Hold Me Tight

“No, just careful.”

“You’re more than that. You don’t trust me, do you?”

His nod was curt, those blue-gray eyes cutting at her in the dim light, appraising her. His disdaining gaze ran down, then up her body. She knew what he saw—expensive clothes, a woman used to spas and wealth and getting what she wanted.

And she wanted him.

“You could say that,” he said in that deep careful drawl that spoke of his Western roots, though she knew that as the child of Russian immigrants, he was fluent in that language.

Jessica didn’t care what he thought of her. She’d battled for her position as head of Sterling Stops, a quick-shop chain, dismissing gossip that she’d married her second husband for his fortune. Her first husband had been the result of an impetuous teenage marriage, and from him she’d learned to stay away from very physical men—like Alexi.

In business, she knew how to fight above and below the board table. She knew how to cut short taunts and how to ignore them. In life, she knew how rough a frustrated young husband could be with a teenage bride—and yet a second, older husband could love her so much she could almost forget her desperate past, that everyday struggle to survive. “Then do. Please do. Say that you don’t trust me.”

“What do you want?” The question shot at her like a bullet.

Jessica tried not to shiver, but the dampness and freezing chill had seeped into her flesh. “I need your services.”

A corner of his hard mouth lifted and there was a flicker of disdain in his silver eyes. “Do you?”

“Stop playing games. Are you available or not?”

This time, warmth slid into his eyes, his mouth softening just that bit. “You must be determined to go the distance in this bad weather. You’re freezing, soaked through and shivering in that expensive, too-light jacket. You’re expecting me to take off my coat and offer it to you, aren’t you? That would be the thing for a gentleman to do, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Sterling? But then, I’m only a bartender, aren’t I? A man for hire?”

Those hard blue-gray eyes slid down then up her body once more. Alexi’s temporary warmth shifted suddenly into a cold, hard statement. “Take off that coat. It’s wet and you’re freezing.”

“No, thanks. I can manage.”

He studied her comfortable but light leather shoes, one tiny strap torn free. “You weren’t planning to come after me tonight, were you? Why did you?”

Jessica had been coming from the kitchen, carrying a filled plate to her suite; she’d intended to eat while she watched a favorite movie. Then she’d seen Alexi move down the corridor. He’d been wearing that heavy coat—how she envied him now—but her curiosity had kept her in the shadows. A man with a lover wouldn’t do. Pillow talk with another woman could endanger Willow. If he was seeing a woman, involved with someone, Jessica wanted to know and she’d decided to follow him.

She should have waited. Dressed in a light sweater, lounging jacket and pants, she hadn’t been prepared to do anything other than walk through the luxurious hallways to the kitchen.

Then, unexpectedly, Alexi Stepanov had swept through the hallway—tall, brooding, dangerous, and perfect to protect Willow.

He had deliberately led Jessica through a freezing night and a rough path. Her usual chignon had torn free beneath the hood and she’d impatiently ripped away the pins. Few people saw her with her hair unconfined or mussed; she resented that Alexi had studied her hair, inspecting it on his finger.

A man who caught the smallest detail, who noticed everything, was exactly what she wanted. But not this close and not her.

“I didn’t expect that—no. I was hoping for a quiet corner for a discussion.”

“You’ve got that now.”

Her feet were freezing! A shiver ran through her before she could hide it.

Alexi inhaled impatiently and then his hand was at her chest, tugging down the zipper. Once free, he tugged the jacket off of her and tossed it aside.

In the next instant she was inside his coat and pressed against him. “Okay, now talk,” he ordered briskly.

Panic gripped her and before she could retrieve her composure, Alexi had caught her fear, studying her.

“I’m only sharing body warmth, Mrs. Sterling,” he said gently, without the sarcasm she’d expected. Those silvery eyes slid down to her throat, where she was certain her racing pulse could be seen. His voice was husky and soft. “Don’t be afraid.”

She’d been a teenager on her first wedding night and trapped by a man who—who wasn’t her gentle second husband. Jessica pushed back the fear that could leap through the years, pursuing her if a man came too close. “I…of course I’m not. You’re mistaken. I’m only a little cold.”

“That admission must have cost you.” Was that a little humor in those cold eyes, the slight softening of those hard lips?

Dangerous. Quick. A hunter tuned to his senses. Sleek. Powerful. Male. The words danced through her mind, but Jessica forced herself to stand rigidly within his arms, her hands at her sides.

He was looking too closely at her, invading that tight secret core she held very private and safe.

Within inches of her face, Alexi’s was even harder. He was scented of soap and man, of the elements outside, of a predator circling her, setting her on edge.

Intent on relaxing in front of her suite’s television set, Jessica hadn’t bothered with a bra beneath her light sweater. Neither the light sweater or his black sweatshirt softened his body’s hard impact against hers.

“Settle down, Mrs. Sterling,” he whispered, and the rumble of his deep voice vibrated against her body.

This man knew exactly what to do with a woman in his arms. He knew how to hold, to look, how to be gentle…. Jessica forced herself to look up at him and tried to push aside her fear of a man holding her. Alexi was too close, too strong, too masculine. “I think we should confer at another time.”

He lifted that black eyebrow, challenging her. “I’m a busy man. Now is good.”

If she told the wrong man, she could endanger Willow, the only friend she really trusted.

The wind howled outside and, without looking, Alexi said, “It’s changed back to snow. The ground will be covered soon—ice beneath the snow.”

“If you knew that I wanted to talk with you, you could have made this easier.”

“I wanted to know your limits—how badly you wanted me. You do want me, don’t you, Mrs. Sterling?”

She resented the sexual inference and anger ripped at her senses. “You’re toying with me. I don’t like it.”

“Just testing that temper, and you’ve got one for sure. It might keep you warm on the trip back, but you won’t get a second chance at me. Simmer down.”

“And just stand here? Next to you?” she demanded.

He shrugged lightly. “You have choices. If you don’t want what I have to offer—leave.”

“Mikhail wouldn’t like for you not to help a guest in need.”

His expression hardened. “Or a woman looking for—entertainment?”

Wasn’t that what Heather, his ex-fiancée, had called him—“Entertainment until better things came along?”

Alexi didn’t like what his senses were telling him—that Jessica Sterling was soft and fragrant and all woman. His senses told him that he liked her in his arms—that soft, curved body against his—that he wanted to taste those lush lips.

He wanted to burn away the years of abstinence, to move with her, in her, slick and hot and—

And his body was hardening, a physical reaction to her body against his—

Oh, no. Not that again. His mind flashed big warning signals at him. He’d been burned by another woman, just like this one—perfectly painted and groomed and expensive and spoiled. He’d jumped through hoops, been almost stripped of his savings and resources to please a woman like this, and past the momentary sexual gratification, there was no satisfying Heather’s whims—

And he’d lost a measure of his pride, a commodity the Stepanov men held dear.

Alexi stepped back and stared at Jessica, fighting the hard throb of his body and the knowledge that women like this knew how to strip a man of everything—including his pride. He’d almost given in to that helpless, terrified look—like a little wounded bird needing help and comfort.

He’d felt the tremor of her body, her panic as he held her. That soft, female body—

With a contemptuous sidelong look, Jessica turned away, her arms tight around herself. “You really don’t like me, do you?” she asked quietly, the wind’s howl almost swallowing her words.

“Does it matter?” Alexi removed his coat and placed it over her shoulders. Before he could stop his hand, he reached to lift that heavy silky hair up and over the collar. His fingers crushed the strands momentarily, possessively, but he forced them open and away.

Jessica eased her arms into the sleeves and allowed him to turn her and button the coat. “Thank you,” she said tightly, as if the courtesy grated. “I’ll return it to you in just a moment.”

He turned the collar up around her face, needing to touch her hair, her cheek, just once more. She looked like a child, huddled into his too-large coat. A very expensive, spoiled and angry child who didn’t trust him.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” she asked, and moved away from him, staring out into the snowflakes sliding down the window’s plastic coverings.

“Are your feet cold?” he asked, while his mind prowled around why this woman would leave the warmth, security and luxury of the Amoteh Resort to follow him on a winter night as bitter and treacherous as this one.

Jessica pivoted to him, a myriad of color—reddish hair, flashing green eyes and flushed face. The emeralds on her hand glittered as she swept it out, a gesture that dismissed his question. “You need money. I have it. I need a job done and you’re the first on my list to do it. My late husband always said, pick the right man for the job. I think that’s you.”

That grated, and Alexi leaned against the wall, folded his arms over his chest and waited. “What brings you to any conclusion about my needs?”

“You may be remodeling this now, but you’re making tentative probes on property—probably to start a new life away from Wyoming. You sometimes tend bar at the Seagull’s Perch…the owner is getting ready to retire. Two and two say you’re looking at buying—if you can. I just might be able to help you do that.”

“That’s a lot of information. Did you hire someone for all that? Or did you just dig it up yourself?”

“Give me credit. I have resources and I don’t like to fence. Either you’re interested or you’re not.” She picked up a towel between her hands and studied it. As if satisfied, she sat on a low bench, kicked off her shoes and wrapped the towel around her bare feet. She chafed them briskly and watched him. “It’s freezing in here. Make up your mind.”

“I’m listening.”

She shivered and huddled within his coat. “I haven’t gotten any assurances that you won’t tell what you know, or that you will do the job.”

Interesting, Alexi thought. A determined woman, not asking for relief from the cold; she stood her ground, demanding an answer. “One of us has to go first and lay something on the bargaining table. That’s you. And while we’re at it, I don’t like people prying into my business. Tell me just what you know.”

She seemed to simmer, her eyes lashing at him, her lips compressed. “Okay. I ran a search on the newspaper archives online. You bought an old ranch, started a home on it, and your engagement picture to Heather Pell wasn’t followed by a wedding article. I tracked her to another marriage, quite a wealthy one, near the same wedding date as yours should have been. That must have hurt, because that was three years ago and you’re still guarding yourself. I saw that at the dance last week. No friendly conversation, no polite manners past dancing that one time with me. You tended bar, giving the staff a break, danced with your cousins and their mothers, your aunt and Georgia, the cook, some guests and a few of the staff. You seemed to enjoy dancing with the woman who supplies soap for the Amoteh. Willow? Wasn’t that her name?”

Jessica seemed to be watching him for a reaction to her question. A sweet, gentle and happy woman, Willow Longstreet supplied the resort with soap, fashioned like a strawberry, from her shop. The Native American word for strawberry was Amoteh, a name used by the town and several of the shops. A strawberry design was used by the resort as a logo on all its bathroom and other amenities.

Alexi had instantly liked Willow. But he decided to let Jessica take the lead, and he remained silent.

When he didn’t answer, temper flashed in those green eyes. “At the dance, there was a woman hunting you, and you could have had her. Instead you snubbed her. She loved it, of course, and it only made her game more fun. But you like to do the hunting, don’t you? Men like you do. They enjoy the macho role.”

“You’ve moved past a job you wanted done into the personal lane, Red. I’d watch that.”

He thought of Marcella, a frequent guest at the Amoteh and always on the lookout for a new bedroom thrill. Marcella had been chasing Jarek and Mikhail before they married, and now she’d blatantly turned her attention to Alexi. He’d had to peel her off him more than once during his stay and still she managed to waylay him.

But the woman who had moved against him just moments ago was all natural flowing softness, the kind his hands ached to cup. He could still feel her body in his arms, that tight waist, just the flare of those swaying hips—

Alexi pushed away from the wall. He was too restless with his emotions, his need to know more about the wealthy Mrs. Jessica Sterling. He watched her shiver again, that lush bottom lip quiver as if her teeth were chattering, but her eyes never left him.

“You must want me bad, lady,” he said slowly, and instinctively knew those words would set her off.

Then Alexi opened the door to the living room, stepped inside and closed it behind him.

He smiled briefly, enjoying Jessica’s furious expression.

She wasn’t a woman to back down.

And just maybe he needed to know more about her.

Two

J essica sat, hunched in Alexi’s big, warm coat, her bare feet wrapped in a towel that provided no warmth in the chilly, gutted sunroom. Wind rattled the plastic that covered the windows and a draft lifted the tendrils beside her face.

She shivered; at two-thirty in the morning she could have been snuggled in the resort’s massive bed created by Stepanov’s Furniture. If she’d been unable to sleep, she could be sitting in front of her suite’s blazing fire, working on the corporation business or watching her favorite old black-and-white movie. She could be in a luxurious aromatherapy bath, a rejuvenating mask on her face, and listening to relaxing music.

Alexi Stepanov had tugged her against him, held her easily. An irritating, arrogant—

Jessica rubbed her bare toes with both hands, willing warmth into them. If she left now, she might not get him to help protect Willow.

She inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood. The flapping of the plastic on the windows irritated her, just like the man. A draft on the floor stirred sawdust that had been swept into a pile; bits of it tumbled across the rough board floor toward her.

She stood abruptly, slipped into her wet shoes and grabbed her jacket, then she pushed open the door Alexi had just entered. “I’m not through with you—”

“Shut the door.” Alexi was crouched in front of a woodstove, adding kindling to a growing flame. The new stovepipe said it had been recently installed. Alexi glanced at her as he added a chunk of wood from an old galvanized tub.

She’d taken baths in a tub just like that back in rural Arkansas….

Jessica studied the rough but large room, the large windows facing the Pacific Ocean. An electric skillet, toaster and coffeemaker sat on a door, propped between two sawhorses. A wooden deck chair, walnut in a sturdy design typical of Fadey Stepanov’s furniture, sat in front of the windows; hand-loomed cushions matched the dark brown and maroon blanket thrown over the back. Jessica stared at the massive walnut bed, covered with a down blanket in dark green with crimson strips, a very masculine design. A square of commercial beige carpet covered the floor. A battery lantern sat next to a stack of magazines on a gleaming, chunky table. Resting on a wooden box, a battered suitcase held neatly folded clothing. More folded clothing was in a laundry basket on the floor. A mirror hung on the wall over another table. An enamel basin with soap and neatly folded towels rested on it.

Alexi had deliberately drawn her into a bald confrontation, preventing an easy retreat. He had played the game, set the rules and had won. Her temper rising, Jessica slammed the door.

She struggled to push down that passionate, fighting side of her that few people had experienced. The fire blazed now and Alexi turned to walk toward a small kitchen table with two wooden chairs. He poured coffee from a thermos into a mug marked with the Amoteh Resort’s strawberry logo. He sipped the steaming brew slowly and watched her.

Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, plopping into two buckets, and the fire crackled while Jessica struggled to retain her composure and the image she wanted to project—the businesswoman making deals. She inhaled slowly; she’d handled problem people before.

“You’re playing games. I do not like games, or surprises. We could have talked in here,” Jessica said tightly, finishing the static silence that scratched her nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. “And I do not want you badly.”

“Are your feet cold?” he asked casually, and that easy drawl set her temper climbing again.

“Of course they are. You made me follow you through ice and snow. Talk—if that’s what you call it—in a freezing room when all the while we could have talked where it is warm—and I do not want you badly.”

He poured another cup of coffee and lifted it. “Come and get it, Mrs. Sterling.”

She tensed, weighing his “Come and get it.” Was that a sexual invitation? Or a challenge to start a war?

“This is from the Amoteh. They make better coffee than I do.” The man was unreadable, his eyes cool upon her, slits of silver between those heavy black lashes, shadowed by his brows.

Her senses told her that there was a savage ruthlessness about this man that only a few had seen. If he decided to help protect Willow, and if whoever was bothering her was capable of physical violence, Alexi’s primitive instinct would be needed.

Jessica hesitated on a heartbeat, then walked to him, taking the metal cup. “Thank you.”

“That must have cost you,” he murmured, and humor lit those silvery eyes.

She turned and walked to the stove. The hot coffee warmed her slightly, and she kicked off her shoes, placing them near the fire to dry. Without turning, she stared at the fire in the stove’s open door and sipped the coffee. A soft blow hit her back and a ball of heavy workmen’s socks bounced at her feet. “Put those on.”

She turned to find Alexi seated in one of the wooden chairs, which had been turned toward the fire. He stripped off his work boots and sprawled backward, long legs outstretched. A mug of coffee rested on his flat stomach, his eyes slits of silver in his hard, shadowed face.

Irritated by his cool testing of her, Jessica spoke slowly. She wanted him to know exactly what she thought of him. “There’s a curse on Amoteh, placed on it by Kamakani, that Hawaiian chieftain captured and enslaved by whalers in another century. He died on Strawberry Hill, not far from here, cursing this place. I truly believe you might be a part of that curse, Mr. Stepanov. At least for me. And I know that it’s said that his curse can only be lifted by a woman who knows her own heart, dancing in front of his grave…. Don’t count on any dancing from me, Stepanov. Play any more games with me and you’re in for your own curse.”

He lifted his mug in a toast and nodded, acknowledging her accusation.

“This is what you’re really like, isn’t it? Not the easygoing guy everyone thinks you are. This…this retreat is where you come to be as you really are—dark, moody, deliberately obtuse and difficult.”

“And you want me.”

The statement, driven home once again, irritated; just that slightly foreign inflection had slipped into Alexi’s deep Western drawl, just the nip to remind her that Alexi’s father, mother and uncles had emigrated from Russia.

At the dance, Alexi with his cousins, Jarek and Mikhail, had circulated in the filled ballroom, obviously enjoying their family, the guests and friends of the close-knit community. Tall, dark, almost sleek, despite rugged looks and broad shoulders, they’d caused more than one woman to stare.

Jarek and Mikhail had held their wives close and tender, loving intimacy flowing between them with a touch, a look.

“That’s Alexi, their cousin,” Willow had whispered to Jessica. “He’s unmarried and gorgeous. He’s sweet, too. I dare you to dance with him.”

“You’re on,” Jessica had said, and had moved toward Alexi. While dancing with him, she had not sensed “sweet,” only brooding and dangerous.

And Willow might need that.

Jessica decided to skip negotiations and go straight for what she wanted. While framing her negotiation package, she scooped to pick up the ball of socks and went to sit on the cot, placing her coffee on the table beside it. She jammed on the socks, rolled the extra length into thick cuffs and, as an afterthought, stood and removed the shearling coat. She arranged her damp light jacket over the cord stretched near the stove. Jessica walked back to his sprawling bed, determined to regain her poise and have her say with Mr. Alexi Stepanov.

Alexi watched that sensual, gliding walk, elegant even with the large heavy socks rolled upon her feet. He could have told her that her light tan sweater did nothing to hide the peaks of her nipples, but he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t let her know that earlier, that softness had caused his hands to open possessively upon the coat over her back. That her curves had branded his body with an unwanted need. That the scent of her caused him to want to nuzzle her hair, to feel that silkiness against his skin. That the need to taste her lips had almost driven him to—

That stir of sensual interest irritated Alexi, the ramrod-straight way she’d marched back to the bed and plopped herself onto it—all that soft flesh beneath her clothing had bounced and quivered as she settled in to stare at him coldly. As if she were sitting at the head of a corporate boardroom table, Jessica Sterling had crossed her long, sleek legs that disappeared into his overlarge socks and stared at him.

She pushed a thick wave back from her cheek and inhaled, which served to push her breasts against that thin sweater.

Alexi inhaled sharply; that sweater seemed to have nothing beneath it but creamy soft curves. When she crossed her arms and looked at him, her breasts lifted and bulged against the material.

His body had locked on to several facts at once: a very sensuous woman was sitting on his bed, he hadn’t been sexually aroused in a long time, and Jessica Sterling—rich, determined, selfish, spoiled—was definitely not the woman he wanted to arouse him.

“I have a friend whom I think is in trouble. I want you to investigate and take care of whomever is troubling her—quietly. If the police are called in, that person could go underground easily, only to surface when least expected. I prefer to keep my friend out of any problems. She’s really sweet and kind, and—and I want her protected. I want whatever is bothering her to be—removed discreetly. My friend lives here in Amoteh.”

Alexi frowned slightly; as a Stepanov male, his protective instincts had raised instantly. “Tell me who she is.”

“You’ve met her—Willow Longstreet. She makes soap with the Amoteh strawberry logo for the resort? She has a shop on the street by the waterfront—Willow’s Soaps? You danced with her?”