Boom (5 page)

“Sounds wonderful here.”

“Heaven couldn’t be better, despite the current weather conditions.” He nudged a plate her way. “Try the bacon. And be sure to tell Khrys how awesome it is before we leave.”

She sampled the bacon and had to stifle another moan of pleasure when the smoky tang bit into her taste buds. To keep herself from having another near-orgasmic food moment—though she thought she might be forgiven for it, since it was freaking
bacon
—she tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I’d love to see this area when it’s not being buried by a polar vortex and I’m not in a hurry to get to my fiancée. I’ve never really been anywhere other than my hometown.”

“Chicago, right?” When she nodded and reached for her coffee, he turned in his seat to study her. “It sounds like you’re a real homebody. Makes me wonder why you’re in such a hurry to get to your boyfriend.”

“Fiancée.”

“No ring equals no fiancée in my book. He’s your boyfriend, and a cheap-ass one at that. Answer the question, Red,” he added when she sighed again, loudly. “You said you were in a hurry to get to him, so what’s the rush?”

“Did I say I was in a hurry?” To her chagrin she realized that she had. Automatically her hand went to her purse, where the envelope of papers was tucked away. Or at least they were there physically. But the packet of papers was also felt in her chest, lying there like a ton of bricks that she couldn’t get out from under. “What I meant was that I’m just anxious to see him again. Jackson’s been getting everything organized in Seattle for the past seven months, so—”

“Holy shit,
seven months
? You haven’t seen your man for seven months?” He stared at her as if she’d just claimed to be engaged to Jimmy Hoffa. “Does he visit you?”

The uncomfortable heat of humiliation began to prickle her neck. “As I said, he’s very busy…”

“And this is your first time visiting him? Did he send for you?”

She pushed her plate abruptly away as the food she’d eaten turned into a ball of cement in her stomach. “That’s none of your business.”

“So he didn’t send for you.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she hated what she saw in his dark blue eyes—something torn between disbelief and pity. Then he shook his head and picked up his coffee mug to drain it. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mia, but I don’t think you two are together anymore.”

That terrible, queasy dread she’d lived with for weeks returned with a vengeance. “I don’t want to be rude to the man who’s helping me out, but what part of
none of your business
did you not grasp?”

“I’m making it my business, and don’t worry about being rude with me, since I’m not going to worry about being rude with you. Things are more honest when people say what they mean, and from here on in, that’s what you and I are going to do.” With that announcement, he looked to Khrys and signaled for the check.

Chapter Four

Soft, cottony flannel that smelled like heaven—orange blossom and clean linen—rubbed against Mia’s cheek. She sighed, breathing it in, before indulging in a lazy, head-to-toe stretch. Her head sank into the cloud-soft pillows before she burrowed deeper into the cozy cocoon of sheets, blankets, even more pillows and a thick down-filled duvet.

Oh…yeah.

The scent of the soap she’d used in the shower before tumbling into bed was nice too. It had been a new little bar, like the soaps that nice hotels provided for their guests. She’d once read a magazine article about collecting complimentary soaps and shampoo bottles from hotels while traveling, so they could be used for houseguests later on. As unlikely as it seemed, her host must have read the same article.

Her host.

With another sigh, she opened her eyes and stared up at the lofty, angular, wood-beamed ceiling. She hadn’t really noticed the room she’d been put in before now, but with white light flooding in through a wall of windows that led to a private patio now buried in a foot and a half of snow, she was impressed with its size. When Quinn had directed her to this beautiful bedroom, she’d tried to assure him that all she needed was a couch, or even a blanket and a quiet corner. He’d ignored her by leading her into the en-suite bathroom, dropping off her carry-on as he went, and told her to shut the hell up and get some sleep.

Then he’d left her alone.

Quinn Kingfisher was a generous host, clearly. But he wasn’t big on diplomacy.

With that thought, she pushed out from under the cuddly layers of bedclothes, tried to ignore the faint chill seeping through her thin nightshirt, and made the bed as quickly as possible. She then made a beeline for her carry-on still in the bathroom, all the while wishing a parka, thermal underwear and several thick sweaters would magically appear inside of it. But since she’d packed for a short stay in Seattle and not the Montana mountains, she was stuck with black velvet leggings, cute faux-combat boots with a wedge heel that almost put her at six feet, an oversized powder blue shirt and a deeper blue infinity scarf. She’d gone to bed with her hair damp, so its usual riot of curls was an absolute rat’s nest. She finger-combed it into some semblance of order, sprayed it as best she could into place—though anyone with curly hair knew the term “in place” was a sad joke—then brushed her teeth and went to town on covering up lingering signs of fatigue with makeup. She might have gone through twenty-eight hours of travel hell, but she didn’t have to look it.

By the time she left the bedroom with her carry-on wheeling along beside her, she was ready to meet the day.

But she crashed to a halt when she spotted a woman in the center-island style kitchen tucked away at the back of the house, suddenly not ready to meet anyone or anything, though she wasn’t sure why.  Her energy plummeted as if the atmosphere had sucked it all away, and all at once she just wanted to crawl back under the covers and stay there until it was time for her to return to the airport.

This had to be her rescuer’s wife, she decided, staring at the petite brunette who hadn’t noticed her yet. Or at least his woman. No guy as hot and over-the-top masculine as Quinn went without female companionship unless he chose to, and he sure as hell didn’t strike her as the type who enjoyed the celibate life. Hell, a hot guy like Quinn probably needed a woman on call twenty-four seven, and she could imagine the ladies of Montana would be happy to line up for the privilege of getting that call.

She certainly would be.

The errant thought hit her like a brick between the eyes, snapping her out of her stupor. What the actual hell? Where had that thought come from? She was engaged to Jackson, a man she’d loved for years. The last thing she should be thinking about was lining up for a chance to climb into Quinn Kingfisher’s bed so she could let her inner porn star out.

No matter how tempting that prospect might be.

Grimly she made herself step forward, shoving aside the weird shock this woman’s presence kicked up. “Hi. Um, I’m Mia.”

“Oh! Look who’s risen from the dead.” The woman snapped around from her task of loading the fridge with food, a bright smile lighting her cute, elfin face. She was in her early to mid-twenties, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she wore her dark brown hair short and in a snazzy asymmetrical cut that showed off her jaw line beautifully. Chandelier-style silver earrings dangled almost to her shoulders, with each line ending in a silver feather, and the workmanship was so intricate Mia longed to reach out and study the jewelry up close. “Quinn’s around somewhere, probably slogging his way through the ton of emails he gets on a daily basis. I’m Olivia, by the way,” she went on before Mia could get a word in edgewise, her hazel eyes bright and friendly. “And you’re Mia Flowers, the unluckiest traveler in the world, and oh my God, you are so freaking
tall
. Why can’t I be tall like you? It’s so unbelievably unfair how I got screwed in the genetic lottery. Everybody got the tall gene but me. Why do I have to be so shrimpy?”

“We normal-sized people have to have someplace to rest our elbows and drinks. The top of your head works just as well as any other surface.” Quinn, dressed in blue jeans, rugged-looking hiking boots and a navy blue knit pullover with a white T-shirt underneath, came through the open doorway, only to come to an abrupt halt when Mia turned to face him. “Whoa.”

Her smile of greeting faltered. How was she supposed to take that? “Uh…whoa?”

“Hell yeah, whoa. Six hours ago I brought in some sickly-looking, washed-out, stumbling-around zombie. You can’t possibly be that same woman.”

“Oh my God, that mouth of yours is why you’re still single. Ignore him, Mia,” Olivia advised while Mia struggled not to die of mortification at Quinn’s accurate description. Then Olivia’s words filtered through and she frowned in confusion mixed with a resurgence of buoyant energy. “All the Kingfishers are horrible except for me. They may have gotten the tall gene, but I got the adorable, everybody-loves-me gene. Just ask my hubs, Thomas, downhill wunderkind and all-around fab guy.”

“Thomas will agree with anything Olivia says because she’s broken him with her deadly combination of freckled cuteness and bossy domination. The man had no chance.” Leaving the doorway, Quinn wandered over to where she stood, frowned down at her, and before she knew what he was going to do, reached out and pulled on a strand of her hair. “Boing.”

Holy crap, he’d pulled her hair.

“Quinn!” Olivia gasped while Mia gaped at him. “I’m telling your mother!”

“A phrase I’ve heard from my brat of a cousin my entire frigging life,” he confided to Mia, who was still staring at him. Her expression seemed to amuse him, because he raised a slow brow at her. “What?”

Did she have to explain?
Really
? “You just pulled my hair.”

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever pulled on one of your corkscrew curls just to watch it bounce back. I could do that all day and not get bored.” As if to prove it, he reached up to do it again. This time, however, she was ready for it and smacked him on the knuckles.

“You’re right, I have had my hair pulled plenty of times—when I was in kindergarten. That’s when I learned to beat the crap out of anyone who tried.”

“Feisty.” To her shock he grinned down at her, as if her smacking his hand was the most hilarious thing ever. “I’ll bet all the kids who pulled your hair in kindergarten were little boys. Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Almost against her will, her attention shifted to his long hair, a silken black curtain falling over his shoulder. “Any little girls ever pull your hair?”

“
Little
girls? No. Big girls, however, are a different story. Three guesses as to when they’ve done it.”

“Okay, TMI.” Resolutely Olivia came over to shove Quinn toward the open door, looking like a teacup Yorkie taking on a Rottweiler. “First rule according to Miss Manners, dumbass—don’t freak out your houseguest. She’s going to be here a while, so we want to make her as comfortable as possible.”

“A while?” Mia stepped forward, taking her carry-on with her. “Oh, boy. I guess the airport isn’t open yet?”

The question had Quinn and Olivia glancing back at her, then at her carry-on.

Then they both burst out laughing.

Oh shit.

“Your optimism’s great, but it’s nowhere near reality, Red.” Quinn moved back to where she stood and put his hand over hers where it rested on the carry-on’s extended handle. It was even warmer than it had been when he’d helped her feed herself, and so distracting she almost missed what he said. “The main reason why I didn’t want to take you or any of the plane’s passengers in was because of where we are now—Whiteout Mountain Ski Resort and Spa. It’s an all-amenities luxury resort that’ll be officially open for business on the first day of winter. It’s got seven ski lifts and one gondola literally right outside the resort’s door for ideal ski-in, ski-out access. Those lifts lead to thirty brand new ski runs, ten of them being Black Diamond, and we just finished construction on the snowboard half-pipe just beyond the main building’s viewing terrace when the storm hit.”

“Sounds lovely,” Mia managed faintly, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice. “But, uh… what did you mean about reality?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Like all mountain-based businesses, there’s always a danger of getting socked in during a bad blow like this one. Glacier Park International might be opening again soon, I haven’t been told one way or another. But since we’re higher in elevation and getting our ass handed to us by this storm, we’re not going to be able to get down the mountain until we can see where the road is.”

There was so much information he’d handed her that she couldn’t begin to process it all. The one thing that stood out, however, was the point that mattered most. “Are you saying that I might be stuck here after the airport opens and my flight to Seattle leaves?”

He kept his gaze locked on hers. “Could happen. Don’t know if it will, but yeah. Maybe. I had a choice, Red,” he went on when she simply stared up at him, willing him with all her devastated might to change his answer so that she could get to Seattle and fix what was broken in her life. “And that choice was this—ditch your ass at The Diner Bell, which meant you wouldn’t have slept and would’ve been even more out of it and probably sick with fatigue by then, or get you to a nice warm feather bed with a cozy fire in one of the quiet guestrooms here in Whiteout Mountain’s Presidential Chalet. I chose to get you what you needed the most, and Seattle wasn’t on that list.”

“But…” As much as she wanted to argue with him—and she
seriously
wanted to argue—she couldn’t deny she’d been at the breaking point. Her body couldn’t have gone on any longer without the sleep she’d gotten.

With that inescapable truth ringing through her well-rested, rejuvenated body, she had the grace to feel ashamed. “I’m sorry, Boom. Of course you’re right.”

“I love hearing that.” The hand on top of hers gave a quick squeeze. “Say it again.”

Damn, the man could be charming, in a pushy, know-it-all kind of way. “Every step of the way you’ve done everything possible to save me, a total stranger, when you didn’t have to. I swear I’m very grateful, and I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk. It’s no big deal if I miss my original flight. I’ll just book another flight if I have to.”

“If you were trying to sound like a jerk, you totally suck at it, because all I heard was you being sweet,” he murmured low, studying the face she’d turned up to his. Then he took a deep breath and backed up, removing his hand from hers to lean back against a counter. It was crazy, how she had to force herself to ignore how cold her hand was without the cover of his. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want to leave here, once all is said and done. It’s not every day you get to kick it in a Presidential Chalet, am I right?”

“Can you tell Quinn’s proud of his new baby?” Olivia shook her head as she took in her cousin’s expression. “He fully expects guests to never want to leave once they get here.”

“Cuz, why the hell would anyone want to leave perfection?”

“Oh, I don’t know—families, loved ones, jobs and lives to get back to. That kind of thing.”

“All that shit’s overrated.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “That reminds me, Mia. Since my cousin is a total tech junkie and he wanted this place wired so that even big-time television satellite vans for sporting events could be accommodated—”

“Give me five years,” Quinn broke in, and the sudden fire in his eyes was enough to make any girl catch her breath. “Whiteout’s going to be
the
place for extreme Alpine sports, and maybe even some summer sports, if I work it right. Whistler, Aspen and Vail better watch their backs.”

“Dude, I’ve drunk the Kool Aid, all right? All I was going to say was that because of your ambitious foresight, we have great wifi and cell phone reception up here. So Mia, if you haven’t already contacted your family to let them know you’re okay, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Mia’s thoughts zeroed in on her aunt, who was expecting her back to work on Tuesday. “You’re right, I need to do that eventually.”

“What you really need to do,” Quinn said, bringing her attention back to him, “is get yourself unpacked, grab something to eat, and make yourself at home. I’ve got something to do at the main building but I’ll be back in about an hour, and I’ll give you a tour so you can see what an epic upturn your life has taken.” Pushing away from the counter, he once again got a hold of her carry-on and headed back toward her room. “By the end of the day, I’ll bet real money you’ll be tempted to forget about wanted to be anywhere else but Whiteout.”