Читать книгу Winter Kisses - A.C. Arthur - Страница 11

“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.