A Snowbound Scandal (Dallas Billionaires Club Book 2)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Nothing.” His confused frown was sincere. “You should try to save the world, or at least part of it. It’s what I’m doing.”

  Choosing to say nothing seemed the best response. She pressed her lips together.

  “I crowd them out,” he continued explaining. “The bad guys. Someone who would take advantage of the city funds and allow his or her palm to be greased by those who want special treatment. If I’m in office, those guys aren’t.”

  She’d never thought of it that way.

  “Last year my sister Stefanie helped me organize a fund-raiser for adoptions for families who couldn’t conceive.” He tilted his head, a teasing spark in his eye. “Or can you also find something wrong with my supporting orphans, too?”

  No, she really couldn’t. And that was the problem. She couldn’t vilify him, which meant liking him again. And liking him could lead to...

  Nothing.

  She would never allow her liking him to lead to anything more. The risk was too great.

  “Look, we don’t have to make peace with what happened between us, Mimi,” he said, reading her mind, “but we do have to live together for an evening. Can we table the discussions revolving around the topics we argue about? Focus on the ones we agree upon?”

  “Is there one?” She finished her wine and sent a longing look at the bottle, wrestling with the idea of sinking into the reprieve of a second glass.

  “We agree on two topics so far. Pie. And wine.” He tipped the bottle over her glass and poured. She admired his strong fingers and tanned skin. How could a man’s hand be sexy?

  Because it’s attached to the rest of him.

  Right. Good point.

  “I’m going to start a fire,” he said. “Sit up a while. The bedroom on the top floor is where I’m staying, but feel free to take your pick of the others.”

  * * *

  Chase left Miriam to her...whatever was going on with her, and finished stacking the firewood and kindling in the hearth.

  She’d vanished down the hallway, declining his offer to carry her suitcase or show her around.

  “I assume the bedrooms are the ones with beds,” she’d quipped.

  Once the fire was crackling, he stayed where he was on the rug, kicked off his sneakers and reached for his wineglass. All the tableau was missing was a sleeping golden retriever sitting by his red-and-white-patterned socks.

  Mimi had been gruff and short with him at the same time she’d been kind and hesitant. He could guess she would have preferred to come stomping in here and read him his rights, but she’d never been able to be truly cruel. He wondered if that’s how she thought he’d treated her back when they split. Cruelly.

  Seemed crueler to him at the time to drag her away from her family and the lake town she loved and into a world of politics and oil—both of which she’d hated then and was clearly no fonder of now.

  When he’d first spotted her on the video at the gate, he hadn’t believed his own eyes. And when she’d climbed from her truck while he stood in the frigid snow watching her advance, he’d made a decision then and there.

  She wasn’t leaving his house without fully understanding where he’d stood all those years ago. She wasn’t the only one with an axe to bury.

  He’d lied to her earlier when he said there were two topics they agreed upon. There was a third area where they’d excelled. In bed. Or, on the beach. In the car. He was equally sure they’d be able to navigate that particular act without fail now, and in a variety of locations.

  Underneath her need to put him in his place, her high chin and straight shoulders, was the soft, warm woman who’d rested against his side. The giving, loving woman who’d opened up an entirely new world to him. Mimi wasn’t a hookup—she never had been.

  And maybe that’d been the problem. They’d taken each other seriously in those stolen summer months. And when her roommate was out of town, he’d stayed the weekend, allowing himself to linger in the moments between Mimi’s deep, quiet breaths before the sun had come up. He’d stumbled into a rare and precious woman, and had never found a replica.

  Yet it’d all been a fantasy. And like all fantasies, destined to end.

  When it came time to take her home to Dallas to meet his family, she’d shrunk against him. Dallas wasn’t where Mimi belonged. She belonged somewhere surrounded by leaves and streams, not concrete and steel and glass.

  By the time she’d met his parents and he’d felt the turgid chill coming off his mother, the fantasy had crumbled to dust. Not only did Mimi not belong in Dallas. She didn’t belong with him. And he’d have seen that clearly had he met her any time other than during the lakeside summer vacation. His head hadn’t been on straight and Mimi... God, Mimi. She’d been lovesick. It’d nearly killed him to do what was right for her and damn his own heart.

  But he had.

  He was twenty-six at the time and no more able to know who he wanted to spend forever with than what corner of politics he’d end up occupying. Hell, he’d had his sights on president of the United States at one point, an office he knew now he wouldn’t hold if he were the last qualified candidate on earth.

  A door closing brought him back to the present before the faint sound of a shower running filled his mind’s eye with Mimi’s slim frame, lithe legs and pert, round breasts. The first time she’d untied the string on her bikini top and flashed him, he’d stared slack-jawed at her pale skin, lightly freckled from the sun, and known he’d do anything to have her.

  He shifted from his cross-legged seat on the rug, his thoughts looping a similar track tonight. To hold that fiery, uncertain, passionate woman against him again would be...

  “Wrong,” he said aloud.

  But as he reminded himself of that, a certain part of him stirred from dormant sleep when he pictured her beneath him. Or on top of him.

  “Hell.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. As impossible as it would seem in this circumstance—as great as the chances of his failure were, he wanted her like he’d wanted her the first time he caught sight of her on that crowded beach ten years ago.

  He hadn’t been able to resist the tantalizing and confusing combination of sensitivity and strength, wrapped in a tangle of poise and chutzpah. Now that he’d gone ten years without meeting a woman who possessed even half of Mimi Andrix’s attributes, he’d likely go another ten once their stint in this mansion ended.

  And he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the spark between them.

  When they were sharing pie, her eyes had lingered on his mouth. He’d wanted to lean forward to sample her lips and damn the consequences, but the timing had been off.

  So. He’d make sure her response was favorable before he moved forward.

  But yes, he decided. He was definitely moving forward.

  Eight

  Miriam emerged from the bathroom after her shower, hair dry since she’d washed it yesterday, her striped pajama pants paired with a Montana State University sweatshirt over a T-shirt. She opted for no bra after a bit of hesitation, but who was she kidding? It wasn’t as if corralling “the girls” into a brassiere was necessary—not for her.

  In stockinged feet, she shuffled out of the bedroom she’d chosen, pleased with her pick. It boasted a queen bed and was large enough for a stuffed chair by the window. A flat-screen television was mounted over the dresser, and had a private bathroom attached. It was as close to a hotel suite as she could come.

  She’d climbed under the covers and flipped through TV channels, but nothing kept her mind from wandering beyond her borrowed bedroom door. She was wide awake and hyperaware that there was a man on the other side of the house.

  She assumed Chase was still awake. He’d been a night owl like her that summer, but many things had changed since then. Maybe he was no longer nocturnal.

  She decided to find out.

&nbs
p; She found him sitting on the corner of the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles, frowning down at his phone. He was still dressed in a sweater and jeans, the jaunty design of his socks causing her to smile. Not so buttoned-up after all. The way he was lounging in front of a fire he’d built made him appear welcoming. Comfortable.

  Maybe that’s why she plucked her half-full wineglass from the island and sat on the love seat across from him.

  He looked up when she sat, but she kept her eyes on the fire, feeling not the least bit sleepy.

  “Get settled?” he asked after a prolonged beat where neither of them spoke.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees and tossed the phone onto a wood-and-metal coffee table that was both modern and rustic.

  “Do you stay up late every night or only during snowed-in vacations?” she asked.

  “Are you questioning my nocturnal habits?” He let the question hang and she fought the urge to think about sex. Specifically, sex with him.

  “I have no right to judge what you do at night,” she said. Or who you do. There was an unpleasant thought—Chase sharing a bed with another woman. Not that she had any claim over him, but the thought was still unsavory.

  “Yes, whatever you do, don’t question my sleepless nights filled with reading biographies or complicated state plans.” His lips quirked at one corner, an even split of confidence and self-deprecation. “How about you? You don’t appear to miss much beauty sleep.”

  “I’m not much for early to bed, early to rise,” she said, refusing to acknowledge his sideways compliment.

  “I’m already healthy, wealthy and wise,” he quipped, finishing the saying she’d started. “Why mess with perfection?”

  “Oh, so you’re perfect now.”

  “My methods. Not me.”

  And humble, she thought, keeping her smile hidden. With a subtle shake of her head, she sipped her wine.

  “What room did you choose?”

  “The smaller one near the kitchen. With the en suite.”

  “The one with the stone shower?”

  “That’s the one.” Stone walls and a glass partition separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom. No rods or shower curtain rings—just a big open square with a rainfall-style shower overhead. Bliss.

  “I showered in there the day I got here.”

  The idea of sharing a shower with him—well not sharing, but kinda—was a distracting thought. She drank a little more wine.

  “Seemed a waste to only use the shower upstairs.”

  “Your room’s the largest I take it?” she happily changed the subject.

  “It’s the largest. Has its own sitting area. Overlooks the trees, the lake. There’s a fireplace in the corner. I’ll show it to you later.”

  She would’ve liked to convince herself that she’d imagined the heat in his eyes at what could be an innocuous invitation, but it was there, all right. Darkening the gray-green to smoky jade and knocking her for a hell of a loop.

  “I’d planned on making a fire in there and spending the weekend laid out in the giant bed.”

  Yes, her cheeks were most definitely aflame at the picture his words evoked. Chase in naught but a pair of low-slung sweats, sheets barely covering his naked torso...

  “Now that you’re here, hiding out isn’t as intriguing.”

  “Go ahead. I can fend for myself.” She cleared her throat and the image from her head. “I know that you have the makings for grilled cheese sandwiches, and a frozen pizza. I’m sure there are eggs in your fridge.”

  “Right on every count but one. I don’t eat eggs.”

  “Really?” She tried to remember if she’d seen him eating an egg when they dated. “Did you ever?”

  “Not really. I mostly eat smoothies with protein powder or toast with avocado slices.”

  She made a face. “I assume you don’t have a box of Froot Loops hiding in your cabinets?”

  “Grape-Nuts.”

  She couldn’t help joining him when he laughed.

  “It’s to go on top of the yogurt I bought.”

  “Vanilla?” she asked, hopeful.

  “Plain.”

  “You’re killing me, Mayor.” And with that comment the tense mood and stilted conversation eased. It hadn’t taken much to get them there.

  “I can’t risk getting old and fat or having a heart attack like Dad.” His smile faded and so did hers.

  “Your father had a heart attack?”

  He confirmed with a nod. “Surgery, too. He’s in good health now, but it rattled me to see him in a hospital bed.”

  “Enough that you cut out three-cheese omelets.”

  “I indulge sometimes.”

  “I didn’t accuse you of anything.” She held her hands up.

  “No, but you’re looking at me like I’m as bland as the yogurt I mentioned.”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth but there was a dash of sadness ghosting his expression. Like he cared what she thought of him.

  Impossible. He was the most independent, self-assured man she’d ever known.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said, standing from the couch.

  “Oh? Did you lie about the Froot Loops?”

  “Sorry. No.” He bypassed the love seat where she sat and opened a tall cabinet on the other side of the room. On the shelves sat folded blankets, a few decorative pillows and board games. He closed the doors and turned back to her, holding a familiar oblong box.

  “Monopoly?” The box appeared brand-new, though it wasn’t wrapped in from-the-factory plastic.

  “I was poking around while you were in the shower and found this, Risk and Battleship.” He set the game on the coffee table and, after moving his wine to the side, lifted the lid of the box. “I had no idea there were games here. The house was stocked and decorated by a design team when I bought it. Wanna play?”

  “Didn’t you refer to that game as the ‘ender of relationships’?”

  “I did. But our relationship has already ended, so what’s the harm?” His gaze warmed when he added, “Or maybe it’ll have the opposite effect and we’ll end up sharing a bed while you’re here.”

  A startled laugh emerged from her throat. It was part he’s insane and a sliver of how fun does that sound? The latter scared her more than a little.

  “More wine before we start?” he asked as if he hadn’t casually mentioned them sharing a bed.

  “Water.” No way was she drinking more alcohol tonight given the dangerous bend of her thoughts.

  He returned from the kitchen with two bottles of water, sat down and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

  What did she think? All sorts of interesting, steamy, forbidden thoughts rolled around in her head. Chase. Hot, thirty-six-year-old Chase. With that smooth voice and slow hands—an attribute she recalled too clearly. He knew how to take his time. He’d been able to draw her to the brink of orgasm and let her linger there until she begged for release. Even at the tender age of twenty-three, she’d known that the sex was unparalleled. And when she’d ventured into dating a year later, she learned she was right. No one that she’d dated or slept with held a candle to the man sitting across from her bathed in firelight.

  What tricks had he learned since then? A delicious shiver trickled down her spine.

  “Scared?” he asked, mistaking her shudder of pleasure.

  Terrified. Not of him but of her lack of willpower where he was concerned.

  “Don’t be,” he continued. “I haven’t played in years. You’ll probably own my ass faster than I can say Marvin Gardens.”

  The game! Right. Not sex. She snapped the lid off her water and drank a few guzzles.

  “If you’re sure you can take me,” she told him. “Bring it.”

  * * *
<
br />   An hour and a half later, it was clear that she was going to lose.

  Chase had monopolies with hotels on the scariest properties—not the blue ones. Park Place and Boardwalk were the obvious choices because of their price tags, but that wasn’t how you won the game. No, the way to won was to buy up the yellow, orange and magenta properties so that in between the jail square and the go-to-jail square you would be fined into bankruptcy. Even owning all of the utilities and two railroads couldn’t get her out of this mess.

  “You’re about to forfeit,” he pointed out. “I can tell by the crease right there.” He leaned forward and pressed the pad of his finger into the dent between her eyebrows. She slapped his hand away.

  He was sitting on the couch at the long side of the coffee table and she’d sat opposite him on a big square cushion. Her dwindling pastel-colored dollars didn’t inspire hope, but as far as forfeiting...

  “Never.” She narrowed her eyes and he grinned.

  “Very well.” He set the dice on the board without rolling his turn and purchased several more houses. Then he rolled and landed on Boardwalk, a property he already owned.

  Miriam was in “jail” and rolled for the third time, trying for doubles so she didn’t have to pay the precious fifty-dollar fine to leave. She didn’t want out. Not with all those plastic houses and hotels Chase had built that were waiting to empty her bank account. If she rolled two fives, she could not only get out of jail free, but rest on Free Parking for a breather. And win the money in the middle—only forty dollars, but every little bit helped.

  But fate was not smiling on the less fortunate today. She landed on Tennessee Avenue, the property where Chase had just added another house.

  “Game.” He remained where he was, elbows on his knees and awaited her concession.

  “Game,” she said through her teeth.

  He started filing away his money and she did the same, which took her a lot less time than it took him since she had so very little of it. By the time she was sweeping the houses off the board, she could feel the frown between her eyes deepen.

  A low chuckle punctuated the air.