Mail-Order Millionaire (16 page)

“When will you be ready?” he asked, his mouth only inches from hers on the other side of the door.

Her knees weakened by just the sound of his voice. Heaven help her, what was going to happen when they met face-to-face? She assured him she’d be ready in a few minutes, brushed her hair dry until it shone and buttoned up her sweater. When she opened the connecting door his hands were braced against the frame, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.

His eyes glittered like snow in the sunshine and he grinned at her as lightheartedly as if they’d never discussed his failed marriage. There was no trace of regret or sadness on his face. She smiled back.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “Aren’t you hungry? Weren’t you worried about me starving to death over here?” Before she could answer he took her by the hand, through his room and out the door into the hall, down the stairs and into the dining room. There were several other tables still occupied, the lights were dim and there were candles and fresh flowers on each table. She looked around and breathed a sigh of pleasure. She’d never been to a ski lodge. She thought they’d be more rustic, less elegant. Skiing was not for Vermont farm girls who worked in complaint departments just to pay their taxes. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the amenities, like the hand-woven carpets underfoot and the soft classical music in the background.

The dining room served a prix-fixe meal, which spared her the ordeal of trying to decide what to order. The first course was a thin sliver of prosciutto draped over a slice of melon, then a flavorful puree of vegetable soup lightly scented with fresh herbs. The main course was rare roast lamb studded with garlic cloves.

After she whisked the last bite off her plate, she paused and looked up at him. “I don’t really belong here, you know.”

“Because you’re taking Jack’s place?”

“Because everyone here is from New York. Didn’t you see them in the lobby? They’re the kind of people who order silk turtlenecks and Lycra jumpsuits from Green Mountain to the tune of hundreds of dollars, just for one weekend.”

Max lifted his wineglass and gave her a penetrating look. “Tell me about New York. What happened?”

“I told you. Everything and nothing. I was mugged, burglarized and harassed. And I got fired from my job.”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t go out with the boss.”

“Wait a minute. They can’t do that. You could have filed a lawsuit.”

“I know, but I didn’t have the stomach for it, or the money. It was easier to just quit and come home. I told myself I’d never work for anyone again. If you work for yourself you can’t be fired. I didn’t know how hard it would be to make the farm pay for itself. So here I am working for somebody again.” She folded her napkin in her lap and watched the waiter pour steaming coffee into her cup. “And no closer to being self-sufficient.”

“Maybe you ought to diversify,” he suggested.

“I know I should. In fact, I’ve always wanted to have a Christmas-tree farm on the back forty. You can buy seedlings from the forestry service for a few pennies apiece, but there’s the question of selling the trees once they’ve grown. I don’t know. Maybe I ought to sell the farm. Both Howard and Mr. Northwood have asked me if I was interested.”

“Are you?”

“Not really. What would I do? Where would I go?”

The candlelight flickered in Max’s eyes. He leaned forward as if he was going to suggest something. But there was nothing to say. She already knew the answer to her question. She had nothing else to do and no place to go.

“I’d hate to see you sell the farm,” he said, a frown creasing his forehead.

“I won’t. Not yet. Maybe I’ll get those seedlings and put them in this spring.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, raising his glass.

Miranda lifted her glass. She hoped he didn’t think she expected him to help her. “That was a wonderful dinner,” she said, draining the last of the wine in her glass. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she took him for granted.

“I see there’s a moonlight sleigh ride at ten,” he said, standing and following her out of the dining room.

Miranda pictured sleigh bells ringing, horses hooves clumping through the snow and she and Max together under a blanket in back. Which was not a good way to spend the evening. Not if she wanted to hold onto her vow not to get physically close to him. “I think I’ll go to bed early,” she said at the door to the lobby. “And try to get myself psyched up for skiing tomorrow.”

“Sleighing isn’t that strenuous,” he said, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He ran his fingers across the soft wool of her sweater. “In fact it’s a good place to get yourself psyched up for all kinds of activities.”

His fingers burned a trail across her shoulder blades. Caught by the look in his eyes that kindled fires somewhere deep within her, she stood there wondering if he meant what she thought he meant. If he did she had to get back to her room immediately. She shouldn’t have come. It was complete idiocy to go anywhere with this man. He wanted her, yes. She wanted him, too. But he’d made himself clear. He’d told her he’d chosen job over wife. No regrets. And he’d do it again. He didn’t need to tell her that. She wasn’t stupid. She could read between the lines.

“You go ahead, take a sleigh ride,” she said.

The lines on his forehead deepened and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Not without you. I’ll walk you back to the room.”

At her door he leaned forward, but before he could kiss her, she slipped under his arm and used her key to unlock the door.

“Good night,” she said without looking at him, and carefully closed the door behind her. She pressed her ear against the door but heard nothing, no footsteps, nothing. Was he standing there, still leaning forward, puzzled by her abrupt departure? If so, it was time he got used to it. There would be no more kisses, no more searing looks that said more than words how much he wanted her and she wanted him.

She took off her clothes and slipped back into the soft terry-cloth robe. She’d almost forgotten the purpose of this trip. And that was to meet on neutral ground, to have the weekend free of emotional undercurrents. But it seemed they’d brought all their emotional baggage along with them. He and his failed marriage, she and her failed attempts to live an independent life.

She opened the French doors to the balcony, stepped outside in her bare feet and inhaled the clear cold air. On the balcony next to hers, only a few feet away, was the outline of a man, a man with a thick sweater that outlined his wide shoulders and broad chest, a man she couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I thought you were going to bed early,” he said, his voice as deep as the snow that drifted against the building.

“I am, as soon as I get some fresh air. What about you? What are you doing out here?”

“Same thing. Fresh air helps me think.”

She couldn’t help herself. She had to ask. “What about?”

He turned to face her, bracing his hands on the wooden railing and looking at her. “I’m thinking about you, dammit. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been thinking about you since I saw your picture in the catalog. Tell me I’m crazy, tell me you don’t feel the same way and I’ll go quietly, now before I make an ass of myself.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist to keep from trembling, and it wasn’t from the cold. “I don’t feel anything,” she said. “Can’t we just be friends? Can’t we go skiing together and enjoy the weekend? Then we’ll say goodbye before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” he demanded.

“Before we... before we...” Her mind had shut down, her reasoning powers lost. She was blabbering. He stretched one leg over the railing and jumped over to land next to her. He gripped her shoulders tightly.

“Tell me again you don’t feel anything. Go ahead.”

She closed her eyes and held him to her, his sweater pressed to the white terry cloth that covered her breasts. Her arms tightened around his chest. “I don’t...I can’t...I lied. Max... please.”

His lips were all over her face, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. “Please what?” he muttered in her ear.

“Please don’t do this,” she pleaded. “It isn’t right, you and me. It won’t work.”

He pulled back and stared at her, his mouth twisted in pain. He was breathing hard. “All right, you win. We’ll go skiing. We’ll enjoy the weekend. That’s all. Is that what you want?”

She nodded helplessly and watched him vault back to his balcony. “It’s not what I want,” she said softly to herself. “It’s what has to be.”

The next day was so cold and so clear and so bright only a churl would have spoiled it by talking about anything more serious than the airy lightness of the crullers at breakfast or the depth of the snow or the quiet beauty of the untouched landscape. And neither Max nor Miranda had any desire to spoil their last whole day together.

He showed her how to take long gliding steps in her borrowed skis on the groomed trails and then they branched out into the deep thick powder where there were no trails and no people, just silence broken only by the sound of their skis cutting into the snow.

“I’ll never forget,” Miranda said, striding alongside of him, “when you threw that snowball at me at my party.”

He grinned at her, his eyes skimming over the lined bib overalls he’d loaned her that bunched up at her ankles.

“Pretty good aim for a guy who grew up without benefit of snow.”

“You mean you were aiming at me?” she asked indignantly.

“Of course not.”

“I hadn’t gotten over my surprise at seeing you there and then you hit me right in the shoulder. Why did you come, anyway? I had you pegged as a loner.”

“I was. I still am. But your sister is very persuasive.”

She slowed her pace. “Tell me about it.”

“Does she know you’re here this weekend?”

Miranda grimaced. “Not yet, but she’ll find out. She’ll probably be camped out on my doorstep waiting for me to come home.”

“She called me the other day.”

Miranda skidded into the dead branch of a fallen tree and her skis crossed at the tips. “What?”

“I had told the boys they should come up to see the weather station when we met that night, and she wanted to know when it would be convenient.”

Miranda leaned over to untangle her skis and the blood rushed to her head. Ariel making plans behind her back. Ariel on the move again. She suspected her call had nothing to do with the boys visiting a weather station and everything to do with her preoccupation with Miranda’s social life. “When are they coming?” she asked as casually as she could.

“Next Saturday.”

“How nice.” Briskly she brushed the snow from her gloves.

“They seem like good kids,” he said, leaning forward on his ski poles.

“As long as they’re not trying to attack each other. Keep your utensils under lock and key.”

“I thought it was only snowballs they threw at each other.”

“Oh, no, sticks and stones and old golf balls. Anything they can get their hands on.”

“While we were outside they asked a lot of questions about my job.”

“But who asked if they could come up and visit you, the boys or my sister?”

Max took his hat off and stuffed it into his pocket. Miranda watched the sun, now directly overhead, pick up the gold glints in his hair. “I’m not sure,” he said.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the boys,” Miranda said. “And I can tell you exactly what she’s going to do next.”

“What?” Max shaded his eyes against the sun.