Although he’d been defeated, he couldn’t resist tossing a sarcastic rejoinder to soothe his offended pride. “Yeah, I’ll do fine as long as I get my daily recommended dose of sex.” He checked his watch, hoping she wouldn’t take it away from him, too. “What time can I expect Lolita to show up at my cabin to scratch my daily sexual itch? I’d hate for her to come by during my usual yoga meditation session and deep breathing exercises.”
“Sorry, no Lolita,” she informed him as she led the way into the lobby of the lodge. “Maybe our cook, Anna Jefferies, will accommodate you. You can ask her.”
Anna Jefferies introduced herself to Jake a moment after he strode in the door. The stout, curly-chestnut-haired woman looked to be in her late forties. Judging by her leathery skin and wrinkled features, she’d spent a great deal of her life outdoors. She offered him a steaming cup of herbal tea and butter cookies while Moriah stashed his electronic devices in the safe behind the registration desk. J.T. didn’t ask Anna for sex, of course, although Anna’s conventional style of dress—a cream-colored blouse and faded blue jeans—held more appeal than Moriah’s loud attire.
When he saw Moriah’s lips twitching as her gaze bounced back and forth between him and Anna, J.T. muttered under his breath. Damn, he’d like to wipe that smile off Miss Chipper’s lips—or kiss it off…. J.T. jerked upright so quickly he nearly spilled hot tea down the front of his white shirt.
Where the hell had that ridiculous thought come from? Oh sure, he found Moriah Randell attractive, even if he didn’t approve of her bright clothing, her gaudy red fingernails, those huge hoop earrings and clattering bracelets. But, under no circumstances was he going to develop an interest in a woman who was his complete opposite during his two-day stay in the Oklahoma outback. Two days, he told himself resolutely, and then he was outta here!
“C’mon, Jake, I’ll introduce you to the golf course manager and stable manager,” Anna said, latching on to his arm to drag him along behind her. “Everybody’s just finishing up supper. Moriah will bring your meal to your cabin since you arrived late.”
While Anna shoveled Jake forward to make the acquaintance of the staff, Moriah filled out paperwork then grabbed the key to the available cabin. Her gaze drifted over the six-foot-two-inch, raven-haired man who’d given her a bad time during the hour drive to the resort. Sex, sex and more sex indeed, she mused, chuckling. She’d never heard such a crock of malarkey from one of her guests.
Of course, most of her guests came willingly, after a panic attack or some physical ailment that alerted them to their high-level stress. Jake Prescott, the King of Denial, had to be deceived into his two-week stay. His sisters were firmly convinced that Jake would never agree to come here on his own accord.
Moriah shook her head at the outrageous exaggerations Jake had concocted when she tried to make him aware that he’d become stuck in the rut of working non-stop without time off for relaxation. She didn’t believe that nonsense for a minute because J.T.’s sisters had filled her in completely.
According to Kim and Lisa, their older brother had become entrenched in routine and went through each day like a programmed robot. He left his house at precisely the same time each morning, stopped for a pastry and coffee, worked through the lunch hour, then returned home with a briefcase full of work projects. He had no social life worth mentioning. The only dates on his calendar were the ones his concerned sisters set up for him in attempt to alter his monotonous lifestyle.
Moriah was sure Jake would be a hard-core case that demanded extra time and effort. He refused to open up to her, refused to admit he led a mundane, predictable life that was devoid of entertainment and pleasure. Of course, the first difficulty for Jake to overcome was admitting he had a problem that needed to be addressed. Considering the resistance he raised, it could take a week for him to realize he needed to kick back and relax.
It might be a very long week, Moriah predicted.
Moriah appraised her new guest while he glanced around the spacious dining room. Black suit, white shirt, and nondescript black tie. According to his sisters, Jake had a closet full of black suits and white shirts. They were his standard business uniform—no deviation allowed. No bright, cheerful colors to spice up his wardrobe. Amazing, since Jake was touted as a highly creative design wizard.
Obviously, there was an interesting, unique man trapped inside that black suit. Moriah wondered if he would emerge in two weeks. Jake was definitely going to be a challenge, considering his tendency toward the stubborn and contrary. But she’d find a way to teach him to relax and enjoy his vacation.
Again, her astute gaze flooded over his lean physique and eye-catching profile. Jake Prescott wasn’t classically handsome. His features were a mite sharp and defined, and his displeased frown could be quite severe. She ought to know, having been on the wrong side of his displeasure during the long drive.
Moriah guessed Native American blood ran through his veins. His sisters bore a similar resemblance with their dark complexion and high cheekbones. Three peas from the same pod, and a family devoted to each other to boot, Moriah mused. Kim and Lisa were determined to save their beloved brother from his monotonous life, and Moriah was being well-paid to ensure the transformation took place—beginning now.
“Jake! Are you ready to settle into your cabin?” she called out to him.
He half-turned to stare down his nose at her. Yep, she definitely had her work cut out for her, she decided as she mustered another cheery smile to counter his aggravated frown.
2
MORIAH MOTIONED for Jake to follow her outside. When she stopped by the sport-utility vehicle to retrieve the suitcase he hovered over her, all but breathing down her neck.
“What’s that?” he questioned grouchily.
“Your sisters packed casual clothes for you,” she reported, handing him the luggage.
Moriah bit back a giggle when he stared at the baggage as if it were a live cobra. The reality that he was staying and that he needed several changes of clothes obviously hit him full force. The poor man was in for a shock when she left him at his cabin with his suitcase of casual clothes and nothing but free time on his hands. She sincerely hoped he didn’t freak out.
Jake hefted up the luggage and tossed her a smirk. “It’s a relief to hear you didn’t pack for me. I wouldn’t look worth a damn if I were impersonating a flag.”
Another cheap shot about her attire, she noted. If he thought trouncing on her feelings would get him out of here sooner then he was mistaken. She had her reasons for dressing colorfully, not that it was any of his business why she did it.
“Your sisters packed jeans and bland-tan and hohum-green chambray shirts,” she informed him. “I believe the term they used when referring to you was ‘a drab dresser’.”
He glanced sharply at her and frowned. “I believe the correct terms are conventional for me and outrageously flamboyant for you.”
Moriah shrugged lackadaisically as she made the three-hundred-yard hike to cabin number seven. “Outside dressing is really of no concern here at Triple R,” she assured him. “We aren’t the least bit superficial and we’re more interested in acknowledging and being kind to the true, inner self.”
He snorted at that. He was nothing if not predictable, Moriah thought.
“So, who actually owns this place?” he asked, falling into step just enough ahead of her to indicate he refused to leave the impression he was being led around. “Some stressed-out corporate executive who needs an occasional hiatus to revive those inner juices you keep harping about?”
“No, I own the place,” she informed him.
“You?” He glanced down at her. “You can’t be over twenty-five. Is Daddy’s money paying for this resort?”
“Actually