When We Met (6 page)

She put her hand on his forearm. “You said you'd take this on and I'm going to hold you to your commitment. Not only do I think it will be good for you, but there isn't anyone else I can get at such short notice. Please take the grove through this first short season. If at the end of that you want to be done, you can walk away.”

He hesitated, torn by guilt. He
had
given his word, dammit. “Fine. Two months and then I'm done.”

“We'll discuss that when the time comes.” She pulled an index card out of her handbag. “In the meantime we've come up with what we think will be an excellent civic project for your girls. Max Thurman runs K9Rx Therapy Dog Kennels just outside town. Have you heard of it?”

He nodded slowly. “Dogs that visit sick people. Stuff like that.”

“It's slightly more complicated, but that's close enough. Max has a new litter of puppies that need to be socialized. I think seven-year-old girls are perfect for the job. My daughter Montana works for Max. She'll be in touch with you to set up the schedule.”

She rattled off a few more bits of information. Angel made note of them on his phone, then, when they were done, grabbed his pink notebook and escaped.

He walked out into the afternoon and told himself it was way too early to get drunk.

Girls. He was going to be responsible for seven-year-old girls. He paused by the curb and stared at his motorcycle. He rode a Harley. What if there were trips with the girls and he was expected to drive? People could die in a car accident. His scarred heart was living proof. He swore again, this time loudly and with emphasis.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a couple of buttons.

“It's me. What's your afternoon like?”

He waited for Consuelo to tell him she was too busy to bother with him, but she surprised him by pausing and saying, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. I'm screwed.”

“What do you need?”

He stared at the Harley. He loved riding it. Loved the feel of the wind, the speed. The sense of freedom.

“I need to buy a car.”

“What?”

“I need something safe. That holds a lot of people. Like an SUV.” Or a minivan. Only he couldn't even say the word. “One of those three-row ones.”

He could feel the walls of life closing in on him.

“Do I want to know why?” Consuelo asked.

“No.”

“Okay. See you at home in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

T
ARYN
STARED
AT
the simple dark chocolate truffle that had been delivered to her office, along with a note. There was a restaurant name and a time. No signature, no greeting. Just Henri's and seven o'clock. Either Angel was showing that he was into making an effort or he really didn't like to pick up the phone.

Before she could decide, Kenny and Jack walked in. Kenny dropped a massive backpack onto her desk and grinned.

“You're back,” she said, stating the obvious.

“We are back and we're the best,” Kenny told her.

Jack sat on the corner of her desk and shrugged. “We can't help it,” he said modestly. “We're simply that good.”

“Lucky me.”

Jack and Kenny had been in Los Angeles for the meeting with the owner of Living Life at a Run.

“So your conversation went well?” she asked.

“You know it. You're going to love Cole,” Jack said as he slapped the top of the pack and grinned. “And he's going to love you.”

Kenny nodded enthusiastically. “We talked sports, of course. He's a football fan.”

“Who isn't?” Taryn asked, trying not to look at the jumbo backpack taking up most of her desk. It was huge and very black. There were poles on one side. If she didn't know better, she would think they went against the body—maybe to distribute the weight more evenly. A horrifying thought.

But the LL@R logo was facing her, so it was unlikely
that
part went against your back. Besides, if it didn't face out, how would you open it? Still, she wasn't sure she was excited about wearing something so heavy that it needed weight-distribution engineering built into its design.

“He skis,” Kenny added, sounding impressed. “He knows Kipling Gilmore.”

Taryn had learned long ago that it was easier to fit in with her business partners than to fight the inevitable. Besides, there were three of them and only one of her. So she'd learned the language of sports. She could intelligently discuss nearly every game played with a ball or even a puck. She understood which had innings, quarters and periods. Every year she sat with the boys during the NFL draft and listened to them tell what it had been like for them when they'd gone through it. Which meant she knew exactly who Kipling Gilmore was.

Kipling Gilmore was an American skier who had dominated at the Olympics. He'd taken the gold in both the Super-G and the combined events.

“I'm sure they're brushing each other's hair even as we speak,” she said.

Kenny shook his head. “Why aren't you impressed by sports celebrities?”

“Because I have you and Sam and Jack already. What could be better?”

“Good answer,” Jack told her, and patted the backpack again. “Cole's excited about our meeting. The plan is for us to do an introductory presentation. Then we go camping for the weekend, followed by a more detailed discussion of what we could do for him.”

Taryn nodded. This wasn't the first time a client had made that sort of a request. Many of them wanted to be sure the PR firm understood the product. They'd had a great time in Cabo with a client who made tequila. She had a feeling that for her, camping equipment and sports gear wouldn't be as fun. Not that she would get that intimately involved.

She was about to tell them to have a good time when she noticed how Kenny and Jack were looking at everything but each other. And her.

“What?” she demanded. “What aren't you telling me?”

Kenny nudged Jack. “You do it.”

“You said you would.”

“You were married to her.”

Jack sighed. “Chicken.”

“I'm good with that,” Kenny admitted, then smiled at her. “Jack has something to tell you.”

Taryn didn't like the tone of this conversation. “I've guessed that.” She looked at Jack and raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Cole wants us to take a weekend trip with him.”

She nodded.

“All of us.”

“Sure. You, Kenny and Sam.” She paused as his gaze stayed locked on her face, then stood up and stepped behind her chair. Not to mention away from the backpack. “No.”

“Taryn, you're a partner in the firm. He said all the partners. It's only for a couple of days.”

“It's camping. Outdoors. On purpose. It's one thing if you crash your car and end up in a ravine. That could happen to anyone. Then sleeping outside until you're rescued is no big deal. Because you can't help it. But this is on purpose. In dirt.”

“We'd go to a campsite,” Kenny added quickly. “With bathrooms.”

Jack elbowed him. Kenny winced. “Okay, not the running-water kind.”

“That's disgusting. You can pee standing up. That's not an option for me.”

She didn't do the outdoors. Didn't like it. When she needed to commune with nature, she dined alfresco. Or bought a plant. Her most athletic project to date was planning how her walled-in garden was going to look. So far it was all on paper. She had yet to touch actual soil.

“Have you seen my shoes? Do I look like a camper to you?”

Jack walked around her desk and approached her. He put his large hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Taryn, this is a big account. Not so much in size but in opportunity. We've worked the distribution side of things, but we've never made it in the retail world. This is our way in. It's one weekend of camping. We'll all be there with you. This is important to all of us.”

She looked at him and knew he was right. About all of it. She sighed. “I'll do it.”

“Really?” Kenny sounded surprised. “That's great. We can help you prepare, if you want.”

“No, thanks. I'll take care of that end of things.”

No way she wanted the guys watching her struggle to learn whatever it was she needed to know to camp. It was hard enough keeping them all in line without giving them that much ammunition. Besides, she thought, remembering a pair of broad shoulders and cool gray eyes, she had resources.

“You won't regret this,” Jack told her with a grin. “It's going to be great. We'll get the account and then there's no stopping us.”

He and Kenny headed out of her office. When he was in the doorway, Jack turned back and pointed to the pack. “You can keep that,” he said graciously. “It's got everything you're going to need for our weekend.”

“Great.”

She waited until they left before moving toward her desk. She poked the backpack, then went to pick it up. It didn't budge.

She tried again, this time using two hands, and was barely able to lift it off the desk.

“Very funny,” she muttered, unfastening the clasp. No doubt Kenny and Jack had put rocks or bricks inside, just to mess with her.

But when she flipped open the top, all she saw was stuff that looked a lot like camping gear. Not that she'd experienced it in person, but she'd seen pictures.

She tried to lift the pack a third time and not only broke a nail but felt a sharp pain in her shoulders.

“This,” she murmured to the empty room, “is going to be a problem.”

CHAPTER SIX

H
ENRI
'
S
WAS
A
five-star restaurant tucked into the grandeur that was the Gold Rush Ski Lodge and Resort. A name that made Taryn wince. Whatever had the owners been thinking? The name was so long that it would always look awkward on signage, and she would guess their business cards were a cluttered mess. When it came to names, less was more. Still, not her rock to carry, she told herself as she stepped out of her car and handed the keys to the valet. Her rock was an oversize backpack still sitting on her desk.

She started toward the building, but before taking a step, she paused. A slight shiver tiptoed up her spine. It wasn't a familiar sensation, but it got her attention. If she didn't know better, she would swear that she was being stalked. Or at the very least, watched. She turned and saw a black SUV had pulled in behind her car.

The windows were tinted, so she couldn't see the driver. Had it been any other vehicle, she would have assumed it was Angel. As much as she would never admit it, he seemed to be the only man who had ever had the power to make her quiver with just a look. Only she'd seen what he drove, and the large, loud,
aggressive
Harley he favored had nothing in common with the Chevy Traverse in front of her.

She was about to head into the hotel when she hesitated a fraction of a second. Then she saw the driver and blinked in surprise. It
was
Angel. Once again dressed in black and looking very man-about-town.

She waited until he joined her, then glanced back at the SUV being driven away.

“Unexpected,” she said.

“Long story. I'll tell you over dinner.”

“Don't tell me you sold the Harley.”

“Never. I still have it.”

He took her hand in his and looked her over carefully. She struck a model's pose, then half turned so he could see the back.

She'd bought the dress the previous year, but it was still one of her favorites. A Halston Heritage white knit sheath, with black panels along the side and a black band at the jewel neckline. She'd kept her jewelry simple with gold-and-onyx earrings and a gold link bracelet from Tiffany.

Her shoes were one of her favorites. A Jimmy Choo Vero pump. The front was white, the back was black and there was a gold trim that swept across the top of the shoes before looping around to the back.

“Damn,” Angel said. “You don't mess around.”

“What?” she asked, glancing down at her dress. “This is casual.”

He gave her a slow, knowing smile. “Naked is casual. This is a show.”

“Then I hope you're entertained.”

“More than you know.”

He released her fingers, then placed his palm on the small of her back. “Shall we?”

They walked through the lobby to the rear of the hotel where Henri's was located. It was a restaurant to go to for ambience and food, not the view, Taryn thought as they were shown to a booth in a back corner.

The space was subtly lit with soft music and the kind of waitstaff that prided itself on excellent service.

Once they were seated, a forty-something woman took their drink orders before disappearing as quietly as she'd arrived.

Taryn leaned back in the booth and crossed her legs. The one disadvantage of her dress was that it tended to ride up a little if she wasn't careful. Although tonight that might be a good thing. Angel played the game well. Maybe too well. She had expected to be the one in charge.

Which was the problem, she thought. If she was in charge, she had trouble being interested. She was the boss during the day. She didn't want that same role at night. But giving up control left her feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable, so she avoided relationships where the man wanted control. Probably why she was thirty-four and had never been in love. The emotion required too much of her.

“That's a lot of thinking,” Angel said, his cool gray eyes studying her face.

“I'm working things out.” She tilted her head. “Explain the SUV.”

He surprised her by sighing deeply. “You know that old saying ‘no good deed goes unpunished'?”

She nodded.

“A couple of weeks ago I talked to Mayor Marsha about getting involved in town. I wanted a volunteer activity.”

And the surprises kept on coming, Taryn thought.

Angel's expression turned sheepish. “It's how I was raised. Small town, people took care of each other. Once I knew I was staying here, I wanted to be helping people. She suggested the Future Warriors of the Máa-zib.”

Taryn laughed. “Future what? Are you serious? Is this weapons training for teenaged boys?”

“I wish. I figured it was a program for young men.” He hesitated for a second, making her think there was something he wasn't telling her, but then he continued. “There are stages. Acorns, Sprouts and so on up to Mighty Oaks. The adult is called a Grove Keeper.”

Angel was a big, scary guy. He had scars and secrets and he was the last person she could imagine volunteering to work with children. The fact that he had done so made her even more interested in him.

“Good for you. So what's the problem? I can't imagine you being worried about a bunch of unruly boys.”

Angel shifted on his seat. “They're not boys. They're girls. Little girls. My Acorns are seven-year-old girls. They earn beads for activities. The keeper handbook is pink.” He began to speak faster and the tone of his voice tightened. “They're supposed to learn regular stuff like knots and map reading, but there are also beads for face painting and families and...” He paused, then shuddered. “The feminine cycle.”

Taryn was relieved their drinks hadn't arrived yet, because if she'd been drinking, she knew she would have started to choke. As it was, laughter spilled out of her. “The feminine cycle?”

He glared at her. “It's not funny.”

“Oh yeah. It is.”

“We don't talk about the cycle this year.”

“Good, because seven seems a touch early. So you're a Grove Keeper.”

Their server arrived with a vodka martini for her and a Scotch for him. She asked if they would like more time before ordering. Taryn nodded through bursts of laughter.

“I tried to get out of it,” Angel admitted when they were alone. “What the hell was Mayor Marsha thinking? I don't know anything about little girls. I'm in over my head. Denise Hendrix is in charge of the council. The first season is only two months and she wants me to see it through. Then I can quit and they'll find someone else for the girls.”

“So it's only for two months. That's something.”

He glared at her. “I'm not a bead kind of guy.”

She lightly stroked his upper arm, mentally giving herself a moment to enjoy the warm skin over impressive muscle. “You'll be fine. They're just little girls.”

“Easy for you to say. You used to be one.”

Physically, Taryn thought. She'd been a child. But emotionally, she'd never been young. She hadn't had the chance. In her house, being vulnerable meant dangerous things. She'd grown up fast and had learned the value of remaining invisible as much as possible.

But that wasn't Angel's problem and it wasn't as if she was going to tell him about her past. No one knew about her father—not even Jack.

He reached for his Scotch, then put it down. “That's why I got the SUV. In case I have to drive them somewhere.”

“Your Acorns?” she asked, her voice teasing.

“I can't stick one on the back of a Harley. I went online and checked out safety ratings. The Traverse scores high and it seats eight.”

“You sound like a soccer mom.”

“Go ahead. Kick me when I'm down.”

His concern was sweet, she thought. A depth she wouldn't have expected. He was—

A thought popped into her mind. A crazy one that was so unexpected it might work for both of them.

She angled toward him. “Jack and Kenny are wooing a new client,” she told him. “Living Life at a Run. They're a smaller version of REI. More equipment than clothes, but a nice get for us. We've never been big in retail.”

“Congratulations.”

“We don't have them yet, but if we can get them, it would be great. The owner is a big outdoor guy. He's insisting on a camping weekend with the principals of the company before signing on the dotted line.”

Angel's gaze locked on her face. “Camping?”

She nodded.

“You?”

“I know. It's not my thing.”

He chuckled. “Wait until he gets a look at your shoes.”

“I know I won't wear heels camping.”

“How much else do you know?”

“Next to nothing. But you're a big outdoor guy.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “You want to go camping?”

“No, I want to offer you a deal.”

His hand moved from the table to her bare knee with lightning speed. She felt the warmth of his skin on hers, along with a distinct clenching between her thighs. And this was all without him even trying. Imagine how much trouble she would be in if he put a little back into it.

She knew she had to clear her throat before she could speak. Rather than let him know how he affected her, she took a sip of her martini, then gave a little cough.

“I'll help you with the Acorns and you help me get proficient enough with the outdoors so I can fake my way through a camping weekend,” she said.

“Done.”

She laughed. “You don't want to think about it?”

“Hell, no. You're talking about learning how to hike and maybe kayak. I have two months of weekly sessions with seven-year-old girls. It's not a fair trade for you, but I don't care. You offered and I'm saying yes.”

“You're very obsessed with their ages.”

“They're babies.”

She pretended to look concerned. “You do realize most seven-year-old girls are already dating these days, right?”

His mouth dropped open. “No way.”

She laughed again. “Just messing with you because I can.”

The palm on her knee moved toward her thigh in a very steady, very purposeful way. His hand was large, his fingers long. Suddenly nothing was very funny and she found herself wondering if they could get a room upstairs. Just for an hour or two. Or five.

He stopped at the hem of her dress. Just stopped. He didn't move, didn't hint that there was more. Even so, she found herself breathing a little faster. His gaze held hers captive.

“You were saying?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Good.”

She nodded. “You like that you get to me.” Normally she wouldn't have admitted anything like that, but why ignore the obvious?

“It makes things equal between us.”

“You're saying I get to you?”

“Why would you think otherwise?”

Because every woman had doubts, she thought. She put her hand on top of his. “Now what?”

“Now we order dinner.”

He pulled back his hand, then reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. He leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek, then he spoke very quietly.

“Of course I want you, Taryn. I'm breathing, aren't I? Because it would take being dead to not want you. You told me you wanted me to work for it and I'm more than willing to do that. To wait to feel your skin against mine, your mouth, your breasts, all of you. But when we are together, it's going to be my way. It's going to be slow. There won't be an inch of you I won't touch, won't please. I want to learn everything you like and then figure out how to do it so well I can make you come anytime, anywhere. And I will.”

It was both a challenge and a promise, she thought, as a shiver trickled down her back. Her breasts tightened as they seemed to get heavier, and the very center of her began to ache and swell.

She turned her head to face him and found their mouths were inches apart. “That's an ambitious goal.”

“Go big or go home.”

“I thought it was Semper Fi.”

“That's the Marines.”

His eyes were made up of a thousand shades of gray. He had a handful of small scars on his cheek and forehead. His mouth was perfectly shaped.

She raised her hand and traced the scar on his neck with her thumb. “He's dead, isn't he?”

“Yes.”

He slipped his hand through her long black hair and cupped the back of her head. “I want you,” he breathed. “And I'll wait.”

Part of her wanted to protest. Not waiting seemed like an excellent idea. But the rest of her wanted to see where this all would lead. When it came to her romantic or sexual relationships, it seemed that all she was doing was going through the motions. Whatever happened with Angel, she would find herself on one hell of a ride. Maybe that was the solution.

But that wasn't to say she was going to make it easy.

She shifted so she was more angled toward him. She drew one leg up, resting her thigh on the seat, parting her legs slightly. Her dress rode up obligingly.

She took the hand that had been on her leg and put it back on her bare skin, then guided it higher until his fingers came in contact with the hot, damp wisp of silk that was her thong.

She'd thought to shock him, to make him squirm. But instead of hesitating, he slid two fingers under the elastic and brushed them unerringly against her swollen, hungry core.

Heat and need shot through her. She had a bad feeling she both flushed and gasped as need threatened to take control. He touched her again, rubbing more firmly once, twice, three more times, then withdrew his hand.

“Think you're playing with a kid?” he asked, his eyes bright with confidence.

She faced front and tugged down her dress. “No. I was making a point.”

“Me, too.”

And he'd won, damn him. Instead of rattling him, she was the one who wanted to squirm. She had to hold on to her martini with both hands to keep from grabbing his hand and shoving it back under the table so he could keep touching her. She'd never in her life wanted to have sex in a public place, but apparently exceptions could be made.