Blair Quinn is running out on everything—her job, her family, and her jackass boyfriend.
With nothing but her designer luggage and a god-awful sense of direction, she finds herself a temporary resident of the quaint, alpine town of Hamel. Snow-capped and picturesque, until a grizzling mountain man demands she vacate the land he's claimed as his own.
Beau Mattsson likes his mountain the way it is—quiet, secluded, and vacant. When he surprises his new neighbor half-naked and living out of a suitcase, the last thing he feels is pity. But there's something about the flighty woman that has him brokering a deal. If Blair can help revive his struggling business before winter, Beau can learn to share the mountain he loves, temporarily.
As their deadline draws near, Beau’s impenetrable walls start to crumble and the thought of returning to his reclusive life is no longer a comfort. Blair can't shake the feeling that her past is stalking her, and even a hulking mountain man can’t keep her safe.
Excerpt:
“You’re twenty minutes late, Blair. I have better things to do than wait on you.”
He throws back a lowball of scotch, color staining his high cheekbones like a blood alcohol content reading. Good. Surprisingly, alcohol seems to dull Harrison’s sharp edges, the ones slowly bleeding me dry.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to finalize some new contracts and time got away from me.”
“The Broad Street account? Alistair said Devens would manage it.” He raises the empty glass to the bartender across the room, jiggling the ice inside like a bell. I shrink into my chair at the arrogance. “Why are you taking on another client, Blair? You know you’ll only have to give them up once we’re married. Don’t you think that’s selfish?”
Is it? The thought ricochets through me. Is it selfish to want more than the humoring my father offers me as “Asset Manager?” Is it selfish to think the sun doesn’t rise and set with Harrison Vanderwilt? To want more than my family’s flawlessly designed future?
“We’re not married.” I hate the quiet, meek quality in my voice. “And we’re not yet engaged. I can work for a little longer, it’s only a twelve-month contract.”
Harrison throws back the next glass before the male server can even speak. I briefly wonder if my appalling manners have kept Cindy away.
“Are you saying we won’t be engaged in twelve months?”
His voice is laced with the hint of a threat, and I feel a growing sense of unease. A queasiness low in my gut that’s been brewing for far too long.
“I’ve been wearing this ring for five years. I think we’re safe for another twelve months,” I bite, and immediately regret it.
“You expect too much from me, Blair. I’m a busy man. Stepping straight into a VP role after finishing my MBA was a lot to take on without you being so demanding.”
A metallic tang slides down my throat as my teeth sink into my cheek. But leading me into an argument is what Harrison lives for, and I’ve learned better than to follow. Especially when debating the ease at which Harrison stepped into the VP role handed to him at their family’s brokerage would be redundant. If he could only walk a mile in my Mary Jane’s, he’d know what it’s like to climb the corporate ladder when the rungs have already been removed.
“I’m not being demanding, Harry. I’m quite happy with the way things are, really.”
“So, you don’t want to marry me then?” He jangles the empty glass above his head with vigor.
“Of course I do, but I’m not going to push you. We both have goals,” I trail off as Harrison’s eyes follow Cindy’s reappearance from across the room, blatantly monitoring the sway of her ass. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“Don’t be insecure, Blair. I can look at another woman and not be fucking her. It’s you who builds your own conclusions.”
“I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”
“Well, if this conversation weren’t like the many we’ve already had on this topic, I wouldn’t be bored enough to look at her ass.” He straightens in his seat, setting the lowball down with far more force than necessary. “You’re not taking on the Broad Street account, and that’s final. I expect my wife to have her priorities in order, her marriage and her husband above all else.”
I nod mechanically even as the acid coating his words burns in my chest. I’m not sure how long I stare through the glass tabletop before a small, deep blue velvet box is pushed into view. Slowly, so slowly, I lift my gaze to Harrison. Red-tinged cheeks pull into a dazzling smile, and the switch is so effortlessly flipped.
“You know I love you, Blair. More than I can possibly put into words. Would you do me this favor?”
He nods to the box I haven’t dared to touch, my palms slick and trembling. Cotton fills my mouth, my throat a narrow passage of jagged glass that refuses me a full breath. Five long years of promises have led to this moment, and I feel … horror. Absolute sheer horror. My trembling fingers reach for the box, and I pray to whoever will listen that there is anything but a diamond ring inside. My slick fingers work the hinged lid, and glittering gold peers out from amongst black velvet. Somewhere, a champagne cork pops free, smothering my bleat as I lift the lid and stare unblinking at … Harrison’s fraternity ring.
“Wellesley got his engraved with every graduation date from high school senior year to his promotion to Assistant VP. My own list of accolades is quite a bit more impressive, so if you can’t persuade the engraver to fit them all around the band, don’t miss the important ones.”
He stands, dropping a wet, scotch-laced kiss on my cheek, and walks toward the restrooms as if he hasn’t just pulled my world out from under my feet. Alone, I can only stare at the gaudy, Greek-lettered president’s ring and let out the breath I’ve been holding for five long years. Realization barrels into me like a freight train, damn near sweeping me away.
I can’t do this. I … don’t want this.
I don’t want this man.
I don’t want this future.
I don’t want this life.
The words are an internal scream, sending a violent tremor to my fingertips as I pluck the ring from its case and jerk out of my seat with enough force to send it clattering to the gleaming tiled floor. The bartender’s eyes are wide and his dark skin a little pale as I race for him, slamming the ring to the gilded bar top.
“Whiskey double, neat.”
My words are clipped, and the bartender works quickly, sliding the drink into my hands a moment later. The liquor cuts a smooth line down my rapidly constricting throat, the slight burn leaving warmth in my face and just enough courage to say, “Scotch on the rocks for the guy fondling Cindy.”
The man nods, deft hands sliding Harrison’s signature drink across the bar before asking, “Please tell me you’re running out on him?”
I feel heat in my cheeks and a maniacal smile on my lips as I drop the ring into the drink and hand it back for the waitress to deliver.
“Actually, I’m running out on everyone.”
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