by Fox, Addison
With a lock and key.
She was on vacation and she was coming off an unpleasant week of family stress that had her emotions all churned up. They were two healthy adults who had spent a few stolen moments engaging in adult activities.
That was all.
It was reasonable. Logical. And something she could walk away from with her head held high.
So she’d wrapped the feelings up and put it all in that locked box, with a neat, tidy bow.
She’d held on to that airtight logic all through the flight. And during their visit to the mayor’s office. And even through his invitation to dinner.
Then he’d reached out and stroked that damned seat belt.
And in a split second, like the proverbial opening of Pandora’s box, all those neat explanations were blown to hell.
The muted lights of the Anchorage welcomed them as Walker escorted Sloan into the steakhouse. It was one of his favorite restaurants—he loved the dark paneling and the intimate atmosphere. The interior was inviting and cozy, despite the minus-fifteen-degree temperature outside.
“I can’t quite get used to how early it gets dark here. Or actually, maybe a better comment is how it really doesn’t get all that light.”
“We’re nearly at the height of it, but yeah, winter is a beast. There are some days that feel endless.”
Today not being one of those days, Walker thought as he watched her shrug out of her coat. Her slender shoulders, wrapped in gray cashmere, gave her a soft, willowy look that made him want to reach out and pull her to him. The V at the neck of the sweater framed the slightest hint of cleavage and he found the subtle inference more erotic than something far more revealing.
“And then you have almost twenty-four hours of light.”
Her words interrupted his errant thoughts and he quickly shed his own coat.
“It must be the oddest sensation.”
“I’ve lived with it for most of my life. Except for the time I spent away during college, it’s just a fact of living up here. You get used to it.”
“Which is true of most things, I suppose.” Sloan slid into the seat opposite him, her gaze traveling around the restaurant. “What a lovely place. I can see why you like it.”
He took his menu and opened it up. “You up for some wine?”
“Absolutely. I realize we only met a few days ago, but have you yet to see me not up for some wine?”
“Fair point.” He glanced through the menu, and a Bordeaux caught his attention. Closing the list, he couldn’t resist a bit of prodding. “Has Avery dug into the Rothschild yet?”
“You know about that?”
“It’s a badly kept secret and she only doles it out on special occasions, but yeah, I know about it.”
Walker gave the sommelier their selection, then turned back to his menu.
“Is that how Roman buys her off?”
“Is that how—” He broke off as her casual question registered through his review of the porterhouse or the rib eye. “It’s not buying anyone off.”
She shrugged and his gaze was helplessly drawn back to those slim shoulders. “Could have fooled me.”
Walker knew he should be defending his friend, but even he had to admit some of Roman’s antics over the years had been a bit much. “Come on. It’s not that obvious.”
“Seriously?” Sloan eyed him over the rim of her menu before folding it gently and laying it over her charger plate. “Not that obvious? They’ve got a freaking work of art in the lobby and thousand-dollar bottles of wine in their personal wine rack. And I’m sure that only touches the surface.”
“You haven’t even met him.”
One delicate eyebrow arched high over that electric-blue gaze. “Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“I rest my case, Counselor.”
She waited a few heartbeats, before adding, “I know I’m coming off as judgmental, but she deserves better.”
“Avery deserves a lot of things she hasn’t gotten and doesn’t deserve a lot of the things she has.”
Sloan held up a hand before he could say anything further. “It’s not for us to discuss the details.”
Their wine was poured and the waitress had taken their orders before Walker had a chance to press on her comment. Most women—heck, most people—would be chomping at the bit to gossip about someone else. Especially someone who had a history with a celebrity.
But not Sloan. She’d shut down the conversation before he could even say things he suspected she already knew.
“That’s rare, you know.”
She glanced up from swirling her wine. “What’s rare?” “The blessed lack of gossip.”
She took a sip of the wine, her eyelids briefly dipping as she tasted it. A small drop pearled at the corner of her mouth. The dark red caught his attention and his fingers itched to wipe it away, but before he could act on the thought she lifted her napkin and dabbed at the excess.
Eyes on her glass, he sensed she was considering something. Weighing it, the same way she had savored the flavor of the wine.
“I know what it’s like to be talked about. To be the subject of gossip. I don’t like it and I have no interest in doing it to someone else.”
“Interesting angle. Most would feel differently. In fact, most in that position would feel they were even more entitled to gossip.”
“Well, then, I guess I’m not most.”
No, she certainly wasn’t.
And that was what killed him in all this. She wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met and he could feel the bonds of interest wrapping ever tighter around him.
Hell, the women he normally dated wanted the most premium table and the surf and turf. She’d spent the evening defending Avery and calling him on his bullshit.
It was a heady combination of respect and camaraderie, wrapped in a sexy package he couldn’t tear his eyes off.
He shouldn’t be interested. Shouldn’t be this fascinated with her. She wasn’t a woman to toy with. Hell, she had commitment and forever stamped on her like an invisible brand.
Add to it the fact that she wasn’t staying in Alaska and he owed her the courtesy of keeping his distance.
Avery’s interruption the evening before was a fortunate accident. One his body had been torturing him over ever since. But it was for the best.
It was all for the best.
Sloan was surprised to find their dinner was turning out to be a far more pleasant experience than she’d have expected. In fact, the entire day was. Walker was an interesting companion. He wasn’t exactly funny—his lawyerly sensibilities threaded through his personality in dry observations—but he was fun and he’d kept things interesting and their conversation light.
She also couldn’t help but give him mental points for his words about Avery. There was a kindness there and a willingness to acknowledge his friend’s shortcomings that she had to admire.
You could love someone and still see where they’d fallen short. And he had the decency to admit Roman’s actions weren’t above reproach.
And, if she were equally fair to someone she’d never met, small towns weren’t the easiest places to deal with a breakup. Roman had spent an awful lot of money on gifts, not to mention giving significant thought to his selections. She’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt in thinking that he’d meant the gestures sincerely.
And why do you even care?
The sensible inner voice took her completely off guard, but so did the resounding answer.
These people had all gone about their lives very well without her and they’d do so again.
So why was she feeling so damned proprietary about the residents of Indigo, Alaska?
She’d come up here to help Grier. That was the whole point in making the trip. They still had a bit more work to do, but she’d spend a few more days helping Grier get things on track; then she’d finish out her stay and go home.
Back to her own life in Manhattan.
And if the th
ought depressed her, it was something to contemplate later in the privacy of her room. Right now, she had an attractive dinner companion and one of the best cuts of steak she’d ever eaten.
As she raised a bite of her steak to her mouth, she focused on their day. “So you and the mayor are poker buddies?”
Walker waved a hand in dismissal as he reached for his glass. “Actually, I’d like to know when you were the subject of gossip. Is there a skeleton or two in your closet, Ms. McKinley?”
The evident humor in his gaze eased the delivery of the question, but she couldn’t help kicking herself for saying anything at all.
Of course, seeing as how she’d dug this hole for herself, she had two choices. She could either pick up a shovel and dig deeper, likely igniting even more interest, or she could give a lighthearted version of the truth.
“My mother is obsessed with getting me married off.”
“Obsessed?”
“Like a paparazzi photographer on Angelina Jolie. It borders on manic.”
“While I can oddly relate—and seeing as how you’ve met my grandmother, you know what I mean—what does that have to do with gossip?”
“I’m the town disappointment.”
“Excuse me?” She had the momentary satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen at the statement, but even that wasn’t enough to stave off the inevitable pain.
Do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“I was the ugly duckling who turned out okay but never met Prince Charming. The fairy tale’s incomplete.”
“I can’t believe you. I bet you were a cute kid. Besides, you’re hardly ready for the nursing home. You’d think your mother could calm down a bit.”
Walker’s casual words filled her with a delicious warmth, and she was surprised at how comfortable she was baring her childhood embarrassments.
Without warning, her mental image of her mother’s face morphed into the sweet visage of Sophie Montgomery. “Your grandmother nags you about marriage, but she’s so damned lovely about it. How does she do it?”
“I’m not sure ‘lovely’ is the word I’d use to describe my grandmother’s matchmaking tactics.” She didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes. “But I do know it comes from a very genuine place that cares about my happiness.”
“That’s it!” Sloan leaned forward and clutched Walker’s hand. “You’ve hit it.”
“Hit what?”
“If I thought my mother’s constant harping was about wanting me to be happy, it might be more tolerable. But it’s like some sort of status symbol to her.” Sloan shook her head. How had it taken her so long to realize it? “Thank you, Walker.” She reached for her glass and lifted it to his.
“What are we toasting?”
“About fifteen years of emotional baggage just fell out of the cargo hold.”
“I’ll toast to that.”
His glass had just met hers when they were interrupted by a high-pitched exclamation. “Walker? You didn’t tell me you were going to be in town!”
Sloan stared up at the woman who stood next to their table. Dressed in a winter-white suit, the woman was wrapped in sophistication from head to toe. Add in the predatory gleam in her cool blue eyes and the hand draped on Walker’s shoulder and she positively glowed with the unmistakable air of no-strings-attached sin.
And she was staring at Walker as if he were her next meal.
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as Walker saw Victoria Watson, unease began to unfurl in his gut like a bad meal. The feeling wasn’t unlike a bad jury verdict or that moment before a car accident when everything around you slowed down.
It was that moment that screamed disaster.
And this was about to become one if he didn’t move quickly.
“Victoria. How are you?” He stood and gave her a brief hug, then resumed his seat. The silent lack of invitation to join them didn’t go unnoticed by Victoria. He turned toward Sloan and finished making introductions.
“Sloan is visiting from New York.”
Victoria’s laugh was brittle, bordering on the razor’s edge of arrogant and cruel. “Are you, now? One of your old college chums, Walker? She looks about your age.”
Ooh, that was a low blow, even for Victoria. And not all that original, either.
“Hardly. I’m an old man.”
“Especially according to his grandmother,” Sloan added, a merry twinkle in those baby blues.
“I’ve been representing a good friend of Sloan’s and she’s up here visiting.”
“How lovely for you.” Victoria’s eyes glittered with the light of battle, but her insistence on standing there and continuing the conversation was in poor taste, even for her.
What had he ever seen in this woman? What he’d thought of as sophistication simply looked shallow to him now.
And rather cold.
“Are you competing in the contest, darling? The one Walker’s grandmother throws every year?”
Victoria’s gaze was wide-eyed, but no one could mistake the question as anything other than malicious.
“I am.”
“Isn’t that good for you. Travel is so enlightening. You never know what you might find.” Victoria tittered lightly. “Possibly even a husband.”
“Actually,” Sloan interjected smoothly. “It’s the centerpiece of an article I’m writing.”
Victoria paused in brushing some lint off her sleeve. “Article?”
“Yes. I’m a writer.”
“Really? What do you write?”
“Magazine articles, mostly. All freelance. I do everything from travel pieces, which this is, to how-to articles or the occasional celebrity piece. My interview with Johnny Depp appeared in Vanity Fair last month.”
“I don’t believe I read that one.”
Walker couldn’t help but notice how the wind in Victoria’s sails died ever so slightly, the smug look slipping at the reference to Sloan’s Hollywood connections.
“I’d be happy to give Walker a copy for you for the next time you get together. It sounds like you’re old friends.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed at that, but she didn’t reply. And damn it, based on that response, it was obvious Sloan knew exactly what sort of friends he and Victoria really were.
So why the hell did that bother him? He didn’t owe Sloan anything. Why should he feel embarrassed that he’d once dated Victoria?
He had no real reason to apologize.
Their small talk was interrupted by the arrival of their waitress, bearing dessert menus.
“Would you care to join us for dessert?” Sloan’s sugary-sweet tone and broad smile were clearly the other woman’s undoing.
With a tight smile and a nod, Victoria excused herself. “I need to get back to my friends. It was nice to meet you. And lovely to see you again, Walker.”
He stood and brushed his cheek to hers for a quick kiss.
And wasn’t surprised when she didn’t make any overtures for any future plans. Victoria Watson was one friend he’d likely not be seeing again.
Sloan fisted her napkin in her lap but kept her smile firmly in place as that infuriating woman walked away.
Nothing like an ex-lover to ruin a perfectly good date.
Even though this wasn’t a date, she added to herself.
Definitely not. It was not a date. So why did she have that same sinking feeling in her stomach she’d had overhearing her mother’s friends in the kitchen on Thanksgiving evening?
And why did it matter so damn much?
She liked her life. She enjoyed the varied elements that made up her daily existence. She was happy with the choices she made and the person she presented to the world each day.
So where was this coming from?
Sloan reached for her glass of wine and studied the dark, burgundy depths.
Did she really work this hard to be a good person—to live a life she was satisfied with—to be this freaking maudlin all the time?
And was she really that defined
by whatever image her mother had decided she was supposed to be instead of who she wanted to be?
When did simply being Sloan McKinley become enough?
Her gaze caught on the darkened windows of the restaurant and the soft lights that framed the parking lot beyond. A light snow fell, the flakes illuminated in the streetlamps.
“She’s a beautiful woman,” Sloan murmured, shifting her attention back to Walker.
“Yes. I used to think so.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. I used to think Victoria was quite interesting. Fairly compelling, actually. Funny how my idea of compelling seems to have changed.”
When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Why do you think that is?”
“I really have no idea.”
Walker leaned forward, his brow furrowed as if he were troubled, puzzling through a particularly difficult problem. “Actually, I think maybe you do.”
Sloan wasn’t sure what it was—his facial expression, the tone of his voice or the simple fact of having all of this man’s attention focused on her—but the moment spun out before them, his comment hanging between them and connecting them by the thin strands of desire and need and something else she couldn’t quite define.
There was something darkly persuasive about him that wouldn’t let her write Walker Montgomery off as someone she didn’t need to give another thought to.
The sharp tone of his cell broke the moment.
“Excuse me.” Walker snapped open the phone. “Jack? I thought you needed us back at six?”
Sloan stopped fiddling with her napkin as she watched the play of emotions across Walker’s face shift. Harden.
“Do you need to leave without us?” After a pause, he added, “Okay. We’re fifteen minutes away. Bye.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to leave. There’s been an accident on the mountain and Jack needs to get back to Indigo with a couple of ER doctors. It’s all hands on deck.”