Forever A Hero. Linda Lael Miller
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the black pantsuit, a favorite of hers, with a short jacket fitted at the waist, and a beige camisole with plenty of lace at the neckline to soften the look.
It was the perfect outfit, the female version of the classic power suit, flattering but strictly in a no-nonsense, keep-your-distance-please kind of way.
Except for the lace, maybe.
Would that send Mace the wrong message? Make him think she wanted more than a handshake and a signed contract?
Seduction was definitely not her style. She was a serious, committed professional, and she never, but never, mixed business with pleasure.
Admittedly, she’d been shaken up after the accident that had wiped out rental car number one the day before. She’d probably come off as a little needy. Well, if she had given Mace that impression, she was determined to set things straight, ASAP.
No matter how sexy he was, with his loose-hipped cowboy walk and his broad shoulders and his brown-blond hair brushing the back of his collar, she would keep everything in perspective. She was grateful for his help, naturally, but she was no fairy-tale heroine, swooning and sighing in her prince’s strong arms after the most recent encounter with a fire-breathing dragon.
No, sir. She would conduct their meetings, make her final presentation, complete with graphs and figures and flashy photos of jet-setters enjoying fine wine in exotic places, and then she’d return to LA and the satisfying, if somewhat lonely, life she’d made for herself there. She had a great job, a nice place to live, fine clothes. She had friends.
Well, actually, she had business colleagues rather than friends, but with her schedule, who had time for girls’ nights out, weekend spa visits and gossip?
She certainly didn’t. They simply didn’t fit into her schedule.
And forget romance, much as she missed the benefits. She’d gone on exactly six dates in the three years since her divorce, and every one of them had been disastrous for one reason or another.
Feeling her hard-core commitment to her career slip just slightly, Kelly squared her shoulders and silently reminded herself that, yes, she’d once dreamed of a happy marriage and children. She’d totally missed the boat, but nobody had it all. In her own experience, jobs like hers took up too much space and energy to coexist with a spouse in a satisfying way. Her own divorce, and those of a good many of her associates, proved the theory.
She’d seen a few couples make it work, of course, but they were exceptions to the rule, and, in her circles, incredibly rare. Plus, there was no telling how much of their alleged happiness was an act, a mere facade, a cover-up for secret shouting matches and God knew what other kinds of dysfunction.
It wasn’t for her; she was sure of that.
Mace Carson wasn’t the first attractive man she’d encountered, and he wouldn’t be the last, so she’d better keep her perspective. Looking the way he did, Mace surely had his choice of women eager to share his bed, and even if he did want to settle down, which she doubted, he was country, through and through. He was probably interested in an old-fashioned girl, content to stay at home instead of working toward goals of her own. A wife who’d prepare his meals, iron his shirts, bear and raise his children, vote as he voted, the whole bit.
Although she knew she wasn’t being fair, Kelly shuddered at the images unfolding in her mind.
She wanted no part of such a life.
Not that he’d shown any signs of offering.
Strangely deflated all of a sudden, Kelly went on about her business. With renewed purpose.
* * *
FOR ALL HIS private resolutions to take a step back and stay cool, the sight of Kelly standing in the resort lobby, looking sharp in a black pantsuit with a splash of beige lace in the V of her fitted one-button jacket, struck Mace like a punch to the solar plexus.
Hot damn, he thought. Hello, square one.
He’d spent half the night trying to untangle the complicated emotions Kelly Wright stirred in him, things he’d never felt before with any of the women he’d dated, including his college girlfriend, Sarah. And he’d expected to marry her.
After Sarah, and his return to the ranch following the apprenticeship with his grandfather, he’d dated a lot, going out with local women—Mustang Creek had its share of smart, sexy females—but the majority were visitors, come to ski in winter or explore nearby Yellowstone Park in summer, or just to relax at the resort.
In other words, they were merely passing through. They’d had lives and careers in other places, and that had been fine with Mace. It was when the talk turned to settling down, as it inevitably did at some point, that he started backpedaling like crazy.
Now, here was a whole different Kelly from the damp, shaken one he’d driven to the hospital the night before. This was the real her, no doubt—strong, independent, ready to sell him on some kind of partnership with her company.
It was a brand-new rodeo.
But the lace...
Did he want to take her to bed?
Hell, yes. He was a normal human being, and Kelly was sexy as all get-out. He even suspected she might be receptive to a little down-home country charm, followed by some sheet-tangling.
The problem was, Kelly was vulnerable in some way the others hadn’t been. If and when he made love to her, he wanted it to be for the right reasons.
Not because she was grateful for his help, then or now. And not because she was bruised and far from home and in need of some comfort.
She owed him nothing, in his opinion, and he certainly didn’t expect a sexual payback. No. Unless Kelly came to him willingly, with a clear head, he wouldn’t lay a hand on her, no matter how badly he wanted her.
All these thoughts tumbled through his mind as he stood, hat in hand, watching her watch him.
Maybe their gazes held too long, because after a moment, Kelly’s air of confidence seemed to slip just a little. She looked a mite uncertain as she eyed Mace’s crisp white Western shirt, jeans and polished boots. A pink blush blossomed in her cheeks.
Fortunately, she recovered quickly, approaching him with a let’s-do-business smile and a hand extended for a shake.
“Hello, Mr. Carson,” she said.
The formality of her greeting both saddened and amused him, but he tried not to let either response show as he took a firm grasp of the extended hand and shook it. “Mr. Carson, is it?” he asked mildly. “How about calling me Mace?”
“Mace,” she repeated, looking nervous again. As before, she reined that in quickly—though not quite quickly enough. “I’m Kelly,” she said, and then seemed embarrassed.
He grinned. “Yes, I know.”
“Right,” she said, and swallowed visibly.
“You mentioned lunch?” Mace prompted with gentle humor. “In that text you sent me last night, I mean?”
“Yes,” she said, still off her game. “Lunch. I made a reservation at Stefano’s.”
“Good choice,” Mace said. He gestured with his hat, indicating the restaurant’s entrance on the far side of the lobby. “Shall we? I’m hungry.”
Again, that fetching blush colored Kelly’s cheeks. “Absolutely,” she said after drawing a breath so deep it raised and lowered her slender shoulders.
He imagined those shoulders bared, smooth and sun-kissed, along with her perfect breasts.
Mace shook off the image. Thought about offering his arm, then decided against it. Kelly was clearly on edge, and he didn’t want to make things any more difficult for her—or for himself—than they already were.
“Relax,” he said in a husky whisper. “This is business, remember?”