Before We Kiss

Last Valentine’s Day, when they’d walked out of the hotel together, he hadn’t thought about much more than how he wanted to see her again. Then he’d kissed her. The second her lips had moved against his, he’d known he was lost. He’d wanted her—in his bed. Or her bed. Or up against a wall somewhere. The need had hit him like a linebacker, nearly dropping him to his knees. From that second until he’d walked into the hell room at her place, he’d been operating on need.

Now he wondered how much trouble he would be in if he tried to kiss her again. There were a thousand reasons not to—most of which revolved around the weekend they had to plan. But the reasons to do it were powerful and starting to win.

She moved her hands to his upper chest and gently pushed him back.

“I appreciate the sympathy and support,” she said as she sidestepped him. “But your reaction means I told you way too much. Both my sisters are doing great. They’re successful and happy.”

The message was clear, he thought. Back off. He’d crossed a line with her. The realization was made all the more uncomfortable because he was the guy who prized his own boundaries.

“Except for Fayrene and Ryan,” he said, hoping to restore equilibrium to their conversation.

She sank back in her chair and smiled. “There is that. The quest to find a way to get her boyfriend to read her mind. I suspect if something like that existed, it would have been discovered long before now.”

He returned to his seat. “Telling him isn’t possible?”

“Apparently not. She wants him to propose.”

“You could tell him.”

Dellina smiled. “I could, and believe me, I’ve thought about. But every time I start to have the conversation with him, a voice in my head says Fayrene needs to figure this out on her own.” She glanced down. “I know this is going to sound weird, but it’s almost like my mom is there, giving me advice. So I listen.”

“Not weird,” he said. “Nice.”

Her smile widened. “Thanks. Because I don’t want you to think I’m really hearing voices. At least, not scary ones.” She looked at her notes. “Let me put together a list of everything we’re going to need to check out. Menus at Henri’s, of course. The various hotel venues, Castle Ranch, the obstacle course. Obviously the festival will happen without us checking on it, but everything else that can be tested, tasted and reviewed will be.”

“Do I get to ride the elephant?”

“I’m confident that can be arranged.”

* * *

SAM MADE A joke about Priscilla. Dellina was pretty sure she’d responded appropriately, although she wasn’t positive. She was still shaking, still fighting the fiery need that burned low in her belly.

When Sam had pulled her to her feet and held her, she’d nearly melted from the inside out. His hands on her body had reminded her of what had happened between them before. She’d actually had the thought that if they pulled the blinds at the big windows looking into his office, they could pick up where they’d left off right there.

Which was beyond insane. She wasn’t that girl. She was cautious and responsible. She didn’t bring strange men home and she didn’t have sex in people’s offices. Except when it came to Sam.

She drew in a breath and nodded at what she hoped was the appropriate place. She could do this, she told herself firmly. She could act normal and be a professional businesswoman. There was a lot at stake with this party. No way she was going to let her hormones and girl parts ruin a great opportunity.

So she’d pushed him away when what she really wanted to do was drag him closer and let him show her a good time. How strange that he was the one to rock her world...sexually at least. Couldn’t she have the hots for a nice, regular kind of guy? Like a plumber or one of Ryan’s friends? Did she have to go all slutty for a former football star with a fan club and who knows how many exes in his past?

“...talk about the lecture,” he said.

“We should,” she murmured, not sure what he’d been saying. Obviously something about the lecture.

He frowned. “You’ll pull some ideas together?”

“Of course. I’ll find people who are available and there will be a range of topics. We’ll narrow it down.”

“So, in two days?”

“Yes,” she said, figuring he was talking about their next planning session. “Let’s meet at my place. I’ll have charts and graphs for you.”

He grinned. “My favorite.”

“As long as there are numbers, too?”

“You know it.”

He waited while she collected her paperwork and then walked her to the front of the building. When they’d said goodbye, she walked outside and drew in a deep breath.

Talk about embarrassing, she thought as she headed for her car. When she got home, she was going to give herself a stern talking-to. Then she’d have some ice cream. Because there were very few problems chocolate chip cookie dough couldn’t solve, at least temporarily.

* * *

KIPLING GILMORE GLANCED toward the windows. Snow came down steadily, promising a good day of skiing tomorrow. So far he hadn’t done much more than mess around on the slopes and get back into fighting shape in the gym. But the rest of his team would arrive by the end of the week and then the training would get serious.

He used a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, then slowed the treadmill to a walk. Music pounded from the speakers in the hotel gym, but he kept his earbuds tucked in place. Not that his music was any better. The earbuds were his way of keeping the world at bay. At least while he worked out.

The post-Olympic whirlwind had finally slowed. Not that he was complaining. If the price of two gold medals was a round of media events, red carpet appearances and lavish parties all over the world, well, he was man enough to be willing to pay. Although he had tired of finding strange women in his hotel room. Fortunately the management at his hotel in New Zealand were determined to protect his privacy.

He stepped off the treadmill and headed for the exit. He would be back later for a second workout. Weights this time. What he did on skis required more than coordination and luck; it required strength, and he’d gotten lazy since the Olympics.

“Hi, Kipling.”

The greeting came from a sultry blonde in the hallway. Her skintight workout clothes showed that either Mother Nature had been extremely generous or her plastic surgeon had been willing to go larger than suited her frame.

Two years ago he would have paused to talk. Three years ago he would have been backing her into the closest private room and letting her have her fifteen minutes of fame. Now he simply nodded and walked on.

As he waited for the elevator, he checked his cell phone. He hadn’t heard from Shelby in a couple of days and that bothered him. His half sister had recently moved home to care for her dying mother. An admirable decision, but one that worried him. Mostly because it put her in close proximity to their mutual father.

Nigel Gilmore looked and sounded like a British diplomat. But he was also a brute with a temper. He was a man who enjoyed hitting women. Kipling had been saved by both his gender and his quickness. Early on, he’d learned how to duck. But Shelby and her mother weren’t so lucky. Kipling didn’t understand why some women stayed with men who beat them. He’d protected Shelby as best he could. His leap to the top of the pack had meant endorsement deals and money to pay for Shelby’s college. They’d vowed to never go back home.

But that had changed a few months ago when Shelby’s mother had been diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. She was in the last stages of her life and Shelby had wanted to be with her. Unfortunately that meant facing Nigel.

He didn’t like that he was half a world away from the small Colorado town where he’d grown up. He liked it even less that Shelby was there on her own.

He stepped into the elevator when it arrived, then exited on his floor. As he walked down the hall, he saw the window at the end. Snow continued to fall. Tomorrow would be a good day, he told himself. He would be back on the mountain searching for the ultimate goal—going faster than anyone ever had.

CHAPTER FOUR

FAYRENE STUFFED HER keys into her jeans pocket and headed for the front door. She was going to swing by Dellina’s to have yet another heart-to-heart with her older sister. She needed a plan to get Ryan to propose and Dellina was the best planner she knew. But before she could reach the door, someone rang the bell. She pulled it open a second later.

Mayor Marsha stood in the hallway of her triplex. Fayrene rented the bottom floor, mostly because it had a tiny yard. She liked seeing grass and flowers when she looked out her kitchen window. The upstairs units had a better view of the town, but she liked where she was.

Fayrene looked at the older woman. Of course she knew the mayor—everyone who lived in town did. But the other woman had never once come to her apartment.

“Hello,” Fayrene said cautiously. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” Mayor Marsha told her, then smiled. “I understand you have a pet-sitting service.”

It was only then Fayrene noticed that Mayor Marsha was holding a leash in one hand. And at the end of the leash was a fluffy, adorable Pomeranian.

Fayrene immediately dropped to her knees. “Who is this?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Caramel.”

“Hi, pretty girl,” Fayrene said softly as she stroked the dog’s head.

Caramel’s button eyes widened as her face seemed to relax into an adorable doggy grin.

Mayor Marsha picked up a tote bag and handed it to Fayrene. “There’s a folder with instructions inside. Caramel is very friendly. She prefers people to dogs. She likes squeaky toys, bacon, Thai food and tummy rubs. It’s probably best if you don’t leave her home alone. She likes to be involved in what’s going on.”

Fayrene stood. Somehow she found herself holding the bright pink leash, along with the tote. Caramel gave a little spin.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” She’d never seen the mayor with one before. Or heard her talk about one.

“This is a several-week commitment,” Mayor Marsha told her. “Will that be all right?”

“Sure. I have a few temp jobs right now, but there’s no reason she can’t go with me.”

Mayor Marsha gave her a few instructions about feeding Caramel, then mentioned the name of her vet. Before Fayrene could figure out what was happening, she found herself alone in her building’s hallway, facing a fluffy Pomeranian.

“Okay, then,” she said slowly. “I guess it’s you and me.”

Caramel gave another spin, as if expressing excitement.

Fayrene stepped back and pushed opened the door to her apartment. “Want to come in?”

Caramel walked into the apartment. She waited while Fayrene unclipped her leash, then set off to explore her new home. Fayrene unpacked her dog food and set out a bowl of water. She found Caramel on her bed, curled up in a nest of decorative pillows.

“Not the type to sleep on the floor?” she asked.

Caramel wagged her tail a little, as if to ask why anyone would choose the floor when there was a perfectly comfortable bed for the taking.

* * *

SAM ARRIVED AT Dellina’s place right on time. He’d walked, because Fool’s Gold was the kind of place where people walked instead of taking their cars. As he’d made his way to her house, he’d passed plenty of residents and a few tourists. The latter had mostly ignored him, but he’d seen the townspeople giving him the once-over.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to acknowledge them or just keep moving. In Los Angeles, he’d managed to stay anonymous—which was what he preferred. Of course in Fool’s Gold no one seemed to care about his former career, so maybe it didn’t matter if people knew he was walking on the street.

Dellina opened her door before he could knock and grabbed him by the arm.

“You are going to be so impressed,” she said as she pulled him into the house. “I’ve been working my butt off and do I have a lot to show for it.”

Her enthusiasm made him smile as he followed her down the narrow hallway. They stepped into her office where charts and lists covered the walls. Which seemed safer than the infamous dry-erase board with Fayrene’s ongoing list of how to get Ryan to propose. But now that he knew the logic behind the brainstorming, he wasn’t worried. It turned out that Dellina had been exactly what she’d seemed that lone Valentine’s night. A sweet, sexy, funny woman who took him places he wanted to go again. She wasn’t married, a stalker or even secretly a man. All pluses in his book.

The only thing standing between him asking her out was the party they had to pull off and the knowledge that with his bad luck, however good things started, they were going to finish in disaster.

Dellina walked to the sheets tacked to the wall. She had on worn jeans and a T-shirt and was barefoot. While he liked seeing her in business attire, he had to say there was something appealing about worn jeans. The soft, faded denim molded to her curves in a way designed to make him think about—

“Here are the cost estimates,” she said, pointing to one of the lists on the wall. “It’s not complete and it will change, but it gives us a starting place.”

He reluctantly raised his gaze to where she pointed. “That’s why they’re called estimates.”

She flashed him a smile. “You’re such a numbers guy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

She pointed at another list. “Our tasting schedule.”

She went on about food and maybe even wine, but he was busy thinking about another kind of tasting. One that involved his mouth and her body and lots of moaning.