Chapter Eight

Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this focused. Was it the sex? No, he couldn’t think about that right now, or figure out what—or what not—to do.

It was because he had an idea.

It was the cocktails. He could picture the row of bottles labeled in Mack’s slanted script, dozens of them lined up behind the bar. They’d have a menu describing each flavor, with a note explaining how their bitters were made in-house and rotated on a seasonal basis. Who else in the area had that? No one for miles around.

But it was more than the bitters alone. It was how that common thread unified the menu, making each drink part of a greater whole. It turned the drinks into a conversation starter, something people could taste, discuss, get excited about. It created an experience to share.

Mack had surprised him in more than one way during that storm. Now that she was a step ahead, he had to catch up. It was up to him to prove the food at a fine dining restaurant could be the attraction Gold Mountain needed. Otherwise, he’d be stuck using his father’s money to open a place called Mackenzie’s—and he didn’t want to think about how Christmas with the Brandings would go when he had to justify that. He wouldn’t even make up the investment before the whole thing tanked.

He spent three days holed up in his house, the windows open, his notes and revisions and ingredients all over the place. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked like this, not calling anyone, barely sleeping. Just doing what he loved, which was to cook.

Finally, he was ready to pick up the phone and call Mack.

“Where have you been?” she said right away, not bothering with a hello.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked.

“Suddenly you care?”

“Just tell me you’re free, you’re hungry, and you’re meeting me at the restaurant. Okay?”

“No, Connor, not okay. I’m not going to drop everything because you happen to suddenly call.”

That was when he realized his mistake.

“Mack, I’m sorry. I didn’t call earlier because I—” He stopped. He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Because you ran out so fast, I didn’t think you’d want to come near me again. Because I thought we’d agreed to pretend that never happened. Because I never really thought you were interested in me to begin with. Somehow the reasons had made sense in his head. He wondered, though, whether his head was always a reliable source of information when it came to all things Mack.

But he wasn’t such an idiot as to think she needed him, thought about him, was pining for him after one night. When he didn’t hear from her, he figured she was home regretting the shit out of it, if the way she’d hightailed it out of there that morning was any indication. He didn’t want to crowd her or get in her way.

But Sam had emailed them with detailed instructions, saying they had another week—two, tops—to get their plan to her. By then the initial stages of the demolition would be finished, and it’d be time to start in on the details.

So he had to talk to her. Now. Whether either of them liked it or not.

“I didn’t ask you to call me,” she said, her defensive-o-meter ratcheting up to a thousand.

Shit. What if sleeping together had ruined any chance they had of making this work? He could tell just by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t any more likely to budge on the whole “Mackenzie” thing. If anything, he’d just dug himself an even bigger hole.

“I know you didn’t,” he said. “And I really am sorry. But I need you to do something for me.”

That was met with a wary pause.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t make me beg.”

Immediately his face went hot at the memory of how he’d told her to beg for it, to tell him what she wanted, leading him to imagine her as open, vulnerable, desperate for him. How could he have believed she’d wanted him? They’d been stuck together for the night, that was all. He could have been anyone. She’d probably wished that he was.

He coughed and tried again. “Just meet me at the restaurant. It’s about the business.”

“If you’d bothered to come by and keep up with the renovations, you’d know there is no restaurant. The inside is completely gone.”

“Which is why we need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“I mean in person. Come over.”

“To your place?” She sounded like he’d suggested they go kick some puppies. Maybe hit up the elementary school to sell switchblades and coke.

“Okay, not my place.” He thought for a minute. “Meet me at the South Lake Trailhead. Four o’clock. But don’t leave the parking lot—wait for me there.”

“Are you serious?”

“You want to invite me over instead?”

“South Lake. Four. Fine.” She hung up before he could press his luck and tell her to bring wine.

The South Lake Trailhead began in a wooded area off a dirt road off the main drag through town. Connor made sure to get there early. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d agreed.

He sat on a bench and waited until she pulled up. It was the middle of the week, and theirs were the only cars in the lot. When she parked and walked over, she had questions all over her face. But he was more drawn to the jeans hugging her hips and the shirt that dipped dangerously low.

Don’t go there.

This was business. Not pleasure. He’d do better to remember that this time.

Before she could ask what they were doing, he got up and led her down a path. It was a walk he knew well, over a small hill shaded with trees until the trail turned a bend and opened up to South Lake nestled in the mountains. A figure-eight trail went around the lake, switchbacked up a pass between the mountains, looped around North Lake, and returned. But if you didn’t want to go that far, there were plenty of places to poke around on the closer shore. Connor told her that was where they were heading, but no matter how much she pressed, he wouldn’t say why.

They came down the trail and started in on the turn that would bring them to the lake. It was one of Connor’s favorite sites, where the woods opened to a shock of blue ringed by snowcapped peaks. The first time he’d seen it, he’d known he couldn’t just get on the road and leave this place behind—not right away, at least. But before they got there, Connor reached out a hand for her to stop. “This is where things get interesting.”

“What are you talking about?”

He raised a finger to his lips and pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket. It was dark, thick around the middle, and tapered at the ends.

“A rag?” she asked. “I know I drive men wild, Connor, but you’ve officially lost your mind.”

“You wish. Turn around, I’m putting it on you.”

Mack burst out laughing. Which, to be honest, wasn’t the response he’d expected. “Like hell you are! Not without a safe word.”

Connor nearly tripped over his own two feet. While standing perfectly still. “Do we need to talk about…?”

“No.” Mack held up a hand. “We were drunk, it was late, we were stuck at the restaurant, it happened. It’s never going to happen again. But we still have to work together. So let’s move on.”

He bit back a grin. It sounded as though she’d spent all day practicing that little speech in front of a mirror, trying to get it just right. Maybe she hadn’t gotten over their night together as quickly as he’d assumed.

“I promise I won’t torture you with a reprisal,” he said. But he let his tongue tease out the word “torture.” He knew she had loved every second.

She set her jaw firmly. “Then what are we doing here? And why do you have that?”

She pointed to the blindfold.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she said.

He smiled. “Will you do this anyway?”

She looked around. Tall hemlock and fir trees feathered their long green fingers over the trail. Sunlight dappled the mossy ground. He smelled rich earth and pine, a dampness that spoke of new life.

She turned to him, met his eyes, and said, “I thought we were going to the lake.”

He nodded. “We are.”

“Then why the blindfold?”

“I promise I’m not going to dump you in the water, Mack. No matter how tempted I get.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.” She took a step forward. When he didn’t move, she said, as though he was the one delaying, “Are we doing this or what?”

But why should he be so surprised? It wouldn’t be the most unexpected thing she’d done with him. Not even close.

He came up behind her and draped the cloth over her eyes, tying it tightly. Only allowing his fingers to linger so much.

“Yikes,” she murmured. “It’s dark in here.”

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

He waved a hand in front of her face, but she gave no response. Looked like the answer was no.

“Now what?” she asked, her voice sounding suddenly small.

He came closer and took her hand. He felt her start, but what had she expected? He put one arm around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. The other hand stayed in hers. He was so tall that she barely came to his shoulder, her body fitting snugly against him.

He moved with her, one foot and then the other, guiding her steps, telling her where to go. He wondered how she felt in the darkness. If she could feel the woods, the creaks and sighs of it. Dappled sunlight on leaves; the press of earth underfoot. He was painfully aware of her hip bone jutting into him, the soft, tender curve of her side. She must have known her breast was brushing against him as they moved, but she didn’t pull away. And he wasn’t about to suggest it.

She must have been able to sense when they came to the lake. The sunlight was warm on their faces, and the path flattened. The ground became softer as he walked her off the trail and over the grass.

“If you’re surprising me with the view, I’ve already been here,” she said.

He smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “This has nothing to do with the view.”

The fun part was turning her in a circle. He didn’t want her knowing which way she was facing anymore, where she was in relation to the lake, the woods, the mountains behind. When he told her to sit, her hands reached out as her knees dropped to the ground and she felt around.

“What is this?” she said as she touched the blanket he’d put down.

“Get comfortable,” he said.

“Like that’s possible.” But she curled her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged, no doubt wondering what the hell was coming next.

He sat across from her. Close enough that he was sure she could feel him. Not so close that they touched.

“Are we having a séance? Communing with the goddess? Ooh, are you going to flog me?” she teased.

At least she couldn’t see him redden. She was the one in the blindfold. So there was no reason to let her disarm him. “Fun as that sounds, no. I told you I had a different kind of torture in mind.”

“I distinctly remember you promising no torture.”

“You should know better than to trust me by now.”

Mack’s hands flew up to the blindfold. He had to move fast to yank them back before she could slide it off.

“What did I tell you about cheating?”

“I don’t think you mentioned it.”

“The rules are, you play by my rules.”

“I didn’t agree to that game.”

“Too late.”

He kept hold of her wrists and wrangled them behind her back.

“Wait a second,” she protested. “Aren’t I supposed to consent to this?”

“Hold still.” He crossed her wrists, pinning them in place with one hand while he wrapped another strip of fabric around them.

“Someone came prepared,” she said.

“Somehow I had the crazy idea you might be difficult. There.” He checked the knot. “How’s that?”

“Just ducky. I’m having a blast. Please don’t tell me my mouth is next.”

“Tempting,” he said, coming around so he was facing her again. “But I need your mouth for this.”

“Connor.” It came out sharp, the joking gone.

But he assured her he was kidding. He already had her where he wanted.

On her knees. At his command. His cock so hard it was killing him.

Focus. He pulled his hand back so he wouldn’t touch her. This was about the restaurant. About proving himself.

It wasn’t about anything else.