three months.
Yeah, that particular idea definitely had merit. And maybe she’d return to Denver with a new attitude and a new outlook on her future.
A beam of headlights slashed through the windows facing the front of the small cabin, cutting through the shadows of twilight. She heard the crunch of snow beneath tires, an engine rumbling as it idled, then everything went quiet.
Curious, she headed toward the window next to the front door and pushed aside the curtain to peer outside. Even bathed in early November dusk, she immediately recognized the vehicle parked next to her Four Runner, a black Suburban with the Jamison Electrical logo emblazoned on the door in bold, white print.
Her heart dropped to her stomach as the object of her lustful fantasies slid from the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another male figure emerged from the passenger side, and finally, a third stepped from the back door, his boots crunching on the snow. Marc said something to the two other men, and while the duo moved toward the back of the utility vehicle, Marc started for the cabin’s front porch.
Brooke’s pulse tripped all over itself. Abruptly, she dropped the curtain and groaned, unable to believe her private refuge was about to be invaded by roughly six hundred pounds of gorgeous male testosterone, two hundred of which was trouble with a capital T.
Of all the possible ironies!
Knowing it was inevitable she face him, she opened the door before he had a chance to insert his key into the lock. His hand stopped midair, and their gazes met. A slow, intimate smile claimed his mouth, and his gaze drifted down the length of her with a slow, natural ease that came from years of assessing a woman in a single glance.
Not only did he assess her, he seemed to brand her with a breathless heat wherever his gaze roamed—and it covered plenty of territory in an amazingly short span of time. She found his bold perusal unnerving; the fluttering deep in her belly was equally disconcerting. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something that was distinctly male, a trifle dangerous and a whole lot predatory.
Her skin tightened, and to her dismay her breasts responded to his visual caress. They swelled within the lacy cups of her bra in a purely feminine way, pushing her taut nipples against the soft cotton of her University of Colorado sweatshirt. Even her thighs and legs seemed to become sensitized to the soft, faded denim of her jeans.
She blamed her body’s response on the cold, brisk air filtering into the cabin, but had no such excuse for the contrasting heat warming her in more intimate places—a feverlike flush generated by a pair of smoky-gray eyes. That gaze radiated a sexy, unmistakable kind of message that told her the kiss they’d shared three months ago was a prelude to a deeper kind of magic.
“Hello, Brooke,” he greeted her warmly. His voice was deep, rich, and sent a delicious shiver shimmering through her. Good grief, one kiss and now his voice had the ability to seduce her senses and make her weak in the knees.
She struggled to shake the awareness that had her in its grip. “What are you doing here?” she asked, part demand, part curiosity.
Marc lifted black brows over amused eyes. “I should be asking you the same thing. We’re here because we borrowed the cabin from Eric until next Tuesday to go skiing. Business is slow right now, so we thought we’d take advantage of the prime skiing conditions.”
One glance at the top of his Suburban revealed three pairs of skis strapped to a rack. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “The cabin is ours for the week.”
He tipped his head and a dark, unruly lock of hair slipped over his forehead. “Did you tell Eric you were coming up?”
A sigh unraveled out of her, fringed with frustration. “Of course I did.”
“That’s odd.” He absently rubbed his thumb along his jaw. “I asked him just this morning if the cabin was free, and he said since he hadn’t heard from you, that it must be.”
Unease slithered through Brooke, settling in her stomach like a rock. “I left a specific message with his secretary three days ago that I was taking the cabin for the week.”
Marc’s broad shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug. “He obviously didn’t get it, Brooke. His secretary is new and, well, she’s more beauty than brains, if you get my drift. You know Eric wouldn’t deliberately sabotage your plans if he knew you’d be here.”
Brooke knew Marc spoke the truth. For all her exhusband’s faults, he wasn’t one to do something so underhanded.
Marc’s two friends climbed the porch stairs, duffel bags in hand and congenial smiles in place. They flanked Marc and waited for her to invite them into the warmth of the cabin.
She stood guard at the door, certain once the trio invaded the cozy, two-bedroom time-share her chance at a relaxing vacation would vanish. “You can’t stay here.”
“We don’t really have a choice,” Marc replied easily. “I called all the resorts in the area, and because of the recent snowfall, everything is completely booked up this weekend. That’s why I asked Eric if I could borrow the cabin.”
His argument was solid, and believable. Still, Brooke didn’t budge.
“Who’s here, Brooke?”
The sound of Jessica’s curious voice loosened some of the tension building within Brooke. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as her sister exited the kitchen, followed by Stacey.
“Men,” Brooke said, the word escaping like the curse it was.
Marc’s deep, familiar chuckle strummed down her spine like caressing fingers. Shaking off her reaction, Brooke turned back to the trio, her gaze locking on Marc’s. “I don’t know what you find so amusing, Jamison, considering you and your friends might be camping in your Suburban for the weekend.”
That earned her a sexy grin that made her stomach dip and her toes curl. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
He sounded too sure of himself. And her.
Before she could issue a retort, Stacey moved to her side, too much enthusiasm glimmering in her eyes. “Aw, come on, Brooke. These guys have obviously been on the road for a few hours, the least we can do is let them rest before sending them on their way.” Her friend extended her hand and introduced herself, beating out any argument Brooke could have issued. “By the way, I’m Stacey Sumner. I work with Brooke at Blythe Paints.”
Marc slipped his hand into Stacey’s. “Marc Jamison,” he said, nodding in acknowledgment.
Stacey flashed a grin. “Ahh, the ex.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ex-brother-in-law,” Stacey clarified.
A smile quirked his too-sensual mouth as his gaze slid back to Brooke. “I’d like to think I’m still a friend.”
Friends don’t kiss friends the way you kissed me. Squashing the frisson of heat spiraling toward her belly, despite the chill filling the room from outside, Brooke gave him a tight smile in return. “You’re currently a pain in the ass,” she muttered.
One of the men standing beside Marc grinned in amusement, and the other coughed
