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Her hands were shaking when she unlocked the door, opened it and silently invited him inside.
Once in the den, Trevor looked at the less-than-opulent surroundings with a cynical arch of his brow. “Spending a quiet vacation in the mountains?” he mocked, his skeptical gaze taking in the interior before returning to her.
“I was.”
“A change of pace from your usual style,” he observed as he walked across the rustic room and stood near the window, pretending interest in the view of the craggy slopes of Mount Washington. He placed a boot on a footstool and leaned on one elbow as he studied the view. His jeans stretched tightly over his hips and thighs and Ashley had to look away from the erotic pose. Was it intentional? For a moment she wondered if he intended to seduce her, but pushed the rash thought aside. He seemed like a rational man, not one who might seek revenge against her father by compromising her.
But if he did, how would she react? The thought quickened her heartbeat. Trevor turned to look at her and Ashley realized he expected her to reply to his comment.
“How would you know what my usual style is?” she asked, her throat uncommonly dry.
Trevor grinned cryptically before moving away from the window and settling into one of the worn leather chairs near the empty fireplace. “There’s a lot I know about you,” he admitted, watching the slightly confused knit of her brow. “I know that you studied art in Marseilles before switching majors and universities, that you prefer BMWs to Chevys, that you would rather shop in San Francisco than L.A., and that you don’t, for the most part, spend time alone in the Cascades.”
Ashley listened to his observations with her breath catching in her throat. Either he was incredibly lucky at first impressions or he had spent a lot of time studying her. It occurred to her that their meeting at the Lamberts’ wasn’t by chance.
She gambled. “So why did you come looking for me?”
He didn’t deny it. “I wanted your help.”
She was wary. Her elegant brow puckered suspiciously. “But why?”
“I want to find out what happened to my father.”
“I have no idea where he is,” she replied honestly. He thought for a minute, but seemed to believe her. His broad shoulders slumped slightly and he changed the subject, convinced that he would get no further with Lazarus Stephens’s stubborn child. “So what are you doing up here, anyway?” Once again his merciless eyes traveled over the interior of the room, lingering for just a moment on the book Ashley had been reading. He picked it up and frowned. It was written in French. “Les Miserables.” He looked at her sharply. “What’re you trying to do—see how the other half lives?”
“Improve my mind,” was her pert retort. Suddenly she wanted him out of the cabin and out of her life. There was something enigmatic and dangerous about him, something that touched her and wouldn’t let go....
“Why did you come here?” he demanded, blue eyes seeking hers.
“I needed a vacation.”
“You work for your father.”
“That’s right.” How much did he know about her? Why did he care?
Trevor glanced from her to the loft, and back again. His fingers were tight with tension when he pushed them through the coarse strands of his hair. “It just doesn’t fit,” he muttered.
“What doesn’t?”
“You . . . this . . .” He held up the book, making a sweeping gesture to include everything in the cabin. Finally, somewhat defeated, he returned his gaze to her. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she replied, noticing the hardening of his angular jaw. “Maybe you should have done your homework a little better.”
He slowly rose from the chair and walked back to the middle of the room where she was standing. “I hate to admit it, lady,” he whispered, “but you haven’t disappointed me at all.” He reached out. The tips of his fingers trailed the length of her bare arm, sending chills of anticipation through her veins, before lingering at her wrist.
“I haven’t been much help to you.”
“Yet.” He stepped closer, and his gentle fingers didn’t release her wrist. He tugged on her arm, bringing her body next to his. Ashley knew that he was about to kiss her and that it was madness, but the thrill of it all—the excitement of his touch—made it difficult to resist.
For a heart-stopping moment, she felt his hesitation, as if he, too, was unsure. “This can’t happen,” he whispered just before his lips pressed urgently against hers.
Ashley closed her eyes and swallowed against the persuasive warmth his kiss inspired. His fingers caught in the strands of her hair, holding her close, brushing against the exposed muscles of her back, begging for more intimacy. She felt her body, as if ripe with need, respond to him.
His fingers splayed against her naked back, forcing her closer to him. The gentle pressure of his chest crushing against her breasts created a savage fire that burned bright in the deepest part of her.
Her breasts ached for his touch and when an exploratory hand cupped the restrained fullness, she lifted her arms upward and wound them around his neck, thus offering more of herself to him. This is crazy, her mind screamed from somewhere in the dim reaches of her rational thoughts, but she couldn’t stop the torrid fires beginning to consume her.
His head lowered and his lips nuzzled the exposed length of her throat, leaving in their wake a dewy path of desire. He kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips hovering over the sensitive pulse in soft warm breaths. Ashley responded, her heartbeat quickening convulsively.
