| |
Ian did one last walkthrough of the office building, calling hello in each room and making sure the lights were out. Even though at least half his staff lived in the mountains, within a few miles, the two feet of fresh snow in the last couple of hours prompted him to send them home early. Those who lived in the valley left long before that, and he was grateful he’d shut down work for the day. The canyons were closing to any vehicles without chains or four-wheel drive.
He trudged to his SUV through the white, unable to keep it from soaking his slacks halfway up to his knees. Years of experience navigating the roads in weather like this made it no less treacherous. Too many people drove too slow or too fast. With the twisty, windy mountain roads, that got dangerous. He was glad Liz knew enough to stay in Salt Lake for the evening. She’d already told him she wouldn’t be back tonight. One less thing to worry about.
He maneuvered his car along a route that should be familiar but looked foreign when it was covered in a white blanket. When he started sending employees home, he called Mercy. She didn’t pick up, and he sent a text, asking her to let him or Liz know she was okay.
That was hours ago, and neither he nor Liz had heard back. Logic told him there was a rational explanation, but as he crept the vehicle along more slowly than he could walk, concern built inside. Liz dropped Mercy off at the house this morning, before she went down to Salt Lake. If Mercy wasn’t at his place now, that would mean she called a cab, and Ian didn’t trust any taxi driver, experienced or not, in this weather.
He still wasn’t sure why he insisted Mercy work at his place today. On the surface, his reasons looked good. Mercy was on a deadline and those sucked. But underneath it all, he knew he wouldn’t have made the offer to anyone else. He just couldn’t figure out why.
Talking to Mercy yesterday, the way her face lit up and she almost glowed when he asked about work, almost made him forget it was a bad idea to ask her to join him in a back room somewhere. His cock had perked up for attention, and his brain argued that he was enjoying the conversation. He needed to get his head on straight, when it came to her.
Home was usually a fifteen-minute drive. Nearly forty-five minutes later, he pulled into his garage, gripping the steering wheel until the car was completely stopped. He lost track of how many cars around him slid in awkward directions along the way. Adrenaline thrummed hard and fast through his veins. He needed a drink. Neat.
The house was too quiet when he stepped inside. An odd thought, since it was always quiet, but he hoped Mercy was still here. Only because he needed to know she was safe. “Mercy?”
No answer.
He stripped off his coat and shoes and left them by the door leading to the garage. His suit jacket wound up draped over the back of a chair. He’d take it upstairs later. As he made his way to the liquor cabinet in the study, he strained his ears hard enough nothingness hummed back. And then another noise.
Was that keystrokes?
He paused in the study doorway and saw Mercy, head down and typing away. A tension he didn’t realize was there evaporated from his neck. She sat half-turned toward him, focused on her laptop and wearing earbuds. It took him a moment to drag his gaze from her long, slender neck—exposed because she’d pulled her hair back—and the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Time to stop staring. He had to shake himself. He knocked on the doorframe, and she still didn’t look up. Temptation snaked through him—the desire to slide up behind her, tug on her ponytail, and drag his mouth along her neck.
This was his sister’s best friend, and that was a relationship he couldn’t breach. Liz had lost too much already. He strode across the room and stopped next to Mercy. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and let out a little eep.
She plucked out her earbuds and slid her chair back. “I must have been more in the zone than I thought.”
A laugh of relief slipped from him. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? What do you know that I don’t?” The light in her eyes and quirk of her lips said she was teasing.
“You weren’t answering your phone. Speaking of—text Liz, tell her you’re alive.”
She glanced at the device next to her laptop. “Oh, that. I shut off my phone and told everyone in the office, if they needed me, it had to wait. I don’t know if this place has some kind of magic mojo, but I haven’t lost myself in work like this in ages. Thank you for that, by the way.”
There was that gorgeous look again. The same one she had last night. Bright eyes, a hint of pink on her cheeks, and a lilt to her voice that made him think she was barely keeping a rein on whatever was in her thoughts.
“I’m glad you got something done,” he said.
“It’s only two.” She glanced at her laptop. “Do you keep some kind of CEO, half-day hours?”
He nodded toward the balcony window behind her. From here, it was a view of the mountainside. On a clear day, anyway. Right now, it only showed clouds. He tugged her to her feet and let his touch linger, as he led her toward the sliding door. “Look outside.”
“Oh. Wow.” A cool blast hit them when she slid the glass open and stepped into the storm. “So much white.” She only stood there for a moment before rushing back inside.
“The roads up from the valley are all closed, and most of the city is shutting down. Liz is staying in Salt Lake for the night.”
“I should get back.” Her gaze kept drifting toward the balcony.
“You may want to wait out the storm. The roads are a bit scary. I know; I was just on them, and the plows take their time getting up here.”
“Even after all these years. I’m not surprised.” She gave him her attention. The spark hadn’t faded from her face. “Is that your excuse to keep me here?”
The hint of playfulness mingled with the adrenaline from his commute and flipped a switch on his thoughts. “I don’t need excuses. I’m asking you outright. Stay.”
“For my own safety. Right?”
This was too easy with her. Too much fun. “Not only for that, but mostly.” It wasn’t as if they were going to repeat the other night. Though, the way she licked her lips, his imagination leaped ahead to that possibility. This was spending an evening with an old friend. With his sister’s friend. “Finish what you’re working on or wrap it up, and then decide. If you spend the next forty-five minutes white-knuckling it, while the cab slips and slides along the hillside, you’re not going to get anything done when you get to the hotel.”
She glanced outside again, over her shoulder, concern whispering across her face. “That long?”
“That’s how long it took me.”
“So the Porsche isn’t just your way of compensating? It serves a purpose?” There was no accusation in her light question.
“You tell me. Do I need to compensate?”
The way she traveled her gaze over him, from head to foot and back again, pushed his thoughts aside and left room for his nagging lust to surge to the surface. The corners of her mouth twitched. “I don’t think so. But I’m not the one who bought it.” The lights in the room dimmed, flashed back on, and then went out completely, leaving the reflection off the snow outside to illuminate the room. Mercy furrowed her brows. “Laptops and battery power are a lifesaver. You know?” She stepped around him, then clicked a few things on her computer before giving him her attention again. “Unless you have backup power, I’m not getting any more work done anyway.”
“No backup. It doesn’t really stay out long enough to need one.”
“Oh. So... I’ll wait, then.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the couch at the far side of the room. “As long as you’re doing that, keep me company.”
*
MERCY SHOULD HAVE BEEN more bothered by having her afternoon of work interrupted. Instead, she was grateful the power had been out for over an hour and the roads stayed a wreck. It was an odd sensation, the desire to spend more time with Ian, not because he’d done amazing things with his fingers, but because she wanted to catch up.
They’d moved into the living room, to be next to the fireplace. Outside, the clouds blocked a setting sun, but the reflection between snow and sky was bright enough it spilled through the windows, keeping the room from seeming too dark.
Ian wandered back in and settled next to her on the sofa. He’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. The first time she’d seen him in something casual this trip, and he still looked temping. His knee brushed hers, as he shifted sideways to see her. “The power company says ice took out the lines across most of the city. They don’t have an ETA for when it will be back on. As much as I hate to say it, the resorts—like your hotel—will probably get power long before I do.”
She gave him a pout and hoped it came off as teasing, despite the twinge inside “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Not even close. I’m trying to make sure you’re comfortable. I can’t even offer you dinner if you stay here.”
“I make a mean PB and J.” They’d spent their time flitting from one topic to the next, but nothing stuck. It wasn’t the same easy banter they had the other night at dinner, and she didn’t know how to find that mood. “And it’s warm by the fire.”
“Peanut butter and jelly, huh?” He trailed his finger on a lazy path along her leg. “Your domestic skills astound me.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Don’t knock the value of an incredible sandwich. I’m gifted at two things. Peanut butter sandwiches and blow jobs. Sometimes I wonder if I should have opened a daycare. All dads would want to drop their kids off.” Even as the words slid out, she knew the joke was bad. A leftover she used, to keep people at arm’s length. His frown said he felt the same. Why had she said that? Defensiveness kicked in. An old scar she couldn’t ignore. “What?”
“You’re worth more than that.”
“It’s a joke, Ian.”
“It’s a shitty one.”
“Fine.” Time to try yet another approach. “Let’s play a game.”
“I’ll bite. What game?”
“Never Have I Ever.” Everyone loved a good drinking game. Maybe she was too old for that, but a little alcohol would loosen them up, and they could get to know each other in the process. The rules were really easy. One person said something they’d never done, and if the other person had, the other person had to take a drink
“No.”
There went that idea. “If you’re worried about me emptying your liquor cabinet, I’ll replace whatever we drink.”
“Stop trying so hard.”
The words dug deeper than she thought possible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t want you drunk. I don’t want to play a game. I want to know more about you.” His tone implied more went beyond superficial banter.
“Why?”
He draped his arm over the back of the couch and rested it against her shoulder. “Because the last few days have told me you’re more fascinating than Liz realizes. More intriguing than the girl I used to know. I want to uncover that.”
“You might say that now, but really you don’t.” There were those fucking scars again. The whispers telling her no man wanted more than what they saw on the surface. A trophy. Bragging rights. She was fine with that. It was when she let herself believe they did want more, that it hurt. “I’m really not that interesting.”
He placed a finger under her chin and raised her face, to hold her gaze. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
She shouldn’t read too much into his words—knew better than to fall into the illusion—but a glowing ember in her chest desperately wanted his interest to be sincere.