Chapter Five

Izzy walked back to the main room of the suite from the bathroom, finishing smoothing her favorite hydrating lotion into her hands, and drew to a halt at the sight of Trace standing by the window, staring at her like…like she was dinner. Being on the receiving end of all that hunger had her own long-neglected appetites turning ravenous, maybe more so thanks to the demonstration he’d provided at the terminal of everything he could put toward satisfying those appetites. Things ethics and ambition prevented her from sampling.

His gaze traveled over her slowly, starting at her freshly washed face, the loose braid she always resorted to at night to keep her morning hair manageable, a new, snuggly gray sweater with a V-neck wide enough to slide off one shoulder that she’d tossed over her favorite silver silk cami, and matching wide-legged pajama bottoms. Though a relaxed look, for sure, it fell far short of seductive. The loungewear certainly served the goal of decency. Even so, every bit of bare skin exposed to his attentive eyes tingled as if tickled by feathers…or fingertips…or the gentlest graze of a beard.

The last thought weakened her knees. Before her legs gave out, she lowered to the sofa. “Oh, you’re back.” Did she sound casual? She wanted to sound casual, rather than as breathless as she felt. “That was fast.”

His lips lifted in what looked to be a slightly forced smile. He took the bag he’d placed on the small table by the window and brought it over to the table in front of the sofa. The scent of grilled beef and fries reached her nose. Still, her stomach didn’t stir. No, the only parts stirring were her erogenous zones. Answering heat in those perceptive blue eyes locked on her suggested he knew it.

“The Goose wasn’t busy.” He tipped his head toward the window. “The blizzard kept people home. Hungry?”

Not for food, no, but, alas, plain old hunger was the only appetite she could satisfy with her client without putting her long-fought-for professional goals at risk. “Sure.” She patted the other sofa cushion. “Sit. Please. You must be hungry, too.”

“I could eat,” he replied, and sat, but his half smile suggested he was open to other things, too.

No, no, no, Izzy. Don’t go there. Just because the man’s purely-for-show kisses got you so hot you could melt a polar cap is no reason to cross a professional boundary.

But then he reached into the bag and handed her a to-go box, and their fingers accidentally brushed. A tactile memory of his fingertips brushing her cheek had her face heating. To hide the fact that she was about to go up in flames, she focused on unboxing her meal.

Nothing to get excited about there, though, good God, it appeared to be exactly what she’d requested. Even Danny, who ordered their working late, dinner-at-their-desks take-out meals more often than she wanted to contemplate, occasionally forgot one or two of her food restrictions.

Perhaps he picked up on her surprise because he paused in the middle of unboxing his own dinner. “Everything okay? One plain, lean burger, medium. Dijon on the side. Right?”

She nodded and struggled for a tone of casual gratitude rather than total shock. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He opened his box, and she eyed his meal with a deep-seated food envy she hadn’t experienced in a long time. The massive double burger dripping with melted cheese, bacon strips, and some kind of spicy red sauce that stung the tip of her tongue just looking at it sat on a generous bed of wide-cut fries.

Maybe he caught her looking, or maybe she let out a sound, because he paused in the process of picking it up and looked at her. “Sure you don’t want some of this? There’s plenty.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stick with mine.” Using the plastic utensils tucked in the box, she cut herself a bite of her plain burger.

“Grab a handful of fries, at least.”

Uh-uh. Her stomach lining wouldn’t thank her. “I’m good. You enjoy.”

He twisted the cap off a bottle of beer and placed it by her box. Another thing she wouldn’t be indulging in this evening, but she kept that to herself and simply mumbled a thanks around a bite of her meal.

“No problem,” he replied and cracked the cap on a bottle for himself. After taking a bite of his burger and washing it down with a swallow of beer, he fixed his eyes on her. “You’re very disciplined, aren’t you?”

She knew he meant with her diet, but even so, she couldn’t hold back a pained laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I guess I don’t.” He smiled around a bite of fries. After swallowing, he added, “This is another guess, but I’m thinking you don’t spend much time in the great outdoors, either, camping, hiking, fishing and whatnot.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not much.” Zero, to be precise.

He tipped his head to the side. “So, why jump on this assignment? I mean, the sale of my interest in the airfield is a big deal to me, but I recognize it’s not a multibillion-dollar strategic merger of international conglomerates. For the right attorney, it’s a sweet assignment with lots of little destination-based fringe benefits, but not for you.”

Hmm. He had her there. She pushed her box o’ dinner away. “Well, when the managing partner of your practice group taps you for an assignment, you don’t say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ if you value your career.”

He nodded. “And you do.”

“Of course. Nobody just falls into the law. It takes four years of undergrad studies and, oh, better graduate with a kick-ass GPA and ace the LSAT if you want a shot at a top-tier school. Then claw your way through three years of law school and stay in the upper ten percent of your class if you want to work for a top-flight firm.”

“And where does it all get you?”

To a frozen hell called Captivity? “To partner,” she answered. He seemed to want honesty, so why sugarcoat it? “When Chuck called me into his office last week to discuss ‘something important’”—she made air quotes around the phrase—“I thought he was going to offer me the partnership I’ve been working my butt off to earn for the past five years, but no.” She swatted the perceived insult away with a hand. “Apparently I have one last hoop to jump through to prove my worth. He sent me here”—the other hand sailed out to gesture at the window—“to be your captive attorney for the duration of the deal. That’s right—ha ha—I’m captive in Captivity. No farmer’s market, no Bikram yoga, no Starbucks.”

“No fringe benefits, as far as you’re concerned.”

Her cheeks heated again, thinking of the fringe benefit she’d hoped for. She didn’t need to share that. “I wouldn’t say that. In the eyes of the entire town, I get to be your potential fiancée for a few weeks.”

“That’s not a fringe benefit.”

“No.” She rubbed her forehead where a headache threatened. “I told you I understood your need for a cover story for me being here, and I do. It’s done. It’s fine.”

“You’re not comfortable with the deception. I can tell. At first you were, but then after Lilah came up with the champagne, something changed. It presents a problem for you.” Blue eyes full of guilt fixed on her. “A problem I created, but you don’t want to tell me about. You’re involved with someone, and—”

“Ha. No. That’s so far off the mark it’s pathetic.”

“Then what?”

Oh, the guilt in those eyes. The guilt got to her. Layered on the sadness she’d perceived earlier, some sixth sense told her he shouldered more than his fair share of burdens. Her disappointment over him inadvertently acing her out of the sole fringe benefit this assignment offered shouldn’t add to them. With a deep breath, she assured him, “It’s nothing. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

Frown lines between his brows told her the man didn’t take empty assurances, even before he replied, “I do worry. I worry something I considered a harmless deception has put you in a difficult position. Pretending we’re involved is not part of your job description. I’ll just…” He looked down, then back to her. “I’ll come clean. I’ll go downstairs and tell everyone who you really are and why you’re really here.”

Then the whole town would actively oppose his choice to sell his interest in the airfield. And if they succeeded in changing his mind? Too bad, so sad, Izzy. Bye-bye partnership. She swallowed fast and reached for his arm. “No! Don’t do that. My problem is minor. It’s irrelevant. It’s…”

He caught her hand and held it in his bigger, harder, warmer one. “What’s the problem, Isabelle?”

Ah, Jesus. Was she really going to have to go here? A glance at his pained expression confirmed it for her. “Look, it’s no big thing. It’s just the fringe benefits issue, really. After Chuck assigned me this deal, I sort of vented to my friend Danny about Captivity’s lack of certain basic amenities I’m used to, like my morning blonde roast with almond milk from Starbucks. Danny helpfully pointed out Captivity has something…stronger on tap than caffeine.”

“Do we?”

The concern on his face remained, joined now with some doubt.

Screw it, Izzy. Just spit it out so you can both move on. “Yes, Trace, you do. Namely, testosterone.” She shot off the sofa to pace in front of the fireplace. “I’m about to spend three, maybe four weeks in a place where the ratio of men to women is three-to-one. Danny promised me I could go wild in Captivity. He even snuck that little surprise into my luggage to make sure I had the essentials covered. But now, thanks to you, I can’t go wild.”

She came to an abrupt halt in front of the low table. The recessed ceiling lights threw a blue halo off his dark, slightly disarrayed hair. “Want know why?”

“Um…” He fought the grin off his face, but she saw it and her temper flared.

She stomped one bare foot ineffectively into the thick rug. “Exactly. I just got cock-blocked by my client. It is not funny,” she added when he lost his battle with amusement. “Don’t you dare laugh.” She resumed pacing, all revved up with nowhere to go. Instead, words just kept tumbling from her mouth. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got laid?”

He had the decency to discipline his entirely too talented lips into a neutral line before replying, “I’m going to take a stab here and say a while?”

“A long while,” she muttered, and swung toward the window. “I’ve put in my time working like a dog, accepting every special project with a smile.” She shook her head at her own pathetic life. “Who can juggle three deals at once and cancel her vacation when one doesn’t close on time? Izzy, of course. Who can find the bandwidth to plan the picnic for the summer associates? Izzy. Who can co-chair the firm’s Diversity board in all her spare time? Izzy. Who hasn’t had so much as a date in over a year?” She stopped and stomped her foot again, which again didn’t make a very satisfying thump thanks to the rug. “Izzy, that’s who!”

“Izzy?”

She winced at the sound of his voice. Had she really let all that leak out of her, including the sorry truth that she hadn’t had sex in over a year? She looked over at him.

He stood, stepped around the table. “This is not a problem.”

“It is to me.” She dropped her fists from her hips and hung her head. “Five years of hard-charging toward my partnership, with just one last assignment. So, yes, I hoped for a little personal fringe benefit this time. I didn’t expect candlelight and roses. I didn’t want a grand romance. All I wanted was a bear daddy fuck buddy. Was that too much to ask?”

“Izzy?”

She stared up at him and realized he’d closed the distance between them. He notched his finger under her chin and ran his thumb over her lower lip in a way that made her want to cry.

“I don’t know what a bear daddy is, but I’ll be your fuck buddy.”

Hard as it was to say, she said it. “You can’t.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “It’s been a while for me, too, but I’m reasonably confident I can.” He brushed his thumb over her lip again. “You seemed pretty eager to sample the goods when I had this mouth under mine at the airfield.” He bent his knees a little and dropped his head to reconnect their gazes. “There’s some serious chemistry between us.”

Those blue eyes sucked her in for a second—okay, a long second—but ultimately, she snapped her eyes shut and took a decisive step back. “Be that as it may, I can’t become sexually involved with a client. It’s prohibited under California’s code of professional conduct, not to mention by my firm. Professional responsibility trumps chemistry.” With that pronouncement issued, she turned to stare out the window at the snowstorm and wrapped her arms around herself.

His low, reasonable voice flowed over her. “I’m Chuck’s client, not yours.”

It helped her ego, knowing he refused to give in without a fight. Even if it probably meant she was the only available, age-appropriate woman within a hundred-mile radius. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, no. As soon as Chuck appointed me the senior associate to spearhead this deal, you became my client for all intents and purposes.”

“Really, Captivity Air is the client.”

“You’re the CEO of Captivity Air. It’s not a valid distinction. Look, I have an itch. I can’t deny that, but I’ll just have to scratch it myself.” She sighed. “As usual.”

She watched in the glass as he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear.

“I’d never tell.”

Those low, rumbly words sent a shiver down her spine. Sadly, they also unfurled a red flag in her brain, where it waved like a warning. He was asking for trust. Trust him with something extremely valuable to her—her career—in exchange for…fringe benefits.

And they would be thrilling benefits, she acknowledged. Everything about him worked her hormones on a primitive level. Just to torture herself, she took a quick inventory in the glass. The mass of black hair he wore on the longish side. The dark beard. Not a Moses beard—a Chris Evans beard, and who didn’t love a bearded Captain America? And then there was his size. His stature. His…ahem…stature. The memory of it burned like a brand against her stomach.

As much as it frustrated her libido to face them, certain cold, hard facts remained undeniable. Fact number one? People sometimes made promises they didn’t keep. She didn’t know much about Trace Shanahan—CEO of Captivity Air, bush pilot of sufficient skill to have avoided an untimely death by plane crash this evening, and a man not above resorting to deceit if the need arose. But if something went wrong with the deal, could she trust him not to break his promise, out of disappointment, or spite, or simple carelessness? She truly didn’t know.

All of which brought her to fact number two. Fringe benefits, no matter how thrilling, were not worth risking her career. She’d gone a year without sex. A few more weeks wouldn’t kill her. Probably.

Rather than brush him off with a bald-faced, “Sorry, I can’t,” she turned it back to him. “This is ridiculous. You don’t even like me.”

That brought his head up. Their eyes met in the glass. His brows disappeared behind the wing of dark hair across his forehead. “What makes you say that?”

She turned to face him. “Do this.” She drew her brows low over her eyes, pulled the corners of her mouth downward, and crossed her arms.

He mimicked her.

She pointed at him. “That’s exactly what you looked like the moment I approached you at the airport in Anchorage. It’s pretty much the expression you wore the entire flight to Captivity. That is not an expression of enthusiastic welcome. You didn’t want a female attorney.”

“I didn’t want an attorney who looks like her idea of outdoor adventure is lunch on the patio at Spago’s. The minute I saw you, I realized you weren’t going to pass for a tourist. Not the kind of experienced climber, hunter, or environmental enthusiast who flies here solo, in the off-season, to pit skills against Mother Nature. You’re not that person, and everyone here was going to recognize as much at a glance. My expression was worry. I didn’t know what I was going to do about you.”

Apparently, she had a litigator in her somewhere because she couldn’t resist doing a cross-exam. “So, you’re telling me it wasn’t the fact that I’m a woman that troubled you, it was the fact that I was dressed inappropriately—in your opinion—for a trip to Captivity.”

His expression went carefully neutral. “It goes beyond wardrobe—designer luggage, lack of gear—but yes. I think.”

“Well, thank goodness I wasn’t a man. Imagine the ripples it would have caused in Captivity if you’d been forced to introduce one of my well-dressed, designer-luggage toting male counterparts as your heart’s desire.”

His lips quirked, and the small contraction of muscles emphasized an array of entrancing little lines at the corners of his eyes—hints of a time when his smile had crinkled his eyes regularly. “I wasn’t confronted with that situation, but I won’t swear I wouldn’t have done it. I can promise the kiss would have been a lot less enthusiastic.”

Well, at least he was being a decent sport about it. She, on the other hand, was suddenly exhausted. And embarrassed. “Just forget I said anything. Seriously. It was highly inappropriate of me. I’m excellent at my job, which is why Chuck sent me. You can trust me to do my very best legal work on your behalf. I’m not going to be distracted by my…um…”

“Itch?” he supplied, stepping closer, sending his body heat into her personal bubble.

She closed her eyes against shivers. “That’s a good word for it. No offense, Trace, but I’m not going to risk my biggest professional goal for a…a…little fringe benefit.” Other parts of her weren’t as goal-oriented as her brain, apparently, because cells all over her body obeyed the invisible pull of him, stretching toward him, opening to him, like spring flowers blooming under the warm rays of the sun.

He didn’t move closer, but his voice wrapped around her as effectively as a pair of strong arms. “Izzy?”

His breath caressed her cheek. Hearing him call her by her nickname in that low rumble made the moment feel even more intimate. She licked her lips. “Yes?”

Oh dear. What was she saying yes to? His exhale tickled over her damp lips this time. She parted them, and…

“I respect your decision.”

Huh? “I, um…” She blinked her eyes open and fell straight into the deep blue seas of his. “What?”

“As much as I want to strip you out of those city-girl clothes and show you exactly what kind of fringe benefits I can provide—how long, how hard, how generous, and however you like them best—I respect your decision.”

His mouth was so close, every word his lips formed became a promise they’d soon claim hers. Such a potent promise that it took a moment once they stopped moving for the words he’d uttered to sink into her lust-dazed consciousness.

“Respect my…?” Your decision, Izzy. The one that keeps your career on track.

Right. That one.

She straightened. Smoothing her shaking hands over her sweater, she cleared her throat. “Th-Thank you.” Relief. What she felt just now had to be relief. Not regret.

He stepped back, so composed she might have resented it, but the shadow of sadness was back in his eyes, the slant of his brows. “It’s been a long day. If it’s okay with you, I’ll drown my disappointment in the shower.”

“Oh. Sure.” She ran her still-not-quite-steady hand over her braid. “Go ahead. I’m probably going to check my emails and call it a night.”

He nodded and started across the room. A few steps past her, he turned. “Hey, Izzy?”

“Yes?”

He lowered his brows until the frown lines appeared between them and firmed his lips into a deliberate scowl that caused prickles of lust under her skin. “I do feel obliged to point out there’s nothing little about my benefits.”

With that, he turned and sauntered down the short hall.

She dropped her head and groaned. There certainly wasn’t. It was going to be a long night.