Mark slathered some of the red spread on a piece of toasted bread and took a bite. “Excellent.”
Jillian followed his example, more out of nervousness than hunger. He was right. It was a superb combination of roasted red peppers, balsamic vinegar, almonds, and cilantro.
Mark sampled the dark brown spread next. “Try this.” He held his bread to her mouth, an intimate gesture that made her stomach clench.
She savored the wild mushrooms. “Delicious.”
He nodded, his eyes on her lips.
Her mouth went dry. It had definitely been too long since she’d been close to a man. She grabbed her glass and gulped cold water. “Movies.”
“What about movies?”
“Do you like them? I mean movies?” She’d sounded as flustered as she felt.
“I love movies.” Mark had clearly decided to take pity on her. “Did you see…”
* * * *
Mark paid the bartender for two mineral waters then picked up both bottles with his left hand. It was almost 11:30. Unbelievable. He’d only planned to have dinner with Jillian, but he’d enjoyed talking with her so much they’d gone to a nearby bar afterwards. Then again, his opportunities for pleasant conversation had been rather limited lately.
Scanning the room, he worked through the crowd to their table. His right hand rested close to his gun. He set the bottles on the table and sat down.
“How did you break your leg?” Jillian asked.
“My leg?”
“The reason you haven’t been skiing for a while. I realize it can’t compete with a broken finger, but—”
“Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” Mark got to his feet. “How much I’d like to dance with you.” He’d forgotten all about his pretend broken leg. Hopefully dancing would distract her from his slip. He draped his sport coat over the back of his chair, taking care to conceal his gun, and extended his hand.
He led Jillian onto the packed dance floor, keeping his sport coat in view. He hated leaving his gun, but she might have noticed it. He took her in his arms.
His body reacted with a vehemence that surprised him. He usually wasn’t attracted to petite, serious-minded blondes. He pulled Jillian closer.
She sighed and relaxed into him, resting her cheek on his chest. The scent of her hair, cherries with a hint of vanilla, stiffened a part of him he’d have sworn couldn’t get any stiffer. Jesus, you’d think he was back in high school. But he’d graduated long ago and had the self-control of the Pope when he needed it. As soon as this song ended, he’d plead jet lag, walk her to her car, and send her home with a kiss on the cheek.
He enjoyed holding her until the last guitar and keyboard chords faded, and the band announced a fifteen-minute break. “I should go. I’m a little tired.” He said the words, but didn’t release her.
“A two-hour time difference can throw you off. Especially at this altitude.”
He nodded. The last couple on the dance floor was always conspicuous, but she felt so damn good he didn’t want to open his arms. Although Jillian wasn’t his usual type, something about her obviously was.
Sure, he had a self-imposed rule about avoiding women while he was working, but he’d swear no one had spotted him, and his sixth sense about that was virtually infallible. He’d spend a couple mutually satisfying hours with Jillian without putting her at risk. Anyone later learning he’d been with her would conclude he’d had a one-night stand when he’d realized nothing was going down tonight.
“I’m only tired of the crowds,” he whispered against her hair. “Would you come back to my townhouse for a while? I’ve got a terrific chardonnay in the refrigerator.”
Jillian lifted her head and stepped back. “I think I’d better go home. I’m a little tired myself.”
Mark brushed a strand of silky hair from her face. “And miss hearing about my juvenile delinquent dog?”
Her eyes widened. “You had a dog?”
He’d hit the mark. But then, manipulating people was one of his specialties. “When I was a kid, and you may be happy you didn’t when you hear about Charlie.”
Jillian’s ice blue eyes stared into his for a couple seconds. Then her gaze fell to the scarred wood floor. “I’ve got to be honest. I don’t do one-night stands, not even on vacation. I’m sorry.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you some more, but someplace quieter.” He’d never forced himself on an unwilling woman in his life, although if he got her back to his place, he’d bet he could make her willing. If not—well, they’d talk some more.
She met his eyes again as she chewed her bottom lip.
“Call Kristen and tell her where you’ll be.” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “You can trust me, Jillian.”
She hesitated then nodded. “But just for a little while.”
* * * *
As Jillian followed Mark’s car, snowflakes sparkled in her headlights, the streetlights, and the full moon, turning the world into a glittering snow globe. It was a beautiful night, too beautiful to be doing something so stupid.
Why was she driving to a townhouse in the hills outside Keystone at night with a man she’d known for less than ten hours? So what if their conversations made her feel as if she’d known him for months. So what if he was the most attractive, interesting, intelligent, and considerate man she’d met since Andy. So what if she somehow sensed she could trust him, and he’d made her call Kristen, further evidence he wasn’t planning anything criminal.
She didn’t do things like this. Once again, she’d let Mark convince her to act out of character. This was it, though. She’d have one drink and leave. If Mark tried anything, she’d use some of those self-defense moves that worked so well on ER drunks or maybe the mace she kept in the front pocket of her purse.
Jillian drove up the driveway of a modern wood and stone townhouse and pulled into the attached double garage beside Mark’s car. He’d suggested she park inside so she wouldn’t have to clean the snow off her car when she left, and she’d agreed since that would help her make a quick get-away, if necessary. She grabbed her purse, mace and cell phone in the front pocket, and got out of the car. After Mark showed her the button to open the garage door, and she’d tested it, she followed him into the house.
His warm, firm lips met hers. He’d promised they’d just talk. His mint espresso kiss felt so good Jillian ordered her brain to shut up, rested her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him back.
Mark pulled her against him. His tongue probed her lips, eased them open, and explored her mouth. Heat swirled through her.
He released her and flipped on the light. “I’ve wanted to do that all night.” He stroked her throbbing lips. “I think those could be addicting.”
Heart pounding and breathing as unsteady as her knees, Jillian leaned against the wall.
“Can I hang up your coat?” he asked.
Jillian removed her ski jacket, grateful for something to occupy her while she tried to regain her composure. “Thanks, but I’ll keep it. I’m not staying long.” She hugged the jacket to her like a combination security blanket and chastity belt as she followed Mark to the living room, a large room with plank walls, cinnamon-colored carpet, and perfectly coordinated furniture.
“Sit down and I’ll light the fire.” Mark dropped his sport coat onto an oatmeal tweed chair opposite the matching sofa and strode to the stone and mortar fireplace. Squatting, he touched a match to the logs in the