Janelle Denison - Tempted

“Just do it, huh?” Brooke repeated, testing out the words, not sure she could be so unreserved and direct—not when she’d spent her life being responsible and sensible in her approach.

Stacey grinned, looking pleased with herself. “Yeah, whenever you’re unsure of something, but you want it really bad, repeat those words. Just do it.”

“Just do what?” Jessica asked, returning with a fresh pitcher of strawberry margaritas.

“Anything that strikes your sister’s fancy this week,” Stacey said, holding up her glass as Jessica refilled it with the slushy liquid. “Especially when it comes to men.”

“Brooke is going man-hunting?” Jessica asked, intrigue infusing her voice.

Brooke winced. “That sounds so…reckless.”

“Impetuous is a better word, I think.” Stacey took a sip of her drink, her eyes bright with sensual knowledge. “You just kind of have to go with the feeling and not analyze the situation from every angle like you do those columns of numbers you work with. If it feels right, just do it.”

Brooke chewed on her bottom lip and pondered her friend’s suggestion. When it came to men, she’d always been cautious and selective, even analytical. Even her marriage to Eric had been based on practicality rather than uncontrollable passion—on both their parts, she now knew. They’d both had different expectations of their relationship, and each other, and in the end those individual needs had driven them apart emotionally and physically.

Ultimately, she wanted passionate love, a marriage based on mutual respect, and the kind of solid family unit she’d grown up without. She wasn’t like Stacey, who dated a slew of men, enjoyed the moment while it lasted, and didn’t think about the future. Brooke wanted a future with a man.

One week. Which wasn’t a whole lot when she thought of it in terms of the rest of her life stretching ahead of her.

Brooke took a gulp of her margarita, her mind spinning. Could she shed her inhibitions and have a hot, wild, unemotional fling with a stranger before returning to her stable life and dependable job?

“Tell you what,” Stacey said easily, as if sensing her doubts, “starting tomorrow, we’ll check out the prospects on the slopes and see what’s out there. If sparks happen, then go for it. If they don’t, no loss.”

Sparks, like the kind Marc generated. She shivered at the thought.

“Since I don’t ski, you two are on your own,” Jessica said, settling back on the couch. “I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet in the cabin and get caught up on my medical transcripts.”

“Then it’s you and me, Brooke.” Stacey grinned, lifting her glass in another toast. “And a mountain full of men to choose from.”

Brooke groaned as three glasses clinked together, trying to keep an open mind about Stacey’s man-hunting plan and her new motto for the week.

Just do it.

“JUST DO IT,” Brooke murmured to herself, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice as she wiped the coffee table of the remnants of their afternoon margarita-fest while Stacey and Jessica cleaned the kitchen. The words sounded flat and dull, too much like her personal life.

She snorted in disgust. For the past year she’d buried herself in her work, grasping on to the monotony of her job to counterbalance the stress and disappointment of her divorce. And now here she was, starting a new phase in her life…and still clinging to the safe and familiar.

Dull. Boring. Too damned predictable.

She sighed and straightened the sofa cushions. What Stacey was suggesting went against her grain and all those good-girl qualities she’d lived with her entire life, but much to her own surprise, she was gradually warming to the idea of finding a guy who turned her on and indulging in a sexy interlude. And she hoped in the process she’d finally banish Marc from her mind and ease the sexual frustration he’d caused her for the past three months.

Yeah, that particular idea definitely had merit. And maybe she’d return to Denver with a new attitude and a new outlook on her future.

A beam of headlights slashed through the windows facing the front of the small cabin, cutting through the shadows of twilight. She heard the crunch of snow beneath tires, an engine rumbling as it idled, then everything went quiet.

Curious, she headed toward the window next to the front door and pushed aside the curtain to peer outside. Even bathed in early November dusk, she immediately recognized the vehicle parked next to her Four Runner, a black Suburban with the Jamison Electrical logo emblazoned on the door in bold, white print.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as the object of her lustful fantasies slid from the driver’s side of the vehicle. Another male figure emerged from the passenger side, and finally, a third stepped from the back door, his boots crunching on the snow. Marc said something to the two other men, and while the duo moved toward the back of the utility vehicle, Marc started for the cabin’s front porch.

Brooke’s pulse tripped all over itself. Abruptly, she dropped the curtain and groaned, unable to believe her private refuge was about to be invaded by roughly six hundred pounds of gorgeous male testosterone, two hundred of which was trouble with a capital T.

Of all the possible ironies!

Knowing it was inevitable she face him, she opened the door before he had a chance to insert his key into the lock. His hand stopped midair, and their gazes met. A slow, intimate smile claimed his mouth, and his gaze drifted down the length of her with a slow, natural ease that came from years of assessing a woman in a single glance.

Not only did he assess her, he seemed to brand her with a breathless heat wherever his gaze roamed—and it covered plenty of territory in an amazingly short span of time. She found his bold perusal unnerving; the fluttering deep in her belly was equally disconcerting. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something that was distinctly male, a trifle dangerous and a whole lot predatory.

Her skin tightened, and to her dismay her breasts responded to his visual caress. They swelled within the lacy cups of her bra in a purely feminine way, pushing her taut nipples against the soft cotton of her University of Colorado sweatshirt. Even her thighs and legs seemed to become sensitized to the soft, faded denim of her jeans.

She blamed her body’s response on the cold, brisk air filtering into the cabin, but had no such excuse for the contrasting heat warming her in more intimate places—a feverlike flush generated by a pair of smoky-gray eyes. That gaze radiated a sexy, unmistakable kind of message that told her the kiss they’d shared three months ago was a prelude to a deeper kind of magic.

“Hello, Brooke,” he greeted her warmly. His voice was deep, rich, and sent a delicious shiver shimmering through her. Good grief, one kiss and now his voice had the ability to seduce her senses and make her weak in the knees.

She struggled to shake the awareness that had her in its grip. “What are you doing here?” she asked, part demand, part curiosity.

Marc lifted black brows over amused eyes. “I should be asking you the same thing. We’re here because we borrowed the cabin from Eric until next Tuesday to go skiing. Business is slow right now, so we thought we’d take advantage of the prime skiing conditions.”

One glance at the top of his Suburban revealed three pairs of skis strapped to a rack. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “The cabin is ours for the week.”

He tipped his head and a dark, unruly lock of hair slipped over his forehead. “Did you tell Eric you were coming up?”

A sigh unraveled out of her, fringed with frustration. “Of course I did.”