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Winter Kisses
A.C. Arthur
After "the love of her life" broke her heart, Monica Lakefield vowed never to trust a sexy, sweet-talking man again. Dubbed the Ice Queen, she hides her hurt beneath her cool, corporate facade. Until the workaholic Lakefield heiress arrives at an exclusive Aspen resort…and discovers hunky Alexander Bennett in her room! As CFO of his own company, Alexander works hard and plays harder.After being tricked into a vacation by his matchmaking relatives, he finds himself snowbound with the reserved yet sinfully sexy Monica. In front of a roaring fire, with the snow falling outside, he'll show the all-business businesswoman what real passion can be. He'll take nothing less than her kisses. Her heart. And all the love she has to give…



Excerpt
As kisses went, this one rated well beyond Monica's high standards.
She struggled to figure out exactly where in the stratosphere it compared, then gave up and simply sank in.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, made it more a pleasure in the present than one just swirling around in her mind. Beneath her arms she felt the strength of his broad shoulders. Pressing against her with heated persistence, the delicious warmth of an aroused man. Her heart hammered as his tongue slipped fiercely into her mouth. He was consuming her, that's what she thought when coherent words surfaced. He was sucking and tasting, savoring and enticing. She was simply falling, falling, until she didn't think she could feel the floor beneath her feet.
Then, as quickly as this pleasurable funnel cloud had swooped her up, it dropped her. Hot to cold, light to dark, beginning to end. Alex pulled back, stared down at her, then walked away.
Again.

Winter Kisses
A.C. Arthur


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
It's finally Monica's turn! When I started the stories of the Lakefield sisters I knew Monica would be last because she had the most baggage and the longest road to true love. I didn't really know which man would be the one to tame her, but after Summer Heat I was sure that Alex Bennett was the one.
This story may touch a few hearts, bring a few laughs or even grunts of disapproval, but it's so truly Monica's story, her voyage through uncharted waters. Sometimes it's hard for a strong, independent woman to sit still and listen, really listen to her heart. I'm glad Monica did just that and I'm very happy that Alex was the one talking to her.
So as Winter Kisses concludes the Lakefield sisters, it opens the door for the Donovan cousins to take the lead. After this wintry love affair, get prepared for the heat of Miami Beach and the lives and loves of Sean and Dion Donovan, coming next year!
As always, happy reading.
AC
To anyone who has ever struggled with a secret, a past that you felt no one would ever understand. Here's to forgiveness and brighter days.

Contents
Prologue (#udd216bf6-4d54-5ef6-bd6c-7f9547c668be)
Chapter One (#ubdfc3cd0-243f-5bcf-8a03-70cfe59a743e)
Chapter Two (#udb114ed9-a7e8-5226-a484-4a5eefe9a19a)
Chapter Three (#u3895036e-ba0b-5ae5-963d-be6e2930c90f)
Chapter Four (#u46bdcf62-95a1-563d-874b-700132d8be4d)
Chapter Five (#u210c567e-69d2-52ba-8c31-e4f7b1ef9cd8)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue
The Setup
“She's never going to go for this.” Sam Desdune sipped from his glass of wine, looking over the rim at his wife.
Karena Lakefield-Desdune smiled. Marriage and living in the stress-free country house away from the city suited her just perfectly. “The most important thing to Monica is making sure Lakefield Galleries has a stellar reputation and continues to make money. If she thinks for one minute that my missing a meeting might jeopardize that, she'll go to the ends of the earth to fix the problem.”
“And then she's going to come down on you so hard you'll wish you worked in another country,” Sam added with a frown. “I don't want you taking on that kind of stress.”
“I'll be fine, Sam. I'm pregnant, not fragile. I can deal with Monica's backlash.”
“If your guy does his thing we won't have to worry about her backlash,” Deena Lakefield-Donovan said from her perch on a stool at the bar. Standing right beside her with his hand wrapped securely around her shoulders was her husband of about six months, Maxwell Donovan.
“Matchmaking can be a dangerous game,” Max added.
“And matchmaking with my brother is the most dangerous game of all.” Renny Bennett sat on the leather couch with his wife, Sam's twin sister, Bree, beside him.
“I think it's time Alex settled down. He works way too hard and spends too much time trying to take care of his family. He needs to find someone special,” Bree said.
“The operative word being ‘find,’ hence he needs to look for himself, not be conned into a meeting with a woman like Monica,” Sam said.
“And just what's a woman like Monica?” Karena asked, trying not to sound offended.
Sam immediately lifted his hands in surrender while around his den the men looked away, hiding their chuckles. “Whoa, wait a minute. You know I love my sister-in-law. Monica and I have developed an amicable relationship in the time I've known her. But, baby, you know she's not an easy woman. I mean, if she was we wouldn't be sitting here plotting a way to get her laid.”
“We are not plotting to get her laid!” Karena stated adamantly.
“We're not?” Deena gave Karena a perplexed look before putting her glass on the bar.
Bree laughed. “We're plotting to get both of them laid before they drive us all crazy.”
“Fine, we can get Alex there without a problem. The rest is going to be up to them. If you ladies think they're such a good match then a cozy cabin on the slopes of Aspen couldn't be a better place for them to hook up. Now you just need to do your part.” This was from Renny, who wasn't totally convinced but had learned long ago to pick and choose his arguments with his wife. She'd met Monica Lakefield while working with Sam's private investigation agency so she knew the woman and she knew Alex. He would have to trust her judgment, for now.
“Then it's settled. Karena, make the call,” Deena said.
All eyes were on her as Karena picked up the cordless phone and began to dial.
“Monica?” she said a few seconds later. “We've got a problem.”

Chapter 1
“Crap!” Monica blurted then looked around to make sure no one heard her. Kneeling quickly, she tried to rescue her BlackBerry that had fallen into a sloppy, wet slope of snow right near the steps.
Droplets of water spotted her white leather gloves as she reached into the snow and scooped up the phone. Her teeth clenched and she so badly wanted to curse again as she tried to shake the water from the phone. The screen was black. She pushed the menu button. Nothing. She pressed the on button. Nothing.
She took the wooden steps without even looking up and continued to study her phone, praying it would turn on. It didn't and then she was at the door so she slipped it into her pocket and walked inside. Her cheeks tingled as the frigidly cold air of Aspen, Colorado, which had just about frozen them, gave way to the welcome warmth of two huge fireplaces.
It was two days after Christmas, a Monday afternoon she should have been spending in her office going over the sales slips from last week's showing. Instead, she was walking up to the large marble-and-cherry-wood counter with the gold sign reading Concierge. She wasn't at the gallery in Manhattan—instead, she was here at this ski resort to meet with two of Lakefield Galleries’ biggest sponsors in the hopes of keeping their support for the Black History showing coming in a few short weeks.
The thought of Karena dropping the ball with the Mendlesons had Monica clenching her teeth again. At this rate she would be paying her orthodontist half her yearly salary. But lately her sisters and their carefree attitude and lifestyle were really starting to get on her nerves. Both her younger sisters were now what they called “happily married.” She'd more aptly call it “blissfully stupid.” Why they thought settling down with a man completed their lives in some way she had no clue. And she much preferred her own stance of “no marriage, no hassles.”
“Reservation for Monica Lakefield,” she said to the clerk whose name tag read Jack.
Jack happily tapped keys on the keyboard then looked up at her and smiled. “Ms. Lakefield, yes. You're in the western cabin, which is out this door and to your right, last cabin on the left. I'll have your bags brought down.”
“Thank you. Let me get my credit card,” she said, reaching into her purse to get her wallet.
Jack shook his head. “That won't be necessary. The bill has already been taken care of.”
“Fine. Thank you,” she said and dropped her wallet back into her bag.
Karena must have used the company card to make her reservation. That made sense, but she really didn't expect her sister to be using the brain she was blessed with. Especially because when Monica last talked to her at the airport, Karena was still at home with her husband. Neither of her sisters thought working on the weekend or the days after a holiday was a good idea. To the contrary, Monica lived by seven-day workweeks.
As she trudged through the ice-slicked walkway, she thought maybe she should have put on sturdier boots. As it was, her four-inch leather knee-high boots were either going to get her killed or be ruined by the elements; either way, she wasn't really in the mood to deal with it.
Actually, if she were perfectly honest with herself, Monica wasn't in the mood for anything. Christmas had been the same as every year—a huge dinner at her parents’ with a tableful of food and conversation she barely paid attention to. This year it had been highlighted by the two new additions to the family, one of which was Maxwell Donovan, who was almost ten years older than her youngest sister, Deena, but had married her anyway. Despite that slightly annoying fact, Max was related to the Donovans of Las Vegas, a family whose reputation for wealth, prestige and philanthropy preceded them.
The other addition was Samuel Desdune, private-investigator extraordinaire, who probably saved the gallery from a blistering scandal surrounding stolen artwork. Sam married Karena, moved her out of Manhattan to his country home in Connecticut and sliced her workweek almost in half. That pissed Monica off royally.
There was no way, not now or anytime in her future, that she would allow a man to dictate when and where she lived or worked. That was a simple fact. Monica took care of Monica; she didn't need anyone else.
Sam's family wasn't hurting for money, either. They'd made their fortune in restaurants. The Creole family seemed interesting enough. Sam's twin sister, Sabrina, was an ex-marine and now worked alongside Sam as a private investigator. Her husband was Lorenzo Bennett, a very talented sculptor—Monica was working on getting a few select pieces from him to show at the gallery.
All in all her sisters’ choices of men weren't too bad, if you were looking for a man to settle down with. Which Monica definitely was not. No, settling down to Monica meant working even harder to open another Lakefield Galleries somewhere on the East Coast.
That's why she was here, with the wind chilling her right through her wool coat and sweater. That's why she was risking breaking her neck and ruining her boots to get to this cabin, to save Lakefield Galleries. Besides breathing, the gallery was Monica's first priority; its reputation and ultimate success were her only goals. Nothing and nobody else mattered.
Except family, she thought, lifting her hand to the knob on the wooden door with the sign hanging from a gold link chain that read Western. This snowbound-in-the-wilderness theme wasn't doing anything for her, but despite the fact that one of Monica's sisters was responsible for her being here, she loved her family dearly.
As she opened the door and took a step inside, Monica frowned. In addition to her job, her BlackBerry, her laptop and her family, Monica loved her high-rise condo in New York, where she lived comfortably alone.
Unfortunately, comfortably alone didn't look like something she'd achieve here. After stepping into the cabin, which was wall-to-wall wood paneling, Monica felt immediate warmth and slight trepidation. The warmth would be courtesy of the fire burning brightly in the fireplace taking up a good portion of the left wall. From another room she could hear the roar of a crowd, perhaps at a football game or something. A television was on and there was a black leather duffel bag on the peanut-butter-toned couch—hence the trepidation.
She flipped the receipt she still held in her hand and checked her cabin name once more. Western. It said it on the receipt and it said it on the outside of the cabin, plus the clerk had said “western cabin.” Now, what were the odds that all three were wrong?
She let her purse slide from her shoulders, placing it on a long wood-and-brass sofa table. Thick, plush carpet muffled the sound of her heels as she walked through the area that looked like a living room, into a smaller room with a large-screen TV that displayed, as she'd thought, a football game.
“Hello?” she said, trying to elevate her voice over the sound of the television.
She didn't receive an answer.
Moving farther into what felt like a circular floor plan, she found a kitchen that was larger than the one in her condo with stainless-steel appliances, black marble countertops and dark wood cabinets. Very modern and almost spotless. Almost, she thought as her gaze settled on a glass half-filled with what looked like red wine.
Another doorway led her to a small hallway that broke off into two directions. She could see going one way would circle her right back to the living-room area and a view of the front door. In the other direction were two closed doors. She suspected a bedroom and bathroom.
By this point she was just about positive that either she was in the wrong cabin or someone had invaded hers. Feeling momentarily like Goldilocks in the home of the Three Bears, she took a tentative step toward the closed doors, yelling once more, “Hello?”
A few seconds later she heard the clicking of a door and stopped. Her mouth opened, about to announce her presence once more, then snapped shut when he walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist.
Three days in the ski-resort capital of the world,—he could handle that. Despite what his brothers and his in-laws thought, Alex wasn't as focused on business as they complained. Okay, maybe he was, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to relax every once in a while. Besides, he ran a multimillion-dollar company, in the very competitive communications industry. He had to stay on top of his game at all times; that was the only way the Bennett name would stay top in its class. A goal he took very seriously, especially since it meant his father, Marvin, could finally retire with Alex's lovely mother, Beatriz.
Alexander Bennett came from a loyal and loving family with Brazilian roots that made them all the more passionate about any and everything they did. The oldest of three boys and two girls, Alex took on his role as a leader early in life. He worked alongside his father from his later years in high school all through college. Now, fifteen years later, he was the chief operating officer at Bennett Industries, second in line after his father, CEO Marvin Bennett.
Alex wasn't the only professional out of the Bennett children and he was very proud of his siblings’ achievements. Although it had taken him a while to come around to understanding how serious his brother Renny was about being a sculptor, Rico's natural ascent into Bennett Industries’ chief financial officer position was no surprise. His sisters, Adriana and Gabriella, both had their own goals, as well—what they were Alex wasn't entirely sure, but he loved them just the same.
But these next three days weren't about his family or his job—they were about having some fun. Renny's phone call had strongly advocated how much the men needed to get away, have some bonding time, especially since all the men closest to him had recently fallen into the marriage arena. Renny had been first, then through his in-laws, the Desdunes, Alex had sort of adopted Sam and Cole as his brothers, as well. Alex, Rico and Cole still remained single, but the poker nights they were used to sharing were quickly being cut to a minimum.
This trip was about them getting together and having a great time before the holidays ended and they all went back to their respective lives and businesses. And Alex was game for that.
Two days before Christmas he'd closed one of the company's biggest deals for a new line of cell phones with digital connections that would take them into the next century as a communications leader. The first of the year a number of articles would advertise their success as well as open the door for new stresses and headaches. What was the saying, “More money, more problems"? Alex firmly believed that was true. And while his ambition wasn't fueled by a lust for money, or power, for that matter, he wasn't naive about the facts of life. He was a rich man; his family was very successful and envied. And as they'd already experienced when they'd all been targeted by a jealous lunatic a few years ago, success could bring just as much bad news as good.
Still, he'd been raised to keep his eye on the prize and so he did. Today, the prize was looking better than he'd ever expected.
He'd just been turning off the shower when he heard a female voice. To say he was surprised was an understatement. Per Renny's instructions, the guys all had separate flights but would meet at the cabin tonight to get their getaway rolling. He'd arrived first, a little overeager, he surmised. Feeling the fatigue of the last few weeks’ meetings, he'd come in and headed straight for a hot shower. To his knowledge this trip was only for the men.
Wrapping a towel around his waist he'd opened the door expecting maybe a housekeeper or some other resort employee to be in the cabin with questions or something. He'd never considered it would be her. Never in all his wildest imaginings thought he'd see her here.
But, he admitted eagerly, he wasn't regretting it at all.
Saying she was a vision in white would be corny. And Monica Lakefield was anything but. Beautiful didn't quite describe her, either—she seemed way too mature and regal for that word. But as she stood not three feet away from him, her face only momentarily wearing a look of utter shock before the cool chill slipped back into place, Alex knew he'd never seen another woman that affected him on this level.
This wasn't their first meeting. In fact, it was their fourth, and he'd have to say, as evidenced by the immediate heat simmering beneath his skin, the most enticing.
“Hello,” he said, mimicking the greeting he'd just heard through the bathroom door.
Her brown eyes darkened just a bit, something he'd seen happen whenever he was close to her. With her flawless makeup, ivory slacks and matching turtleneck sweater visible through the opening of her long white winter coat, she looked like a winter queen. No, Alex corrected himself, an Ice Queen.
“What are you doing here?” The smoky timbre of her voice floated through the hallway and he took a step closer. Sure, he knew he was indecent, clad only in a towel, which in a minute was going to show the reaction he had to her each time they were close. But Alex didn't care. He was that way with women, sure of himself and of their reaction to him. He didn't think that made him arrogant, more like confident. The look in Monica's eyes said she didn't agree. But that only egged him on.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Her gaze never faltered, never left his, even though he knew she was well aware of his state of dress, or lack thereof.
“But that would be repetitive and waste both our time,” she quipped.
He nodded. If there was one thing Alex loved it was an intelligent, confident black woman. The words seemed to personify Monica Lakefield.
“True. So I'll give in and answer your question. But you'll owe me.” She opened her mouth to say something, a smart retort no doubt, but Alex stopped her by speaking again. “I'm meeting my brothers up here for a few days. Now, your turn.”
“First, I don't owe you anything. Second, this is my cabin. I'm here on business.”
“You're doing business during the holidays? Do you ever take a break?” He knew that had to sound strange coming from him, but in the grand scheme of things, he had the feeling he was nowhere near as ambitious and dedicated to his job as Monica.
“What I do with my time is no concern of yours,” she said then took a deep breath.
It looked as if she had to force herself to let it out slowly. She was wound so tight she looked as if she'd explode in the next two seconds.
“Okay, just take a minute to calm down. I'm sure there's an explanation for this mix-up. Just let me get something on and we'll figure it out.”
“Don't bother. I'll figure it out,” she said then turned from him and walked toward the living room.
He'd bet she was heading for the phone, where she'd call her office to recheck the reservations, or to the front desk, where she'd interrogate the clerk as if he were a star witness in a murder investigation. For a second he thought about following her, trying to reason with her that it was probably just a mistake and nothing to get all huffy about. Then he thought better of that idea. Monica was not a woman to be calmed; that would only make her angrier. So he moved into the bedroom instead, taking his time slipping into jeans and a T-shirt.
When he emerged fully dressed and entered the living room, he wasn't at all surprised to see her pacing in front of the fireplace. Her dark hair was pulled back so tight he had a headache for her. One arm was at her side and the other was bent. A cell phone was in her hand, which she stared at, giving the device some choice words as she did.
He could stand here watching her for hours. She'd removed her coat so that he had a view of the formfitting sweater she wore and the perfect fit of the slacks. She was a tall woman, meeting him—at his six-foot-three-inch height—almost eye to eye with her heels on. Actually, they looked more like stilts and yet she moved gracefully with them, as if they, too, obeyed her every word.
“Any luck?” he asked when ogling her began to feel immature and obsessive.
“My phone's dead,” she hissed, tossing him a heated glare over her shoulder.
A heated but very alluring glare, he noted.
“Let me see,” he said, taking a step toward her and holding his hand out for the phone.
“You can't fix it,” she accused.
“I don't know, me and a team of three designers just configured a state-of-the-art phone that will take us into the next century. I think I can look at a BlackBerry and see what the problem is.”
With clenched teeth, she still hung tight to her cell phone. Until he reached over and, while one hand held hers with the phone in it, slowly peeled away one of her fingers at a time. He kept his gaze on hers the entire time because he sensed she liked to be in control, to keep what or who she deemed her enemy under close watch. When the phone was just sitting in the palm of her hand, Alex smiled and picked it up.
“I'm just going to look at the phone, Monica. Stop glaring at me like I'm going to ravage you.”
“I don't know why but you give the impression of being smarter than that,” she quipped.
Alex chuckled. This was more than a woman and more than a piece of work—she was one of those science fair projects that nobody signed up for because it looked too complicated and too hard to achieve any type of success.
Yes, she was definitely a challenge, and Alex loved a challenge.

Chapter 2
“It's dead,” he confirmed. “Did you get the battery wet?”
Monica sighed. Not only did she not want to be here in this winter-wonderland town, she didn't want to be here with him. Of all the men, in all the world, why Alex Bennett?
“I dropped it in the snow,” she admitted. “I can just use this phone.” Moving to the small table near the couch, she picked up the phone and put it to her ear. There was no dial tone so she pushed the on/off button once, twice, still no dial tone. “You've got to be kidding.” “What?” Alex asked from behind her. Very close behind her.
He always did that, invaded her space. No matter where she was when he was around he made it his business to be only two steps away. It was annoying in a way she didn't want to explore. What she wanted to do was get as far away from him as she possibly could.
“The phone's dead. What kind of shabby place is this that their phones don't even work? When I get back to New York I'm going to kill Karena.”
“I don't think the phone not working is any cause to kill your sister,” he said in that deep voice that she suspected soothed and caressed every woman he ever met. Every woman except her.
“Don't tell me how to handle my sister.”
“I wouldn't presume to tell you how to handle anyone, Monica.”
And she hated when he said her name, hated the tickle of excitement it produced along the nape of her neck.
“Maybe they just haven't switched on the service yet. I've only been here about an hour,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She put the phone down and stepped to the side, away from him and his all-too-knowing gaze. Another annoying thing he did was look at her that way. The way that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, how she was feeling. She hated it.
“Then I'll just get my things and head back to the main building. There has to be another room available since there seems to be some mix-up here.”
“You can take a breath, Monica. I'm not going to assault you.”
His tone held a bite to it that she'd heard before. Just as Alex Bennett always seemed to know what she was thinking, he also had a low tolerance for her. In fact, she wondered why he wasn't kicking her out the door. They obviously did not like each other.
“I didn't say you were going to assault me.”
“Right. You're just acting like you're stuck in a cabin with a career criminal.” He put the cell phone on the table. “Look, you just stay here. I'll go to the front desk and get another room.”
He was about to leave her there alone, she was sure of that, when there was a knock at the door. They both stood still looking at each other for a few seconds, then Alex went to answer the door.
Monica sighed.
What was she doing? Being rude like she normally did. Well, that really wasn't true, she wasn't rude to everyone. Just men. Nobody had to tell her that she gave men a hard time—she knew she did. Especially good-looking, successful men that could possibly have some interest in her, or in this case probably couldn't stand her. Why did she go out of her way to be mean? Because she was smart enough not to repeat past mistakes.
Alex Bennett was a handsome man, with his dark smoldering eyes and burnt-orange complexion. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a swagger that said money and prestige. He commanded respect from the moment he entered a room, and he made the most adverse female's mouth water. She didn't want to acknowledge how attractive he was, but then again, Monica prided herself on being intelligent and candid. She called a spade a spade and as such had to say that Alex Bennett was one delectable specimen.
That's why she wanted to get away from him. He was temptation personified, and that she definitely did not need. Besides, this was a business trip. Wondering why he was here or just what he would have looked like had that towel slipped off was not a part of the deal. Those were thoughts she did not have time for.
“I've got good news and bad news,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.
She turned to face him. “What's going on?”
He had that half smile, half smirk that she never knew what to make of. Truth be told, she didn't know what to make of this good-looking businessman that could talk to her in an almost scornful tone one minute, then looked at her as if she were next in line on the dessert menu the next.
“That was the bellhop. He dropped off your bags,” he said, nodding toward the hallway where he'd left her luggage.
“And?”
“And you were right, the phones are out.”
She sighed.
“They're out because the storm that was forecasted to hit later tonight has already started. The winds have picked up substantially in the last hour, knocking out all power lines. It's probably done some damage to the nearest tower with a cell-phone signal, as well.”
“Wait a minute,” Monica said, holding up a hand as if that would stop the whirl of events as he was relaying them. “There's no phone and there's a storm coming.”
He moved to the bay window and pulled the string that opened the custom-made blinds. “The storm's not coming. It's here.”
Her heart sank like a seven-year-old's on Christmas who didn't see that Barbie town house she'd specifically requested. She stopped at the window, putting her hand up to the pane as if that would make the huge snowflakes blowing in the blustery wind any less real. “The storm's here.”
“And,” Alex said with exaggeration that drew her attention away from the true winter-wonderland display to rest solely on him.
“And what?”
He took a minute before answering, looking at her with those deep, dark eyes of his. “The resort's completely booked. We managed to get the last available cabin.”
Her throat felt tight, as if maybe she was having an allergic reaction to something. “We?” she managed to croak.
“You and I are both on their records as sharing this cabin for the next three days.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” she said, taking a step back. “There must be some mistake.”
Alex shook his head, his eyebrows knitting just a bit. “Something tells me this was no mistake, Monica.”
He moved away from her to where he had his bags thrown on the couch. He grabbed one of the slimmer leather cases out of the pile, unzipped it and pulled out his laptop. In seconds he was punching keys, then waiting while the computer booted up.
“Renny called me Christmas Eve to suggest we all get together.” He talked and pressed more buttons as she watched the computer screen. “When did you find out about the trip?”
Rubbing her now-throbbing temples, Monica thought about his question. “Karena called me Christmas evening after we'd all left my parents’ house.”
“Uh-huh,” Alex said as he punched another button then looked up at her. “Just emailed Renny. He can't breathe without his phone so he checks his emails religiously. Hopefully, he'll answer in a few seconds.”
“You can get internet connection?” she asked.
“It's probably not going to last long,” he said, sitting back on the couch. “It's a little sluggish already. Before the end of the night we probably won't have much by way of communication.”
“What?” As she folded her arms over her chest, Monica could do nothing but shake her head. “I can't believe this. I need to get another room. I need to make some calls.”
“I think you need to sit down and take a deep breath,” he said not bothering to look over at her. She could take that as him being rude but it was probably as much his personality as the bossiness, she was coming to realize.
“I'll just get my coat and head to the front desk.”
“First,” he said calmly, again not looking at her, “you'll probably get about five steps in that snow with those heels on. Second, there's no use trudging all the way up there when I just told you there are no rooms left.”
She'd heard him say that before, but refused to believe it. Needed to refuse to believe it, was more like it. “That's ridiculous. This is a huge resort. How can they be totally booked?”
“Simple. It's the Christmas holiday. Lots of people who aren't into the big-family-gathering thing are very into the ski-till-you-drop celebration. Most of them probably want to spend the New Year here, as well. Let's face it, Queen, we're here for the duration.”
He looked up at her then with a bleak expression.
“My name's Monica.”
There was that half smile again as he shook his head. “Yes, I know. And, Monica, you might want to know that we've both been duped.”
“What are you talking about now?” she asked with the last little bit of patience she had. How could this be happening to her? She was supposed to be meeting with clients, securing a showing at her gallery. How did she end up here with him?
“Renny just emailed me back.”
“And what was his response?”
“I'll read it to you verbatim so you don't think I'm lying. ‘Have a great time you two, LOL!'”
“What does that mean?” she asked, then realized she'd been asking this sort of question consistently for the past few minutes. Shaking her head she rephrased. “I don't understand what he's trying to say.”
“He's admitting that they set us up.”
She didn't even speak this time, just shook her head negatively.
“My guess is your sisters and my family got together and decided that putting us up in this cabin together would be a good idea.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not a good idea.”
Alex shrugged, shutting down his computer. “I'm not saying I agree with them, but I'm not in the habit of whining about my conditions, either.”
“I am not whining,” she said with indignation.
Pushing the laptop into its case he chuckled. “Say that again.”
“Forget this. I don't have to say anything” was her retort as she reached for her coat she'd finally taken off and thrown over the arm of one of the recliners.
She was in the hallway reaching for her bags when she heard his voice again.
“I already told you there are no other rooms and there's a blizzard out there. Are you really going to let stubborn pride get the best of you? I thought you were smarter than that.”
With bag in hand and purse pushed onto her shoulder, Monica cast him a frosty glare. “I don't really care what you think about me, Mr. Bennett. Now, I'm leaving. I'll find someplace to stay for the night, then I'm heading back to New York in the morning.”
She didn't wait for his response, didn't stay to see if he'd give her that half smile, half smirk again or if he'd physically try to stop her. Monica simply went to the door and jerked it open, feeling the slap of cold against her face as she did. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into what he'd termed a blizzard and sighed. He was right—it was a blizzard. She could barely see two steps ahead let alone up the road to the building where the front desk was. Snow smacked into her face as she lifted her legs to take another step.
In the relatively short amount of time she'd been inside the cabin the snow had begun to pile up. There was at least a couple of inches sticking already and she attributed that to the mountainous region. She wasn't used to seeing this type of accumulation this quickly in the city. That didn't matter right about now. What mattered was getting away from Alex Bennett and finding out just what part her sisters had played in this scheme. With her next indignant step, Monica was fuming and ready to curse at the next person who happened to walk by. Instead the four-inch heel of her expensive leather boots twisted beneath her and a strangled yelp escaped her as her body and her bags plunged into the white abyss.
He'd stood in the door watching her walk away, watching the anger and pride carry her through the beginnings of a nasty snowstorm in bitterly cold temperatures. She didn't want to believe what he'd told her about there being no more rooms left—he shouldn't care. She'd silently rejected the thought that her sisters had set her up—again, it wasn't his concern. She didn't matter.
Until she fell.
Cursing, Alex darted out into the snow, not even aware that he had no coat on. She hadn't gotten that far so he reached her in no time. By then she was already struggling to stand on her own. Grabbing her beneath the knees and around the back, he lifted her up.
“Put me down. I can walk,” she protested, squirming in his arms.
“Yeah, I saw how well you were managing that,” he replied. Deciding to ignore the words coming out of her mouth now, Alex headed straight for the cabin. He deposited the seething, stubborn woman on the couch then turned back to go outside and get her bags.
When he returned she was standing right beside the door, hands on her hips, snow dripping from her eyelashes and the tip of her nose. She was angry and looked ready to spit fire at him when he took a step closer, cupping a hand over her mouth.
“You don't have to like it, but there are no other rooms in this resort. There's a storm just kicking up outside and it's freezing out there. I'm going to add some wood to this fire and see what we have in the kitchen because I'm starving. If you want to continue with this brilliant temper tantrum of yours, go right ahead. But I'll tell you right now, it's not going to change anything. I would take you for a smarter woman than to try and change the unchangeable.”
After snatching his hand away from her mouth, Alex walked away, missing the choice words she mumbled, and headed straight to the kitchen.

Chapter 3
“I don't eat mayonnaise,” she said when she entered the kitchen.
He didn't look up. “Fine.”
She sighed. Eating crow was not an attribute listed on her résumé, either. Still, Monica knew futile actions when she saw them. She was stuck in this cabin, in the middle of a storm, with him. There was no way around it and rebelling against it was nothing short of stupid. He was right about that. And she was big enough to admit it.
“Thanks for coming out to get me,” she said, moving to one of the cabinets above the sink, looking to see what was there. Two cabinets away she found bags of potato chips and took the barbecue and plain ones down.
“No problem,” he said. “There are some bowls in that cabinet next to the refrigerator.”
She moved in that direction, found the bowls and dumped both bags of chips into them. “These cabins don't usually come with fully stocked kitchens, do they?”
He was fixing sandwiches—ham-and-cheese from what she could see. The only condiment he had on the marble island counter was mayonnaise. So she decided to check in the refrigerator for something else. Or rather the low rumbling of her stomach decided it was time for her to suck it up and eat something.
“I think we can thank our meddling family members for the food, as well. There's enough in here to feed us for a week,” he said as simply as if he were giving her the time of day.
After she found the mustard she moved to the counter to stand next to him. Not too close, but close enough. He pushed the tray with sandwiches on it toward her and she lifted the bread off one to squirt mustard on it.
He moved away from her then and for a minute Monica thought it was because she'd finally, totally turned him off. Not that she should care either way. The refrigerator door opened again and when she looked up Alex had two sodas stuck in the front pockets of his jeans.
“Bring the chips. We can eat in front of the fire,” he said, taking the tray of sandwiches.
She followed without a word.
Monica thought they'd sit on the couch so she was surprised when Alex plopped down right on the carpeted floor in front of the fire and began tearing off paper towels. Shrugging, she again followed his lead, crossing her legs and sitting across from him. She even managed a small smile when he handed her a paper towel. She put the bowls next to the tray of sandwiches and accepted it.
“You want to bless our food?” he asked and sounded more sincere than she'd ever heard him before.
Momentarily speechless, she shook her head and he instantly began speaking a prayer. Impressed was an understatement.
“So how'd they get you up here?” Alex asked when he'd finished one sandwich and was working on his second.
She'd been taking small bites of hers because watching him was much more appealing. “Karena said she'd missed a conference call with one of the main sponsors of our Black History Exhibit. When I tried to call Bruce Mendleson back his secretary said he was here for the week so Karena booked me on the next flight out. I should have suspected something. Mendleson's secretary was too free with the information of his whereabouts. A good assistant doesn't give that information out to just anybody.”
“And you're just anybody?”
“No, I'm not. But what I mean is unless I give my assistant permission to tell my whereabouts, she doesn't. All she'd say is I'm unavailable and she'll take a message.”
“Have her trained just right, huh?”
There was a sting to his words but he looked as laid-back as if he were lounging in his own living room. Picturing him in the comfort of his own home was a bit disturbing. “Anyway, I didn't pick up on it right away because I was focused on saving the exhibit.”
“You and Karena have been working with the gallery for years now. It's a great place. I've been there once or twice and my parents and their friends talk about it a lot. Both of you seem more than capable of doing a great job in the art world.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “That's why keeping this connection with the Mendlesons was so important. After that close call with the stolen artwork from Brazil, I want everything to go as smoothly as possible. I need Karena to be more on point in her department.”
“And you don't think she is? On point, I mean?”
“She's so focused on her new husband, their home and now this pregnancy. After she has this baby I don't think I'll see her at the gallery at all.” And that was a fear she'd been harboring since the moment Karena announced she was having a baby.
“That bothers you. Why?”
“She has a job to do. She committed herself to the gallery long before she met Sam and his dogs,” she said, peeling the crusts of her bread.
“Yeah.” Alex smiled. “I've met Romeo and Juliet. Cute. Big, but really cute,” he said referring to Sam and Karena's Great Danes. “But you know women can have a family and work.”
He'd spoken so lightly, she figured so as not to offend her this time. Still, his words were as condescending as ever. This was the way their conversations always went. “I know women can do both, but not from a different state. Sooner or later the commute's going to hinder her ability to come into the gallery. I'm betting on that as soon as the baby is born.”
“The commute's an hour away.”
Pinching more off the bread than she wanted,
Monica wiped her fingers, now smeared with mustard, on the paper towel. “She used to live ten minutes from the gallery.”
“How far away do you live?”
“Ten minutes.”
He chuckled. “Is that the prerequisite for all employees?”
Chewing on a bite of her sandwich, she narrowed her eyes at him, seeing exactly where this line of questioning was going. “I hear you run a tight ship over at Bennett Industries, as well.”
One of his thick, dark brows lifted in question or amusement, she couldn't tell. But the action had something in the pit of her stomach shifting, her thighs throbbing. She lifted her can of soda to take a big gulp. And prayed she didn't choke.
“Do you, now? Been researching me and my company?”
He grinned and that shifting went a little lower, resting in her center as she swallowed the last of her soda, wishing like hell it could quench whatever thirst was building inside her.
“No. Sam speaks very highly of you and your family. Although I don't know why he keeps telling me about you.” She paused. “Wait a minute, you don't think—”
“That this was an elaborate setup to get us together? That's exactly what I told you earlier.”
“That's ridiculous,” she snapped. “And insulting. We're adults. If we wanted to get together we would have. We didn't ask for their little push.” Her temper was steadily rising, heat infusing her cheeks even as her fingers clenched and unclenched. Then she noticed he wasn't saying a word. “Or did we?”
He looked momentarily confused, but Monica didn't believe that reaction one bit. Alexander Bennett did not confuse easily; he couldn't run a multimillion-dollar company with stocks as high as Bennett Industries’ if he did.
“Did we what?” he asked.
“Did you know about this?”
His lips, a medium thickness with a dusting of mustache that fell neatly into the silky-looking goatee, thinned a bit before he spoke. “No. I didn't. Renny suggested we get away before we launched our new product the first of the year. And because I know how busy I'm going to be in the upcoming months, I took him up on the offer. Thought it would be nice to relax a bit after all the hard work me and the R&D team put into the Excel. Does that explanation satisfy you?”
“I just asked.”
He'd begun cleaning up the space where he'd eaten and cast her a wary glance just before he stood.
“No, you accused and you suspected because that's how you are. You don't trust anybody because somebody betrayed you. It's a shame that for as beautiful and truly intelligent as you appear, you don't listen worth a damn.”
Monica wasn't used to being spoken to in that firm and no-nonsense manner, even though she was quite comfortable using it herself. And she wasn't used to being walked out on, but Alex had done it twice. Actually, he'd done it at Deena's wedding and the first time they met at the gallery a year and a half ago. What really irked her was how well he walked away. Said what he had to say then left before she could rebut. Well, she had something to say, as well.
After scooping up her own mess, she went into the kitchen to dispose of it and knew he'd be there, as well.
“Look, I just asked you a simple question. Why you feel the need to dissect everything I say into some deeper meaning is out of my control. In fact, it's beginning to annoy me. You don't know me, Alex Bennet, and I don't know you. For whatever reason we're stuck in this cabin together. I think it's in our best interest to set the ground rules now.”
“Ground rules?” he asked, turning to her.
He had just placed a bottle of water on the counter. As they'd discovered earlier, this kitchen was very well stocked, by a guilty group she'd deal with later. But for now, even the very attractive Alex Bennett wasn't going to change the uncomfortable situation.
“Yes, ground rules. You can have the living room and I'll take the bedroom. We'll stay out of each other's way until the storm passes and I can get another room. Deal?”
He stared at her for what seemed like forever, a look that had her shifting from one foot to another. Her nipples began to tingle—an action that coincided with the persistent pulsating in her center. It was stupid and basic, a punch of lust so hard and fast she could barely swallow after speaking. Furthermore, it was degrading to have such a physical reaction to a man that managed to annoy and slap at her each time he opened his mouth. But Monica wasn't a virgin nor was she a stranger to the urgings of a healthy sexual appetite. What she was not going to do was let any of that distract from the matter at hand.
Then he took a step toward her and her heart stuttered. Another step and the staggering thumping paused. She inhaled, trying to steady her breathing, and caught the scent of his cologne, or was it his body wash? Either was intoxicatingly sexy, male and enticing. Instinctively she took a step back, only to find herself stuck, backside against the counter.
He stood directly in front of her, moving forward until she had no choice but to lean back, tilting her neck to look up and keep eye contact with him. Eye contact was important—it meant they were on the same level, that she wasn't intimidated and that whatever he said or did she could handle. Which was a bunch of bull she fed herself about a millisecond before his lips descended upon hers.

Chapter 4
As kisses go, this one rated well beyond Monica's high standards. She struggled to figure out exactly where in the stratosphere it compared, then gave up and simply sank in. Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, made it more a present pleasure than one just swirling around in her mind. Beneath her arms she felt the strength of his broad shoulders. Pressing against her with heated persistence, the delicious warmth of an aroused man. Her heart hammered as his tongue slipped fiercely into her mouth. He was consuming her, that's what she thought when coherent words surfaced. He was sucking and tasting, savoring and enticing. She was simply falling, falling until she didn't think she could feel the floor beneath her feet.
Then, as quickly as this pleasurable funnel cloud had swooped her up, it dropped her. Hot to cold, light to dark, beginning to end. Alex pulled back, stared down at her, then walked away.
Again.
About ten minutes ago she was ready to curse him up and down the snow-lined path outside the door for walking away from her. But right about now, it was all she could do to remain upright. Lifting shaking fingers to her still-throbbing lips, she braced herself, searched for her normal calm and prayed this momentary lapse hadn't just screwed up her plans of a peaceful existence in this cabin.
“That's not—” Her words were cut short when she walked into the empty living room. Where was he now?
Concluding it would be simply too embarrassing to go look for him just to tell him that little demonstration in the kitchen wasn't a part of the plan and that it wouldn't happen again, she stayed in the living room. She sat on the couch, figuring she'd just play it cool. If he didn't say anything about the kiss then neither would she. Although she was wondering what had made him do it.
Not five minutes later she could hear him coming again and sat up straighter.
“Now, about your ground rules,” he was saying. He was carrying a box in his hand.
Trying to see what was in the box meant looking at him and she wasn't sure she could handle that, so she pretended to pick at a piece of lint on her pants. “They're simple—you stay in the living room and I'll stay in the bedroom.” She stood and was about to get her bags and be the one making the grand exit, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
“You can't just make the rules here, Queen,” he said with a grin. “We'll have to play for the bedroom rights.”
“What?” Asking him to repeat what he'd just said wasn't going to make her like it any better.
Then he moved his other arm, the one that had the box tucked beneath it. “We're going to play this game and whoever wins gets the bed.”
“That is so juvenile,” she said, then glanced at the box he was holding.
Twister.
“I am definitely not playing that with you.”
“Scared?” he said, shaking the box so that the contents inside rattled.
Alex had made a grave mistake. A colossal error in judgment he wasn't sure he'd be able to overcome.
He'd kissed the Ice Queen.
And she'd kissed him right back. With a heated fervor that had him instantly wanting more, he might add. The first good thing that had come of the kiss was that he'd proven one notion to be true. Since the first day he'd seen her walk into Karena's office at the Lakefield Galleries there'd been this heat, this carefully banked inferno he'd sensed simmering just beneath her cool exterior. And damned if he didn't blow the top right off that assumption. She kissed like a woman full of desire and sensuality just waiting for the right man to caress it. But he wasn't that man. Or at least he didn't want to be.
Therein was his mistake. While he wanted to know what she tasted like, what she'd feel like in his arms, he was in no way prepared for the blast of desire that would rock him to his very core. In those few precious moments he'd literally felt consumed by her.
In business Alex knew to expect the unexpected and to always be prepared for new developments. In his personal life he sort of adopted the same rules. In the case of Monica Lakefield, he didn't really know which road to walk. Lightening the mood seemed to be the better idea.
When he'd first arrived at the cabin and had begun unpacking some of his things he'd come across the board games in the bedroom closet. Looking at the childhood favorites of his—Twister, Battleship and Sorry—had him thinking that maybe a family with children had stayed in the cabin before him and had forgotten their games. Fleetingly he'd thought the staff should have cleared them out before the next guest. But after the new developments of the afternoon he'd begun thinking that his family and Monica's had a droll sense of humor in their matchmaking scheme. Fill the kitchen with food and the closest with juvenile games—how that paved a road for seduction, Alex had no clue. Maybe it wasn't their intention for him to seduce Monica. Maybe they just really wanted both of them to take some time to relax and get away from their businesses. Monica would prefer to think the latter, he was sure.
The way she was looking at him now was proof that the last thing on her mind was seduction.
“Look, we have to pass the time or we're just going to drive each other crazy. I found some games in the closet and thought it might be fun.” Her gaze kept going from the game box to his with growing agitation … and interest.
“Besides, you're the one who came up with the idea of ground rules. I don't think either one of us should just dictate what the other should do. So why not play for the bedroom rights? If you win, the bedroom's yours. If I win, it's mine. Simple.”
One elegantly arched eyebrow lifted and Alex felt a tightening in his groin.
“Simple, huh?”
She was thinking about it, weighing the odds. He noticed she thought about things a lot, probably over-thought them. That either made her very careful or paranoid, both bringing him back to the conclusion that something had happened in her past to make her the way she was now. A natural fixer of all things wrong, as his siblings often accused him of being, Alex wanted to know what happened. He wanted to know more about Monica Lakefield, about why she'd built this enormous shield around herself and practically dared anyone to attempt to knock it down.
“Come on, Monica. You're not afraid of playing one game with me, are you?”
“I'm not afraid of anything” was her quick retort.
Just the words he'd expected to hear from her. “Great. Then kick off your boots and let's get started.”
“I can't play dressed like this.”
He looked at her pristine slacks and sweater and had to agree. “You go change and I'll get the game set up.”
After a brief hesitation she said a quick, “Fine,” and was out of the room before he could say another word.
Alex cleared the floor in the middle of the living-room area and spread out the giant plastic sheet filled with colored circles that would be their playing board. Then he looked down at his own jeans and shirt and thought he should probably change, too. As he remembered, Twister was a game of flexibility, which he wouldn't have much of in the constricting denim he was currently wearing. One of his bags was still in the bathroom so he grabbed a pair of gym shorts and slipped them on. He returned to the living room and his throat went dry when he saw her holding the cardboard dial that would instruct them throughout the game. It looked as if she'd put on gym clothes, as well—black spandex pants and a hot-pink top that just barely covered her midriff.
“What? I didn't pack any play clothes. This was a business trip, remember?” she asked, looking plenty guilty about her attire.
Guilt wasn't what Alex was feeling. Hot described it best.
“No complaints from me. But if you were planning to wear that to a business dinner I'd say you would be guaranteed to have all the pieces you wanted to show at the Black History Exhibit.”
“Ha-ha,” she scoffed. “Let's get this over with.” She flicked the arrow on the dial. “Right foot yellow.”
“Guess that look means I'm first,” he said with a chuckle. She was beyond bossy. It was kind of attractive so he did as she said and put his right foot on a yellow circle.
“Right foot blue,” she said.
“That's here next to me,” Alex said, knowing she'd never stand that close to him. The kiss had rattled her, too, he knew from the way she'd remained quiet when it had concluded. Not that he'd stuck around to hear her comments, but if she had anything to say on the subject she certainly would have said it as soon as he'd come back into the room. Instead she had remained quiet about the situation, probably hoping her silence would make it go away.
It didn't. He felt the sexual pull to her stronger now than he had in the kitchen. The kiss had made the attraction to her all the more potent. He only hoped he'd have the good sense to keep his hands off her. At least for now.
She surprised him by placing her foot right next to his on the blue circle. He looked down, then up at her face.
“I don't like to be cold,” she said, turning her attention back to the dial.
He wasn't going to say anything about her fuzzy black-and-white-striped socks. If nothing else they did look warm and she had packed to come to a ski resort. “I didn't say a word,” he added with a smile.
For whatever reason she seemed awfully self-conscious about what she was wearing. In fact, he thought for a second, she seemed a little off balance since she'd changed out of her sleek Ice Queen outfit. Almost as if she didn't know how to act without the whole Monica Lakefield Businesswoman facade.
“Left foot green,” she announced. Alex maneuvered himself until his left foot was on the green circle while his right was still on the yellow.
“Right hand blue,” she said, then looked down at the mat.
“I'll do the spinning,” he said, taking the dial from her hand. Her last bit of control.
She frowned at the loss then leaned forward and placed the palm of her hand in the center of a blue circle.
This put her in an interesting position as she'd turned her back to him so that now her bottom was strategically centered in his line of sight … and a nice bottom it was, he readily admitted.
After his next spin put him closer to her left ankle, which had found its home on a red circle, Alex's resolve against touching Monica again was melting. From the way she moved to one circle after another he could tell she was flexible, her long body limber and graceful. She probably worked out obsessively. That would be the only way she ever did things, he figured. Always to be the best. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out she'd most likely hit that mark years ago.
Without another word he wrapped his fingers around her ankle then moved his hand gently upward, stopping at her calf when she sucked in a breath and angled her head to stare at him. She didn't say a word so he let his fingers continue to walk up her leg, gliding along the satiny pattern of her pants before stopping at her inner thigh. Her gaze had gone all glossy then, her lips parted slightly. His own breathing grew faster as his fingers rested right there at the muscle of her thigh. Through the pants he swore he could feel her pulse thumping wildly at his touch. With a move so smooth and gentle it almost felt as if he'd practiced it, Alex repositioned both of them so that she was sprawled beneath him on the mat. Her heart was pounding, he felt it right up against his own as he looked down into her eyes. There was no fear there, not that he'd expected any. More like a question—a why and not a when—and he almost faltered.
No way was she wondering why he was making a move on her. She was an intelligent and confident woman—she knew damned well how sexy she was and that he'd been insanely attracted to her ever since the first day they met. She had to know.
Just like she had to feel his arousal throbbing fiercely for her now. Her lips parted farther and he thought she was going to say something, a protest maybe, or some smart retort that would shatter this mood. So instead of waiting for the cold water to be splashed on him, Alex plunged, taking her mouth in a kiss guaranteed to warm even the Ice Queen all the way to her toes.

Chapter 5
It was officially a lost cause. He wanted this woman, badly. And she, well, she wasn't putting up much of a fight. In fact, her arms had twined around his neck and her thighs trapped his between them as he deepened the kiss. He could take her right here, in front of the dwindling fire with the snowstorm raging outside. But he wouldn't.
This would not be a quick romp or a sudden release of the day's frustrations. When he took Monica Lakefield he wanted to take his time, to explore every nuance of this intriguing woman. It was going to take all the strength he could muster, but he wasn't having it any other way.
So Alex lifted his head slowly, delaying the parting of their lips for as long as possible. Breathing erratically, they stayed in that exact position, both with eyes closed for seconds that seemed to go on forever.
“I won,” she said finally, her warm breath whispering over his face.
He wondered if she'd deal with this like she'd dealt with the last kiss—speak no evil, etc. Not sure how that thought made him feel, Alex opted for the cool comeback. “That's why I rewarded you,” he said, opening his eyes to stare down at her.
She was not amused.
“My reward's the bedroom, as I recall the terms of our agreement.” With that statement she used her palms to push at his shoulders, signaling him to get off her.
He thought about staying; clearly he outweighed her and could overpower her. But that wasn't his style, either. So instead, he shifted, rolling off her and watching as she quickly stood and rubbed her hands down her thighs. Thighs he'd felt flexing beneath him just seconds ago.
“I'll put your bags in the hallway,” she said then turned to leave.
He could have gotten up, stopped her, made her address this attraction between them, but decided against it. He grabbed the plastic mat, doing some kind of folding job before stuffing it into its box. For anything to happen between them, Monica would have to want it; she would have to be on the same page as he was in her wants and desires. No way was he going to force himself on any woman, especially not this one. So tonight he'd sleep on the couch and convince himself that it was as comfortable as that king-size bed in the other room.
Monica hated the night.
Hated all the shadowed memories it held and replayed for her at will.
Taking a deep breath, she burrowed deeper under the comforter and closed her eyes, tighter than they had been before. Maybe if her eyes were closed tight the memories couldn't find their way inside her head. It was childish and probably sounded way beyond crazy, but this was her nightly ritual. All day long—from the time she woke up, usually at five, until the time her workday normally ended, around eight or nine in the evening—she was just fine. Nothing and/or nobody could throw her off her game. But the minute she changed into her nightclothes and sank into bed, the problems began.
Her past wasn't an easy one to forget. On most days she figured it was best not to forget—that way she wouldn't be likely to make the same mistakes twice. On other days she wished for something to come along and wipe her memory clear—like an IT tech would a hard drive. But Monica had no such luck, never did. Sometimes she wondered if she'd just been born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That seemed awfully selfish considering the privileged upbringing she'd experienced. Her mother, Noreen Lakefield, came from a long line of strong black women in South Carolina, while her father, Paul Lakefield, came from an industrious family who'd made their mark in the steel industry. Her mother was the nurturer, there was no doubt about that. Anything that had to do with the three Lakefield girls was Noreen's business and hers alone. Paul rarely made time for the daughters he'd been saddled with despite his desires for sons. It was from that seed that a disconnect between Paul Lakefield and his daughters had grown. With Deena, the youngest, her father just had no patience at all. Then again, no one in the family really had a lot of patience for Deena's impulsive nature, though they'd all been shocked when she had invited them to her wedding last July. Monica was still getting used to the idea of her youngest sister now being a wife, a mother and published author.
The middle child, Karena, Paul tended to ignore completely. That sometimes happened with the middle child, and it had bothered Karena so much she'd taken it out on their mother. Now it seemed Karena and Noreen had reconciled while Karena and Paul came to their own terms of acceptance. It would seem that now it was Monica's turn, only she didn't want a turn. Her father was a taskmaster where she was concerned, always had been. As the oldest she was expected to be the strongest, the smartest, the best at everything she did. It was an unspoken doctrine that she subscribed to just the same. For years Monica struggled to make sure she did everything right in her father's eyes, everything acceptable. Her reward for those efforts was to never hear an angry word from Paul Lakefield about herself. That should have been enough, but not hearing an angry word equated to not hearing anything positive, either.
Sighing, Monica turned onto her other side, clutching the pillow between her arm and her head, pulling her knees up close to her chest. She felt like a child but noted the comfort and safety most children experienced was missing. Monica hadn't felt safe, ever. Comfortable? She didn't know the meaning of that word. To be comfortable to her somehow meant she was complacent, settling for things as they were, and she didn't want to do that. Not ever again.
She opened her eyes, tried staring at the ceiling because obviously keeping them closed wasn't blocking the memories out. Her heart clenched and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from sighing again, or Lord forbid, whimpering. Show no weakness, another one of her mottos. If the enemy knew your weakness, he'd easily exploit it. Wasn't that what happened before?
Turning again, she realized it was useless. She wasn't going to get any rest tonight. At home she survived on about four hours’ sleep each night. When she wasn't in her own bed, it was more like no hours’ sleep. So, throwing back the covers, she sat up, pulling her knees up to rest her forehead on them. She was too damned old to be going through restless nights and harboring fears that couldn't possibly hurt her anymore.
If she were totally honest with herself she'd admit that her restlessness tonight wasn't entirely due to the haunting of her past. A very pleasant distraction was keeping her from sleeping, as well. And he was right down the hall, sleeping on the gorgeous but probably not-too-comfortable couch. But did he really expect for them to share a bed? They barely knew each other and she wouldn't even count the times they had met as getting to know one another. Then again, Monica didn't spend a lot of time trying to get to know anyone. It just wasn't worth it.
Kissing him was quickly becoming addictive. And Monica definitely did not do addictions. What she did do was own up to whatever issues she had. So she took a deep breath, lifted her head and stared toward the door. Alex Bennett was going to be an issue.
Finally tired of sitting in this strange bed, Monica stood, moving to one of the windows where she used her fingers to separate the blinds. They were room-darkening, and she needed some light. There wasn't much light outside, just the illumination coming from each cabin's front-door lantern. And through that illumination she saw the huge snowflakes that had splashed against her face earlier were still falling.
The mere thought of all that snow had her searching for her purse, digging through it to pull out her cell phone. That—her heart sank as she pushed the buttons—still did not work.
“Dammit!” she whispered and clenched her teeth. The minute she got back to New York she was going to the store to replace this stupid phone.
Maybe she'd buy one from Alex. Funny how her thoughts circled right back to him.
He seemed like a nice enough guy. A very shrewd businessman, which she'd already assessed from the way Sam talked about him. Besides, after their first meeting and the resulting connection between his family and the prince and princess of Pirata, which ultimately showed up at the gallery with a link to the stolen artwork, she'd researched his family and company.
Bennett Industries had made its mark in the telecommunications industry in the early nineties with their advancements in personal computers. While they were no Bill Gates, they did hold the patent to several programs and PC accessories that were used nationwide, including in the Pentagon, which was a huge boost in their stocks. For the past few years they'd concentrated a lot of effort in mobile devices and security communication systems. They had steadily growing stock and were featured in this month's Infinity

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