contest is about?”
“On some level. The women who come yearn to find love; the men who enter the auction are looking for the same. The grandmothers yearn for great-grandchildren.” With a small smile, he added, “The town yearns to send them all home again. Again, everyone wants something.”
“But if that’s true, then what happens when someone gets what they most want?”
He shrugged. “They want something else.”
“Are we really as bad as all that?”
“I’ve spent my life studying people; it’s the mark of the physician. I see them at their very best and, often, at their very worst. Trust me, my dear. Everyone’s searching for something.”
Mischief sparked somewhere inside of her as she allowed his words to sink in. Maybe she was looking for something. Something she hadn’t found yet in the insular world she’d built back home. The narrow world she’d been raised in.
But she was here now and all the rules had changed. That glorious sense of freedom she’d felt earlier came back in a sudden rush.
She could be anyone here. Could do anything. Or she could just be herself.
The best version of herself.
With a nod in the direction of the women, Sloan reached for his arm. “Let’s go have a chat with the grandmothers. I’d like to get a sense of what’s going to happen over the coming days. Brace myself for all that yearning.”
Chapter Nine
A very slammed the glasses into the dishwasher, barely taking care not to break anything. It would feel good to break something.
Good to finally let it out.
In a week, he’d be here.
Roman.
The raging asshole who’d broken her heart and who continued to do so with an alarming degree of regularity.
Every present that arrived at the hotel was like a slap in the face. Even on the few occasions she’d managed to date—had managed to enjoy the company of another man—his name had inexorably come up.
Roman Forsyth. Hockey god and local legend.
All it took was for her to mention she worked at the Indigo Blue and the questions fired in.
Yes, isn’t his record amazing?
Of course he’s destined for the hall of fame.
No, I don’t think New York’s going to trade him this year.
Damn it, even a few orgasms at the hands of another man couldn’t purge him from her mind.
Or her soul.
And didn’t that just suck.
Sloan wandered down the hall, the dull light from underneath the kitchen door catching her attention. The lobby was finally quieting down and she needed a few minutes to herself.
Her conversation with Dr. Cloud had been interesting, but it was the chatter afterward—once they sat down with the grandmothers—that truly grabbed her attention.
The entire town might be lovesick at the moment, but Sloan would bet her fifty-dollar entry fee a hundred times over that Dr. Cloud’s interest in Julia went way beyond the temporary.
It was sweet. And just a little more of the unexpected.
A loud clatter had her moving into high gear, pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. And straight into the middle of a full-on cry fest.
“Avery!” Sloan rushed over, grabbing Avery’s hand before she stepped into a pool of shattered glass. “Stop. Just stop a minute.”
Gently pulling her backward, then around the glass, Sloan led her to a small alcove and a kitchen table. “Here. Sit down. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me where the broom and dustpan are.”
“Pa-pa-pantry cl-closet.” Sloan didn’t miss the heavy hiccup that ended the mumbled words, indicating she hadn’t come in on the beginning of this.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Like you can’t figure it out.”
Sloan shot her another glance as she turned back from the pantry door, broom and pan in hand. “Why don’t you tell me instead of me making an assumption? Which I’m finding I do rather often—and I don’t like it.”
“Not all assumptions are bad. Especially when you’re right.”
“Or self-righteous, which is the usual angle. So tell me what’s going on.”
“Roman’s coming back. Next week. Oh fuck.” Another round of tears bubbled up. “He’s coming here. And I have to paint on a smile and act like I don’t have a care in the world.”
The urge to move closer and offer comfort filled her, but Sloan stayed focused on her task. Unfortunately, this was one road that Avery walked alone, no matter how much Sloan wanted to fix the situation for her. “So it bothers you that he’s coming back?”
“No.” A loud sniff. “Yes.” Another loud sniff. “Hell, yes. It bothers me a lot. And it bothers me how everyone feels they have to tiptoe around me all the time about it. He’s been gone for thirteen fucking years. I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”
Sloan kept sweeping, chasing the shards of glass that were scattered far and wide on the floor. “If you’ve gotten used to the idea, why are you still here?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
At the indignation, Sloan smiled to herself. Good. This was good. “Well, I just mean that you could go somewhere else. Do something else instead of sit in his backyard. I assume he stays here when he’s in town to visit Susan?”
“Yes.”
“So why do you stay?”
“Because I have nowhere else to go.”
Sloan bent down with the dustpan to sweep up the small pile. “Surely that can’t be true. There’s a big world out there. Heck, there’s a big state out there. Anchorage has to have something. Juneau, maybe, too? If, you know, you didn’t want to leave Alaska.”
“I mean I can’t leave. Or couldn’t leave up until about a year ago.”
With a heavy sound, Sloan slammed the dustpan against the lip of the wastebasket. “Why?”
“My mother.”
And now they were getting somewhere.
After a quick wash of her hands, Sloan left the broom propped against the counter and took a seat opposite Avery at the table. “Why do
n’t you tell me about it?”
“What? My clichéd life? How my mother’s alcoholism fucked up her life and mine. How she’s been in need of almost constant care for the last decade. How relieved I was when she finally died last spring. What the hell does that make me, Sloan? Bitter? Ungrateful? Or worst of all, a horrible child who couldn’t honor my parent.”
“If you stayed, it seems like you honored her plenty.”
“Yeah, well, that’s for me to figure out. But it’s why I stayed. And it’s why I’m now stuck here.”
“Stuck is a choice, Avery.”
At the well of tears that filled her friend’s eyes, Sloan patted her hand again. “It’s taken me thirty-three years to recognize that, but I finally do. Stuck is a choice.”
“That belongs on a T-shirt.”
“We could make millions.”
“Don’t forget mugs and notebooks, too.” Avery hesitated a moment. “Is everyone still out there?”
Sloan thought about the dying crowd she’d passed on her way to the kitchen. “There are still quite a few there, but not nearly as many as last night. Susan’s got the bar. They’ll keep.”
The two of them sat there quietly for a few minutes as Avery pulled herself together.
“What did it feel like?”
“What?” Avery dragged her gaze back from where it had hung on a light over the industrial-sized sink. “What did what feel like?”
“Being in love like that.”
Avery’s face changed in that moment. Softened. “It was wonderful.”
Sloan waited a beat, allowed Avery a moment to savor the memory. “Is that all?”
A shout of laughter rang out as Avery’s dreamy gaze focused, then sharpened. “Yeah, be-atch. That’s all.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” Sloan patted her hand, then stood and crossed to the door. Pushing slightly on the swinging door, she turned her head. “I still hear party noises. I’d take another few minutes if I were you.”
“I think I’ll do that.”
Sloan was nearly through the door before she turned around again.
“Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s more wonderful out there, you know.”
Walker was a grown man and it chaffed to admit it, but he longed. For the feel of a woman. The taste of her. The promise of her.
And it doubly chaffed to admit that it was Sloan McKinley who’d gotten under his skin.
The one thing he owned—controlled—was his personal choices. He’d never regretted coming home to Indigo after college and law school. He had enjoyed the life he’d built here.
But damn it, he was entitled to build the life he wanted.
And it didn’t include being tied down to anyone.
So how the hell did perfection manage to walk into his town on a pair of sexy legs and highly impractical designer heels?
This couldn’t go anywhere.
And more than that, attempting anything would surely result in ties he not only didn’t want, but didn’t need.
Grier Thompson wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she shook the snow off her boots as soon as she could escape Indigo, there was a connection to the town now.
She was bound to Indigo through her father.
And because of it, he couldn’t think about simply doing a bit of screwing around in Sloan’s hotel room.
He wasn’t callous and he wasn’t cruel. He entered into things with women who knew the score, knew what he was looking for and were seeking the same. A mutual good time and no strings.
And fuck it all, Sloan McKinley had strings written all over her.
Commitment strings.
Good girl strings.
Best friend strings.
And about a million others he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—ignore.
What was he thinking coming here, anyway? He’d been roped into acting as bellhop for Susan when a few guests arrived early. The women—a pair of friends from Chicago—had eyed him like he was a box of Godiva.
He pulled the crumpled note out of his pocket—one of the women had included it along with her tip when he’d dropped her off at her room. He’d tried giving both back, to no avail. She’d taken the money, but wouldn’t take the folded paper.
Nor the hint, apparently, as she managed to run her fingers over his ass as she closed the door behind him.
Crumpling the paper, he saw a trash can in an open conference room doorway as he walked the first-floor hallway back to the lobby.
He needed to leave.
Sloan had disappeared a while ago and it wasn’t his business to know where or why. Or to care about, either. So he would leave.
“Walker.” Her voice floated out to him on a breathless whisper.
And there she was, walking through the swinging doors to the kitchen not ten feet away from him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could say the same for you.”
She hesitated for the briefest of moments. “I was just helping Avery with something.”
“Me too. Susan asked me to help a few people up with their bags.”
“Full service.”
“It would have been fuller, had the guest gotten her way.”
Sloan’s eyes widened on that bit of news. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Before he could stop himself—before he could argue his way through all the pros and cons—he had her by the shoulders, pulling her against his body. His hands reached for her hair, fisting all those long blond strands as he walked backward toward the conference room he’d just passed.
“Walker—” Her whisper of his name ended on a moan as his mouth crushed hers, devouring her with a mix of tongue, teeth and lips.
She responded with reckless need, her mouth firm on his as she took, as he took, as they pushed each other on.
He had the presence of mind to slam the door as they tangled their way through the entrance, then continued moving them across the room. His spine hit the padded back of a conference table chair and Walker blindly reached for it, unwilling to break contact with her. With his free hand, he swirled the chair into position, then sat down in it, pulling her toward him by her hips.
Like a sexy fantasy come true, Sloan straddled him, her ass in perfect position for him to get a grip on it as he pulled her against him. With his mouth, he continued the assault, dragging a series of moans from her throat that grew in intensity.
Desperate for the feel of her skin, he skimmed his fingers along the waistband of her slacks. The light cashmere sweater she wore was soft as he lifted it, but nowhere near as soft as the skin he revealed underneath. He let his fingers roam over her lithe body—the slender hips, the slight curve of her belly, the indentation of her belly button. Over and over, he stroked as his mouth moved on hers.
He felt her hands moving over his shoulders in eager caresses that slowly drove him mad. From his neck, over his collarbone, to grip at his shoulders. The fervor in her fingertips was like a sexy brand and he enjoyed the restless motions of her hips as they both fell deeper into the kiss.
Deeper into each other.
Sloan didn’t know how it had happened. One minute she was thinking concerned thoughts for Avery and the next she was straddling Walker Montgomery in the middle of a conference room.
Oh God, she was straddling Walker Montgomery in the middle of a conference room.
Thankfully he’d had the foresight to close the door, because she knew she had none. All she could manage to conjure up besides mind-numbing need was the abstract thought that this was a great idea in theory but probably not a great idea in practice.
And then his devious hands were dipping down under the waistband of her slacks and in practice suddenly seemed like a marvelous idea.
Inspired.
Phenomenal.
Sparks of desire shot through her body as his fingers unbuttoned the waistband of her pants, then dipped lower to brush over her pubic bone as he undid the zipper. She shifted to
allow him better access, but those clever hands kept on moving, up under her sweater, his thumbs pressing the underside of each breast as his palms gripped her rib cage.
All the while, his mouth stayed wild on hers.
She was the one to break the contact of their mouths first, her head falling back as his fingers played over her nipples. The aching tips grew hard under his ministrations as he encouraged sensation after sensation deep inside of her. Liquid heat traveled down her spine in sensual waves, coalescing in her belly in raw, aching need.
Unable to contain her light moans, she took her pleasure, grinding more forcefully against the hard length of his erection where she was seated against him. A low growl rumbled in Walker’s throat and she was glad when he got her intent, his hands shifting from her sensitized breasts to the aching needs of her core.
She emitted his name on a sigh as his fingers dipped below the thin elastic of her panties and nearly groaned with satisfaction as he ran them along the folds of her body in one long, satisfying stroke. As his finger dipped inside of her, beckoning with deft movements, Sloan felt the world simply melt around her.
With a maddening exactitude that screamed lawyer—and a delightful devotion to his task—he didn’t let her rest as he dragged wave after wave of pleasure from her. One finger became two as he plied her body with unerring precision, long, swift strokes dragging her up, up, up and then holding her there, prolonging the moment until she wanted to scream from the exquisite need.
On a ragged whisper, she heard his voice as if from a long way away. “Sloan. Look at me.”
She opened eyes she hadn’t even realized she’d closed, staring into the dark orbs of his. Pleasure and satisfaction mixed as he kept his gaze focused on hers. “Come for me.”
“Walker.” She breathed his name, reaching for what he offered, desperate to take it. And then there was no more waiting—nothing more to do but simply shatter.
Walker held her as her body convulsed with pleasure, his strong hands an anchor as she left her body for a few brief, glorious seconds. Falling forward, she buried her face in his neck as her orgasm receded, the lingering shocks of pleasure still trembling through her.