Mr. Predictable. Molly O'Keefe
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thought Moriah had swallowed a snicker.
“Then I shower and change before I pick up one of my dates,” he said, weaving a fairy tale of lies that would throw Moriah off track.
“You date a lot then?” she asked, eyes twinkling, lips twitching.
“Continuously,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “Different woman every night of the week. Variety is the spice of life, I always say.”
“And what do you and your dates do for entertainment?” she inquired as she veered down another gravel road that circled around the steep hillsides, taking him deeper into the middle of nowhere.
“We have sex,” J.T. told her outrageously. “Lots and lots of sex. Isn’t that the best form of relaxation for stressed-out businessmen like me?”
He really knocked her for a loop, he thought triumphantly. Her bewitching smile faltered and she cleared her throat. J.T. was so enormously pleased that he’d managed to rattle his abductor that he pushed the tall tale to the limit. “Really kinky sex. Erotic sex. I love sex. The more the better. It recharges my battery, so to speak.”
She made a strangled sound and kept her eyes on the road. “Interesting,” she tweeted.
“Exceptionally interesting. After all that heavy breathing and wild, mind-numbing sex I usually soak in my hot tub for a half hour.” He’d never taken time to soak in a hot tub in his life, truth be told. And the truth wouldn’t be told to Moriah.
“And what do you think about when you allow your mind to wander, Jake?”
He thought about his accounts every spare minute of the day, but he’d rather fire a couple of bullet holes into his foot than tell her because, sure as shootin’, she’d make something of it. “I think of unique places and inventive ways to have sex. I try not to use the same position twice.”
J.T. mentally patted himself on the back when Moriah’s face turned a fascinating shade of pink. This, by damn, should teach her not to pry into his personal life. He did not need stress management. He did not need to relax and he damn sure did not need a two-week vacation out here in nowhereville! His sisters should have their heads examined for scheming against him, damn it!
“Ah, here we are,” Moriah commented a few minutes later.
J.T. glanced out the window to survey ten, carbon-copy log cabins that were tucked beneath the canopy of shady cottonwood, elm and cedar trees. The resort was nestled beside a meandering river in a spacious valley between the rolling hills. A large stone-and-timber lodge sat in the middle of the well-manicured compound. A bunkhouse-style apartment complex sat off to the north side. A monstrous stable was butted up against a nearby hill.
The ranch was a cross between an isolated mountain retreat and the palatial plantations he’d visited as a kid during family vacations in Louisiana and Mississippi.
J.T. did admit the area was panoramic and serene, but it definitely wasn’t the kind of place J. T. Prescott wanted to waste time. And this was unquestionably a waste of his valuable time. He had things to do and he had no intention of doing them here—especially under the supervision of Miss Cheery and Chipper! The way he had it figured, if he smarted off often enough and put up plenty of belligerent resistance, Moriah would write him off as a lost cause and take him back to town so he could get back to doing what he did best—working relentlessly.
That was his plan and he was sticking with it.
“I’ll introduce you to the staff before I show you to your cabin,” she said as she bounded from the SUV.
J.T. frowned, wondering if Moriah always exuded this much bubbling energy and enthusiasm or if she put on an act for her stressed-out guests. His lips curled in objection when Moriah carelessly scooped his belongings off the back seat and made a beeline for the gargantuan lodge.
“I’ll take those,” he insisted. He followed quickly on her heels, willfully ignoring the hypnotic sway of curvy hips encased in trim-fitting red cotton. Instead, he concentrated on his mission of retrieving his delicate electronic equipment and floppy disks.
“No, sorry, Jake,” she told him with another one of those megawatt smiles that he was really beginning to despise. “All electronic devices and briefcases are checked at the registration desk. Oh, by the way, I’ll need your cell phone.”
“Why? Are you planning on making international calls and charging them to my account?” he asked caustically.
“No, I’m cutting you off from civilization so you won’t have contact with the world that’s placed excessive stress on your life and your inner self.”
J.T. screeched to a halt and glared at her good and hard. “No, you will not,” he said firmly. “I make a habit of calling my sisters three days a week and this is one of those days.”
“Your sisters are married and on their own,” she reminded him gently.
“Yes, and I paid for their weddings and walked them down the aisle,” he informed her tartly. “They’re the two reliable relationships in my life and I will call my family if I feel like it!”
Moriah squared off against him, her smile still intact. Why was he not surprised? “Your sisters know exactly where you are and what you will be doing for the next two weeks. Furthermore, you’re here to break habits.” She outstretched her hand, palm up. “Give me the phone, Jake.”
“The name is J.T.” He sneered at her.
“I told you that sounds too stuffy and businesslike, Jake,” she repeated emphatically.
Their gazes locked and clashed. Jake was accustomed to giving orders and having them executed quickly. But Moriah, apparently, was accustomed to getting her way, too, especially while she was on her own turf. For the first time in forever, he felt his confidence waver. That determined look on Moriah’s face indicated she wasn’t the pushover he hoped she’d be.
“Don’t make me send Tom Stevens out here to disarm you of your sacred phone.”
J.T. smirked at the threat and drew himself up to his most imposing and intimidating stature. “Tom and whose army is going to confiscate my state-of-the-art cell phone?”
To his dismay, Moriah let loose with a sharp whistle that blasted his eardrums. Immediately thereafter a big brawny, muscle-bound hulk—who had a monobrow stretching over his deep-set hazel eyes, and was built like a professional linebacker—appeared in the doorway of the lodge.
“Trouble, Mori?” Tom asked as he crossed his brawny arms over his buffalo-size chest and took J.T.’s measure through a narrowed gaze.
“Am I having trouble, Jake?” she asked all too sweetly.
J.T. considered his options and decided he didn’t have any. Damn it to hell! Muttering begrudgingly, he fished his cell phone from his suit pocket and slapped it into Moriah’s outstretched hand. He should’ve known Miss Smiley would have plenty of muscle to back up her demands.
Moriah tucked the phone into the pocket of her shorts, then grinned at Tom Stevens. “This is Jake Prescott,” she introduced. “Tom is our masseuse and weight trainer—”
“And your hired muscle,” J.T. finished for her. “Gee, I thought the idea here was to avoid stress, not get me all tensed up thinking I’ll have a serious fight on my hands if I don’t meekly comply with your unreasonable demands.”
Tom grinned, displaying a missing front tooth. J.T. would hate to meet the burly SOB who knocked out Tom’s teeth.
“Nice to meet you, Jake. Come ’round and see me about a massage when you get settled in.”
“Sure, Tom. Looking forward to it like you wouldn’t believe.”
He was looking forward to nothing of the kind!
When Tom disappeared back inside, Moriah smiled good-naturedly at J.T. He gnashed his teeth.
“It’s