phone, or at least he thought she did.
With that, she climbed out, closed her door, and scaled the grand sweep of stone stairs leading up to the front porch. Joy was tall, her legs long and lithe, but she looked tiny compared to the massive wood double door. She keyed her way in and as soon as she disappeared inside, he put the car into Reverse and backed up. Her sweet fragrance lingered—an aroma like spun sugar. It’d been months since he’d been on a date with a woman, and even just a few minutes with Joy was going to haunt him. He had a sense she was holding back or hiding something.
Hopefully, it wasn’t that she’d been hurt in the accident.
Joy flipped the dead bolt and collapsed against the door. That had been entirely too close a call. When Rafe Marshall, Mariella’s son, had said she could stay in the house, he’d been explicit about one thing—no one could know she was there. His mother would kill him if she found out he’d given sanctuary to someone who’d dared to quit her employ, and the Marshalls knew a lot of people in Vail. A lot of very wealthy, powerful people. People like Alex.
Thank goodness she’d been quick enough to say that the house belonged to the Santiago family. Santiago was Mariella Marshall’s maiden name, and luckily did not ring a bell with Alex. Joy despised these little white lies, but she was deeply concerned about her future in the culinary world. Mariella Marshall could kill her entire career, everything she’d worked so hard for, with one or two well-placed phone calls.
Joy raced to the window and pulled back the heavy gold tapestry drape, peeking outside. The red of Alex’s taillights glowed in the dark as his car cleared the gate. As soon as the wrought iron barrier completed its trip back across the driveway, she felt as though she could breathe. He was gone. Unbelievably hot Prince Charming had flown the coop. And that was a good thing, however disappointing it might seem. She’d been lonely since she’d come to Colorado. She hadn’t had a single in-person conversation that hadn’t revolved around working at the bakery. Some time with a personable, good-looking man would have been welcome. It would have been wonderful, actually.
Not for you, she reminded herself as she dropped her bag, traveled down the hall, and walked upstairs to the bedroom she’d been staying in. Rich guys were just asking for trouble. She’d met her fair share working in the restaurant world. Whether it was wealthy owners, investors or customers, men with money were too accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, when they wanted it. Joy was too bullheaded to ever put up with that.
If anything, having a man make demands sent Joy running in the opposite direction. Case in point, her hometown ex-boyfriend. He hadn’t had money, but he’d always had control. Getting away from him had been a harrowing experience. It still wasn’t over. Money and her car were obstacles, but he was the big reason she couldn’t go home at Christmas. There were no secrets in her small town. He always found out when she returned, and then he’d start circling in on her. It was best to stay away, however sad and lonely it made her to not be with her family.
Joy removed her work clothes, turned on the shower and stepped inside, closing the glass door behind her. The spray was the ideal temperature, with the perfect amount of water pressure to soothe her aching muscles. Baking was hard work, physically exhausting, possibly even more so than being a chef. Taking a mile-long hike up a mountain and ultimately landing in a snowbank had been a less-than-ideal way to end her day. She felt every bit of it.
Even though this house had unlimited hot water, she decided she couldn’t spend her entire evening in the shower. She climbed out, curled her toes into the plush bath mat, and wrapped herself up in the fluffy white towel. Everything in this house was the finest quality. Every element was chosen with an eye for luxury and comfort, and she would’ve been lying if she’d said that she didn’t appreciate every second of it.
Mariella’s daughter Elana’s bathroom was a perfect example—marble-topped vanity with custom cherry cabinetry, a shower with a waterfall head and shimmery glass tile. There was even a towel warmer. Joy didn’t use it often. It was more of a treat, which was a silly notion, but Joy didn’t want to get too accustomed to this life. She wouldn’t have it for long.
She grabbed her robe from the hook and towel-dried her hair, studying herself in the mirror. Some days it was a necessary reminder of who she was and what she was. She was Joy McKinley, a hardworking girl from Ohio. She did not come from a house like this, nor would she live in a house like this. Pipe dreams didn’t get anyone anywhere. Hard work did. She most definitely was not Joy Baker, invited guest of the Marshall family and woman perfectly at home staying by herself in a sprawling estate. She’d only let Alex believe those things because she was covering her tracks and he was nothing more than an acquaintance. A ridiculously sexy one, but a stranger nonetheless.
The security system control panel on the bathroom wall dinged. Joy jumped. Someone was at the door. Her pulse took off in a sprint. Anyone who arrived on her doorstep had already passed through the gate. Had someone from the Marshall family arrived without their key? Had Mariella Marshall invited friends to stay here, leaving Joy to explain herself and hightail it out of there? She jabbed the button for the security camera. Alex came into view in pixelated black and white. Relief washed over her, followed by a jolt of excitement. But why was he back?
“Hello?” she asked into the intercom.
“Hi. It’s Alex. From before. The car? The hill?” He was so adorable, talking into the doorbell instead of looking up at the security camera.
“Yes. I remember.”
“I got halfway home and I had to turn around. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She waited to answer. She really wanted to invite him in. She wanted to have a real conversation. If he didn’t want to talk, she could just stare at him for a while or maybe she could convince him that a brief make-out session with a stranger was totally normal. “I feel fine. I think.”
“See? That’s a problem. I think I should call 911. This could be serious.”
“No. Please don’t do that.”
“Can you come to the door and talk to me?”
He was the most insistent man she’d been around in a long time. “Fine. I’m coming.” Down the stairs she thundered. She opened the door but quickly remembered she was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else, and stopped herself from flinging it wide open. She greeted him by poking her head out through the narrow opening. “I’m fine.” The soft amber glow from the porch lights made him even more movie star handsome. It was going to hurt to tell him to go away.
“It doesn’t seem like you should be by yourself right now,” he said.
“I told you I’m fine.” Except that she wasn’t entirely sure she was. Her neck still felt tight, even after that long shower, and she had a headache brewing.
He pursed his lips and looked down at the ground for a moment. “I think you should see a doctor.”
“That’s not necessary. I just need to get some sleep.”
“Are you positive you didn’t hit your head? If you have a head injury, it could be a bad idea to go to sleep.”
Good God, he was persistent. “It was snow. Nothing hard to hit my head on.”
He moved his face closer to hers, studying her. The breath hitched in her throat. He
