Just One Kiss Page 2

  Even though he’d finally recognized her skiing ability, she was enraged by his calm, take-control attitude. And that “little lady” bit of his made her crazy.

  From her time on ski patrol in Colorado, she knew he had a good point. There were too many occasions when her team had gone out searching for irresponsible skiers who ended up in trouble. At best, they were an inconvenience, and at worst, a serious threat to the safety of themselves and others.

  Still, the sudden stop had made her nauseous again—and stubbornly irrational. He might be right, but she’d had enough of his sarcasm, superiority, and condescending demands. She wanted him gone. Period.

  She gave him a firm gaze. “How about you going—wherever it is you were going before you decided to manage my life—and leave me to look out for myself. Believe it or not, I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Could have fooled me.” He didn’t move.

  She bit back a sharp retort and tried a ruse instead. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go in, get some first aid, and ask for some help down. Okay? Now go, just go. Please?”

  His response was swift. “No.”

  “No? For heaven’s sake, why not?” She replied, totally exasperated. “Isn’t that what you were demanding I do just moments ago?”

  He shoved his ski goggles over his forehead and glared at her. “Because I don’t trust you, that’s why, and because, Miss High Speed Downhiller, we’re already well past the station, and I don’t think you’re capable of the hike uphill. I know damn well I’m not.” His tone deepened as did his scowl. “You’ve already cost me the last run of the day. The only run I’ve been able to fit into this bloody weekend, and I have no intention of being dragged further into your personal masochistic marathon.”

  He used a ski pole to point up the ski run they’d just come down. When he spoke, his tone softened slightly. “Look at that slope. Be reasonable. There’s no point in going backward.”

  Nikki glanced angrily back up the mountain and bit on her lower lip. They’d covered more ground than she’d thought. With her aching head and untrustworthy stomach, hiking back up would be torture. Frustrated, she considered her options and shivered. Without the movement of skiing, the cold crept over her skin like a frigid rash. She felt worse by the minute. Like it or not, she couldn’t just stand here—and no way would she admit defeat to this pompous bully.

  “Maybe you can’t make it, but I can. And I don’t need a pigheaded, arrogant, self-important egotist like you telling me what I can and can’t do. Now please leave me alone—or, to be even more direct: Get lost!”

  She directed a defiant glance at her tall companion, whose look of frustration, she was sure, exactly matched her own. She kicked off her skis, tucked them under her arm, and started to climb.

  Within two steps she did a face plant in the snow, its icy top layer abrading her skin like sandpaper. She stumbled to her feet and brushed herself off, her sense of aggravation growing by the second. Tears burned behind her eyelids. She ignored them, forced herself to put one foot in front of the other.

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter Three

  Michael stood silently, debating whether or not to let her go. She was a prickly little thing, and damned if she hadn’t made it plain his help wasn’t wanted. He should let her go her own way. She wasn’t seriously hurt, judging from the way she’d hot-dogged down the mountain. Still, he was curiously reluctant to let her out of his sight. Why?

  Was it because of the powerful reaction he’d had moments ago when he held her against him? He was a little disgusted with himself. She was just a kid, but a kid in a woman’s body. The primal male in him was certain of that. Maybe, he mused, she was older than she looked. Or maybe he’d just been too damn long without a woman.

  The unexpected surge of passion had caught him off guard, frustrated him. When he started to wonder how her body would feel pressed against his without the wall of heavy ski togs, he told himself to cool down—that he had more important things to do this weekend than chase ski bunnies. Very young bunnies, he added.

  He watched her stubborn effort to clamber up the slope. The snow, deep and with a fine layer of ice on its surface, impeded her every step. She floundered but didn’t quit. His mouth twisted to resist a grin. She was plucky, he’d grant her that.

  Maybe he’d been too rough on her, issuing instructions like a grouchy uncle. Too many airplanes, too many business meetings, and too long in the office with everyone looking to him for decisions had finally stressed him out. He hadn’t bargained on so much desk time when he took over Prisma after his mother’s death.

  The company was a constant reminder of her, and he missed her. But Prisma had always been her passion, not his. Now it was a demanding legacy—or a leg iron, as he’d come to see it.

  He was anxious to find a new president and pass on the reins of power. He knew Darlene Nichols wanted it—badly. Probably believed she’d earned it, working so closely with his mother for so many years. But he knew she lacked the creativity, the special magic needed to make a business grow and prosper—a magic Megan O’Shea Dorado had possessed in abundance.

  Even as his thoughts rambled, Michael kept his eyes fixed on the copper-haired girl in the scarlet toque, still uncertain about the wisdom of leaving her on her own. He measured her progress. She’d made little headway since her first faltering step, and when her next one sent her tumbling backward, he unhesitatingly moved toward her.

  Lifting her by her shoulders, he spun her around and pulled her close. When she started to object, he held her from him and placed two fingers, still encased in a leather ski glove, gently on her protesting mouth.

  “Will you please listen to me?” he asked.

  ***

  Exhausted, Nikki stared up at him.

  His eyes glittered in the failing light, and a delicate sifting of snow burnished his lashes. His mouth brushed her forehead as he pulled her to the heat of his chest. Nikki could feel his lips moving against her hair as he spoke. His voice was warm, its pitch lower as he soothed and comforted her.

  “I’m not going to bully you anymore, but whether you realize it or not, you’re not only hurting, you’re exhausted. Why not let me decide what’s best? Come with me.” He gripped her shoulders.

  His soft voice and concerned look unsettled her more than the sickness and exhaustion caused by her uphill trek. Like a ship in rough water, she was drawn to a safe harbor. “Where?” was all the answer she could manage.

  She pulled back from his grip and instantly regretted it. Wrapping her arms across her chest, she rubbed at them in a vain effort to simulate the warmth of his big hands. She was freezing.

  “I have a cabin not too far from here. You can rest a while, and I can repair the damage done to your pretty head.” His eyes, shaded by evening cloud, kept their hold on her. “Doesn’t that sound reasonable under the circumstances? Isn’t it easier to ski—very slowly—downhill a little longer, rather than trudge back up?”

  Standing frozen and despondent in a snowfall growing heavier by the second, with the ache in her head now taking on a life of its own, she raised her eyes to his and nodded mutely. He hugged her again to give her heat, and his breath warmed her ear as he told her everything would be okay, not to worry.

  She wouldn’t worry. There’d be a phone at his place, and she would call Amy, let her know she was okay. By now, Amy would be starting to worry.

  Finally, Nikki managed a slow nod.

  “Do I take that as a yes?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good.” He bent to retrieve his ski poles and help her put on her skis. “It’s not far. Just follow me.” He lowered his goggles and headed down the mountain.

  Nikki followed.

  He skied slowly, constantly looking over his shoulder to ensure that she was close behind him. He needn’t have worried. Woozy now, energy spent, Nikki thought of nothing but the warmth and rest promised at the end of this run. No longer able to ignore the sharp pa
in at her temple or her queasy stomach, she was grateful when she heard him say, “Take it easy now. We’re almost there.”

  Take it easy. That was a laugh. She couldn’t move any faster if she wanted to. She craved sleep and couldn’t remember ever experiencing such bone-melting fatigue. Seconds later Nikki followed him through a stand of trees. The snow was falling in earnest when they finally reached their destination.

  “This is it. I told you it wasn’t far. The mudroom is on the right. Follow me,” he said.

  Nikki kicked off her skis, now so tired that the small task was a supreme effort. Awkwardly, she bent to pick them up and was grateful when he got to them first. He deftly organized both pairs and easily carried them under one arm. Offering his free hand to her, he helped her up the incline at the side of the house.

  Even through her pain and the cold, Nikki realized that using the word cabin to describe this place was understatement. Constructed of stone and log, the house was magnificent, with a towering roofline rivaling the mountains themselves. A prow-shaped front with floor-to-ceiling glass offered a vista of valley and white-cowled mountains. To the left, she could see the soft glitter of Whistler Village now barely visible through the snow and fading light.

  They entered the lower level into an area set aside for skis and other paraphernalia associated with the sport. Nikki watched vacantly as he stowed the skis and removed his jacket. She admired the way he moved—surely, deliberately, nothing wasted or clumsy.

  He turned to her. “You okay?”

  She nodded, but she was anything but okay. She felt as though she were in a trance, vision clear but senses blunted and dull. She sat on a long pine bench, then as if in slow motion, bent down to take off her boots.

  “I’ll do that. You sit back, try to relax.”

  She didn’t object, but watched silently as his hands brushed hers aside. When he undid the buckles and removed the cumbersome boots and heavy ski socks, she wiggled her toes and sighed. He’d taken charge again, but she didn’t mind. Didn’t mind at all. He started to rub warmth back into her frozen feet, and she leaned back gratefully.

  Slowly, he massaged each foot in turn, flexing and pulling, rubbing gently … then briskly … then gently again. He didn’t once raise his dark head as he continued the rhythmic massage. Stroking, rubbing, kneading heat into the cold flesh of her feet.

  Without warning, the warmth turned to fire. Nikki’s breath quickened and she became acutely aware of his expert touch. His two hands, like hot flints, now burned. When his fingers shifted upward to rub and flex her ankle, she yanked her foot from his hands and pulled the other from his knee where he had rested it. Childlike, she tucked them both safely under the bench, crossed, and out of harm’s way.

  “That’s fine. Thanks,” she mumbled when he looked up at her.

  For the first time in their uneasy relationship, he smiled. A deep crease emerged on his left cheek, and one dark brow arched as the smile deepened. Nikki took a breath, then forgot to exhale. The smile was pure seduction, the devil’s come-on. Did he know what he was doing with his blasted foot massage—and the effect it had on her? If so, there was no remorse in the smile, only the hint of a tease. Her eyes followed the curve of his mouth, and his lips ticked up in a questioning grin.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, interrupting what was fast becoming her in-depth examination of his face.

  She blinked. What on earth was the matter with her? She was staring. He must think her a complete dolt. Heat rushed up her neck.

  “Not a thing.” That lie spoken, she managed to let her breath out.

  “Feel better, or is there something else I can do?” His tone was both knowing and sympathetic. Again the arched eyebrow, black as a raven’s wing.

  “No. Thanks.” She worked to cool the blush in her cheeks. “Sorry to be such a nuisance. I feel like the village idiot. I haven’t taken a spill like that in years. I should be at the base of the mountain by now, not at the mercy of a stranger in a strange house.” She tried a smile.

  “Somehow I can’t quite see you at the mercy of anyone,” he said, his expression turning speculative. “Although I admit the idea has some tantalizing aspects. But you can rest easy. I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of young girls. As for the stranger part, you can call me Mike, okay? Come on upstairs. If we’re lucky, there might be some hot chocolate for you and an Irish coffee for me.” He took her hand, helped her to her feet, and pulled her toward the stairs.

  Hot chocolate! Was this guy for real? The grating irritation returned in full measure. Why did he persist in referring to her as young with a capital Y? With the next breath, Nikki grudgingly admitted it wasn’t his fault. Everyone made the same mistake. Sometimes she wondered if she were the only woman of her age in the world with the task of forever explaining she was eight or ten years older than she looked.

  As they climbed the stairs to the main part of the house, she considered telling him she wasn’t as young as she looked, but thought better of it. If he thought she was only a kid, all the better.

  “Are you planning on wearing that hat all night? Fetching as it is, you might find it a bit warm.” He tossed her a quick smile and then busied himself at the fireplace, crumpling newspaper, adding kindling, then a large log.

  The damn hat! She had pulled it above her ears when they came inside but forgot to take it off. She must look a sight with the silly thing perched on her head like a stuffed parrot. She whisked it from her head and stood uncertainly watching him build the fire. She was beginning to feel strange again—kind of ... stuporous. It must be the heat.

  “Why don’t you sit down before you fall down.” He motioned toward the sofa.

  “Thanks.” She sank into an oversized corduroy chair near the fireplace and rested her head on its high soft back. Her eyes closed, and she worked against the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her. She concentrated on the headache. Less violent now, but still persistent. It lurked in the back of her skull and she knew any swift movement would yank it forward.

  Carefully, she sat up and looked to her host who was poking at the beginnings of flame in the firebox. As she did so, a drop of blood fell on the knee of her ski suit. “Do you have any aspirin and maybe a bandage of some kind?” she asked.

  She raised a hand to her forehead in an attempt to stop any blood from staining her or the furniture.

  Mike got to his feet and crossed to where she was sitting. “Here, get out of that chair and move over here.” He helped her take the few steps to the sofa. When she was lying down, he found a pillow for her head. “Lie quietly for a minute, and I’ll find something for that cut and the headache.”

  In seconds, he was back. Putting one hand behind her neck, he lifted her head enough for her to swallow some aspirin and take a couple of sips of water. He let her head down gently.

  “Thanks. I should be all right in a minute or two,” she said.

  “Sure you will. I’ll put some antiseptic on the cut and a cold compress on the swelling,” he said. “After that you should be ready for another downhill run.” He grinned at that.

  He stroked the hair back off her forehead with cool efficiency, applied antiseptic to the wound, and covered it with a bandage. When the antiseptic stung, she winced slightly.

  “Sorry, did I hurt you? I’m not in my element here. Playing nursemaid is out of my line.” He finished by placing a damp towel over her forehead. “How do you feel?” His hand continued to exert gentle pressure on the compress as he looked at her.

  “Better every minute.” She liked him being close to her. She liked looking into those green eyes. Green for go, she thought idly.

  “Can I get you anything else? What about that hot chocolate?” He removed his hand from the compress.

  “Sure, but first I’d like to use your phone.”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have a phone?” She looked around the luxurious log home incredulously. “You’re kidding!”

  “N
o phone, at least not here. If there’s someone you want me to call—perhaps your parents?—I can walk to the neighbors. It’s not far from here.”

  “This is incredible. How can you not have a phone? Everybody has a phone.” Nikki, like most people who worked in sales, lived her life with a phone on her ear. She could not imagine being without one.

  “This place belongs to a lawyer friend of mine. My guess is he comes here to get away from the damn thing,” he explained patiently. “So, do you want me to make that call or not?”

  “I’ll make it myself.” Nikki started to sit up but was quickly restrained by his strong hand on her arm.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You, little lady, need a rest. Give that cut a chance to stop bleeding and the bump on your head time to go down. I’ll make the necessary calls. Just give me the number.”

  “How do I know you will?” Nikki sputtered, frustrated by her inability to take charge of her situation. “How do I know you’ll call anybody?”

  The question seemed to puzzle him. Then he laughed outright, and she felt foolish.

  “What are you thinking? That I’ll only pretend to make your call then come back here and spend the night ravishing you? You’ve got a vivid imagination, young lady.”

  “Is it such a strange thought, given the circumstances?” she challenged.

  He had moved to stand by the fireplace and no longer prevented Nikki from sitting up. She held the cool towel to her head and sat up very slowly.

  He shrugged. “No, I suppose not so strange, considering the times we live in. Though I hope you’ll learn to become a better judge of character as the years go on. I’ll say it again. I have no evil designs on you. I prefer the company of women—the grown up kind. My only concern is to see you delivered to your family in one piece. That done, I’ll happily remove myself from your young life—and lurid daydreams. What I am not doing is letting you go out in the cold and trudge through the snow to make a phone call. That, as they say, is final. Now give me the telephone number and I’ll make your call.”