Moonlight And Mistletoe
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Inertia slammed him against the doorframe. Cautiously he flexed his muscles. His head felt ready to split open, and his knees, which had jammed into the steering column, stung like a son of a bitch.
He rolled his neck to check the view out his window. A relieved breath shuddered through him. The landscape tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, the car’s grille was buried nose down in the ditch, but he hadn’t gone over the edge.
Hands shaking, he shoved the door open with his shoulder and crawled out of the crumpled car. Wind and freezing rain slapped his face. He ducked back in, retrieved his coat and shrugged it on before snagging his briefcase off the passenger floorboard.
He scrambled up the steep embankment as fast as he could, slipping to his knees several times in the icy mud. Night was falling quickly, the already-freezing temperature plummeting, the rain lashing at him furiously.
Once he reached the road, he took shelter under a large tree. It blocked the deluge, but the wind continued to roar under the canopy of branches. To his right, something rustled through the underbrush just as the sun disappeared. Nature towered above him, blocking the moonlight, but the crooked beam of his headlights bouncing off the side of the ditch showed Kyle all he needed to see.
She was to blame for this mess.
She had him so frustrated and confused that he’d gotten careless.
She, with her sexy Southern drawl, her stubborn refusal, her well-portrayed outrage.
And whether she knew it or not, Shayna Miller had escalated the stakes. Now it was more than just business.
Now it was personal.
Shayna took Kyle’s advice and read Dr. Walker’s “generous” compromise. Definitely a shocker. By all rights, she should be even more livid than when she’d seen the check. No one would blame her if she suddenly burst into tears or started flinging breakables against the wall, but at the moment all she felt was numb. Overwhelmed. Lost.
Tossing the offending document onto the coffee table, she pushed to her feet and stood in front of the fireplace. Stirring up the flames helped melt away a layer of disbelief. As did imagining feeding the annoying papers to the hungry fire.
When she’d first seen that check, she’d been terrified. What would a man like Walker demand in exchange for such an obscene amount of money? Turned out the quarter mil was only a down payment. The full agreement, which turned out to be little more than an appalling, drawn-out employment contract, promised her a million dollars if she cooperated.
Wanted: one formerly mistreated and unwanted child to play the part of Dr. Steven Walker’s long-lost, much-loved and stupidly forgiving daughter. Experience as Patty Hoyt’s stooge preferable. Ethics: optional. Pay: one million dollars. Office hours: one hour on live television—as the surprise guest for the debut episode of Dr. Walker’s new talk show.
She could practically see the tagline: Benevolent father and prominent family therapist welcomes daughter he never knew into his happy family, saving her from a lonely life of poverty and despair.
What a load of malarkey. Or was it? All Shayna had to go on was Patty’s word that Walker had paid her off when he’d learned she was pregnant. Hell, even that much of her backstory could be a lie.
Sagging against the arm of the couch, she rested her sock-covered feet on the hearth. Walker’s offer did come with one very appealing caveat. In return for Shayna’s cooperation, he would pay Patty fifty grand a year for life, providing mommy dearest didn’t so much as blink in Shayna’s direction.
That kind of peace held way more appeal than a million-dollar bribe. Not that any prize could ever tempt her to agree to such a ludicrous plan.
She couldn’t believe that pompous jerk actually thought she’d go on national television and tell the world her daddy hadn’t taken good care of her. Sure, money had been tight in the Miller household, but they’d always had everything they needed. She’d had a far better life than a lot of kids. A hell of a lot better than the life she’d been living before James Miller became her daddy.
Letting her body fall backward, Shayna lay across the couch, staring up at the portrait over the mantel. It had been taken at the annual Moonlight and Mistletoe Ball. She’d been ten, with Bugs Bunny teeth and her first pair of high-heeled shoes. Daddy had looked handsome despite the four-inch-wide red-and-gold tie she’d insisted he wear, because it matched her new dress.
Even now she still considered it one of the happiest nights of her life. Despite the complete lack of physical similarities, the picture screamed family.
And now Kyle Anderson, her personal messenger of doom, had delivered a bizarre request that threatened everything she’d ever cherished. Dredging up her and James Miller’s past on national television would stir up entirely too many questions. With answers that could very well mean the end of her life as Shayna Miller.
Chapter Three
Kyle had managed to talk himself out of his unjustified anger with Shayna during the forty-minute hike back up the slick, icy mountain. He’d decided to withhold judgment on whether or not she was playing him until he’d had a second chance to thoroughly outline Walker’s plan. But after standing in the freezing rain, banging on her blasted door for five minutes, his good intentions had vanished. His fury rocketed back to full force.
She had to be in there. The damned weather had them both trapped on this mountain. No way he was going to freeze to death while she sat in her toasty cabin and ignored him.
The door finally swung open. Warm air brushed against his face but didn’t do a damn thing to thaw his temper. “What the hell took you so long? It’s damn cold out here!”
“Ex-cuse me?” Shayna tossed a mass of wet hair over her shoulder.
The apology he knew he owed her froze in his throat. Damn, but she was beautiful. Freshly showered, smelling like vanilla, her sensuous hair hanging loose to her waist, her curvy body wrapped in the most atrocious robe he’d ever seen.
Desire scorched through him. He barged inside, no longer aware of the cold that seconds before had nearly turned him into a block of ice. His briefcase slid from his grip and landed on the floor, unheeded by them both. Standing this close, her intoxicating aroma made him lightheaded. He swayed forward, his hands intent on touching her skin, but his aim was thwarted when she rushed him, grasping his biceps, her face scrunched in concern.
“Kyle?” The urgency in her voice cracked through the fog in his brain. “Are you all right?”
Hell no, he wasn’t all right.
Pulling himself together, he stepped away. As soon as he’d cleared the way, she shut the door behind him. Without the benefit of the mountain’s wide-open spaces, the lamp-lit cabin felt too small, too intimate.
The concern in her amber eyes intensified. Again, she moved closer, this time with her hands aimed for his face. “You’re bleeding.”
At the touch of her warm fingertips against his freezing forehead, his icy blood melted, ratcheting his temperature to a dangerous degree. What the hell was wrong with him? The blow to his head must have knocked all his brain cells below his belt.
Desperate to restore his equilibrium, he swatted her hand away. Hurt washed over her expression, but of course, stubborn woman, she didn’t back down. Instead, she snagged a box of tissues off the entry table and, after gesturing at his forehead, shoved them against his chest. “Care to tell me what happened?”
The terrifying experience replayed in his memory, reigniting his earlier fear and anger. “You nearly got me killed, that’s what.”
Her face paled. “Killed?”
“Yeah.” He flung out his right arm, gesturing toward the closed door. “You threw me out in a damned ice storm, and my car almost skidded off this godforsaken mountain.”
Kyle had forgotten about Shayna’s giant dog until the beast charged him, his enormous front paws pinning Kyle’s shoulders to the door. Keeping one eye glued to the dog’s bared teeth, he glanced at Shayna. The color had returned to her face with a vengeance.
To his surprise, she ignored her dog’s threatening behavior. “First of all—” she ticked her point off with her index finger, as if preparing to recite a long list of his sins “—I didn’t throw you out into anything. You showed up uninvited. Not my fault you chose to tackle the mountain in bad weather. Secondly,” she said with another ticked finger, “you can hardly blame me if you aren’t smart enough to slow down and take care on a dark, rainy night.”
Her logical response angered him further. He hated stupid mistakes. Especially his own. “Who expects ice in November?”
The dog took exception to the vehemence in Kyle’s voice. Brinks’s weight pressed against him even more forcefully. Fist-sized paws branded his chest, restricting his airflow and threatening permanent damage to his ego.
“Think you can call your dog off?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Not until we get a few things straight.” She planted her hands on her hips, drawing the butt-ugly robe even tighter against her lush figure. “Obviously, if you drove your car into a ditch—”
He opened his mouth to object, but reminding himself of the power of silence decided to keep his thoughts to himself.
“—you’re going to need a dry, warm place to sleep tonight. Unfortunately, Brinks and I don’t offer shelter to rude jerks.”
Cautiously, he raised both hands to his sides in modified surrender. “Please forgive me. I was angry with myself for being careless. I shouldn’t have taken my temper out on you.” Swallowing hard, he mustered up a charming smile. “Since I find myself at your mercy this evening, I hope I can convince you—and Brinks—to reconsider.”
She nodded imperially, but the movement wasn’t quick enough to hide the smirk flirting with the corners of her mouth. Seemed the price of her sofa was a slice of his pride.
She snagged Brinks’s collar and wrestled the dog off his chest. Her robe slipped, exposing one creamy, delectable shoulder. He forced his eyes level with hers and ordered them to stay put as he remained pressed to the door, awaiting her verdict.
The dog, his watchful eyes glued to Kyle, backed up and sat at attention next to Shayna.
“Brinks and I have decided to accept your apology. You are welcome to the spare bed.”
“Thank you.” He moved away from the door, and his soaked shoes squished. How could he have forgotten how cold and wet his clothes had gotten while he’d traipsed around in the icy rain? “Can I also borrow your shower? And some dry clothes?”
“The shower, yes, but—” she eyed him from head to toe, her perusal warming him from the inside out “—I’m not sure I’ve got anything that’ll fit you.”
The middle-of-the-night huskiness in her voice hit him below the belt. He turned away, one hand propped on the paneled wall as he toed out of his drenched shoes. In his periphery, he saw her nibbling her bottom lip, toying with the length of hair draping over her generous breast, wordlessly assessing him. His discomfort—and suspicions—grew.
Were her nerves—like her earlier meltdown—legitimate or calculated? Were the ill-fitting robe and husky voice deliberate ploys designed to distract him? He could easily imagine Patty using sex to get her way, but Shayna? Sure, he’d seen her short fuse, but he’d also seen her fierce pride. She didn’t strike him as the type to degrade herself that way, but desperate people often took desperate chances.
How far was Shayna willing to go to protect her secrets?
Testing her, he closed the distance between them. The color in her cheeks heightened, and the fingers twining through her hair trembled. He couldn’t help but imagine the erotic tickle of those long strands sliding across his thighs.
She sidestepped him and let the dog outside. When she turned back around, her robe slid even more. He realized the exact instant Shayna’s nervous fingers encountered the exposed skin of her shoulder. The red in her face deepened from embarrassed to horrified.
“Oh, my!” She clutched the warped collar in both hands as she started backpedaling toward the stairs. “Please excuse me for a moment. I need to, uh—” the hem of her robe flared as she swiveled and ran “—change.”
At the base of the stairs, she stuttered to a slow stop. One hand released its death grip on her robe and grabbed the newel post so hard her knuckles turned white. She drew in several long, deep breaths before pivoting towards the room.
Her cheeks remained flushed, but her precise posture gave the impression of confidence.
“The bathroom’s through there.” She pointed to a door below the stairs. “It’s connected to the spare room.” Tension clenched her jaw, and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, yet her voice betrayed none of her distress. “I’ll see about finding you something to wear.”
She didn’t make it past the third riser before she stopped again. Kyle was pretty sure he caught the sound of a whispered four-letter word. With a heavy sigh, she turned and headed back down the stairs.
“I don’t get many overnight guests, so I need to double-check and make sure there are clean towels in the bathroom.” She crossed the den, both hands clutching at her neckline.
While he waited, Kyle laid his ruined shoes out in front of the toasty fire, hoping to hell they dried before morning. He shed his heavy, wet wool coat, looking around for something to prop it on. He stopped his scan when he noticed Walker’s agreement on the coffee table. Dropping the coat next to his shoes, he picked up the papers just as Shayna reentered the room.
“Bathroom’s all set, but I’m afraid you’ll have to let the shower run for several minutes before you get any hot—” Her words and her feet came to an abrupt halt when she saw what he held. Her robe was very tidy and very securely belted.
“So.” He saluted her with the papers. “You read it?”
The layers of composure seemed to visibly flake off her frame. “Yes.” Slowly, she continued across the room.
“What do you think?”
“I think I should have made my terms clearer up front, Mr. Anderson.” She took the papers and shoved them in her pocket. “Tonight’s offer of hospitality is contingent upon your not speaking about anything or anyone mentioned in that agreement.”
She’d ducked his question, but her formal wording provided all the confirmation he needed. “So what do you propose? We spend the evening staring at each other?”
“Of course not. Surely you can discuss matters outside your job. Current events? Movies? Coke versus Pepsi?”
Was she nuts? She expected them to engage in chitchat? The gash on his head throbbed painfully. He clenched his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his knotted forehead.
“Goodness, look at that scowl. A body’d think I suggested we spend the evening learning to macramé!” The musical vibrations of her laughter compelled him to reopen his eyes. All her earlier tension was gone. Her confidence and grace had returned. “Go ahead and start your shower. I’ll see what I can dig up for you to wear and leave it on the bed. Then I’ll scrounge up something for dinner.”
Kyle couldn’t help admiring the view as she disappeared up the stairs, her hair glistening like a stream of sable running down the center of her back, ending just above her swaying derriere.
So she had a healthy sense of humor to go with her temper. Kyle felt the corner of his mouth turn up at the image of the two of them, snuggled together on the couch, roaring fire and soft music in the background, mugs of steaming hot chocolate in their hands.
In his mind’s eye, the cocoa—and that ugly green robe—suddenly vanished. The room’s temperature skyrocketed as he imagined her nimble fingers undoing his belt.
A loud, ferocious bark from the front porch vanquished his fantasy vision. Good thing Brinks had such excellent timing. After a quick zipper check, Kyle let the dog inside. The beast gave him one indifferent sniff before racing into the kitchen.
He started unknotting his tie and headed for the bathroom, thinking he might have to start with a cold shower. Tempting as it was to lose himself in the possibilities of being alone in a cozy, isolated cabin with an intriguing, sexy woman, he couldn’t forget what was at stake.
His job.
His future.
She may have attempted to set out guidelines for their forced confinement, but no way in hell was he going to waste this prime opportunity. They were stuck with each other tonight, and like it or not, Shayna Miller would be discussing her father’s proposal.
Who knew a big-city lawyer would be so discombobu-lated by the idea of strictly social conversation? The horrified look on Kyle’s face had been priceless. Chuckling at the memory, Shayna pulled on a crew-necked, long-sleeved T-shirt and smoothed it over her hips. Good to know her sense of humor had survived the day from hell. She’d need it to endure the hours ahead.
While she’d showered, she sorted through all the surprises lobbed at her today, and she’d been forced to admit—to herself, at least—that Kyle wasn’t to blame for the bombshell he’d dropped. He’d only been doing his job, and regardless how unsavory the message, he didn’t deserve the full force of her anger.
That belonged to Walker and Patty.
Besides, what could a man like Kyle Anderson know about trying to put distance between yourself and your sleazy parents? More than likely, he’d grown up in a perfect Beaver Cleaver household where fighting over the television remote was the full extent of family strife.
A final check in the mirror assured her she was decently covered. Banishing all thoughts of Kyle Anderson and his ideal childhood, she grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed. The poor thing had seen better days and was stretched out nine ways to Sunday, but it had been a gift from Daddy and she treasured it. Funny how a ratty old scrap of material could feel like a warm hug.
If only seeing Kyle hadn’t driven all rational thought from her head, maybe she’d have had the wherewithal to change clothes immediately instead of running around flashing him.
When she’d opened the door, he’d been fierce, primal and sexy as all get out. Her girlie parts had instantly flared to life. Heck of a time for her libido to raise its hand and demand attention.
Of course, Kyle had opened his mouth and spoiled the effect. It was going to be darn hard to treat him like an innocent messenger if his every word got her dander up.
She hooked the robe on the back of her bathroom door. Beneath her feet came the familiar vibration of well water rushing through the cabin’s ancient copper pipes. Forcefully blocking out all thoughts of Kyle in her shower, Shayna straightened her spine and headed for her closet. She had to find him something to wear.
The first thing she thought of that had half a chance of covering his broad shoulders—which she wasn’t picturing in her mind—was Daddy’s old coaching gear. The fit would be questionable, but it beat the heck out of having Kyle running around in a towel until his things dried. Thinking pure thoughts, Shayna snagged the green-and-gold track suit—the only clothes she’d saved all these years—from the darkest regions of her closet.
Out of habit, she brought it to her nose. His scent had faded from the material but not from her memory. Old Spice, leather and pipe tobacco. Eyes misty, she returned the hanger to the back of her closet.
No way she could handle seeing Kyle Anderson wearing her daddy’s coaching gear. That outfit represented the essence of James Miller. To allow Steven Walker’s legal minion to borrow it—even if the alternative was a near-naked man in her house—felt like a betrayal.
Digging deep in the other corner of her closet, she unearthed a paint-stained sweatshirt, one she’d appropriated from a college boyfriend. She aimed herself at the mirror and held the sweatshirt up to her chest. Since she couldn’t see herself around the gigantic black wall of material, she figured it would work. Now she just needed something to cover his bottom half. Out of the blue, memory struck. Shayna balled up the sweatshirt, quickly retrieved a thick pair of hiking socks and raced downstairs. A few months back, Travis had left a pair of coveralls here when he’d volunteered to fix her leaking dishwasher.
As she hit the first-floor landing, she paused for a beat, listening for the familiar rumble of the shower. Assured Kyle was still occupied—and no longer bothering to pretend she wasn’t picturing him in her mind—she raced into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which had been hers as a girl.
On the other side of the wall, the shower sounds stopped. With a squeaky groan, Shayna kicked it into high gear. She so didn’t want to be here when Kyle wandered out of the bathroom, most likely naked as a jaybird. The sweatshirt and socks landed on the bed as she rushed to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and dug through it. No coveralls. Same story for the second drawer. And the third.
Drat! They had to be in here somewhere.
She yanked open the bottom drawer, and just as her fingers connected with the folded piece of denim she’d been searching for, she heard the bathroom door open behind her.
Easily picturing him crossing the room buck naked, she jerked to her feet. “Don’t come out yet,” she ordered, blindly tossing the coveralls to the bed. “I was just leaving.”
“No problem. I’m decently covered.”
Not certain what a Hollywood pretty boy considered decent, Shayna turned slowly and had to bite her tongue to keep from sighing. Her stomach literally cramped at the delicious sight of him.
He had an oversized bath towel wrapped around his tight, flat waist. Holy cow, he had a great body. Who knew attorneys had six packs? And those shoulders? Wow! The entire beautiful package was coated in a golden California glow. Imagine. A tan in November.
Afraid she’d start foaming at the mouth if she allowed her inspection to wander any farther south, Shayna racked her brain for a sophisticated, blasé remark. Nothing there. Seemed she didn’t have a single G-rated comment left in her head.
Surprisingly, Kyle bailed her out. He picked up the coveralls and held them to his chest. “The mechanic look isn’t exactly my style, but beggars can’t be choosers. Hell, I was afraid you’d make me wear that awful robe, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have done it justice.”
He threw her a wink before picking up the bundle of clothes she’d brought downstairs and returning to the bathroom. Completely stunned, Shayna sank onto the bed. She had to use her palm to close her gaping mouth.
So in addition to being stubborn, rude and doggedly determined to do Steven Walker’s bidding, Kyle Anderson was also charming, funny and extremely hot. Talk about a lethal combination.
And since she was stuck with him for a while, she’d best find a way to put the man and the situation into perspective.
Pushing to her feet, she left the room, making sure to pull the door closed. Headed for the kitchen, she decided to deal with this the way she did most forms of stress. Food.
Since she wasn’t alone, she’d have to forego her favorite comfort food—strawberry ice cream, straight from the carton. A nice everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sandwich sounded like a good second choice.
Then, hopefully, they could kill a couple hours before bedtime with a nice, safe family movie, or better yet, a sappy holiday special. Anything to keep her from dwelling on her heart-pounding reaction to Kyle Anderson.
The sound of him clearing his throat alerted her to his arrival. She looked up and had to fight to keep her eyes from rolling into her head.
Not fair. The man looked nearly as scrumptious in the baggy hand-me-downs as he did in the snug towel.
This was going to be an extremely long night.
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