Colleen Collins - Too Close For Comfort

“You’re getting awfully stressed, Jeffrey.”

Cyd took his hand and squeezed. “I know just the antidote.” The moment she’d been waiting for. The chance to take his mind off business.

Jeffrey pulled his hand from hers and started pacing. “You don’t understand. This could make my career.”

While he walked away from her, she quickly doffed her robe. And when he turned around…Honestly, she’d never seen a man stare at her like that. His eyes were shiny, focused right on her.

She placed her hands behind her head, the way she’d seen a pinup poster girl do. For extra effect, Cyd thrust out one hip.

Jeffrey’s hot gaze traveled along her arms, down to that thrust-out hip, then back.

“What are you doing?” he said in a choked voice.

“Taking a hot bath. You should, too. It’s the perfect way to relax,” she answered, trying to sound coy and suggestive. She swiveled ever so slowly and walked toward the tub, hoping that he’d follow her.

And the squeak in the floorboard told her he was doing just that.

Dear Reader,

Too Close for Comfort and its sequel, Too Close To Call, Temptation #940 by Barbara Dunlop, are the result of a brainstorming session where Barbara and I gleefully latched on to the idea of a “Parent Trap for adults” story. Two guys from totally different backgrounds—one’s a rugged Alaskan, the other a sophisticated big-city executive—discover they’re twins and, as a last-stop ploy to ensure the success of a major business venture, swap places.

In my book, Jeffrey Bradshaw, senior executive for Argonaut Studios in Los Angeles, takes a trip to a remote region of Alaska to research the location for a TV series…and gets stuck there! Think James Bond stuck in Fargo. No martinis, no five-star hotels…But Jeffrey’s greatest challenge is matching wits with a feisty, wild-hearted bush pilot named Cyd Thompson who’s more woman than Jeffrey has ever handled. Hey, when it gets too close for comfort, maybe the best thing to do is just get closer….

To read about my upcoming books, as well as enter contest for prizes, please visit my Web site at http://www.colleencollins.net.

Happy reading,

Colleen Collins

Books by Colleen Collins

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

867—JOYRIDE

899—TONGUE-TIED

913—LIGHTNING STRIKES

HARLEQUIN DUETS

10—MARRIED AFTER BREAKFAST

22—ROUGH AND RUGGED

30—IN BED WITH THE PIRATE

39—SHE’S GOT MAIL!

107—LET IT BREE CAN’T BUY ME LOUIE

Too Close for Comfort

Colleen Collins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Barbara Dunlop, who made brainstorming this series too much fun!

Special thank-yous to Jay Kelley, Fly Alaska, who walked (flew?) me through the world of being a bush pilot in Alaska; Sara “the Stove Princess” at the Good Time Stove Company for educating me about oil stoves; Matt Carolan for letting me pick his brain about life in the Alaskan interior; and Shaun for the writing cheers during deadline.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

JEFFREY BRADSHAW STEPPED FROM the mind-numbing outdoors into the heated reception area, glad his breaths no longer emitted clouds of vapor. He flicked his wrist and checked his Rolex. Almost 4:00 p.m. He looked up. No monitors to announce if his four o’clock flight was on time. And if he glanced out the window outside, no commuter planes on the tarmac. Jeffrey looked around at the Alpine “Airport,” which consisted of a pop machine, an assortment of chairs and a counter. He headed toward the latter, pounding his hands together and wishing to hell it would stun the blood to start pumping again. So this was autumn in Alaska. Frozen land. Frigid air. What I’d give for a hot tub, a hot toddy and a very, very hot woman.

“Can I help you?” The guy behind the counter was fiddling with his computer.

“True North Airlines?”

The fellow did a funny salute. “You got it. I’m Wally.”

Jeffrey smiled while trying not to stare at Wally’s blazing red plaid shirt. Maybe all Alaskans wore such shirts in case they got stuck in a snowstorm. “Flight to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey said. “Four p.m.” He reached into the inner pocket of his Italian cashmere suit jacket, pulled out his wallet and extracted a credit card. “One. Jeffrey Bradshaw.”

Wally took the credit card, giving Jeffrey an odd look. In certain circles, Jeffrey was accustomed to people recognizing him. At thirty-four, he’d held prominent executive positions at several global corporations, the most recent being Acquisitions Director at Argonaut Studios in Los Angeles. Just last month Forbes had done an article on how Jeffrey increased Argonaut’s profits in the third quarter by a phenomenal fifteen percent due to his innovative business ideas. The article even made Jeffrey look like a damn movie star by plastering a photo of him and a hot new television actor, Gordon Tork, on the cover.

Not bad for a kid who grew up on the streets. But growing up tough had been a bonus for Jeffrey. He had both street savvy and business savvy, which meant he could deal with just about any type of personality thrown at him, from cons to CEOs.

And this Wally fell somewhere in-between. A decent guy, probably born and raised in Alaska. So it would surprise Jeffrey if Wally, working at a one-person airport counter in remote Alpine, Alaska, had seen the Forbes article and recognized Jeffrey.

As the card cleared, Wally continued staring at Jeffrey, then glanced behind his shoulder, then back to Jeffrey.

Jeffrey looked over Wally’s shoulder into a square mirror where he caught his reflection. Strange. His neatly trimmed dark brown hair curled over his collar in the mirror. That’s when he realized it was no mirror, but a window. And he was staring into some guy’s face who was looking back at him, his hazel eyes flashing surprise.

It was like looking into some kind of distorted reflection, as though Jeffrey were seeing a more craggy, weathered version of himself.

Hell, it was like looking at himself. There was that damn cowlick he’d wrestled with his entire life, right at the crown of his—well, that guy’s—head. Even the size of his—well, that guy’s, too—ears. Jeffrey never thought his ears were that big, but several girlfriends had giggled they were the biggest, sexiest ears they’d ever whispered into.

Jeffrey squinted.

Yeah, that guy definitely had his ears.

What were the odds that two men, in a chance encounter, looked alike, had matching cowlicks and the same big, sexy ears? Had to be less than one percent of the population of the entire world. No, even less than that.

I’m losing it.

He wiped his hand across his face, welcoming the cold jolt of snow crystals that still clung to his leather glove. Seeing transmutations of himself had to be the effects of the long flight from New York to Anchorage, then the commuter hop here to Alpine. Throw in some stale airline peanuts, and anyone would see things.