Snowbound with the CEO Read online

  Rachel’s cellphone made a sound he recognized as signaling a call from the office and, even though it was only the two of them, she excused herself and walked away from the table to respond. Her back was to him, offering a tempting opportunity to let his gaze linger on the curve of her ass, but he was afraid she’d catch him staring in the window’s reflection.

  Instead, he turned his focus on the slideshow of photos she’d sent to his phone, in which architectural renderings showed what the dilapidated villa in Tuscany that Rick Bouchard had bought cheap would look like when Blackstone Historical Renovations was through with it. Inside and out, the villa would look as though somebody had painstakingly restored it to its original state. But it would have every technological amenity the new chrome and glass hotels offered, without ruining the old country charm.

  The display calmed his nerves. Whenever a major deal was in the works, he’d start to feel inadequate at best or an outright fraud at worst. He was just a poor kid from the backwoods of Vermont and had no business asking a real estate developer to hand over millions of dollars based on some sketches.

  But those sketches reminded him he was one of the best in the business, with a reputation that brought the guys with money to his door, rather than him having to beat the pavement looking for work. Maybe that’s why meeting at the Mount Lafayette Grand Resort Hotel had meant so much to him. It was his most successful project to date and he hoped the hotel, along with his vision for the villa, would convince Bouchard to sign the contract hiring BHR to do the renovations. The guy’s interest would be hooked when the wall panel, which practically screamed nineteenth century, slid into its pocket to reveal the architectural renderings streaming to a massive LED screen, and then Adrian would reel him in.

  That thought quieted the last of the butterflies in his stomach. He may have started out a poor kid from Vermont, but his father’s love of woodworking and his mother’s devotion to his education built the foundation for his success. Scholarships had paid his way into college for a business degree and working for a company that restored old post and beam construction kept him in the technology he discovered at school.

  Five years after getting his degree, he talked the parents of a friend of his into letting him rehab their home, which was in their town’s historical district, for the cost of supplies and a quarter of the going labor rate. Three properties later, he filed the papers to make Blackstone Historical Renovations official and now, at the age of thirty-eight, he had four hand-picked crews to handle houses and offices, while he and his personal crew handled the big projects like hotels in New Hampshire and, hopefully, villas in Tuscany.

  Rachel turned to face him, the hand holding her cellphone dropping to her side. Her lips were pressed together, as they often were when she was concentrating or about to tell him something she didn’t think he’d want to hear. On some women that tightened look might have been unattractive, but he loved everything about her mouth.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news, Mr. Blackstone,” she said, killing his hope she’d merely been lost in thought. “The Bouchards aren’t coming.”

  It took a few seconds for her words to sink in, but when they did, he forgot all about how pretty her mouth looked.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, they’re not coming?”

  Rachel made sure her bland, perfectly professional expression didn’t waver in the face of her boss’s displeasure. It never did. “Mr. Bouchard called the office and spoke to Alex. The snow turned to mixed precipitation earlier down there, with a lot of sleet and freezing rain. They made it to Boston before the airport closed, but there’s no way they can make it up here.”

  He ran his fingers through his dark hair in a familiar gesture of frustration that never failed to momentarily distract her. “How the hell did this happen?”

  This happened because Adrian Blackstone wanted to impress the pants off Rick Bouchard so, instead of meeting in the office, the meeting was set for the Mount Lafayette Grand Resort Hotel, high in the White Mountains.

  Where Mother Nature was notorious for wrecking the best-laid plans with a fickle flick of her wrist.

  “Dammit,” Adrian growled.

  When he stood and stalked to the window, she allowed herself to watch him move. He was already in his suit coat, with his tie snug against his throat, even though the meeting hadn’t been scheduled to take place for several more hours. While he occasionally hung up his coat in the office and rolled up his shirtsleeves, whenever he was meeting a client, he was fully dressed by the time she met up with him. Part of him psyching himself up, she assumed.

  Just once, she’d like to see him in jeans and a T-shirt—something faded, soft and body-hugging. She wanted to know his favorite movie and whether he liked vanilla, chocolate or twist soft-serve.

  When he turned back to her, she gave him a small half-smile, knowing he saw nothing but his assistant waiting patiently for his instructions.

  “We may as well hit the road since this is a bust,” he said. “Maybe I can make the presentation to him tomorrow at his hotel.”

  And the good news kept on coming. “Actually, the governor just declared a state of emergency and the highway’s closed.”

  His dark eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re snowed in.” Which meant she was spending the night down the hall from her favorite fantasy without any business associates or clients around to act as unwitting chaperones.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, Mr. Blackstone.” She closed her laptop and slid it into her bag, along with the portfolio folder and her legal pad. “Very serious. Apparently the weather took a bizarre turn after we got our last update. We don’t have to worry about power or services here at the hotel. The resort makes its own power—steam generators or something like that.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Of course he was. This project was wrapped up while she was still just a paperwork-filing, coffee-brewing rookie at the company, but it was a renovation he was particularly proud of. Not only because of the size, but because of the results. Stepping into the Mount Lafayette was like stepping back in time at least a century, except for the cleverly disguised modern amenities. Guests didn’t suffer a lack of wireless internet, screens, outlets or jacks.

  He rubbed his temples. “So, that’s it? We’re stuck here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Even Adrian Blackstone couldn’t buy himself a ticket back to Boston tonight.

  He accepted it with a sigh and a shrug of his strong shoulders, which were emphasized by the cut of his charcoal suit. “Since I haven’t been here since we finished the renovations, what is there to do in this place?”

  Get naked, have wild sex with the boss and wake up blissfully satisfied, if imminently unemployed? “There are several amenities which might interest you. You’ll find the brochure in the inside pocket of your coat, where you put it when I handed it to you.”

  He pulled it out and smiled at her before opening it. God, he had an amazing smile. “I see you circled the shop. Since I got you stuck here, feel free to charge anything you need to your room.”

  She nodded, even though she wouldn’t. Even though Blackstone Historical Renovations paid for her travel, lodging and food, she didn’t purchase incidentals or personal items on their account. Even if it was the CEO’s fault their plans had changed.

  “I guess you have some unscheduled vacation time,” he continued with a sheepish grin. “Unlike you, I’ve barely made a dent in my coffee, so I’m going to stay and work on my notes for the Newport property.”

  She knew Adrian was considering buying a house he’d seen listed in Newport, Rhode Island, doing a full renovation and then flipping it. It would be a first for Blackstone Historical Renovations. Since they’d only done rehabs on properties owned by other people, they’d talked a lot about the pros and
cons. The risk was higher, since the property would have to sell in order for them to get paid, but so was the potential profit margin. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “I’m mostly going to read through the notes we’ve already made, so you don’t need to stay. I’ll let the desk know when I’m done so they can restock the coffee.” He took the key to the room when she held it out. “Go have fun. Make sure you enjoy everything the hotel has to offer, and I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be getting regular updates on the travel conditions and will let you know as soon as the roads are safe. In the meantime, if you need anything at all, please let me know.”

  She left him to his work, wondering what she was supposed to do for the rest of the day. The original plan had called for all of them to enjoy a pleasant evening after the meeting, including dinner. Then Adrian and Rachel would depart for Boston early in the morning, leaving the Bouchard family to enjoy the rest of the day and another night on Adrian’s dime before traveling on to Colorado for their Christmas holiday.

  Now Rachel had no plans for the foreseeable future, except trying not to envision a hundred and one ways to seduce her boss.

  She was up to seventeen before she reached the end of the hall.

  * * *

  By dinnertime, Adrian was bored. He’d pressed his team to wrap up everything before they scattered for the holidays, so the only thing on the table was the Bouchard deal. With the Bouchards stuck in Boston—where he should have stayed, dammit—he had nothing to occupy his mind.

  And with nothing else to think about, his thoughts kept circling around to Rachel and the fact they were alone in one of the most gorgeous and romantic hotels in the country.

  Maybe not totally alone. There were other guests, of course, besides the staff. But nobody from their world. No office-mates. No clients. Essentially, they were alone enough that he kept thinking about things a boss had no business thinking.

  For one thing, Blackstone Historical Renovations was extremely proactive when it came to sexual harassment education and the boss doing his secretary on his desk, up against the wall or any other place he could get her wouldn’t set a good example. For another, she was the best damn assistant he’d ever had and he didn’t want to lose her.

  But knowing she was two doors down the hall while everybody else was back around the water cooler played hell on his nerves.

  Adrian thought about calling her and asking her to join him for dinner. They both needed to eat and there was no sense in eating alone. But they weren’t in the habit of sharing meals when they traveled. They kept the schedule tight, so both of them usually made do with room service while they worked.

  But he was tired of being cooped up and the dining room beckoned. Unfortunately, it was a dining room that reeked of romance all year and especially at Christmas. He had no desire to request a table for one. And he was afraid if he invited Rachel to join him, she’d accept simply because he was the boss and she felt obligated.

  Screw it. He’d go down to the bar. If he remembered correctly, they served basic sandwiches along with drinks, and he needed both. He never allowed himself to get drunk, especially in public, but maybe a beer or two would take the edge off and help him sleep.

  He didn’t have any jeans with him, but he skipped the coat and tie. Leaving the top two buttons on his white dress shirt undone, he rolled the sleeves to just below the elbow and ran a cursory hand through his hair. Good enough.

  Pausing in the entryway of the bar, he scanned the room, debating on a table versus a stool. Then he spotted a woman sitting alone at the bar, his gaze drawn to her for some reason, and considered a different way to take the edge off his sexual frustration. Neither bar pickups nor one-night stands were his usual style, but his secret desire for Rachel was reaching a critical point.

  The woman at the bar had a cloud of blond hair, and a slim figure hugged by a shimmery red sweater and black pants. But she wasn’t too slim—the sweater rode up to reveal the curve of her hip. And when she reached for her glass he noted the lack of either a wedding ring or a revealing tan line.

  He watched her another minute and she never looked around or looked to the door, so she probably wasn’t waiting for anybody. While she’d definitely be playing second fiddle to his assistant—unbeknownst to either woman—maybe some company would help distract him.

  He started walking toward her then stopped, transfixed, when she threw back her head and laughed at something the bartender said. It was a joyful, unabashed sound and Adrian found himself wanting to watch a comedy with the woman or tell her silly jokes just to hear her laugh again.

  He slid onto the stool next to her. “It’s too close to Christmas to be sitting alone in a bar.”

  She turned to face him and Adrian felt as though all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Christ, she was beautiful. “Rachel?”

  Chapter Two

  Number thirty-two, or thereabouts, on Rachel’s list of one hundred and one ways to seduce her boss was to pretend to be a stranger in a bar. Being mistaken for a stranger in a bar was close enough to send a little sizzle down her spine.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that before,” he said, and it wasn’t in his Mr. Blackstone voice. It was definitely a picking-up-a-woman-in-a-bar voice.

  “You’ve never told me a joke about two elves, a reindeer and a candy cane.”

  He swiveled his stool a little toward her, so their knees almost touched. “Let me buy you another drink and I’ll think of a joke.”

  She should claim exhaustion and go back to her room. For whatever reason, Adrian Blackstone was looking at her in a whole new way tonight and, while she’d fantasized about that very look many times, in reality she wanted to keep her job.

  Her work with Blackstone Historical Renovations was challenging and it came with travel to beautiful places and professional respect. The work was hard and the hours could be grueling, but the financial reward more than made up for it. Beyond that, Adrian Blackstone was a man who respected his employees and said please and thank you. It would be a tough job to lose.

  She couldn’t put it all at risk for a fling. It would be a huge mistake.

  “One drink,” she heard herself say, “and then I’m going to bed.”

  Two hours later, Rachel’s stomach hurt from laughing and she’d had more than one drink. Not enough to be drunk, but enough to make her laugh at his awful jokes. And his comedic timing was so bad she laughed even harder.

  They were fully facing one another on the bar stools, one of his knees tucked between hers. With both of them leaning against the bar, heads close together, she knew what they looked like to the other people in the room—a man and a woman working their way around to going upstairs together.

  “What do you call a person who’s afraid of Santa?”

  “No more,” she cried, throwing up her hands in surrender. “I can’t take anymore.”

  “Claustrophobic.” He captured her hands and tugged her closer. “Dance with me.”

  Her pulse quickened and she glanced around the dimly lit room. “Nobody else is dancing.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep telling you jokes because I’m not ready to go back to my room yet.” He scowled a little, as if trying to think of a good one—or a really bad one.

  “Okay. One dance.” She could survive four minutes or so of being in Adrian’s arms without making an ass of herself. Probably. “I should warn you I’m not the best dancer.”

  He stood and pulled her away from the stools, then slid his hands down her shoulders to her hips before taking one of her hands in his. The other rested just low enough at the small of her back to make her a little breathless.

  “Neither am I,” he confessed, his breath brushing the hair at her temple as they swayed slightly to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” “It doesn’
t matter, though. All I have to do is dance us over to that corner where the mistletoe’s hung, and then you can stand still while I kiss you.”

  With her body practically molded to his and his hand straying ever so slowly south, Rachel couldn’t find the will to tell him it wasn’t a good idea. She’d wanted him to kiss her for far too long for common sense to talk her out of it.

  * * *

  Adrian didn’t care if so much snow fell they never got shoveled out. There was nowhere else he wanted to be than dancing in a bar with Rachel.

  She hadn’t responded to his mistletoe intentions, but she hadn’t said no or pulled away. And the glow on her cheeks made him suspect he wasn’t the only one looking forward to it. The idea Rachel might be as attracted to him as he was to her was a heady feeling, and he dug deep for self-control.

  As the singer crooned about being home for Christmas and the lyrics sunk into his brain, Adrian sighed. “I feel bad now, you know, about dragging you up here. If I’d had the meeting in Boston, you’d be home and, with Christmas right around the corner, you probably have a million things to do more important than dancing with me.”

  She laughed again, and it sounded even better up close. “No, actually. My parents live in Florida, but they come up every February for a ski trip, so we have Christmas then. Christmas Day is about hanging out in flannel pajamas watching all those awesome old movies they only show once a year so, no, I don’t have anything to do that’s more important than dancing with you.”

  “Good, because we’re almost to the mistletoe. A few more steps.”

  He felt her sigh, her breath blowing hot against his neck. “I guess it’s my responsibility to remind you kissing your secretary is a very bad idea.”

  “You’re so much more than a secretary to me, Rachel. And I’ve been telling myself kissing you is a bad idea for a year and a half, but I’ve been lying to myself. It’s a very good idea.” Two more gliding steps and they’d be there. “Besides, even if we parted ways right now, I’m too far gone. I’ll never see you in the office again without remembering how you look tonight, with your eyes sparkling and your face flushed from laughing so hard at my stupid jokes.”