Tempting Kate

The phone rang again.

Cameron, his hotel manager, had forbidden him from answering the phone, because he struggled with customer service skills. But he couldn’t just let a potential paying guest go. Sighing, he answered. “Hello—I mean, thank you for calling West Mountain Resort, how can I help you?”

“You need a website,” a female voice said.

Great. A sales call. This was exactly why he hadn’t put his direct line on the business cards Cameron had insisted on making for him. “That’s an odd way to start your sales pitch, and I’m not interested,” he said. He was about to replace the receiver when the woman’s laughter made him pause.

“I’m not a website designer or trying to sell you anything, I’m just annoyed that your resort provides nothing online to people considering staying there.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the complaint. The website was in the works...sort of. He’d unfortunately had to lay off the only employee tech savvy enough to deal with the unending design questions from the staff at HighRes Media, and he certainly wasn’t going to deal with them directly. Getting Liz Sheffield’s company to design the site had been his brother’s doing, not his. Another one of Derek’s futile attempts to “bring the two of them together.” But Scott had no interest in being friendly with Liz.

“It’s coming soon,” he said, not in a position to piss off a potential guest.

“Not soon enough,” she mumbled.

“Can I help you?” He rested his elbows on his desk, his mood worsening as he noticed the stack of invoices piling up in his inbox. Second and third notices from the power and water companies that he still couldn’t afford to pay. Guests were going to be a little more than upset if the water got shut off.

“Yes. I’m Kate Hartley from Belle Affairs. I was looking to speak with Mr. Scott Dillon, the owner.”

“That’s me,” he said distractedly, opening one of the envelopes and frowning at the amount owing.

“Oh, I thought this number was the reservation line.”

“It is.” How could the bill be so high when they were only running at 40 percent capacity? Could he limit guests to one shower per day per room?

“You’re the owner and you run the front desk? God, how small is this resort?”

“Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Hart?”

“Hartley.”

“Whatever,” he said under his breath, still fuming over the amount of the bill. He needed to figure out ways to cut back on the water usage...take laundry home or something.

“I was given your business card—if you can call it that—by Liz Sheffield.”

He paused. “Liz Sheffield.” His jaw clenched as he spat out the name of his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

“That’s right. Apparently Ms. Sheffield and Mr. Dillon—your brother, I take it?—wish to hold their wedding at your resort. I’m sure you are aware of the details already, so I just need some information for planning purposes. For example, how big the ballrooms are, how many guests they can accommodate, the resort restaurants’ catering capacities and the waitstaff available for that day...”

“No.”

Silence, then, “Excuse me? No...what?” Her voice was cool, confident, calm. A true professional. And a true pain in the ass, he suspected.

“I’m not hosting the wedding here.”

Silence met him on the other end of the line. He waited. Those who speak first lose.

She cleared her throat but still didn’t speak. He didn’t say anything, either, a grimace forming on his lips. If she was waiting for an explanation, she’d be waiting a long time. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled to and fro. He couldn’t believe Liz actually thought holding a wedding he didn’t want any part of at his resort was a good idea. Just the thought of her made his stomach drop. He hadn’t seen her in almost two years, and he wasn’t in any rush to change that. Having her at his resort...for her wedding... He shook his head. No chance in hell. Though he knew it was Derek’s idea.

He hated to disappoint Derek, but refusing to host the wedding was the least of Scott’s offenses.

When an agonizing amount of time had ticked by on the clock above his desk without a word from her, he hung up. He stared at the phone for a moment, but when the reservation line didn’t ring again, he shrugged.

Good. That solved that problem.

And he wouldn’t be answering the line any time soon. Turning to his computer, he logged into his bank account. The meager amount in the business account wouldn’t go far, so he paid the water bill from his personal account. He’d be paying his employees from his own pocket next.

The intercom buzzed. “Did you just answer incoming reservations?” Cameron didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.

“Yes, but it was nothing. Just a sales call.”

“Didn’t they get the memo we have no money?” she muttered.

“Smile, Cam. You’re still here.” Thank God. He had no idea what he’d do without her. She’d worked at the resort for years before it had been shut down by its retirement-age owner. She knew the place and how to run it better than anyone. If she quit, he was screwed.

“For now,” she said. “Anyway, I was just checking inventory, and we need a produce run...”

Perfect. Any excuse to get up in the air.

He shut down the computer then stood and grabbed his winter coat. The predicted snow had just started to fall, although it was mid-April, the mountain air was still frigid. “I’m on it,” he said.

An hour later, he sat in the cockpit of his Cessna on the Big Bear City Airport runway, waiting for clearance to take off. Sure, he could order inventory to be shipped to the resort, but he only trusted one place for his business’s needs—Stanley’s Fresh Goods in San Francisco. And they didn’t deliver outside the city. To make the trip more cost-effective, he would also stop at the fish market before heading back.

The ground crew flagman waved him up next, and after the slightest moment of hesitation, Scott headed toward the end of the runway. Checking the plane’s controls and setting his course, he radioed the tower. “Cessna 215 ready for takeoff.” And moments later he was up and on his way. Sweat trickled down his back. Once he’d leveled off, he shrugged out of his coat and forced a feeling of anxiety aside.

It was just him, and he had control.

As he headed south for the twenty-minute run, he broke through a bank of clouds and the sun appeared. He felt himself relax.

A former commercial pilot, he’d only been interested in the Cessna cargo plane when he saw the ad for the resort in the Big Bear daily newspaper. Unfortunately, the resort’s owner, Doug Delaney, hadn’t been interested in selling the plane on its own. The closed, run-down West Mountain Resort and the plane were a package deal.

“You take them together or it’s no deal,” the grumpy old man had said when Scott had gone to see him about purchasing the cargo side of the business. Delaney went on to explain that both businesses had once belonged to him and his late wife. She’d run the resort and he, a retired pilot, had started the cargo business to “stay out of her hair.” He made weekly trips to LA and San Diego to pick up supplies and products for the resort to reduce shipping costs while earning extra cash making deliveries for other local businesses. The idea that the cargo business had an existing client base was also a draw for Scott.

Having lived in Big Bear most of his life, Scott had known about the Delaney family–owned companies, but he’d only wanted to purchase one of them. “I’m really not interested in owning a resort. I wouldn’t have any idea how to run it. I’m a pilot,” Scott had explained.

The man had looked past him to Scott’s old pickup truck parked in the driveway. “Where’s your plane?”

“I don’t have one yet.”

“A pilot without a plane isn’t much of a pilot,” Delaney had said before collapsing in a fit of coughing.

Scott had heard around town that old Doug Delaney was sick with lung cancer and the doctors hadn’t expected him to make it past Christmas the year before. The cargo delivery business and resort were suffering without family to take them over, and the old man wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the burdens and fly south. “Somewhere warm where I can die lying in the sunshine,” he’d told him.

Unfortunately, the sale of the cargo business alone wouldn’t have been enough to fulfill the man’s dying wish, so in the end, Doug had sold Scott both businesses for next to nothing and had died a week later exactly the way he’d wanted—lying in the sunshine on a beach in Mexico.

At first, Scott hadn’t planned to do much with the resort, instead focusing on fixing up and painting the cargo plane with a new company logo—Scott’s On-Time Delivery, specializing in any kind of pickup or drop-off service the residents of Big Bear needed. Doug’s former customers had been happy to rehire Scott, and he’d easily secured several new regular customers, including a few restaurants near the ski resort and a heavy-machinery repair place in town. Within months, he was doing okay.

But then his brother had visited over the holidays and suggested that he flip the resort for a profit. The place had been closed for a couple of years, but had once been a prime vacation property.

At the time, it sounded easy enough—a fresh coat of paint, some updated fixtures, nice decorative lighting and paintings for the walls...but it had quickly turned into a nightmare renovation project when he discovered a leaky pipe on the third floor had caused water damage to the two floors below it. The electrical wasn’t up to code and the roof was ready to cave in at any moment. Half a million dollars later, the resort was barely recognizable as the same run-down place that had been closed and forgotten for years, but Scott was also so far in the red, he couldn’t let the place go for any less than what he’d paid.

Fix it up and sell it, Derek had said. As if things were that simple. Then again, luck had always been on his older brother’s side. Scott’s own luck consisted of bad and worse, so a year later, all he had was a struggling resort that he didn’t want and not enough time to grow the cargo delivery business that had been his ultimate goal.

He sighed as San Francisco came into view.

And now his brother wanted to use the resort to make the biggest mistake of his life. Scott might not be able to talk Derek out of the wedding, but he didn’t have to host it at his resort.

3

AS SHE TURNED her Escalade onto Highway 330 later that afternoon, Kate was still fuming. What a rude, arrogant man Scott Dillon was. He’d actually hung up on her. After refusing to host his own brother’s wedding? Well, he might be able to hang up a phone or hide himself away with an unlocatable email address and no Facebook or Twitter accounts, but he couldn’t ignore her when she was standing right in front of him.

Though it had been more determined annoyance than common sense that had driven her to leave her office and head to Big Bear. She wished she’d at least gone home and packed an overnight bag. And now, as she made her way farther north, the tiny snowflakes grew heavier and her windshield wipers struggled to keep up. She wondered if maybe she was acting...a tad desperate?

She was desperate. This wedding was happening in six weeks...in Big Bear...at this resort if it killed her. And it actually might, she thought, wide-eyed, as a large transport truck approached in the opposite lane on the slippery hill.

She gripped the steering wheel and closed her eyes briefly after the vehicle passed.

Her cell phone rang, making her jump after her imagined head-on collision. She cursed to herself, quickly glancing toward the display panel on her dash. Her stomach turned when she saw the number flashing on the screen underneath the name Fuck-head.

She hit the do not answer button on her steering wheel. What the hell did Cooper want? Unfortunately, she knew exactly what he wanted, and it was her own stupid fault. She gripped the steering wheel. How had she been so stupid to have angry, passionate, impromptu sex with her ex-fiancé the week before?

Because she’d been lonely, more than a little drunk and had just lost a big client. And she’d stupidly thought that “coming by to get a few things” he’d left in the garage when he’d moved out was a genuine retrieval mission and not a lame excuse to see her.

The moment she’d opened her front door instead of just allowing him access to the garage, she knew she was in trouble. He’d still been in his police uniform, looking nervous but even more gorgeous than ever, and she hadn’t been able to find the strength to push him away when he’d hugged her. “You look amazing,” he’d said.

In actual fact she’d had mascara-stained cheeks, her hair a tangled mess, wearing an old football jersey, but she’d accepted the words and had clung to him a little longer than was safe.

“I’m sorry, Kate, so sorry,” he’d whispered in her hair. The same words that he’d said repeatedly to her voice mail and in emails for the last ten months. Words that had once been hollow, meaningless, suddenly became fact, a solid reason to avoid listening to common sense as she’d dragged him inside.

His mouth had found hers in an instant, and from there, clothing had been discarded, caution had been abandoned and any sense didn’t have a chance. They’d had sex in the living room, the kitchen, in the shower and on the bed that they’d once shared. It had been great sex—promising, uplifting, rejuvenating...until he was still there the following morning when she’d woken up hungover, regretful and ashamed.

She groaned now at the memory of his face as she’d tossed his boots outside and shoved him through the door. The night had been her fault, her mistake. One she didn’t dare repeat. Did she still love him? Maybe a part of her did—the part that didn’t remember so vividly what it had felt like to dismantle her own wedding before it had occurred. But mostly not. He’d simply caught her at a moment of vulnerability. Which would not be happening again, especially since she’d couriered all of his remaining things to his apartment the next weekend. No more excuses.

A sign to the right of the road caught her eye, and she slowed her speed to peer through the snow. Chain-Up Area, 2 Miles. Chain-up area? What was that? Sounded kind of like spicy erotica, she mused. Which maybe she’d been reading too much of lately.

Two miles ahead, she noticed several cars in the pull-out area, their drivers putting chains on their tires. Ah...that made sense. She bit her lip. Was she supposed to do that? Did she even have chains in the vehicle? Did they come with it? She didn’t think so. Surely the Escalade could handle the snow.

Fifteen miles later, however, she was starting to panic. The snow was even heavier now and falling fast, and the road beneath her tires felt like a sheet of glass. Car horns honked behind her as she slowly crept along the mountainside, continuing her trek north. What the hell had she been thinking to come up here? She’d been to Big Bear once, when her parents were still alive, but that had been in the fall, before the snow and icy conditions set in, and she hadn’t remembered the drive being so winding and dangerous.

When the sign for the Snow Summit resort appeared, she released a deep breath. Thank God, she’d made it—her last thought before the vehicle hit a section of black ice and spun into the opposite lane.

Panicked, she pumped the brakes, which only made the spiraling worse, and as she struggled to regain control of the wheel, the car landed in the deep ditch on the side of the road.

Great, just great. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the seat and forced a deep breath. This was nothing. She wasn’t hurt. She hadn’t hurt anyone... She could handle this.

A tap on the glass a second later made her jump, and her eyes flew open. A man stood beside her car, dressed in a heavy winter coat, hat and gloves. He motioned for her to roll down the window.

She hesitated, but hell, she was stuck in a ditch. Chances were he was more help than danger.

“You look a little lost,” he said with a pleasant, easy smile.

With his light blue eyes and chiseled features, he looked like the latest guy to play Superman... Henry something or other. Judging by his build, she could almost believe he’d be able to just lift the vehicle from the ditch, or so her overactive damsel-in-distress mind mused.

Yep, too many erotic novels. “Not at all, this ditch was exactly my destination...stupid GPS,” she said, suddenly grateful for the tiny mishap. Since Cooper, her reaction to the sight of most men was a desire to punch them, but this guy made her feel slightly less hostile.

“Well, I have a tow kit. I can pull you out if you’re ready to leave,” he said with a smile that made her mouth go dry.

She nodded. “I think so... Yes, thank you.”

“Why don’t you climb out and go sit in my truck while I pull your car free,” he said, opening her door.

A blast of cold snow blew across her lap, white against her charcoal dress pants, and she shivered as she climbed out. Pulling her light jacket closed, she zipped it as high as it would go. Snow piled over the tops of her short leather boots as she took several steps away from her vehicle, and she gasped. “Damn it, it’s cold.” Had this hellhole not gotten the memo that it was spring?

“You’re hardly dressed for Big Bear weather,” the man said, offering his arm for support as she struggled to climb the tiny hill out of the ditch. The smooth soles of her high-heeled boots made traction impossible and she slid backward with each step. “May I?” he asked, holding out his arms toward her.

“May you what?”

“Lift you out of here.”

She shook her head violently. At five foot nine, she was hardly a china doll. “I’m already shaming women everywhere with this clueless, city-girl damsel-in-distress situation... I think I can do this,” she said, digging her heels into the bank and, with every ounce of dignity and determination she possessed, launching her body over the high snowbank. “See?” she said proudly, straightening her coat and turning to face him.

He held his hands up. “Sorry, you’re right. You don’t need me, and I’m sure you could probably just grab the bumper and pull this thing out yourself, but I’d still like to help, if that’s okay?”

Her smile even felt flirtatious as she nodded. “Sure, why not?”

“Climb into the truck and stay warm,” he said, turning his attention to her vehicle.

She got in quickly and shivered in the warmth. “So much better,” she muttered, kicking her boots together to shake off the melting snow. Through the window, she watched the guy hook up his tow kit to her Escalade, grateful for his out-of-nowhere appearance. Glancing around, she saw the closest business was several blocks away—not a hike she’d want to make. And sitting in a ditch, waiting for a tow truck, she’d probably have frozen to death.

He worked quickly, obviously having done this before, and as she watched, she warmed even more. He was far from her usual type. Big football player build and thick thighs straining against the confines of his jeans as he leaned down to attach the tow rope to her bumper...but she found herself checking out his ass when he bent to collect his tool from the ground.

A nice ass, indeed.

He turned and she looked away quickly.

When he climbed in moments later, he put the truck in Reverse and freed the Escalade from the ditch with ease.

“Wow, clearly not your first time doing that,” she said.

“No. But I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that it’s your first time in Big Bear?”

He removed his gloves, and her eyes immediately flew to his left hand. No wedding ring. The silver lining on a shitty day. “Second, but the first time was when I was a kid and not this time of year.”

He handed her keys to her, and his warm fingers grazed her cold hand, sending an electric current up her arm. If a simple touch could create such an intense reaction in her, she wondered what a purposeful caress could do. Or those full, sexy lips. “Well, you’re free.” He hesitated before releasing them. “Make sure you get chains put on before you head down again...which is hopefully not too soon?”

So the flirtation hadn’t been in her mind. “Tomorrow, I think... I hope anyway.” It couldn’t possibly take any longer than that to convince that rude Scott Dillon to reconsider hosting his brother’s wedding, could it?

“Would it be terrible if I said I hope that your business here takes longer than you plan?”

She swallowed hard as his gaze took in the length of her. Damn it, she should have allowed those hands to lift her out of the snow. “You just may get your wish if the guy I’m here to see is as much of a jerk as I think he is.”

“Most men are,” he said with a laugh.

The deep, rich sound made her stomach flutter. “But not you, of course.”

“Not me. Nonjerk car rescuer extraordinaire Scott Dillon, at your service,” he said.

Her mouth gaped. No way. The hottest guy she’d laid eyes on in forever, the guy who’d just saved her from a ditch, the guy she was already envisioning naked was Scott Dillon? And he was already lying to her. Typical jerk.

He frowned. “What did I say wrong? If it was the reference to rescuing your car, that will totally be our secret. If anyone asks, you got yourself out of there.” His teasing grin was back, but there was a look of caution in his icy eyes.

Sighing, she allowed any and all inappropriate thoughts about him to vanish, along with her hope for rebound sex with a stranger that evening. “I’m Kate Hartley. We spoke on the phone.”

* * *

NO SOONER HAD he shut his office door than his office intercom beeped. “Mr. Dillon, there’s a woman here at the front desk to see you,” Cameron said.

Yes, the woman he’d been picturing naked in the backseat of his pickup truck, only to have the image shattered seconds later when she’d revealed her identity. So much for his hope of having literally stumbled upon a gorgeous tourist, one who wasn’t planning to stay in Big Bear for more than a night or two. His favorite kind of woman. “Tell her I’m not here.”

“Um...she just heard me talking to you,” Cameron whispered.

“So say it anyway,” he said. He scanned the mess of his office, knowing that regardless, in about a minute and a half, the determined, spirited, sexy-as-hell Kate Hartley would be barging in with or without his consent. She hadn’t driven all this way to be ignored. Too bad he couldn’t offer her the kind of attention he wanted to bestow.

He stacked the pile of unpaid invoices in a drawer, tossed the empty coffee cups into the trash can in the corner of the room and quickly swept the visible dust from the top of the fine oak furniture around him with the palm of his hand. Housekeeping had been reduced, and he sure wasn’t keeping on top of it.

Oh, well. If Ms. Wedding Planner didn’t like it, he’d be happy to watch her curvy ass leave.

The knock on his door was loud and right on time, he mused, glancing at his watch. “Go away,” he yelled, picking up the phone receiver and bringing it to his ear.

The door opened, and Kate walked in. “I just need a few moments of your time,” she said, forcibly polite.

Gone was the flirtatious, easygoing smile. And contrary to what he would have expected, this meaner, more professional look was even sexier. The front of his pants grew even tighter—his previous hard-on for her in his truck had yet to disappear completely. Damn. He covered the receiver. “You already took up enough of my time, Ms. Hartley...and I’m on the phone.” He motioned for her to leave.

Coming toward the desk, she hit the hang-up button on the phone.

“Hey! I was on hold for an important guest...client...thing.”

She cocked her head. “None of the lines were lit up.”

Busted. He replaced the receiver and stood. “Look, I already told you when you called that I will not be hosting a wedding here, so unless you came in here to thank me again for saving your ass...” His face was just inches from hers. He could so easily reach out and kiss her...and probably frighten her out of his office and back down the mountainside.