Chapter One #3
“Good. Then we’ll make a deal. If I have a legitimate problem with the rental during my stay, you handle it personally.”
His smile came back slowly. “That’s already pretty close to my job.”
“I’m aware. I’m adding accountability.”
“You don’t think I’m accountable now?”
“I think your dog just ate my underwear.”
A laugh escaped him, low and warm. “Fair point.”
I pointed toward the shredded lace on the floor. “I’m not asking you to personally manufacture replacement plumbing parts or wrestle a generator. If something needs a specialist, call one. But you own the problem until it’s fixed.”
“That I can do.”
“And the deal lasts through checkout.”
“Three nights,” he said, and when I raised an eyebrow, his smile widened. “I manage the property.”
Competence was attractive. I enjoyed that more than I probably should have.
“Then we have an agreement.”
Lucky held out his hand.
His palm was broad and rough when I put mine into it. The handshake should have been ordinary, and it was. It still sent a bright pulse of awareness through me.
“Then we’re agreed,” he said.
“We are.”
Bear apparently considered negotiations complete. He lumbered over and leaned his full weight against my legs.
I looked down at seventy-something pounds of golden fur pressed against my tailored charcoal trousers. “You have remarkable timing.”
Bear gazed up at me, entirely unrepentant. I scratched behind one soft ear anyway.
Lucky noticed. He was polite enough not to comment.
After retrieving the remains of my underwear with a tissue and apologizing once more, he clipped Bear’s leash securely to his collar.
“I’ll get him out of your way.”
“He’s charming when he isn’t committing crimes.”
“That’s how he maintains access to society.”
I smiled. “Goodnight, Lucky.”
His attention held mine for a quiet second before he answered.
“Goodnight, Caprice. Call if you need anything.”
I watched him walk down the porch steps with Bear beside him, then closed the door against the rush of cold air.
For several seconds, the cabin was completely quiet before my laptop chimed and reminded me that work was still waiting.
I returned to the dining table, opened the approval thread I’d been reviewing, and discovered that I was looking at the property contacts in the welcome folder instead.
The words Lucius Ramsey were right there in front of me, but all I could think was Lucky.
I moved the folder firmly to the other side of the table.
Attraction was not a crisis. It did not require a response plan, a contingency meeting, or an emergency revision to the schedule.
It did, however, have excellent shoulders.
I got back to work.
Room service arrived a little after seven.
By then I had changed into soft neutral cashmere layers, answered everything that actually required an answer, reviewed the next day’s working schedule, and resisted the urge to contact three people who had not requested my involvement.
The salmon Deb had recommended was excellent. So were the roasted vegetables and potatoes, although I ate most of the meal without giving any of it the attention it deserved because my laptop remained open beside the tray.
The chocolate dessert had not been part of my order.
I stared at it for a moment.
Then I ate that too.
By eight-thirty the windows had turned into black mirrors edged by the occasional reflected lamp from inside the cabin. Beyond them, the pines had disappeared into darkness, and frost shone white across the rear deck where the exterior light reached it.
The cabin itself was warm, the heated floors were warm, and my cashmere was warm, but the enormous stone fireplace across the great room had started to look increasingly persuasive.
I carried my dinner tray to the kitchen island, then crossed to the hearth.
The resort had supplied everything. A neat stack of split firewood occupied a recessed space beside the stone. Kindling sat in a separate container. Fireplace tools hung from a black metal stand, and the safety equipment was exactly where it should have been.
There was also a small safety card beside the fireplace controls. It identified the switch as a built-in gas starter and instructed guests unfamiliar with the fireplace to contact Property Management for first-use assistance.
That seemed sensible.
Gas plus live flame was not a category in which I believed enthusiasm should outrank experience.
Once, several years ago, I had responded to a dripping bathroom faucet by deciding I was an intelligent adult with internet access.
Forty minutes later, I had needed an emergency plumber and three towels from my downstairs neighbor.
I had learned from that experience.
Mostly.
I picked up the welcome folder from the dining table and flipped to the property contacts.
Lucky’s number was exactly where Deb had said it would be.
This was a legitimate cabin problem.
In fact, the resort had specifically instructed me to call.
Professionally speaking, I was being responsible.
Personally speaking, I was about to see Lucky again.
I pressed Call, smiling because this time I had a perfectly good reason to bring him back to my door.