Baby, It's Cold Outside (22 page)

Evie seemed relatively calm until the announcer gave instructions in the event of a water landing and Bob placed the life vest over his head. Her face took on the color of the undead.

Marge returned with Evie’s refill, and the safety demonstration continued with the two methods for inflating the life vest, including the manual option in case the automatic system didn’t work. Evie muttered something about the inevitability of her equipment failing and tossed back her second drink without pausing to breathe.

And suddenly, despite himself, Wes felt sorry for the petrified Evie. “There aren’t any oceans between Minneapolis and Boston.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of lakes,” Evie said, clutching her empty glass as if desperate for a refill.

Unfortunately, the obliging Marge returned to exchange the empty glass for a full.

“The odds of a water landing are almost nil,” Wes tried again.

“Which is just far enough away from zero to make me nervous.” She sent Marge an overly bright smile before downing the entire contents of her glass.

Wes bit back the groan, sensing the situation slipping further out of control.

Safety demonstration complete, the flight attendants took their seats, and the plane taxied across the tarmac. A few seconds later and they were hurtling down the runway. The plane lifted off, pulling Wes’s heart and stomach more firmly into his body.

“You know, I’m an enlightened woman,” Evie said, her tongue sounding thick, her voice radiating sheer terror. But now, her words were slightly slurred.

Damn
.

“I’m sure you are,” he said with a sigh, gently tightening her seat belt.

“I change the oil in my car. Well, I did until it died on me. I squish my own spiders—”

Another stomach-dropping swoop occurred.

“I’ve always admired women who slay their own bugs,” Wes said, hoping to distract her.

She turned those heavily lined, heart-melting eyes toward him, her words sloppy. “I even take charge of my sexuality.”

Wes’s heart shifted to somewhere around the level of his groin. But this time, the adjustment had nothing to do with their rapid ascent and everything to do with the erotic images her words brought to his already primed mind.

He gripped his armrest, his pulse escalating. “I’m sure you do.” He was proud he managed his best businesslike voice, as if
not
aroused by her fantasy-inducing words. “You’ve never been the type to take direction,” he said, praying the woman wouldn’t take the current topic any further.

But apparently her bad luck was catching.

Her honest yet slightly glassy eyes on him, she said, “And I certainly don’t need a man to have an orgasm.”

The heated flush in Wes’s body burned higher, and he longed for a cool drink. He’d even partake of the dreaded champagne. Anything to douse the fiery blood now coursing through his veins. She studied him closely, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat, amused. Disturbed. And incredibly turned-on.

He cleared his throat and aimed for a noncommittal tone. “Good for you.”

And he wondered how his peaceful, worry-free commute had descended into the flight from hell. Being delegated keeper of the frustratingly tempting Evie Lee, unwillingly reassigned to sit next to the only woman he’d ever considered off-limits. Made worse by a fresh vulnerability that would worry her brother more. But it was a simple three-hour flight.

He could handle anything for a short three hours. Couldn’t he?

Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d pass out soon.

The color on her cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with being tipsy. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

“What?”

“Sleeping with you.”

Wes froze, his libido pounding out its approval as Evie went on. “Tell me, Harvard Man,” she said. “Do you make love with your dress shirt on?”

Evie leaned closer, her breast pressed against his arm, short-circuiting his brain and sending his heart rate higher. Her scent was rich, like a decadent dessert, and her eyes simmered with a heat that was impossible to ignore. If she’d had full command of her faculties and wasn’t on the rebound—and had been anyone other than Dan Burling’s sister—he’d have been hard-pressed to refuse the offer in her gaze.

But sex with Evie couldn’t get any more wrong. He owed his friend that much. “Even in high school you had an authoritative air.” Her words were more slurred than ever, but her tone betrayed both awe and sympathy, as if his personality was something to be both admired and pitied. “So tell me, Mr. Responsible…”

Gaze now dreamy, she plastered her soft body against his. Wes’s heart paused along with her as he studied the liquid brown eyes and the beautiful, flushed face, waiting to hear what she’d say next. The words weren’t reassuring.

“Is there was a wild man beneath that do-right exterior?”

And suddenly, three hours with a tipsy Evie sounded like a lifetime in temptation hell.

Chapter Two

Evie’s head swam, and the dark fog enveloping her senses made the mutter of distant voices difficult to interpret. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the pounding in her skull, or the queasy stomach that was currently rolling like a seasick passenger. Something lamb-soft lay beneath her cheek, and her fingers tingled, her left arm numb. When had the seats in first class gotten so
hard
?

Evie snuck a small peek, the bright light momentarily burning her retinas. She squeezed her lids shut, struggling to gather her wits. After a moment of adjustment, she opened both eyes and was surprised to find the world had tipped sideways. And why were there so many people on the plane?

It was then she realized she was lying on a bench in a crowded airline terminal. She inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of cologne. Her head was resting on a winter coat.

A man’s
Armani
winter coat.

She bolted upright, and the world swayed for a moment.

“I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you,” a man said.

Wise advice. Currently her brain felt as if it were sloshing around in her head, searching for stable ground. Careful to move slowly, she turned in her seat and spied Wes Campbell sitting just beyond her feet, reading a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
. Her stomach bottomed out.

Wes Campbell…the disapproving bossy bane of her high school years.

Wes Campbell…the man who’d been forced to sit next to her on the plane, though he clearly hadn’t wanted to.

Wes Campbell…the man she might have made some really inappropriate comments to during takeoff.

The queasy feeling in her stomach intensified, and she blinked, pushing a tangle of hair from her face. Wes was wearing dress pants and an expensive-looking blue button-down shirt, impeccably dressed, as was fitting the CEO of his company. The masculine planes of his face had matured since high school, but the dark hair—though a touch shorter—still had that slightly ruffled look that had always been boyishly cute. But boyish really wasn’t an accurate description anymore.

He was all man. A heart-stoppingly gorgeous man.

A memory resurfaced, being pressed against his hard body, her breast relishing the feel of the firm muscles of his arm. But despite her sloppy, vodka-and-tonic-induced posture, those intriguing hazel eyes had remained cool and unflustered. Which was especially cruel because they were heavily fringed with the most sinfully sensual lashes ever. Up until now, Evie had refused to admit to herself what a sexy male specimen Mr. Wes Campbell was, because the silent disapproval he’d radiated in the past had pissed her off to no end. She’d had enough of that at home, thank you very much. Not to mention he only dated the
right
kind of girl, and Evie Burling would certainly never qualify.

And why hadn’t she noticed that the plane had landed? Even more urgent, what the hell had happened on that flight?

She eyed Wes warily, determined to find out, and desperately hoping the truth wasn’t too humiliating.

Evie decided to start with the easy stuff. “I don’t remember getting off of the plane.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said, his dreamy-looking eyes remarkably focused. “I practically carried you off.”

She bit her lower lip but refused to look away. Bad enough she had to return home with her tail between her legs, every possession she owned packed into one suitcase. Twenty-six years old. Boyfriendless. And jobless.

The prodigal daughter was returning a true loser.

At least that was what her family was sure to think. She’d given up trying to please her parents, because they’d expected another Ivy League grad, like her brother and older sister. Or for her to at least marry one, like her little sister.

And while her siblings would welcome her back with open arms, drowning her with love and concern, they’d certainly be mentally screaming “we told you so.” Her sisters would instantly scramble to find her a replacement man, as if that would fix everything. Worse, they’d insist on a Type A successful executive who would fit with her family’s idea of the perfect match, but would make Evie want to run screaming in the other direction.

She eyed Wes again, knowing he fit the description. But somehow she wasn’t able to work up the protest she would have years ago. Normally his take-charge attitude would have rubbed her the wrong way. After years in her father’s image-first, money-obsessed, domineering presence, she’d grown up chafing at even the suggestion of authority.

Which was why Chuck had been so appealing. Fun, easygoing Chuck, who never took anything seriously or made demands of anybody, including himself. He certainly hadn’t taken the concept of fidelity to heart.

Last year had started with her dumping him the moment she learned of his cheating. And, as the longtime manager of his band, she’d not only lost the only boyfriend she’d ever had, she’d also been forced to quit her job. At first she hadn’t been worried, confident she could find decent employment on her own. But over time her luck hadn’t changed, until she’d finally admitted defeat. That was when she’d called Dan.

She’d needed to hear the reassuring voice of her brother, the only one in her family who’d never tried to change her.

Dan had told her of her parents’ anniversary plans. He’d also offered her help with a contact, the owner of several Boston clubs who needed assistance looking for new talent and booking bands. But after all she’d accomplished since leaving home, she couldn’t bear to return to the role of being the kid sister who needed bailing out. And then her beloved, beat-up Volkswagen Beetle had died.

So…here she was, forced to return to her parents’ home to regroup.

It was as if last year had called up this year and left specific instructions on how to continue the suckfest.

“Happy New Year,” Wes said, appearing amused as he handed her a coffee.

“Hardly.” She shifted to sit cross-legged on the bench and accepted the paper cup with a grateful smile. She inhaled the deliciously fortifying scent. “Last night I rang in the New Year alone.”

“Any resolutions?”

She paused to sip her latte, knowing this was as good a lead-in as she’d get. Because she really needed to find out the extent of her loose-lipped behavior on board that flight.

“Just one,” she said, eyeing him carefully. “I swore I’d never get involved with another man ever again.”

She waited, holding her breath.

“Seems like an ambitious vow for someone so young,” he said drily. His eyes looked as cool as ever, but after a pause, they took on a faintly amused twinkle. “And it didn’t take you long to break that vow.”

She barely managed to keep her eyes from bulging. “Did I just gain membership into the mile-high club?”

And why did the thought of making love to Wes leave her so breathless?

“Not that I know of. But you did hit on me,” he said easily. “I said no.”

Evie had a hazy memory of wondering if she could convince him to change his mind and sleep with her. She might even have spoken the words out loud. And if that was as bad as her mouth had come up with, she considered herself lucky.

But then Wes went on. “You made several passes, actually.”

Evie mentally winced, shifting nervously in her seat. “I’m sure you didn’t take me seriously.”

Wes had never taken her seriously, and the barely restrained humor in his expression was proof enough that things hadn’t changed. It was the same look he’d had on his face when he’d come to the police station that fateful prom, trying to smooth things out with the cops.

She hadn’t asked him to come. Instead, petrified and in need of support, she’d called her brother, because she’d long since given up on her father. But when she’d gotten no answer, she’d phoned Wes’s cell to find out where Dan was. Wes had been the one to show up first and wait with her, lecturing her about the dangers of drinking too much. Keeping her company until her furious brother had arrived.

And she’d hated that she’d disappointed Dan so thoroughly.

She pushed back the memory and slowly let out a breath. “How hard did I hit on you?”

Wes’s expression revealed nothing. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Let’s see.” He set his paper aside and shifted on the bench to face her, unmistakably enjoying the current state of affairs. The tension in her stomach increased. “You praised my ‘finely honed athletic body.’”

She refused to cringe, although the memory of squeezing his biceps resurfaced, and she hoped to God that was all the touching she’d done.

He shot her a mock serious look. “And in answer to your question: the pool.”

She lowered her brow, staring at the gorgeous eyes, the beautifully masculine face. “What question?”

The most unusual place he’d ever made love to a woman? How she could best put an end to her current humiliation by drowning herself?

“You asked me how I maintained my droolalicious physique.” His brow crinkled in suppressed humor. “Your word, not mine.”

“I’m sure a Harvard grad would never use such a phrase.”

He looked as if he were fighting to maintain a serious expression.

Gaze steady, he went on. “You offered me a night I would never forget.”