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“I did see Scrabble over there. Why do I have a feeling you’d take that very seriously?”
“More games,” she said, tipping her head accusingly. “Can you ever just say what you mean?”
“I have been. I just told you to keep me awake all night for whatever reason you want. That was not subtext. That was an invitation.”
“I don’t make it a habit to fraternize with business partners. It’s different for women. The stigma is—”
“I get that.” Nick nodded. “It’s bullshit, and I hate it, but I get that you can get all sorts of labels, and I’ll get congratulatory slaps on the back.”
“Right. And my career is important to me. I feel lucky to be working with the Kinross family. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”
“I have a good feeling it wasn’t luck that brought you here. You’re exceptional at what you do.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if that was the only thing that mattered? But I have to be more than just good at my job.”
“I want you to know that if anything were to happen between you and me, up here in the middle of nowhere, no one would ever find out. Not from me.”
“You don’t kiss and tell?”
“Nope.”
She ruminated on the fantasy for a moment longer. It was absurd. The physical attraction was undeniable, but they were anything but compatible. That was always a recipe for disaster. But watching him mince the garlic with expert precision, she knew he could certainly handle a recipe.
CHAPTERFIVE
Nick
Only in the last couple years had he realized the complexities of intimacy for women. How they had to be an impossible contradiction at all times, sexy but pure. Adventurous but meek. Competent at work but not so much that they intimidated anyone. The last thing he wanted to do was make things any harder for her. But there was a whole list of things he did want to do with her. And if she kept looking at him like she had over dinner, it wouldn’t be easy to turn her down.
The bed creaked as he finally got in and clicked off the lamp next to the bed. The two bedrooms shared a wall, and he listened for a moment as he closed his eyes. She was right there. Just on the other side of that wall, curled up in her bed, probably asleep by now. The fantasy was easy to conjure up. A light knock on his door, Cleo standing there in some slinky lingerie while moonlight from the window poured over her body.
Wordlessly, he’d move over and pull back the covers for her to get in. They wouldn’t have to say a thing. Pleasure would do all the talking. It was easy to imagine, and imagine he did.
And ten minutes later, she was at his door, but not entirely under those circumstances. It wasn’t silky lingerie. It was a baggy T-shirt and tight yoga gym shorts. She wasn’t silently staring at him. She was screaming.
“Did you hear that?” she sputtered out, her hairbrush in her hand like an ineffective weapon.
“Hear what?” he asked, shooting out of bed, ignoring that he was just in his boxers and he was still half hard from his earlier musings of her.
Cleo’s eyes locked on his body for a long beat before she jumped fully into the room. “That, did you hear that?” She held up the brush, looking ready to strike whatever was making the sound.
“I don’t hear anything.” He moved past her and headed for the bedroom door.
“Don’t leave me in here,” she squealed, clutching his arm and pressing her body to his. He almost didn’t care what might be making that sound. He was grateful for it.
“It’s probably an animal or something.”
“A ghost animal. Can animals be ghosts?”
“A regular animal.” He leaned his head out the door and looked down the hall.
“Want this?” she asked, offering up her brush.
“I think I’ll just use these.” He held up his fists. “But I don’t plan to punch a chipmunk, which is probably what we’re dealing with.”
“It sounded like it was under my bed,” she yelped, clutching him tighter. “That’s so gross.”
“We’re out in nature. There are bound to be some creatures.”
