Page 4 of Frosty Mountain Man

Her arms came up, wrapping around her ribs instead of crossing them. I suspected for a moment she did that on purpose. The first person my grandfather had sent had been a tall, willowy blonde who’d tried to get my approval with a bright smile. After that, I’d called my grandfather and told him to call off his vultures. Apparently, he’d decided to up his game.

I couldn’t help the look I gave Elle. There was nothing artificial about her body. All natural curves. Everywhere.

She didn’t push, which I hadn’t expected. Just perched on the edge of the couch. She undid her blazer, letting it fall open. Her scent carried to me. Soft and sweet and completely fucking dangerous.

The blouse underneath was thin enough that I could see the faint outline of her bra. My cock started to harden. I forced myself to look at the fire.

“For what it’s worth,” she finally said. “This is a good deal. I’ve read the file. You, your grandfather and your shareholders will stand to make a substantial amount of money.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“What? I’m just doing my job.”

“Mm. No one volunteers to drive six hours round trip into the wilds of Montana. What’s in it for you?”

She tossed her head. The move a tell of defiance. “Maybe keeping my job? Not all of us can afford to walk away from everything.”

That made me pause. I looked at her again, this time without the lust covered glasses. She barely wore any makeup. Her jacket was two sizes too small, and her dress looked about as comfortable as a grain sack, but she wore it anyway. Why? Because it was the expected attire of an assistant to the CEO. I followed the long line of her legs. Her shoes had a few scruff marks if you looked close enough. I knew instinctively, she wore those because of expectation and not comfort.

“I must admit, he’s getting smarter. Sending an assistant instead of another attorney.”

“Why is that?”

“He knows I won’t take my bad temper out on you.”

“Well, that’s one saving grace for being poor, I guess.” She drew in a deep breath. “He thinks you hung the moon, and it breaks something in him every time you won’t return a call.”

“Careful,” I said quietly. “I might think you’re doing this for something other than the bonus you were no doubt promised.”

“Does that mean you’ll look at that?” She pointed to the document on the table.

“No.”

Old memories came sliding through. Ten years ago I’d stood at an altar in a suit that cost more than most people’s cars and watched a woman in white walk toward me wearing a smile that turned out to be entirely rehearsed. She hadn’t wanted me. She’d wanted the power associated with the Cole family name. The kind of life my money bought — and if I was being honest with myself, which I generally was, I hadn’t exactly been offering much beyond that either. I hadn’t walked away that day with a broken heart. Just more jaded when it came to trusting people.

I’d bought the side of a mountain and never looked back.

My heart hadn’t been broken. My pride hadn’t been wounded.

But my trust? That was still bent.

I still liked my life. I’d simply stopped extending trust to anyone who hadn’t earned it first, and decided that suited me fine.

I hadn’t given up the company because it broke me. I’d given it up because staying in that world meant staying in rooms full of people who looked at me the way my ex had. Like a number with a face attached. I’d gotten arrogant enough, and rich enough, to simply stop showing up. The mountain wasn’t a retreat. It was a decision. I could afford the house, the land, the isolation, and I could just as easily afford to walk back into any boardroom I chose. I chose not to. That was the whole point.

I stood by the fire, watching Elle. First woman in longer than I wanted to admit who’d made it past the front hallway without me deciding inside thirty seconds that I wanted her gone. I studied her in silence. Her hair was a mess but somehow suited her more than the tight bun. Taking in her clothing, I realized the meaning of her earlier muttered words. Saving grace for being poor. She did not spend money on clothing or makeup. Her blouse clung to her big breasts and rounded belly. And her skirt. That ass in that skirt was making my self-control lapse just a little. More than a little. I wanted to get my hands on it and find out exactly how well it filled my palms, and I was annoyed at myself for wanting it less than five hours into knowing her.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I said. “About you being an assistant.”

She didn’t turn around. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

“I say ugly things when people push.”

“Noted. For the record, I’ve never had a helping hand in my life. Not one. I worked three jobs through community college. I clawed my way into your grandfather’s office through a temp agency, and I stayed because I’m good at it, not because I’m angling for anything from anyone named Cole. So you can be as arrogant as you want up here on your mountain. But don’t you dare accuse me of being under anybody’s thumb. I’ve spent my whole life making sure I never have to be.”

I allowed myself a small smile, enjoying her show of determination. She had teeth. I liked teeth. I liked them more than I liked being agreed with, which was most of what I got from people these days.

The attraction that I was already finding difficult to suppress rose higher. How much fun would it be to show her how good it would feel to let someone else be in charge?