Delightful: Big Sky Pie #3 (5 page)

His cell rang, disrupting the erotic daydream. He let out a disappointed breath, struggling to get his mind and body back on business.
Private number.
He frowned. In his world, that could mean a lot of different callers, not all of whom he cared to speak with. He stared at the screen, debating whether to answer or delete the call.
Let them leave a message.
Then he’d call back if he wanted or needed to. Otherwise, he wasn’t available.

He focused again on the laptop monitor, but the second he did, the phone buzzed. A text this time. He grabbed the phone. The sender’s name was obviously a phony. Mick E Mouse. But it belonged to their silent partner, the anonymous benefactor footing the bill for the TV pilot. He—or she—wanted an update on the progress.

Ice worked the digital keyboard, giving a stock answer:

Silent Partner texted back:

BiBi Henderson?
Ice considered the tiny brunette with the big blue eyes. Cute. Sexy in an obvious way, and he had to admit she’d been pivotal in Flynn and Bobby’s filming the discovery of the dead freezer today, and the personal interview she’d given—after Molly declared Andrea would be the pie shop spokesperson—had mega-potential for drama. She was easily riled, liked being on camera, and didn’t seem to have a filter. All good traits in an antagonist. She could very well be the one who bucked the moral code.

Ice texted:

Bobby might jump on the offer of a bonus if it were big enough, given his recent divorce woes, but not Ice. He’d grown up rich, and unhappy. There wasn’t anything he wanted that money could buy. Besides, he didn’t like being told what to film. Or who. He liked the story to come about organically whenever possible.

As he started to set the phone aside, he noticed he’d missed a call from Quint McCoy. He supposed Molly’s son also wanted to be briefed. Ice rang the number.

“Sorry I missed your call,” he said when Quint answered. He didn’t wait to be asked for the update. “There’s nothing to report yet. We’re just shooting a lot of footage and getting the script together, now that we’ve seen how the shop operates and observed which roles within that framework the staff plays.”

“I don’t know anything about how you work,” Quint said on a laugh. “It’s all Greek to me. I’ll trust you to do what you do. As long as Mama is happy, Callee and I are happy, too. I just thought maybe you’d like a day off. Do some fly-fishing on the local river before the season is over. It would just be you, me, Jane’s husband Nick, and one other guy.”

Ice hadn’t expected this offer, and it left him speechless. He’d met Quint and Nick when they were in Los Angeles a couple of months back, had taken them to a local sports bar to watch a Dodgers game and enjoyed their company. But fishing? A memory flooded through him, warming him. Poppy Erikksen, his mother’s father, used to take him fishing whenever his parents were off shooting movies, but Poppy had ended up with Alzheimer’s the same year Ice was sent to boarding school. Normally, Ice would turn down an offer like this. Hell, he should turn it down. He hadn’t had a pole in his hand since. But he found himself saying he’d think about it.

But once he disconnected, the warmth of the memory faded immediately. Maybe his teenage years would have been different if his grandfather hadn’t died. He shoved the thought away and reached for his laptop. As he rewatched the scene in the cold room, he picked up on the name of the couple who’d been counting on blueberry pies for their wedding reception. Betty and Dean Gardener. He wrote their names on his legal pad, underlined them, and added a huge question mark.

This was an angle they needed to follow up on. He didn’t want Andrea meeting with them without Flynn and him there. The fact that their plans might be ruined was exactly the kind of sentimental shit audiences ate up. Their angst, their upset, and how they worked things out had universal appeal. How many wedding or other life-event celebrations ever ran one hundred percent smoothly? None. It was the stuff people texted and tweeted about.

The more he considered the possible consequences for the pie shop, the more he sensed great story material. What if Dean and Betty weren’t so understanding? What if they decided to fire Big Sky Pie? He supposed it could happen. Drama. Lots of drama. All of it relatable to viewers.

Of course, this meant he’d be working one-on-one with Andrea. Now all he had to do was figure out some way to keep his hands off her. Damn. He tossed back a slug of coffee and felt the burn down his throat and through his middle, but it did nothing to cool his racing jets.

He had to quit thinking about her. She’d screw up this whole deal if he didn’t. The worst thing he could do was sleep with her, but he wanted to do the worst thing so bad his balls were turning blue.

A knock on the door startled Ice. He hadn’t ordered room service and wasn’t expecting anyone. He wore a pair of worn jeans and nothing else. Maybe Berg had forgotten his key. He went to the door, peered through the peephole, but whoever it was had it covered. He yanked open the door, pissed, not caring who it was or if his state of undress shocked. He didn’t like unexpected visitors. “Listen, jerk-off—”

The next word froze on his tongue.

“I could say the same to you.” Andrea moved toward him so aggressively that he reflexively retreated. She came into the room, looking a little disheveled and somehow sexier than she had at the morning meeting. Her Chanel scent drifted around him and into him, stirring another pleasant memory from his childhood. So much had happened to wipe out those pleasant recollections that he sometimes forgot there had ever been a happy time for him as a kid. But she brought back those moments and threw him off balance.

“Can you spare a few minutes?” Her tone took the question out of it.

“For you?” He’d gladly spare her more than a few minutes. Hours, if she wanted.

“Maybe you should put on a shirt?”

He touched his naked chest and raked her with his eyes from her boot tips to her pile of sexy blond hair. “Naw, I’m fine.”

I
ce was
fine
, all right, Andrea thought, swallowing the lump in her throat.
The finest male specimen this side of Big Mountain.
He might be okay wearing nothing but some faded, torn blue jeans, but she wanted him covered. All that broad, well-defined chest with its smattering of golden hair that glistened like silk, tempting her to touch. Her gaze fell to the trail of tawny fur that ran down the middle of the flattest stomach she’d ever seen in person—and she’d seen some tight male bodies—although she couldn’t recall any guy that made her imagination and curiosity run so wild. Or one that made her ache to feel his rippled, tan flesh as much as she yearned to do at this moment. “Please, just put on a shirt.”

He had her blocked between the door and the suite, that I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude evident in his spread-legged stance and the implacable set of his thick jaw. Without uttering a word, he seemed to be telling her, “I wasn’t expecting company. You barged into my hotel suite. Take me as you find me.”

And she wanted to take him, to squelch the desire that had been haunting her sleeping and waking hours since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. What was it about him, this blue-eyed demon, radiating a sexuality and desire that spoke to every cell in her body? Sensuous tremors rocked through Andrea. She wasn’t some naïve schoolgirl. She’d seen her share of men in nothing but their pants—in nothing at all—but this didn’t feel like any of those other times. This felt like her first time—as if she were a trembling virgin.

He leaned down as if for a kiss. “What can I do to you?”

To?
Had he actually said
to
, not
for
? Another tremor skittered through her, and myriad things she’d like him to do to her sprang to mind. Touch her. Kiss her. Touch her some more. She swallowed, but her mouth wouldn’t stop watering. In fact, she felt wet everywhere—hot and wet—as if she were standing in a steam bath. As if she were a steam bath.

He leaned even closer, those enticing lips grazing hers. “Andrea?”

His breath rushed into her mouth, warm and minty, mixed with espresso and a hint of mocha. Tingles raced the length of her. If she moved, they’d be kissing. She moved.

Their lips collided like something akin to lighting a fuse. She swore she heard a sizzle, felt a crackle of electricity, and then a jolt like a high wind crashing through power lines, sparks flying around and through her.

Ice moaned like a man finding relief for his agony. He grabbed her, gathered her close, closer, crushing her palms against the heat of his naked chest. Beneath her fingertips, his heart thundered, matching the native drumbeat of her own. Her breath grew quick and shallow, her skin seemed to flame at his every caress, and need coiled in her with the speed of light.

The world dissolved into sensation; nothing existed but the thrill of discovery. Andrea slipped her hands over sinew and muscles, across the hard surface of his taut stomach, creeping lower and lower to the waistband of his jeans. Ice growled sexily as her fingers popped the top button of his fly, and then the next, and slid inside to grasp his throbbing member.

He nibbled a trail from her lips to her earlobe down her throat, tugged her sweater over her head, discarded her bra, and found her peaked nipples with his flicking tongue and his hungry mouth. Thrills sparked to the core of her. His jeans slid to the floor with her skirt. He caught hold of her silken panties, tugged them to mid-thigh, then fingered her wettest, hottest spot, and she cried out at the climax that exploded through her.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back on the bed with Ice straddling her, putting on a condom. She had no idea where he’d found it. Nor did she care. She always carried a couple in her purse, just in case, but she had no idea at the moment where her purse was. Her mind had disconnected, as though waving her a fond good-bye as she boarded the love boat to Fantasy Island. For surely this was pure, naughty fantasy.

Ice grinned that body-melting smile, his demon gaze mesmerizing as he entered her. The friction of his thick, hard flesh against her sensitive, intimate lips brought another shocking, wonderful climatic thrill. And then they were moving together, every plunge more wild than the one before it, every coming together more delightful than the last. He kissed her and cried her name, his body going rigid with release, and she reached the crest a second later, shuddering with pleasure.

They lay side by side, her heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm, her breathing leveling to something that didn’t make her feel like she’d been running through the park after the boys. It was only then that she realized she still had her boots on. It would have been funny, if she and Ice were longtime lovers, but she didn’t even know this man. And considering what just went down, he might have suffered serious damage with the steel toe guards. She was usually a little more ladylike in bed. But then she usually planned on sleeping with a guy before she did it. This had just happened. And it shouldn’t have, even if it had seemed predestined. Inevitable. She hoped they were both over it now. Had gotten it out of their systems. That there would be no more longing looks or innuendoes.

She slipped out of bed, taking the sheet with her, uncovering Ice in the process. God, he was a well-built man, in every area. She swallowed hard, fearing she might want to stick around for another session, seeing evidence that he’d like that, too. Instead, she gathered her clothes and walked to the bathroom as if she weren’t embarrassed, as if she had sex with complete strangers every day of the week. Let him think what he wanted. She didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t staying in Kalispell. She could get through the couple of weeks that he’d be here and act like an adult, especially since she’d satisfied her curiosity about what it would be like to sleep with him.

She emerged a few minutes later zipping her skirt. He was still sprawled on the bed, the blanket now barely covering an obvious erection. She liked sex with no strings attached and instinctively knew that he did, too. But he had to understand that this was a fluke. A one-time get-it-out-of-their-systems, breaking of the sexual tension between them.

She hooked her hair behind one ear. “As far as anyone else is concerned, this didn’t happen.”

He looked disappointed that it wasn’t going to happen again right now. “If that’s the way you want it, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He pulled off the blanket and tugged on his jeans, commando. “Okay, babe.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not your sweetheart or your babe. I’m not anything to you but some woman you have to work with on your latest assignment.”

“Whatever you say.” He worked the buttons on his jeans.

“Good.” Now where had she put her purse? She headed out into the suite, the afterglow of sexual satisfaction giving her a light, airy feeling, as though she could conquer the world with a sappy smile on her face. Having sex with Ice had not only satisfied an itch, but satiated a need for some wild, no-holds-barred, incredible sex, the kind she used to enjoy with Donnie. It was the only thing she missed about him. But today with Ice had topped all those old memories.

She heard him padding barefoot on the carpet, smelled his aftershave, and felt his presence with an awareness she didn’t want to feel. Where was her purse? Her gaze swept the room, not spotting it. Recalling Ice’s kisses, she couldn’t concentrate. He didn’t kiss like Donnie. No, this man knew how to kiss a woman, how to draw every tremor of joy from her pliant and willing flesh. Or maybe what had made the whole experience so damned great was the sense that they were challenging each other to a sexual duel of who-can-make-the-other-more-turned-on. She had to admit that had been…fun.

If only she could bottle it and sell it at the pie shop.

The pie shop. The freezer. Andrea stiffened, the reason she’d shown up here coming back to her with the strength of a teacher bawling her out for getting sidetracked and not doing her assignment. She pivoted, and Ice nearly slammed into her. “Did you or Bobby disable the freezer at Big Sky Pie for the sake of getting some drama started for the pilot?”

He stepped back, adopting an I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about expression. She didn’t buy it. Not for one minute. The look reminded her of Lucas when he wanted her to believe he was innocent after getting caught red-handed. Ice was about to lie through his perfect, glistening white teeth.

She glared at him. “I better not find out you did or…or…” Or what? What could she threaten him with? Damn. She should have thought this through before barging in on him, ending up in his bed, and threatening him. She didn’t even have a good exit line. “Or else.”

“Or else?” He lifted a brow, intrigued or amused. Or both. “What will you do to me? If it’s anything like what you just did, I might be tempted to deserve it.”

She grew as hot as chili powder and figured she was probably the same color. She stalked to the door, found her purse there, on its side, the contents spilled.
Must have dropped it when the kissing began.
She grabbed it by the handle, shoved her ejected items back inside, and left, furious with herself and more than a little dismayed.

She could not let this happen again, could not fall for another guy who was wrong for her in every way…but one. Once was enough. She had to consider what was best for her sons. And that was not Ice Erikksen. He was as far from daddy material as Donnie had been, but she’d been too young to realize that. Older and wiser meant she couldn’t go with her heart this time.

She drove around town for half an hour trying to calm down, then headed to her mother’s to pick up the boys. The two-bedroom rambler with the neat yard sat in the middle of a neighborhood of homes built long before Andrea had been born. The garages and alleyways were behind most of the homes.

She parked out front and hurried up the walk to the front door. It was locked. She used her key. “Mom, why is the front door locked…” The question died on her tongue as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen, realizing she was alone. She checked the backyard. No one. Her mother’s car was gone. She’d probably run to the store. For milk. Andrea decided to have a cup of tea while she waited.

She returned to the kitchen, noticing that a milk carton sat open on the counter with two small glasses and a paper plate of cookies. One glass was full, the other had just a small amount in the bottom and splashes of milk all around it as though Mom had been startled while pouring. It wasn’t like her mother to spill something and not immediately clean it up. Or leave milk sitting out. A finger of unease traced her spine. She shook it off, but to make sure, she’d just phone her mother.

She dug around in her purse for her cell phone. It wasn’t there. She went out to her car to look for it. Not there either. As she was heading back in to call her mother’s cell with the landline, Logan ran toward her from the neighbor’s lawn, but it was the look on his face that set her heart tripping with alarm. Had something happened to her mother? “Logan, where’s Gram?”

“At the hospital.”

Mom! “Oh my God, what happened to her?”

There were tears in his blue eyes, and his face was chalky. “Lucas fell off the porch, and Gram thinks he broke his arm. She took him to ’mergency. She tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple hours ago.” He sobbed. “Everyone’s been trying to phone you. Where were you?”

Where she’d been made her sick. She hugged Logan’s shaking body to her own, stroking his dark brown hair, comforting him while guilt and self-loathing flooded her.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” His tone accused.

“I can’t find my phone. I think I left it at work.” She used a tissue to wipe his tears. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go see how your little brother is doing.”

Once they were both safely buckled in her SUV, Logan burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“No one’s blaming you, Logan. It was an accident.”

“He was being a chicken. He wouldn’t jump so I gave him a n-nudge, b-but he went flying and l-landed on the concrete hard. I heard a crack.”

Andrea shuddered, as if she’d heard the crack, too, a sound she doubted would leave her son’s memory for a long time. As she drove, she recalled how worried she’d been that his recent irritation with his little brother would manifest into something ugly, but she’d never thought it would involve physical violence. More like bullying. Logan had learned a harsh lesson, but she suspected another devil was weighing on his young mind.

“I promise I won’t be mean to him ever again.”

“I’m glad for that, Logan, but not every accident ends the way your dad’s did. I’m sure Lucas will be okay.” She injected an upbeat tone into her voice, hoping to soothe Logan, and wanting to believe that Luke was okay. “He’ll probably just have to wear a cast for a while. Keep a good thought. Say a prayer.”

They arrived at the Kalispell Regional Medical Center’s emergency entrance, and Andrea scanned the lot, finally spying her mom’s Subaru wagon, the old gray mare. Relief flushed through her, and she thanked God that she hadn’t missed them. She parked, and they scrambled out and into the hospital, hands gripped together.

Nerves filled Andrea’s throat, and fear washed her stomach. Logan held so tightly to her hand that she knew her little boy was terrified. Her own mind kept chanting,
My baby, my baby, my baby
, shaming her for not being there to keep Lucas safe. Logically, she knew that wasn’t always possible, but logic had left town the second she heard about the accident.

How serious was his injury? And how did she protect Logan from the guilt he so obviously felt? She scanned the waiting area. No Mom. No Luke. She made for the check-in desk. “Where is Lucas Lovette?”

“And you are?”

“His mother.”

“Sure. Let me see.” As she referred to her computer, Andrea wanted to scream, to tear into the treatment area and hunt him down, but the woman must have realized how fearful they were. She rose and motioned. “If you’ll come with me.”