Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

by Erin McCarthy

  “Feels like a furnace,” she said.

  Aidan took off his loafers, eased in behind her. He positioned himself against her back, careful of her sprained ankle. Her head rested on his upper arm, and her shoulder pressed his chest. Her bottom curved against his groin. The slide of the sleeping bag zipper locked them in for the night. She pushed back, snuggling tight.

  The lady was exhausted.

  She softened in his arms.

  He hardened against her ass.

  He counted close to a million sheep before he fell asleep.

  Chapter Five

  “Aidan, Allie, wake up.”

  Allie Smith opened one eye and yawned. Someone was shaking Aidan’s shoulder so hard it awakened her too. She tried to stretch, but found herself confined between man and sleeping bag. She smiled, remembering how cozy she’d felt all night with his arms around her and what she guessed was his erection pressing against her behind.

  She located the zipper at the top of the bag and tugged it down the side. Unfortunately their sexy sleepover had come to an end. The light from the overhead fixtures nearly blinded her. The electricity was restored.

  Sam stood over them, his expression wary.

  Directly behind the security guard was a uniformed policeman. His badge read Officer Link. The cop stared at her for a long time, making her self-conscious. She knew she looked a mess. Bed head and wrinkled clothing had her wanting to zip the sleeping bag back up.

  Aidan stirred beside her. He pushed up on one elbow, blinked against the brightness. “Officer,” he acknowledged, his voice hoarse. “Emergency services must have worked quickly to restore electricity.”

  “State Street is up and running, Mr. Dutton,” the officer stated.

  What did he just say?

  Allie started, tried to clear the cobwebs from her head. She must still be asleep. The law enforcement office had address Aidan as Mr. Dutton.

  “We’re assisting those trapped to leave the building,” the cop continued. “We’ll provide police escort to their homes. The street is almost cleared. We found vehicles buried at the curb. It’s been slow-going for the snow plows.”

  “Any further problems, Officer Link?” Aidan asked.

  Allie noticed he avoided her gaze. They’d just spent the night pressed together like puzzle pieces and now he wouldn’t even look at her? What was up with that and the “Mr. Dutton” business?

  The officer cleared his throat. “Law enforcement is canvassing the area now. We’re making certain there weren’t any looters. Down the block, Lacy Antoinette’s has a broken front window, no doubt from the blizzard. Unfortunately, racks of lingerie were stolen. I found a red bra on the sidewalk.”

  Sam shook his head, muttered, “The thieves must have escaped on snowmobiles.”

  Allie wasn’t concerned about criminals or red bras. She mentally backtracked to the policeman calling Aidan Mr. Dutton. Surely the cop had made a mistake.

  “Your parents were concerned for your safety, Mr. Dutton,” Officer Link said. “They would appreciate a call once the phone lines are restored.”

  Again, “Mr. Dutton.” She might be sleepy-eyed, but her hearing was acute. Her man radar told her Aidan was hiding something from her. Something important.

  The officer tugged the flaps on his winter cap back over his ears then nodded to the security guard. “Good job, Sam. Looks like everyone survived at your store. Others in the city weren’t so lucky.”

  “That’s my job, Officer Link,” Sam said with pride, “and I try to do it well in any kind of weather.”

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Dutton,” the policeman said on his departure. “Those of us at the thirty-ninth precinct always appreciate your generous donation of Trees for Tots. We gave away two hundred decorated evergreens this year. The children went nuts. Kids believe they must have a tree for Santa to leave presents.”

  The third Mr. Dutton couldn’t be a mistake.

  A bitter chill raced up and down her spine, his betrayal making her numb. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Every nerve in her body was stretched taut. If she so much as took a big breath, she would explode into millions of tiny particles. And she’d cease to exist. Her heart broken.

  The richer the man, the faster he leaves. Her mother’s words rang in her ears, loud as an alarm.

  A shudder racked her body, breaking the spell. Pain stabbed her insides. It hurt. Hurt bad. This couldn’t be happening. Surely Aidan hadn’t played her.

  She knew deep in her heart he wasn’t a mean man. She’d seen firsthand how he took interest in the welfare of the Murphys, how Sam looked up to him with respect, even the way he handled the phony would-be celebs. With firmness but compassion. Still, she couldn’t deny he hadn’t been honest with her.

  She silently fumed. The man knew her body as well as he knew his own, and he couldn’t let her in on what the entire police department already knew?

  Of all the failures she’d endured with men, this was the worst yet. There was no room in his privileged lifestyle for a broken down ski bunny who could barely hop.

  Whatever excuses she made, she couldn’t deny the awful truth. She’d fallen in love with the first floor supervisor, only to be told he owned the store.

  Merry Christmas from the Grinch.

  Allie Smith had just found coal in her Christmas stocking.

  She pushed to a sitting position against the headboard, glanced at the man she now knew as Mr. Dutton. His hair was mussed, his gray eyes were heavily lidded. He looked uneasy. Worried. His lack of self-assurance made her own confidence wane.

  They were momentarily alone. Sam walked with the police officer to the emergency exit. The Murphys, Pamela, and Jay had yet to rise.

  “Mr. Dutton?” The words stuck in her throat. She waited for his answer. It didn’t come.

  His silence gave her pause. His jaw muscles worked, bunched, and his face looked hard. He seemed cautious, as if whatever he said wouldn’t make up for what he hadn’t told her earlier.

  “I can explain, Allie—” he said finally. But he didn’t. It was as if he couldn’t find the words.

  Or didn’t want to.

  She chose to believe the latter.

  “I’m sure you can, Aidan Dutton,” she repeated, afraid to let the stillness overtake her, to bury her so deep she’d never dig her way out and find herself again.

  She went into escape mode. Time to exit gracefully. If she could with this bum foot of hers.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, then located her opera cane. It was within reach. She could grab it and hobble out of his life in a heartbeat.

  But first she had to ask him, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Her heart went cold, shivered in her chest.

  She waited for the answer she didn’t want to hear, that she was great on the snow and in the sack, but only as a distraction. The blizzard had passed. And so had their fantasy date.

  He ran one hand down his face. He looked sad and resigned, as if he was about to suffer a great loss.

  That wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought he would show her to the emergency exit.

  “I hated the pretense, Allie.”

  She let go the deep breath she’d been holding. A part of her believed him. A second part was already looking for her discarded UGGS. There’d be no retreat without her winter boots.

  “You could have confided your secret identity,” she accused, tapping her good foot nervously, “and not acted like a department store ass.”

  “I’m a wealthy man,” he explained, looking self-conscious, almost apologetic. “What I did was wrong. No excuse. But when I saw you again, I could think of only one thing: keeping you here until I found out why you bolted in Aspen.”

  She blushed. “I guess I’m no snow angel either, running out like I did. But I was always up front about who I am, a skiing instructor with a dysfunctional family.” Her gaze swept the sixth floor. “Not heir to an exclusive department store that rivals Harr
ods.”

  “Dutton’s was started by my great-great-grandfather,” Aidan said without apology. “The store will be mine someday.”

  A significant pause, as he rolled out of bed. She stared at him. He looked the same, yet different somehow, now that she knew who he was.

  He stood across the mattress from her, his shoulders broad, his stance wide. His white shirt still looked pressed and his slacks remained creased. The rich never looked rumpled.

  “When we met, we were two people on a ski holiday, out for a good time,” he said. “I liked the fact you knew me as a man, a friend, then a lover before you learned my bank balance.”

  Allie took offense. She was no fortune hunter. Yet there was no denying the man was worth millions.

  A man like that needed a woman who could fit into his crowd. Smile with perfect teeth. Make polite conversation in social situations. Wear basic black and make it look like spun gold. She was none of that.

  Allie took it all in. This opulent, luxuriant, seven-story department store was Aidan’s heritage. He’d grown up with wealth and privilege whereas her youth was spent apartment hopping and hoping for a meal.

  No matter how she looked at it, the truth was she didn’t belong here. They were just too different. He was designer sheets. She was irregular markdowns.

  “Your life is so—” she searched for the right word—“large.” The words hurt her as much as they would Aidan. “My paycheck barely covered two bottles of Snow Angel cologne.”

  “The cologne is all you, Allie.” He gave her a moment, allowed his words to sink in. “Snow Angel is the fragrance of you on the mountain, of you in my bed. I hired a French perfumery to produce the scent of a woman I’d met on holiday.”

  Aidan Dutton had created a cologne for her.

  The fragrance was clean, fresh, and romantic. One whiff and she was wrapped up in Aidan’s arms all over again, blending the pink-cheeked coldness of downhill with the blush of heated skin on silk bed sheets.

  She felt a moment of hope, only to have reality hit her broadside when she looked down and spotted her UGGS. Battered, worn. Like her. Wincing, she pulled on her boots, one at a time. She had to accept that the scent was Aidan’s creative imagining of who he believed her to be. She wasn’t the woman behind the winter wonderland mystique. She was plain old Allie Smith.

  She’d never been to the opera. She wouldn’t have set foot in Dutton’s had it not been for the Snow Angels. She’d never planned to lose her heart to a man with a clothes closet bigger than her whole apartment.

  She flexed her ankle. The pain was minimal. She had some run in her today. She pushed off the bed, retrieved her cane. She took her first step, her knees weak and her steps wobbly.

  “I have to go,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I need time.”

  “How much more time do you need?” His tone was desperate now. “We’ve had three years apart.”

  “I don’t know you, Aidan,” she said, meaning it. She rubbed her forehead. “Please, don’t try to stop me. It’s all so confusing.”

  “Bullshit, Allie.” His tone called her on the carpet. “You’re making excuses for something you don’t want to face.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she shot back.

  “You think you’re like your mother because she couldn’t hold onto a guy. You believe all men leave. Especially the rich ones.”

  “How dare you talk about my mother like that—”

  “It’s true, think about it,” he said with urgency. “All your life you were afraid if you found the right guy and he made you happy, your mother’s prediction would come true: he’d up and leave you too. So you left first to stop that from happening. You also didn’t want to hurt your mom by finding a man of your own when she remained alone.”

  “That’s not true—” Or was it? She stopped abruptly. Tears stung her eyes. She refused to cry. Could he be right? Was she so afraid of hurting her mother that she sabotaged her own relationships with men? Even if it was true, Aidan had no right to say it.

  She turned to leave, her breathing labored. She didn’t want to hear any more. Not another word. Especially on the subject of her mother.

  Before she got more than a few steps, Aidan grabbed her cane and pulled her back to him. He turned her around, held her close. His expression was fierce. “Your mother was wrong about men, Allie. Dead wrong. Let me prove it to you.”

  “No, please, let me go—”

  “Not until you listen to what I have to say,” he forced out. “You liked me as a skier, and again as the first floor supervisor. All I ask is that you find a place in your heart for Aidan Dutton.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”

  “I can’t change how I feel,” she insisted. “Not without taking some time to think things through—what you said about me, about us.”

  She was doing the best she could, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for him. He laid down his ultimatum.

  “I won’t beg you to stay, Allie Smith, but somewhere, somehow, you need to find your own happiness. You’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps too long.”

  Sadness slipped around her heart. “Aidan, I—”

  “You need to face your future, with or without me.” He released her, but held her gaze. “If you decide to give us a chance, I’ll be in Aspen on New Year’s Eve. There’ll be champagne and fireworks, big fireworks. They go off at midnight.”

  Frost Peak Lodge

  New Year’s Eve

  It was 11:15 P.M. when Allie Smith entered Aidan Dutton’s suite. He’d left a room key in her name at the registration desk, hoping she would show. She had. That was the easy part. Now what?

  Her practical side still questioned her sanity. What was she doing here? Her face-the-future side seduced her with the idea of hot, crazy sex with a man who claimed to love her. Still, that hadn’t prevented her from spending the past ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway, getting up the courage to let herself in.

  She was in now. She broke into a cold sweat and her hand shook when she closed the door behind her. The lock clicked, and her insides tangled. Her stomach was one big knot.

  She lowered her backpack to the carpet, dropped her opera cane alongside it. She shrugged off her winter jacket then looked around. A hundred crystal candle holders held snow-white votives. The tiny flames danced, and vanilla scented the air. A romantic glow tinted everything in the room gold. The playful shadows beckoned her to stay.

  A bottle of Snow Angel sat on the coffee table, his gift to her. She laid the card key down and picked up the cologne, spritzed lightly behind her ears and at the pulse point at her throat. She loved the scent.

  A dinner cart sat off to the side, yet to be removed. The service was for one, she noted, relieved. Aidan had eaten his meat and potatoes but left his vegetables. He apparently didn’t like asparagus.

  There was no immediate sign of the man. What if he’d gotten tired of waiting? She was late, but she’d had no choice. She’d seen an orthopedist that very day. His diagnosis: a hairline fracture. He recommended rest, ice, and elevation of her foot. No skiing for at least six weeks.

  She smiled. With any luck, she’d be recuperating between the sheets in Aidan’s bed. She’d even purchased a lacy bra and satin thong for the occasion, which she wore beneath her jeans and sweatshirt.

  She moved toward the master bedroom, relaxed when she heard the shower running. The bed was turned down. A mint sat on his pillow. It looked small and lonely. Like she’d felt all her life. Not tonight. She was here and that was all that mattered. She had every intention of welcoming in the New Year with this man.

  Movement near the bathroom door caught her eye. She cut a glance left, found Aidan leaning against the doorjamb—naked, damp, buff. A calendar hunk come to life. And that stare of his was positively lethal. He crossed his arms over his chest, fixed his gaze on her.

  She stared back so intently, she aroused him. He grew stiff. His sex soon lay flat against his
abdomen, reaching almost to his navel.

  He was one superb man.

  Her heart lodged in her throat and her voice went tight. “Happy New Year, Aidan.”

  “You’re late, Allie Smith,” he said, his voice low, concerned. “By six hours, fourteen minutes, and eight seconds.”

  “How did you know I’d show up?”

  “I made a bet with myself that you would.”

  “And if I hadn’t?”

  “But you did, babe.”

  She detailed her day. “An afternoon doctor’s appointment forced me to change my flight.”

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “On the mend.” She would give him the details later. His jaw worked. “What got you here, Allie?” He needed to know. “What changed your mind?”

  It was her moment of truth. She opened her heart and told him how she felt. “It’s simple, Aidan. I love you. I was lonely without you.”

  He sniffed the air, got a whiff of her scent and smiled. “I missed you too, Snow Angel.”

  He pushed off the door frame, came to her, a human sculpture, all water slicked and generously proportioned.

  Inches separated them as she made the first move and placed a kiss over his heart. “You’re a man of strength, courage, and immense patience,” she murmured appreciatively. “You protect the pride of your security guard and show kindness to snowbound shoppers.”

  “Sam sends his best, by the way,” Aidan relayed. “Jay, Pamela, and the Murphys requested invitations to our wedding.”

  Marriage. Had a nice ring to it.

  She scrunched her nose. “I’m not very domestic.”

  “You’re a free-spirit,” he said. “I envy you that.”

  “You do?” This was the first time anyone had said her offbeat lifestyle was something desirable.

  He grinned at her. “You fly down mountains, enjoy hot buttered rum, wear red sunglasses, and travel light. You moan low in your throat when we make love. And when you sleep, you hog the covers.”

  “You always sleep on your right side.”