Tall, Dark And Daring. Joanne Rock
box with two powdered doughnuts and steaming cups of coffee. “Breakfast.”
She opened the door wider to admit him. She ignored the starchy voice of her conscience that balked at entertaining a client in her hotel room. This was Mitch, after all. It seemed dishonest to pretend they’d never meant anything to each other when they had spent two weeks of their lives practically glued together.
The mental picture accompanying that thought sent a sensual wave of heat through her thighs and belly.
She hoped her cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. “Great! I’m starved.”
Wandering inside, he set his offering on a polished pine coffee table.
How could he look so good first thing in the morning? Her gaze drank in his lazy stride, his easy smile. He wore a long wool coat with a red scarf trailing the collar—a far more conservative look than the trademark neon apparel he used to wear in his snow-boarder days. His one concession to his former fashion sense was a tiny troll with neon yellow hair pinned to his lapel.
She looked away when she noticed he was observing her as candidly as she had been regarding him.
He cleared his throat. “You look very nice in red, by the way.”
Had he meant to comment on the blush she felt on her cheeks or the flannel pajamas she’d bought in the gift shop?
“These are the most comfortable clothes I’ve ever worn.” She dropped onto the sofa and pulled a corduroy pillow onto her lap. The tasseled blue bolster seemed a pitifully inadequate barrier between her and walking animal magnetism.
“But they’re not very practical for making snow angels.”
She grabbed a doughnut. “I’ll come up with something suitable. Have a seat.” She motioned toward the wing chair. The one farthest away from her corner of the couch.
He remained standing, one arm behind his back. “Like what? The trench coat?”
Tessa frowned, wondering what he was hiding. “What have you got back there?”
The sound of crinkling paper greeted her ears as he jiggled whatever he concealed. It sounded like a paper bag.
“Something suitable.” He tossed a bag with the pro shop logo on her lap and sat down.
“Mitch, I can’t—”
“It’s nothing.” He took the lid off her coffee and handed her the cup. “The owner always gets the best deals.”
She took a sip of coffee, telling herself she shouldn’t open the bag. But she knew it contained clothes of some sort. She had a damnable weakness for clothes. “I really shouldn’t.”
Mitch bit into his doughnut, sprinkling white powder down his sweater and groaning at the presence of vanilla cream in the center.
“Actually, this is a necessity. If you’re going to familiarize yourself with my product, you’ll need protective gear.” He handed her a pastry. “It would be unprofessional of you not to accept.”
“Unprofessional?”
“Definitely.”
How could she refuse? “You really missed your calling, Mitch. Your selling skills would knock mine off the chart.” Laughing, Tessa set the doughnut aside and tore into the bag. “Snow pants!”
“Ski pants.”
She admired the trim black spandex and thanked God his company made snowboards instead of surfboards. Ski pants would be much kinder to her legs than a French bikini high-rise. “Is there a difference?”
“Aerodynamics. You can pick a jacket to go with them on our way out. I wavered between green or red.”
“Is a jacket considered protective gear also?”
“Absolutely.”
She had to laugh, surprised at their easy rapport in spite of the undeniable chemistry between them. Had he been this considerate when they’d been together eight years ago? Certainly, he’d always been this much fun.
Perhaps this week’s trip would help her remember not to take life so seriously all the time.
Or was that a dangerous line of thought?
She tossed off the pillow shield and stood. She would face Mitch’s charm head-on. “I guess I’d better get dressed if we want to see the snow before the rest of Lake Placid wakes up.”
Mitch frowned, but he rose, too. “I’ve got a lot of things I want to show you today.” He strode toward the door.
A whole day with Mitch. No pillow armor to protect herself from his blatant appeal. No conservative business suit to remind herself to act in a circumspect, professional manner. How would she keep her distance from him if they kept having fun?
She spied the answer stacked on top of her briefcase. “I’ll bring my notes. We’ll get lots of work done.”
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. You’ll never capture the right mood for the marketing pieces if you insist on approaching everything as work. Mogul Ryders is about having fun.”
She nodded, accustomed to listening to her clients’ directives. There was just one problem with this particular command.
She knew from personal experience that having fun with Mitch might be more temptation than her overloaded senses could handle.
MITCH COULDN’T HELP but notice Tessa’s entrance attracted more head turns than a tennis match when she sashayed into the lobby.
Damn, she looked good. How was it she could garner more attention in a ski suit than most women did in a swimsuit?
Or maybe it was more a matter of her neon yellow coat dazzling everyone in a fifty-yard radius.
He eyed her selection, surprised she hadn’t gone for her usual conservative palette. “I take it they were all out of navy blue?”
The sound of her throaty laughter sent a shot of heat through him.
“I had a red one in my hands, but this one just called to me. Loudly.”
“You look great.”
It was a simple enough remark, yet it hung in the air between them, laden with more meaning than he’d meant to give it. Tessa stared at him for a long moment before tucking a blond strand behind her ear.
“Thank you.”
Reminding himself to go slow with her, he sought to break the tension by fingering the tiny pin on his black jacket. “You need a troll to match.”
“I’m going to let that remain your unique fashion statement. This coat was enough of a change for me today.” She grinned, her eyes alight with mischief he hadn’t seen in too many years.
Which might mean Phase One of his Make Tessa Stay plan had been a success thus far.
His rationale had been simple. If Tessa wanted to quit her job because she resented spending her free time in airports, maybe she would accept a position with him if she saw she could have fun while working.
Lucky for him, he had an inside angle on what she liked to do for fun. He’d felt a twinge of guilt this morning when he’d bribed his way into her room with breakfast. But with Mogul Ryders’s future on the line, he couldn’t afford to fight fair.
He needed her by his side.
He wanted her in his bed.
MITCH WAS prepared to push the envelope when they returned to the inn after a day packed with every winter sport imaginable. He hadn’t made concrete headway with her yet, but one potential weapon remained in his persuasive arsenal.
The love seat.
They stamped snow off their boots and hung their jackets on the massive coat rack at the front door.
“You’ll