Unwrapped (22 page)

From what Kira understood, Blaine had started working for Roan, doing some digging on Iain McAuley, who had presented an obstacle, a rather critical one, this time, in Katie’s attempt to marry Graham. The wedding had gone off, but the mystery surrounding Iain McAuley had continued, and Kira knew Shay had wanted no loose ends, so he’d kept Blaine on it. He’d even done work in the city for Shay on some of his cases there. Turned out the man could ferret out anything. So . . . Blaine had found his niche. And he’d stayed.

Roan turned to Shay. “If this is still about the inheritance issue, you’re going to need to officially call him off. I canno’ see how Mr. McAuley has any claim here now or what possible harm—”

Eliza, Roan’s secretary, took that moment to stick her perfectly pinned and coiffed gray head into the office. “Mr. Blaine has arrived.”

Graham turned to look back out of the window, having looked away while Roan was talking. “Sorry. I must have missed it.”

“Well, have him come in already,” Katie urged, smiling. “Why so formal?”

“Oh, I believe that will be made clear momentarily,” Eliza said, eyes twinkling.

The door swung wider and Blaine strolled in, quite natty in a cutaway black jacket and silk striped trousers. A tartan cummerbund and bowtie finished off the look.

Kira thought, with his blond good looks, he pulled it off rather gorgeously, as if he’d been born wearing just that.

“Hullo, Blaine,” Roan said, with zero reaction to Blaine’s state of dress.

“Don’t spoil it,” Blaine said, pointing a finger at Roan, but there was clear affection in his tone.

And despite Roan’s rolling of eyes, Kira knew he liked and respected Blaine, it was just their way. Kira winked at Shay, who gave her the smallest of smiles in return, but otherwise kept his own council, remaining behind the far desk.

“Thank you all for coming,” Blaine announced to the room at large, clearly enjoying his dramatic entrance, but then, from what Kira knew, when didn’t he?

Personally, she thought he was charming and rather adorable.

“As you all know, I’ve been putting my quite extensive and tirelessly dedicated skills to discovering what the real story was regarding one Mr. Iain McAuley.”

“Have ye solved it then?” Graham asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“Thank the Lord,” Roan murmured. “We can all get back to work now. The fear and panic can finally be put to rest.”

Blaine ignored him. “As it happens, there is a simple solution to the mystery of his arrival on Kinloch, and his attempt to usurp the clan lairdship and island chiefdom.”

“Put us out of our misery already—”

“Roan,” Graham gently chided. “Blaine, what is it you’ve found? Anything for us to be concerned about?”

“No, quite the opposite. That is, as long as you don’t mind the fact that Iain will be returning to Kinloch. In fact, he’ll be staying on here.” Blaine pushed the office door completely open. “With me.”

Kira remembered Iain from his brief but very memorable stay on Kinloch the previous fall. He’d have been memorable anyway, with his white smile and dashing good looks.

“Oh my, he’s gone and borrowed from Blaine’s closet,” Roan said.

Kira might have kicked Roan’s toes herself, but then Iain entered, decked out in full, formal clan regalia and she was too busy gawking to kick. He really was quite stunning, though the rows of lace on the front of the white shirt peeking out from the jacket front and at the cuffs wasn’t something traditionally seen. At least on Kinloch.

Iain’s smile was a bit abashed, but he kept his head up. “Hullo, everyone. I appreciate the welcome.” His gaze strayed briefly to Roan, but settled on Graham, then Shay. “I’m sorry for any upset I caused during my last visit. Rest assured, I intend to remain a benign presence from this point forward.”

“Benign?” Blaine said. “I hardly think so.” Then he slid his arm through Iain’s, and looked at the group. “I mean . . . look at him.” The two smiled at each other . . . and the light finally dawned. On everyone.

Blaine faced the group again. “Turns out our stories are somewhat similar. We both come from rich, controlling families. And we both almost made very ill-advised marital choices rather than reaching for our own true happiness.” The two shared another look.

And Kira knew that look.

Roan started to say something, but this time Tessa elbowed him in the stomach . . . and started clapping. “Has there been a wedding?” she asked over the din, as everyone else started clapping for the happy couple as well.

“Well,” Blaine said, “we don’t dress like this every day.” He and Iain grinned again. “Though I think we totally should.”

Everyone laughed and Eliza came in carrying a cake. There were two grooms on top.

“You knew?” Roan said. “How on earth did you know?”

“I always know,” Eliza answered.

Shay came around his desk and tucked Kira by his side as a champagne bottle appeared and everyone started talking at once.

Kira leaned close and whispered, “You’ve been quiet. What do you think of all this?”

“That we should elope?”

Kira laughed and turned in his arms, and kissed him. “What? And deprive Blaine of planning our wedding?”

They were married in the abbey, on Valentine’s Day. There were doves. A carriage drawn by six white horses. A gilded and pillared cake that was slightly larger than Kira’s Fiat.

And a bride and groom who lived happily ever after.

Snow Angel

K
ATE
A
NGELL

To the dedicated doctors, nursing staff, and
receptionists at Mission Hills Veterinary Clinic in
Naples, Florida. Dr. Angela Butts, Dr. Amelia Foster,
Karen, Stacey, Chelsie, and Cincy—you have
all my respect and appreciation.

Prologue

Frost Peak Lodge, Aspen, Colorado
Three years ago

T
he steam rising from the cedar hot tub was pure foreplay. The vapors thickened then thinned on the cold night air. The condensation tickled exposed skin, while jets teased the buttocks.

Allie sat on the circular bench, her body liquid. Her head rested on the rim, her eyelids heavy, her lips parted. The water bubbled, ebbed, and bared her left breast, her nipple hard and peaked as she focused on the naked man across from her.

She knew him only as Aidan. They’d yet to exchange last names. He was a ski stud and hot tub god. A man so cut he could have been a sculpture. Broad chest, buff abs. She licked her lips, imagined tracing the faded tan line on his groin with her tongue.

His gaze was hooded as he stretched his arms along the edges of the hot tub and smiled lazily at her. Could he read her mind? It appeared he had.

“Any regrets?” he asked.

“Not a one,” she said. Aidan was pure female arousal. He touched her with his eyes and made her skin tingle.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” Steam licked her lips as she released a soft sigh. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back to the moment they’d met. This holiday would stay with her forever . . .

The mountain. The man. Aidan had courted her on the slopes for three days. He’d given chase, racing her down the advanced trails, pushing her performance. She’d taken their competition seriously. She skied with the speed and purpose of outrunning an avalanche. She had won.

At the end of the first and second day, he smiled, nothing more. He left her at the base of the mountain. Alone.

He’d spiked her interest. She wanted to meet him. On Christmas Eve, he introduced himself as Aidan. He had her at “
nice huck
.”

She’d shown off for him that afternoon. Halfway down Widow Maker’s Run, she threw herself off the cliff’s edge and caught big air, a thrilling stunt by an advanced skier.

She’d impressed him.

He made her heart pound.

Late afternoon shadows had nudged them to the valet ski check where they handed off their gear. They then entered the lodge bar, The Thirsty Squirrel. She’d ordered hot buttered rum and he sipped two fingers of scotch. Her drink had been served in a green mug rimmed with holly berries. A scripted
Merry Christmas
wrapped Aidan’s tumbler. Happy Hour drew snow bunnies, ski bums, and serious skiers ready to party.

A DJ Santa spun tunes. “Jingle Bells” had made Allie smile. “I’ve worked ski resorts since I was sixteen,” she told Aidan as they settled on their bar stools and shed their ski jackets. “I was once assigned sleigh rides during Christmas week. I harnessed big Belgium draft horses to a Santa-style sleigh with a curly dash. The route crossed a covered bridge then ran alongside a brook on a winding, wooded trail.

“Families were fun. I handed out warm blankets, a thermos of hot chocolate, and gingerbread cookies.” She scrunched her nose. “Couples were another matter. They’d slide beneath the tartan plaids and once we got deep into the forest, the sleigh would start to rock. My job description didn’t include listening to all that giggling and panting. I learned to wear ear muffs.”

Aidan chuckled, deep, vibrant, and richly male. “That gives a whole new meaning to
dashing through the snow
.”

She agreed. “I refused to take out the sleigh until it was sanitized. The guys in the barn laughed their butts off the first time I showed up with my unusual request. By the tenth cleanup, it was no longer funny.”

“We never know what life has in store for us.”

“My sister would disagree. Beth’s a chirologist.”

He raised a brow. “She reads palms?”

“Beth believes your life is printed on your palm. She taught me the basics.”

She’d waited for him to roll his eyes. He surprised her by turning over his right hand. “Read me, sweetheart.”

She’d traced the line that curved above his thumb, leading downward toward his wrist. “You have a long life line,” she said, liking the warm feel of his skin against her fingertips. He had a man’s hand, strong and lightly callused. “You’re a bit of a daredevil, but you could live to be one hundred. You work hard, but play harder.”

He nodded, and she continued. She ran her fingertip across the top of his palm, just below his fingers, a sensual slide. His palm grew slightly damp. She was making him sweat. “A curved heart line indicates you’re romantic.”

“I do candy, flowers, and prolonged foreplay.”

Her stomach fluttered over foreplay. She could imagine his hands sliding down her body, dipping between her thighs, then inching their way upward. Her breath stuck in her throat. She shifted on the bar stool, aroused by this man.

“The fate line runs from the bottom of your palm near the wrist up through the center toward the middle finger,” she continued. “You have a star at the top of your fate line which means good fortune and great success.”

She stroked the side of his hand. “The short, single marriage line beneath your little finger shows one walk down the aisle. No divorce.”

He linked his fingers with hers, and sent her heart racing. “My parents have been married for thirty-five years. They still act like newlyweds.”

Allie smiled, but said nothing. She seldom discussed her single mom. Margo, as her mother preferred to be called, didn’t do mother-daughter. Margo liked to be
one of the girls
. She refused to grow up or grow old.

A sip of her buttered rum, and Allie turned the conversation to skiing; to the hazards of off-piste and the adrenaline rush of conquering the slopes.

“Your winter playground of choice?” she asked.

“Stowe,” he answered. “I like Vermont. I stay at the Red Fox Country Inn and cross-country ski from the back door to the base of Mt. Mainsfield. The Stoweked Grille makes the best seafood stew in New England. How about you?”

“Solitude near Salt Lake City,” she said. “No lift lines, crowded runs, or overtracked snow. The best chicken and chorizo chili in Utah is served at Wiley Coyote, a local mountain pub.”

The bar crowd had begun singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Allie leaned closer to be heard. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, spice and citrus. Subtle, yet masculine. “Are you pure powderhound?” she asked.

Aidan shook his head. “Winter’s my favorite season, but year-round, I enjoy adventure racing.”

She was familiar with the sport. It required a combination of skills, depending on the competition. Athletes often ran, mountain biked, ripped down rapids in a canoe, then rappelled off a one-hundred-foot rock face. The race could last a day or a week.

“Dangerous and disciplined,” she admired. “You push yourself physically.”

He finished off his scotch. “What makes your heart race?”

The sexy look in his eye challenged her to answer him. The intensity of his stare made her curl her toes in her snow boots.

“The savage beauty and intimacy of the slopes,” she said honestly. In that moment she realized the closest relationship she’d had in four years was with her skis. A flutter of anticipation made her shiver. That would all change tonight.

They’d talked further, gotten to know each other over the next hour. He liked science fiction and action movies. She leaned toward mysteries and crime-solving dramas on TV.

Aidan owned a Blackberry Torch. Allie had a disposable cell phone.

He only bought black cars. Her sunglasses were always red.

He had two golden retrievers. She’d never had a pet.

He confessed to working high-end retail. She shopped blue-light specials, the bigger the bargain the better.

She admitted to being a ski instructor on holiday.

All around them, the crowd thickened, pressed, and Allie soon took an elbow to the ribs as several women sought space at the bar. Definitely snow bunnies, with their big hair, perfect makeup, fitted snow pants, and designer jackets with furry hoods. They cruised the lobby and the bar, never leaving the comfort of the lodge.

The ladies winked at Aidan; wedged themselves closer. They nearly knocked Allie off her bar stool.