A.C. Arthur - Winter Kisses

This trip was about them getting together and having a great time before the holidays ended and they all went back to their respective lives and businesses. And Alex was game for that.

Two days before Christmas he'd closed one of the company's biggest deals for a new line of cell phones with digital connections that would take them into the next century as a communications leader. The first of the year a number of articles would advertise their success as well as open the door for new stresses and headaches. What was the saying, “More money, more problems"? Alex firmly believed that was true. And while his ambition wasn't fueled by a lust for money, or power, for that matter, he wasn't naive about the facts of life. He was a rich man; his family was very successful and envied. And as they'd already experienced when they'd all been targeted by a jealous lunatic a few years ago, success could bring just as much bad news as good.

Still, he'd been raised to keep his eye on the prize and so he did. Today, the prize was looking better than he'd ever expected.

He'd just been turning off the shower when he heard a female voice. To say he was surprised was an understatement. Per Renny's instructions, the guys all had separate flights but would meet at the cabin tonight to get their getaway rolling. He'd arrived first, a little overeager, he surmised. Feeling the fatigue of the last few weeks’ meetings, he'd come in and headed straight for a hot shower. To his knowledge this trip was only for the men.

Wrapping a towel around his waist he'd opened the door expecting maybe a housekeeper or some other resort employee to be in the cabin with questions or something. He'd never considered it would be her. Never in all his wildest imaginings thought he'd see her here.

But, he admitted eagerly, he wasn't regretting it at all.

Saying she was a vision in white would be corny. And Monica Lakefield was anything but. Beautiful didn't quite describe her, either—she seemed way too mature and regal for that word. But as she stood not three feet away from him, her face only momentarily wearing a look of utter shock before the cool chill slipped back into place, Alex knew he'd never seen another woman that affected him on this level.

This wasn't their first meeting. In fact, it was their fourth, and he'd have to say, as evidenced by the immediate heat simmering beneath his skin, the most enticing.

“Hello,” he said, mimicking the greeting he'd just heard through the bathroom door.

Her brown eyes darkened just a bit, something he'd seen happen whenever he was close to her. With her flawless makeup, ivory slacks and matching turtleneck sweater visible through the opening of her long white winter coat, she looked like a winter queen. No, Alex corrected himself, an Ice Queen.

“What are you doing here?” The smoky timbre of her voice floated through the hallway and he took a step closer. Sure, he knew he was indecent, clad only in a towel, which in a minute was going to show the reaction he had to her each time they were close. But Alex didn't care. He was that way with women, sure of himself and of their reaction to him. He didn't think that made him arrogant, more like confident. The look in Monica's eyes said she didn't agree. But that only egged him on.

“I could ask you the same question.”

Her gaze never faltered, never left his, even though he knew she was well aware of his state of dress, or lack thereof.

“But that would be repetitive and waste both our time,” she quipped.

He nodded. If there was one thing Alex loved it was an intelligent, confident black woman. The words seemed to personify Monica Lakefield.

“True. So I'll give in and answer your question. But you'll owe me.” She opened her mouth to say something, a smart retort no doubt, but Alex stopped her by speaking again. “I'm meeting my brothers up here for a few days. Now, your turn.”

“First, I don't owe you anything. Second, this is my cabin. I'm here on business.”

“You're doing business during the holidays? Do you ever take a break?” He knew that had to sound strange coming from him, but in the grand scheme of things, he had the feeling he was nowhere near as ambitious and dedicated to his job as Monica.

“What I do with my time is no concern of yours,” she said then took a deep breath.

It looked as if she had to force herself to let it out slowly. She was wound so tight she looked as if she'd explode in the next two seconds.

“Okay, just take a minute to calm down. I'm sure there's an explanation for this mix-up. Just let me get something on and we'll figure it out.”

“Don't bother. I'll figure it out,” she said then turned from him and walked toward the living room.

He'd bet she was heading for the phone, where she'd call her office to recheck the reservations, or to the front desk, where she'd interrogate the clerk as if he were a star witness in a murder investigation. For a second he thought about following her, trying to reason with her that it was probably just a mistake and nothing to get all huffy about. Then he thought better of that idea. Monica was not a woman to be calmed; that would only make her angrier. So he moved into the bedroom instead, taking his time slipping into jeans and a T-shirt.

When he emerged fully dressed and entered the living room, he wasn't at all surprised to see her pacing in front of the fireplace. Her dark hair was pulled back so tight he had a headache for her. One arm was at her side and the other was bent. A cell phone was in her hand, which she stared at, giving the device some choice words as she did.

He could stand here watching her for hours. She'd removed her coat so that he had a view of the formfitting sweater she wore and the perfect fit of the slacks. She was a tall woman, meeting him—at his six-foot-three-inch height—almost eye to eye with her heels on. Actually, they looked more like stilts and yet she moved gracefully with them, as if they, too, obeyed her every word.

“Any luck?” he asked when ogling her began to feel immature and obsessive.

“My phone's dead,” she hissed, tossing him a heated glare over her shoulder.

A heated but very alluring glare, he noted.

“Let me see,” he said, taking a step toward her and holding his hand out for the phone.

“You can't fix it,” she accused.

“I don't know, me and a team of three designers just configured a state-of-the-art phone that will take us into the next century. I think I can look at a BlackBerry and see what the problem is.”

With clenched teeth, she still hung tight to her cell phone. Until he reached over and, while one hand held hers with the phone in it, slowly peeled away one of her fingers at a time. He kept his gaze on hers the entire time because he sensed she liked to be in control, to keep what or who she deemed her enemy under close watch. When the phone was just sitting in the palm of her hand, Alex smiled and picked it up.

“I'm just going to look at the phone, Monica. Stop glaring at me like I'm going to ravage you.”

“I don't know why but you give the impression of being smarter than that,” she quipped.

Alex chuckled. This was more than a woman and more than a piece of work—she was one of those science fair projects that nobody signed up for because it looked too complicated and too hard to achieve any type of success.

Yes, she was definitely a challenge, and Alex loved a challenge.

“It's dead,” he confirmed. “Did you get the battery wet?”

Monica sighed. Not only did she not want to be here in this winter-wonderland town, she didn't want to be here with him. Of all the men, in all the world, why Alex Bennett?

“I dropped it in the snow,” she admitted. “I can just use this phone.” Moving to the small table near the couch, she picked up the phone and put it to her ear. There was no dial tone so she pushed the on/off button once, twice, still no dial tone. “You've got to be kidding.” “What?” Alex asked from behind her. Very close behind her.