in Yosemite? Rafting in Idaho? Sky diving in British Columbia?
“No,” Zach had said to each idea, “no, no. I want— I want…Just keep on going,” he’d said in exasperation.
Elise had rattled off more proposals while the jet banked over Manhattan’s narrow canyons. Zach had listened, frowning as he gazed out the window, picturing himself in an hour’s time seated at a table with half a dozen men twenty years his senior who’d pretend they’d really choose grilled tuna and braised radicchio over the rare steaks and butter-dripping baked potatoes their highpriced cardiologists had made them swear off forever, who’d talk stocks and bonds and investments with the appetite and passion most men reserved for women.
Something had knotted in Zach’s flat belly.
“Helicopter skiing,” he’d said into the phone, cutting short Elise’s description of windsurfing in the Caribbean. “Yeah, I know I’ve done it before, but that was in the Canadian Rockies or maybe it was Alaska. Where? The Himalayas?” For the first time in days, Zach had smiled. “Okay, babe,” he’d said, “that sounds good. Let’s go for it.”
Now here he was, on the far side of the world with a glacier and a mountain all to himself. With half a dozen glaciers and mountains all to himself, and nothing to remind him of the world he’d left behind, the telephones and fax machines and computers, the fat cats and fatter corporations that increasingly demanded his expertise and his time in a game that had grown dull.
Zach puffed out his breath. Here he was, as free as he’d been seven years ago, before he’d let the world suck him in, before he’d traded risk for wealth and freedom for the disaster that had been his marriage, and it felt damned wonderful.
Two hundreds yards away, the copter was settling to the earth in a whirling blizzard of rotor-driven snow. The pilot would probably want to take off right away, considering the lateness of the hour, the bitter cold and the omnipresent danger of avalanche.
Zach knew he’d pushed things to the edge as it was, fast-talking the guy into leaving him on the top of the mountain with nothing but his equipment, an avalanche transceiver, a flask of hot coffee and a couple of thick sandwiches for company.
“I dunno,” the pilot had said, scratching his head, “most people go up there with a guide.”
But Zach had persisted. The day he couldn’t talk his way into or out of a situation hadn’t dawned yet. He’d presented his skiing credentials as he would have presented a block of blue-chip stocks for the president of a multibillion-dollar bank and finally the man had shrugged, muttered something about it being Zach’s neck, not his, revved the engine, increased the pitch of the blades and left him to the gods and the mountain.
The day had been incredible. And, Zach thought with a start of surprise as he scrambled into the copter, it wasn’t over yet.
Someone was waiting for him. It was the woman from last night, dressed in a skintight spandex ski suit that showed off every inch of her lush body.
Zach smiled as he sat down beside her and put his lips to her ear so he could be heard over the noise of the copter.
“What a pleasant surprise.”
She smiled back “I thought it would be.”
At least that was what he thought she said. It was impossible to hear, but then, what did a man really need to hear when he was gazing into a pair of thickly fringed amber eyes set above a deliciously turned-up nose and a pouting mouth?
She moved closer, lay a scarlet-tipped hand on his arm and brought her lips to within a breath of his ear.
“I hope you don’t mind. I talked your pilot into taking me along while he collected you.”
Zach’s smile tilted as her thigh settled gently against his.
“Mind? Hell, no. I’m delighted.” The helicopter rose into the air and Zach leaned closer. “My name is—”
“You’re Zachary Landon. I know.” She smiled. “I’m Keri.”
Zach drew back so he could look at the soft, smiling mouth that promised paradise, at the high thrust of the breasts that made a man’s hands ache to touch them. A surge of desire flooded through him and he pulled the woman into his arms and kissed her.
A man would have to be crazy to turn down a woman like this. She was beautiful and she would sleep with him simply because she enjoyed it. She wasn’t like his ex-wife, who used sex for gain. And if she didn’t believe in fidelity any more than the former Mrs. Landon had, at least she hadn’t taken any vows pretending she did.
Keri’s hand began to trace a path up his thigh. Zach caught her fingers in his, and she gave him a slow, dazzling smile before she arched toward him and put her lips to his ear again. Her breath danced along his skin.
“He’s gone,” she said. “I sent him away.”
There was no need to ask who, or what, she was talking about. Zach smiled as he brushed his lips against hers.
“Good,” he said, his mouth against the pink shell of her ear, “just so long as you understand that I’ll be gone, too, in a week.”
Her smile was sexy, her fingers cool as she clasped his face in her hands and drew it close to hers.
“But what a memorable week it’s going to be,” she said.
Zach kissed her again, more deeply this time, and then he drew her close and gazed out the open door as the helicopter swept across the valley.
Today, he had claimed the mountain. Tonight, he would claim the woman. And if he was lucky, he would not tire of either until it was time to return to the real world. He would go back to Boston, to the house on Beacon Hill and to the brokerage firm that bore his name.
Any man not satisfied with all that was nothing but a fool.
Thirteen hours and another world away, Eve Palmer yawned as she made her way across the dark, silent courtyard of her Los Angeles apartment complex to her front door.
It was two in the morning and she was tired to the bone.
She had risen before six, fought the freeway traffic in her beautiful but ailing sports car and taken the first of a day’s worth of meetings at eight. Ten hours later, she’d grabbed a sandwich while she viewed the dailies of Triad’s current movie-in-progress, a dog of a film she’d inherited from her predecessor.
At nine o’clock she’d fixed her makeup, slapped a smile on her face and gone to a cocktail party. At eleven, she’d let Dex Burton, Hollywood’s newest up-and-coming macho male lead, whisk her off for a late-night supper so they could talk business. At least, that was what Dex had claimed.
Eve made a face as she jabbed her key into the lock of the front door and stepped into her tiny living room. But the only business Dex had wanted to do was in bed.
“You give a little, you get a little, lover,” he’d said, flashing her a toothy grin.
It had infuriated her but it hadn’t surprised her. She’d learned the lesson early, that men saw nothing wrong in trading power for sex. If it was more obvious in Hollywood than it had been in foster homes back in Minnesota, it was
