How To Sleep With The Boss
Janice Maynard
His new assistant isn’t his type—until they work in very close quarters! From USA TODAY bestselling author Janice Maynard.Inexperienced but out of options, Libby Parkhurst accepts Patrick Kavanagh’s job offer—even though he’s given it at his mother’s request. Surely she can hide her attraction to the charming man she’s trying to impress…Patrick sees Libby as a family friend and hires her as a favor. But as their work brings them closer, he discovers the sensual woman she’s become—even before a makeover takes her from dowdy to dazzling! Suddenly his interest is no longer platonic. Long-term is off-limits, but taking her to bed? He’s making that his top priority!
He came to a dead stop and swallowed hard.
Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet somehow his new assistant managed to look like a fashion model for an outdoor company. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.
Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.
He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”
She held up a hand, stopping his instinctive words. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They stared at each other for several long seconds. He forced himself to zero in on basics.
He slid one backpack off his shoulder. “I need to make sure the straps are adjusted correctly for you.” Without asking, he stepped behind her and helped settle the pack into position. With a few quick tugs, he was satisfied. Finally, he moved in front of her and fiddled with the strap at her chest.
Libby made some kind of squawk or gasp. It was only then he realized his fingers were practically caressing her breasts. He stepped back quickly. “I’m sure you can manage the waistband,” he muttered.
“Uh-huh.” She kept her head down while she fiddled with the plastic locking mechanism. After a moment, she stared off into the woods. “I’m good.”
* * *
How to Sleep with the Boss is part of The Kavanaghs of Silver Glen series: In the mountains of North Carolina, one family discovers that wealth means nothing without love.
How to Sleep
with the Boss
Janice Maynard
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author JANICE MAYNARD knew she loved books and writing by the time she was eight years old. But it took multiple rejections and many years of trying before she sold her first three novels. After teaching kindergarten and second grade for a number of years, Janice turned in her lesson plan book and began writing full-time. Since then she has sold over thirty-five books and novellas. Janice lives in east Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, traveling and spending time with family.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job!
You can connect with Janice at twitter.com/janicemaynard (http://twitter.com/janice), facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage (http://facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage), www.wattpad.com/user/janicemaynard (http://www.wattpad.com/user/janicemaynard), and instagram.com/janicemaynard (http://instagram.com/janice).
For Caroline and Anna: beautiful daughters, dear friends, exceptional women …
Contents
Cover (#u65adaaee-9346-5418-8716-a19cd57b8f65)
Introduction (#ucf60628c-ddac-5b81-9126-dab164e233d1)
Title Page (#u4d62ddf6-b953-5146-9e18-7c6c6a208188)
About the Author (#u7759c12c-6562-5559-9c10-97072e95cb95)
Dedication (#u8d701e03-b9b3-5d2e-b4a5-2108f40e2764)
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“I want you to push me to my limits. So I can prove to you that I can handle it.”
Patrick stared across his paper-cluttered desk at the woman seated opposite him. Libby Parkhurst was not someone you would pick out of a crowd. Mousy brown hair, ordinary features and clothes at least one size too big for her slender frame added up to an unfortunate adjective. Forgettable.
Except for those eyes. Green. Moss, maybe. Not emerald. Emerald was too brilliant, too sharp. Libby’s green eyes were the quiet, soothing shade of a summer forest.
Patrick cleared his throat, absolutely sure his companion hadn’t intended her remark to sound provocative. Why would she? Patrick was nothing more to her than a family friend and a prospective employer. After all, Libby’s mother had been his mother’s best friend for decades.
“I appreciate your willingness to step outside your comfort zone, Libby,” he said. “But I think we both know this job is not for you. You don’t understand what it involves.” Patrick’s second in command, Charlise, was about to commence six months of maternity leave. Patrick needed a replacement ASAP. Because he had dawdled in filling the spot, his mother, Maeve Kavanagh, had rushed in to supply an interviewee.
Libby sat up straighter, her hands clenched in her lap, her expression earnest and maybe a tad desperate. “I do,” she said firmly. “Maeve described the position in detail. All I’m asking is that you run me through the paces before I have to welcome the first group.”
Patrick’s business, Silver Reflections, provided a quiet, soothing setting for professionals experiencing burnout, but also offered team-building activities for high-level management executives. Ropes courses, hiking, overnight survival treks. The experience was sometimes grueling and always demanding.
The fill-in assistant would be involved in every aspect of running Silver Reflections. While Patrick applauded Libby’s determination, he had serious doubts about her ability to handle the physical aspects of the job.
“Libby...” He sighed, caught between his instincts about filling the position and his obligation to play nice.
His unwanted guest leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk with both hands, her knuckles white. “I need this job, Patrick. You know I do.”
Libby had him there. He’d witnessed in painful detail what the past year had been like for her—as had most of the country, thanks to the tabloids. First, Libby’s father had been sent to prison for tax fraud to the tune of several million. Then eight weeks ago, after months of being hounded by the press and forced to adopt a lifestyle far below her usual standards, Libby’s emotionally fragile mother had committed suicide.
Quite simply, in the blink of an eye, Libby Parkhurst had gone from being a sheltered heiress to a woman with virtually no resources. Her debutante education had qualified her to host her father’s dinner parties when her mother was unable or unwilling to do so. But twenty-three-year-old Libby had no practical experience, no résumé and no money.
“You won’t like it.” He was running out of socially acceptable ways to say he didn’t want her for the job.
Libby’s chin lifted. She sat back in her chair, her spine straight. The disappointment in her gaze told him she anticipated his rejection. “I know your mother made you interview me,” she said.
“I’m far past the age where my mother calls the shots in my life.” It was only partly a lie. Maeve Kavanagh wielded maternal guilt like a sharp-edged sword.
“I don’t have anything left to lose,” Libby said quietly. “No home. No family. No trust fund. It’s all gone. For the first time in my life, I’m going to have to stand on my own two feet. I’m willing and able to do that. But I need someone to give me a chance.”
Damn it. Her dignified bravery tugged at heartstrings he hadn’t tuned in ages. Why was Libby Parkhurst his problem? What was his mother thinking?
Outside his window, the late-January trees were barren and gray. Winter still had a firm hold on this corner of western North Carolina. It would be at least eight weeks before the first high-adventure group arrived. In the meantime, Libby would surely be able to handle the hotel aspects of the job. Taking reservations. Checking in guests. Making sure that all reasonable requests were accommodated.
But even if he split Charlise’s job and gave Libby the less onerous part, he’d still be stuck looking for someone who could handle the outdoor stuff. Where was he going to find a candidate with the right qualifications willing to work temporarily and part-time?
If this had been an emotional standoff, Libby would have won. She never blinked as she looked at him with all the entreaty of a puppy begging to be fed. He decided to try a different tack. “Our clients are high-end,” he said. “I need someone who can dress the part.”
Though her cheeks flushed, Libby stood her ground. “I’ve planned and overseen social events in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. I think I can handle the fashion requirements.”
He eyed her frumpy clothing and lifted a brow...not saying a word.
For the first time, Libby lowered her gaze. “I suppose I hadn’t realized how much I’ve come to rely on the disguise,” she muttered. “I’ve dodged reporters for so long, my bag-lady routine has become second nature.”
Now he was the one who fidgeted. His unspoken criticism had wounded her. He felt the taste of shame. And an urgent need to make her smile. “A trial period only,” he said, conceding defeat. “I make no promises.”
Libby’s jaw dropped. “You’ll hire me?”
The joy in her damp green eyes was his undoing. “Temporarily,” he emphasized. “Charlise will be leaving in two weeks. In the meantime, she can show you how we run things here at the retreat center. When the weather gets a bit warmer, you and I will do a dry run with some of the outdoor activities. By the end of February, we’ll see how things are going.”
He had known “of” Libby for most of his life, though their paths seldom crossed. Patrick was thirty...Libby seven years younger. The last time he remembered seeing her was when Maeve had taken Patrick and his brothers to New York to see a hockey game. They had stopped by the Parkhurst home to say hello.
Libby had been a shy redheaded girl with braces and a ponytail. Patrick had been too cool at the time to do more than nod in her direction.
And now here they were.
Libby smiled at him, her radiance taking him by surprise. “You won’t be sorry, I swear.”
How had he thought she was plain? To conceal his surprise, he bent his head and scratched a series of numbers on a slip of paper. Sliding it across the desk, he made his tone flat...professional. “Here’s the salary. You can start Monday.”
When she saw the amount, Libby’s chin wobbled.
He frowned. “It’s not a lot, but I think it’s fair.”
She bit her lip. “Of course it’s fair. I was just thinking about how much money my family used to spend.”
“Is it hard?” he asked quietly. “Having to scrimp after a lifetime of luxury?”
“Yes.” She tucked the paper in her pocket. “But not in the way you think. The difficult part has been finding out how little I knew about the real world. My parents sheltered me...spoiled me. I barely knew how to cook or how much a gallon of milk cost. I guess you could say I was basically useless.”
Feeling his neck get hot, he reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers before releasing her. Something about Libby brought out his protective instincts. “No one is useless, Libby. You’ve had a hell of a year. I’m very sorry about your mother.”
She grimaced, her expression stark. “Thank you. I suppose I should tell you it wasn’t entirely a surprise. I’d been taking her back and forth to therapy sessions for weeks. She tried the suicide thing twice after my father’s trial. I don’t know if it was being without him that tormented her or the fact that she was no longer welcome in her social set, but either way, her pain was stronger than her need to be with me.”
“Suicide never makes sense. I’m sure your mother loved you.”
“Thank you for the vote of support.”
Patrick was impressed. Libby had every right to feel sorry for herself. Many women in her situation would latch onto the first available meal ticket...anything to maintain appearances and hang on to the lifestyle of a wealthy, pampered young socialite.
Libby, though, was doing her best to be independent.
“My mother thinks the world of you, Libby. I think she always wanted a daughter.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
Silence fell suddenly. Both of them knew that the only reason Patrick had agreed to interview Libby was because Maeve Kavanagh had insisted. Still, Patrick wasn’t going to go back on his word. Not now.
It wouldn’t take long for Libby to realize that she wasn’t cut out for the rigorous physical challenges that awaited her at Silver Reflections. Where Charlise had been an athlete and outdoorswoman for most of her life, Libby was a pale, fragile flower, guaranteed to wilt under pressure.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Patrick had cause to doubt his initial assessment. Libby dived into learning her new responsibilities with gusto. She and Charlise bonded almost immediately, despite the fact that they had little in common, or so it seemed.
Charlise raved about Libby’s natural gifts for hospitality. And the fact that Libby was smart and focused and had little trouble learning the computer system and a host of other things Charlise considered vital to running Silver Reflections.
On the second Friday morning Libby was on his payroll, Patrick cornered Charlise in her office and shut the door. “Well,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Is she going to be able to handle it?”
Charlise reclined in her swivel chair, her amply rounded belly a match for her almost palpable aura of contentment. “The girl’s a natural. We’ve already had four clients who have rebooked for future dates based on their interactions with Libby. I can honestly say that I’m going to be able to walk away from here without a single qualm.”
“And the outdoor component?”
Charlise’s glow dimmed. “Well, maybe a tiny qualm.”
“It’s one thing to run this place like a hotel. But you and I both know we work like dogs when we take a group out in the woods.”
“True. But Libby has enthusiasm. That goes a long way.”
“Up until a year ago I imagine she was enjoying pedicures at pricey Park Avenue salons. Hobnobbing with Fortune 500 executives who worked with her dad. It’s a good bet she never had anyone steal her lunch money.”
Charlise gave him a loaded look. “You’re a Kavanagh, Patrick. Born with a silver spoon and everything that goes with it. Silver Reflections is your baby, but you could walk away from it tomorrow and never have to work another day in your life.”
“Fair enough.” He scratched his chin. “There’s one other problem. I told Libby that she would have to dress the part if she planned to work here. But she’s still wearing her deliberately frumpy skirts and sweaters. Is that some kind of declaration of independence? Did I make a faux pas in bringing up her clothing?”
“Oh, you poor, deluded man.”
“Why does no one around here treat me with respect?”
Charlise ignored his question. “Your mother offered to buy Libby a suitable wardrobe, but your newest employee is independent to say the least. She’s waiting to go shopping until this afternoon when she gets her first paycheck.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Exactly.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Why can’t she wear the clothes she had when her dad went to prison? I’ll bet she owned an entire couture wardrobe.”
“She did,” Charlise said, her expression sober. “And she sold all those designer items to pay for her mom’s treatments. Apparently the sum total of what she owns can now fit into two suitcases.”
Patrick seldom felt guilty about his life choices. He did his best to live by a code of honor Maeve had instilled in all her boys. Do the right thing. Be kind. Never let ambition trump human relationships.
He had hired Libby. Now it was time to let her know she had his support.
* * *
Libby was in heaven. After months of wallowing in uncertainty and despair, now having a concrete reason to get up every morning brought her something she hadn’t found in a long time...confidence and peace.
For whatever reason, Patrick Kavanagh had made himself scarce during Libby’s first two weeks. He’d left the training and orientation entirely up to Charlise. Which meant Libby didn’t constantly have to be looking over her shoulder. With Charlise, Libby felt relaxed and comfortable.
They had hit it off immediately. So much so that Libby experienced a pang of regret to know Charlise wouldn’t be coming back after today. Just before five, Libby went to Charlise’s office holding a small package wrapped in blue paper printed with tiny airplanes. Charlise and her accountant husband were looking forward to welcoming a fat and healthy baby boy.
Libby knocked at the open door. “I wanted to give you this before you go.”
Charlise looked up from her chore of packing personal items. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. You’ve been so patient with me, and I appreciate it. Are you okay? Is anything wrong?”
Charlise reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “No. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. I’m very excited about the baby, and I want to stay at home with him, but I love Silver Reflections. It’s hard to imagine not coming here every day.”
“I’ll do my best to keep things running smoothly while you’re gone.”
“No doubts on that score. You’re a smart cookie, Libby. I feel completely confident about leaving things in your hands.”
“I hope you’ll bring the baby to see us when the weather is nice.”
“You can count on it.” She opened the gift slowly, taking care not to rip the paper. “Oh, Libby, this is beautiful. But it must have been way too expensive.”
Libby grimaced. She had been very honest with Charlise about her current financial situation. “It’s an antique of sorts. A family friend gave it to my parents when I was born, engraved with the initial L. When I heard you say were going to name the baby Lander, after your father, I knew I wanted you to have it.”
“But you’ve kept it all this time. Despite everything that’s happened. It must have special meaning.”
When Libby looked at the silver baby cup and bowl and spoon, her heart squeezed. “It does. It did. I think I held on to the set as a reminder of happier times. But the truth is, I don’t need it anymore. I’m looking toward the future. It will make me feel good to know your little boy is using it.”
Charlise hugged Libby tightly. “I’ll treasure it.”
Libby glanced at her watch. “I need to let you get out of here, but may I ask you one more thing before you go?”
“Of course.”
“How did you get this job working with Patrick?”
“My husband and Patrick’s brother Aidan are good friends. When Patrick put out the word that he was starting Silver Reflections, Aidan hooked us up.”
“And the high-adventure stuff?”
Charlise shrugged. “I’ve always been a tomboy. Climbing trees. Racing go-karts. Broke both arms and legs before I made it to college. At different times, thank goodness.”
“Good grief.” Libby thought about her own cocoon-like adolescence. “Do you really think I can handle the team building and physical challenges in the outdoors?”
The other woman paused, her hand hovering over a potted begonia. “Let me put it this way...” She picked up the plant and put it in a box. “I think you’ll be fine as long as you believe in yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve heard you talk about Patrick. He intimidates you.”
“Well, I—” Libby stopped short, unable to come up with a believable lie. “Yes.”
“Don’t let him. He may come across as tough and intense at times, but underneath it all, he’s a pussycat.”
A broad-shouldered masculine frame filled the doorway. “I think I’ve just been insulted.”
Two (#ulink_62e6a32d-157a-525d-8446-6176a6ce12b0)
Libby was mortified to be caught discussing her new boss. Charlise only laughed.
Patrick went to the pregnant woman and kissed her cheek, placing his hand lightly on her belly. “Tell that husband of yours to call me the minute you go to the hospital. And let me know if either of you needs anything...anything at all.”
Charlise got all misty-eyed again. “Thanks, boss.”
“It won’t be the same without you,” he said.
“Stop that or you’ll make me cry again. Libby knows everything I know. She’s exactly who you need... I swear.”
Patrick smiled. “I believe you.” He turned to Libby. “How about dinner tonight? I’ve tried to stay out of the way while Charlise showed you the ropes, but I think it would be good for the two of us to get to know each other better. What do you say?”
Libby felt herself flush from her toes to the top of her head. Not that this was a date. It wasn’t. Not even close. But Patrick Kavanagh was an imposing specimen. Despite his comfortably elegant appearance at the hotel, she had the distinct sense that beneath the dark suits and crisp ties lurked someone who was very much a man’s man.
The kind of guy who made a woman’s toes curl with just one look from his intense blue-gray eyes. He was tall and lean and had a headful of unruly black hair. The glossy, dark strands needed a comb. Or maybe the attention of a lover’s fingers.
Her heart thumped hard, even as her stomach tumbled in a free fall. “That would be nice,” she said. Great. Now she sounded like a child going to a tea party at her grandma’s house.
Charlise picked up her purse and a small box. Patrick hefted the larger carton and followed her out of the room, leaving Libby to trail behind. Outside, the air was crisp and cold. She shivered and pulled her sweater more tightly across her chest.
Patrick stowed Charlise’s things and hugged her. The affection between the two was palpable. Libby wondered what Charlise’s husband was like. Obviously, he must be quite a guy if he let his wife work day after day with the darkly handsome Patrick Kavanagh.
Charlise eased behind the wheel, closed the car door and motioned for Libby to come closer. Patrick’s phone had rung, and he was deep in conversation with whoever was on the other end.
Libby rested a hand in the open window and leaned down. “You’re going to freeze,” she said.
The pregnant woman lowered her voice. “Don’t let him ride roughshod over you. You’re almost too nice sometimes. Stand up to him if the occasion warrants it.”
“Why would I do that? He’s the boss.”
Charlise grinned and started the engine. “Because he’s too damned arrogant for his own good. All the Kavanagh men are. They’re outrageously sexy, too, but we women have to draw a line in the sand. Trust me, Libby. Alpha males are like dangerous animals. They can smell fear. You need to project confidence even when you don’t feel it.”
“Now you’re scaring me,” Libby said, only half joking.
“I’ve known Patrick a long time. He admires grit and determination. You’ll win his respect. I have no doubt. And don’t worry about the survival training. What’s the worst that could happen?”
* * *
Libby watched the car drive away, burdened with an inescapable feeling that her only friend in the world was leaving her behind in the scary forest. When she turned around, the lights from the main lodge of Silver Reflections cast a warm glow against the gathering darkness.
Since Patrick was still tied up on the phone, she went back to Charlise’s office—now Libby’s—and printed out the staff directory. She planned to study it this weekend. Facts and figures about everyone from the housekeeping staff to the guy who kept the internet up and running. Even at an executive retreat center famed for creating an atmosphere of solitude and introspection, no one at the level of these guests was going to be happy without a connection to the outside world.
Patrick found her twenty minutes later. “You ready to go? I guess it makes sense to take two cars.”
Silver Reflections was tucked away in the mountains ten miles outside of town. In the complete opposite direction stood the magnificent Silver Beeches Lodge. Perched on a mountaintop overlooking Silver Glen, it was owned and operated by Maeve Kavanagh and her eldest son, Liam. Libby hesitated before answering, having second thoughts. “I’m sure you must have better things to do with your weekend. I’m not really dressed for dinner out.”
Patrick’s eyes darkened with a hint of displeasure. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll include these hours in your paycheck. And dinner doesn’t have to be fancy. We can go to the Silver Dollar.”
Patrick’s brother, Dylan, owned a popular watering hole in town. The saloon was definitely low-key. Certainly Libby’s clothing would not make her stand out there. “All right,” she said, realizing for the first time that Patrick’s invitation was more like an order. “I’ll meet you there.”
During the twenty-minute drive, she had time to calm her nerves. She already had the job. Patrick wasn’t going to fire her yet. All she had to do was stick it out until they did some of the outdoor stuff, and she could prove to him that she was adaptable and confident in the face of challenges.
That pep talk carried her all the way into the parking lot of the Silver Dollar. The requisite pickup trucks were definitely in evidence, but they were interspersed with Lexus and Mercedes and the occasional fancy sports car.
Libby had visited this corner of North Carolina a time or two over the years with her mother. Silver Glen was a high-end tourist town with a nod to alpine flavor and an unspoken guarantee that the paparazzi were not allowed. It wasn’t unusual to see movie stars and famous musicians wandering the streets in jeans and baseball caps.
Most of them eventually showed up at the Silver Dollar, where the beer was cold, the Angus burgers prime and the crowd comfortably raucous. Libby hovered on the porch, waiting for Patrick to arrive. The noise and color and atmosphere were worlds away from her native habitat in Manhattan, but she loved it here.
At Maeve’s urging, Libby had given up the New York apartment she could scarcely afford and had come to North Carolina for a new start. Truth be told, her native habitat was feeling more and more distant every day.
Patrick strolled into view, jingling his car keys. “Let’s grab a table,” he said. “I called Dylan and told him we were on our way.”
In no time, they were seated. Libby ordered a Coke...Patrick, an imported ale. Dylan stopped by to say hello. The smiling, very handsome bar owner was the second oldest in the seven-boy Kavanagh lineup. Patrick was the second youngest.
Patrick waved a hand at Libby. “Do you remember Libby Parkhurst? She’s going to fill in for part of Charlise’s maternity leave.”
Dylan shook Libby’s hand. “I do remember you.” He sobered. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. We have an apartment upstairs here at the Silver Dollar. I’d be happy to give it to you rent-free until you’ve had a chance to get back on your feet.”
Libby narrowed her gaze. “Did your mother guilt you into making me an offer?”
Dylan’s neck turned red. “Why would you say that? Can’t a man do something nice without getting an inquisition?”
Libby stared from one brother to the other. Apparently, down-on-her-luck Libby had become the family project. “If you’re positive it won’t be an imposition,” she said slowly. “I’m taking up a very nice guest room at Maeve’s fancy hotel, so I’m sure she’d rather have me here.”
Dylan shook his head. “Maeve is delighted to have you anywhere. Trust me. But she thought you’d like some privacy.”
* * *
Patrick studied Libby’s face as she pondered the implications of living above the bar. It was hardly what she was used to...but then again, he had no idea what her life had been like after the tax guys had swooped in and claimed their due.
Dylan wandered away to deal with a bar-related problem, and on impulse, Patrick asked the question on his mind. “Will you tell me about this past year? Where you’ve been? How things unfolded? Sometimes it helps to talk to a neutral third party.”
Libby sipped her Coke, her gaze on the crowd. Friday nights were always popular at the Silver Dollar. He studied her profile. She had a stubborn chin, but everything else about her was soft and feminine. He would bet money that after one night in the woods, Libby was going to admit she was in over her head.
When she looked at him, those beautiful eyes gave him a jolt—awareness laced with the tiniest bit of sexual interest. He shut down that idea quickly. Maeve would have his head on a platter if he messed with her protégé. And besides, Libby wasn’t his type. Not at all.
Libby’s lips curved in a rueful half smile. “It was frightening and traumatic and definitely educational. Fortunately, my mother had a few stocks and bonds that were in her name only. We managed to find an apartment we could afford, but it was pretty dismal. I wanted to go out and look for work, but she insisted she needed me close. I think losing the buffer of wealth and privilege made her feel painfully vulnerable.”
“What about your father?”
“We had some minimal contact with him. But Mama and I both felt betrayed, so we didn’t go out of our way to visit. I suppose that makes me sound hard and selfish.”
Patrick shook his head. “Not at all. A man’s duty is to care for his family. Your father deceived you, broke your trust and failed to provide for you. It’s understandable that you have issues.”
She stared at him. “You speak from experience, don’t you? My mother told me about what happened years ago.”
Patrick hadn’t expected her to be so quick on the uptake. Now he was rather sorry he’d raised the subject. His own father, Reggie Kavanagh, had been determined to find the lost silver mine that had made the first Kavanaghs in North Carolina extremely wealthy. Reggie had spent months, years...looking, always looking.
His obsession cost him his family.
“I was just a little kid,” Patrick said. “My brother Liam has the worst memories. But yeah...I understand. My mother had every right to be bitter and angry, but somehow she pulled herself together and kept tabs on seven boys.”
Libby paled, her eyes haunted. “I wish I could say the same. But not all of us are as strong as Maeve.”
He cursed inwardly. He hadn’t meant to sound critical of Libby’s mother. “My mother wasn’t left destitute.”
“True. But she’s made of tough stock. Mama was never really a strong person, even in the best of times.”
“I’m sorry, Libby.”
Her lips twisted, her eyes bleak. “We can’t choose our families.”
In an instant he saw that this job idea was laden with emotional peril for Libby Parkhurst. When it became glaringly obvious that she couldn’t handle the physically demanding nature of Charlise’s role as his assistant, Libby would be crushed. Surely it would be better to find that out sooner than later. Then she could move on and look for employment more suited to her skill set. Libby was smart and organized and intuitive.
There was a place for her out there somewhere. Just not at Silver Reflections.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I looked at the weather forecast. We’re due to have a warm spell in a couple of days.”
“I saw that, too. Maeve says you almost always get an early taste of spring here in the mountains, even if it doesn’t last long.”
“She’s right. And in light of that, why don’t you and I go ahead and take an overnight trip, so I can show you what’s involved.”
Libby went from wistful to deer in the headlights. “You mean now?”
“Yes. We could head out Monday morning and be back Tuesday afternoon.” Part of him felt guilty for pushing her, but they had to get past this hurdle so she could see the truth.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “I don’t have any outdoor gear.”
“Mom can cover you there. And my sisters-in-law can loan you some stuff, too. No sense in buying anything now.”
“Because you think I’ll fail.”
She stared him down, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. “I think there is a good chance you’ll discover that working for me isn’t what you really want.”
“You’ve made up your mind already, haven’t you?” He was surprised to see that she had a temper.
“No.” Was he being entirely honest? “I promised you a trial run. I’ve merely moved up the timetable, thanks to the weather.”
Libby’s gaze skewered him. “Do I need a list from you, or will your mother know everything I need?”
“I’ll email you the list, but Mom has a pretty good idea.”
Libby stood up abruptly. “I don’t think I’m that hungry, after all. Thank you for the Coke, Mr. Kavanagh. If you’ll excuse me, it sounds like I have a lot to do this weekend.”
And with that, she turned her back on him and walked out of the room.
Dylan commandeered the chair Libby had vacated, his broad smirk designed to be irritating. “I haven’t seen you crash and burn in a long time, baby brother. What did you say to make her so mad?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Patrick said, his voice curt. “Mind your own damned business.”
“She could do better than you, no doubt. Great body, I’m guessing, even though her clothes are a tad on the eccentric side. Excellent bone structure. Upper-crust accent. And those eyes... Hell, if I weren’t a married man, I’d try my luck.”
Patrick reined in his temper, well aware that Dylan was yanking his chain. “That’s not funny.”
“Seriously. What did you say to run her off?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got all night.”
Patrick stared at him. “If you must know, Mom shoved her down my throat as a replacement for Charlise. Libby can handle the retreat center details, but there is no way in hell she’s going to be able to do all the outdoor, backcountry stuff. When I hired her, she asked me to give her a chance to prove herself. I merely pointed out that the weather’s going to be warm the first of the week, so we might as well go for it.”
“And that made her mad?”
“Well, she might possibly have assumed that I expect her to fail.”
“Smart lady.”
“How am I the bad guy here? I run a multilayered business. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.”
Dylan’s expression went from amused to horrified in the space of an instant.
Libby’s soft, well-modulated voice broke the deadly silence. “I left my sweater. Sorry to interrupt.”
And then she was gone. Again.
Patrick swallowed hard. “Did she hear what I said?”
Dylan winced. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you. I didn’t see her coming.”
“Well, that’s just peachy.”
The waitress appeared, notepad in hand, to take Patrick’s order. “What’ll you have?” she asked.
Dylan shook his head in regret. “Bring us a couple of burgers, all the way. My baby brother needs some cheering up. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Three (#ulink_8442e538-2bb4-598b-bfba-36add4475464)
Not since the wretched aftermath of her father’s arrest had Libby felt so small and so humiliated. She’d thought Patrick liked her...that he was pleased with her work to date. But in truth, Libby had been foisted on him, and he resented her intrusion.
Her chest hurt, almost as if someone had actually sucker punched her. When she made it back to her room on the third floor of Maeve’s luxurious hotel, Libby threw herself on the bed and cried. Then she cussed awhile and cried some more. Part of her never wanted to see Patrick Kavanagh again. The other part wanted to make him ashamed for having doubted her. She wanted to be the best damn outdoorswoman he had ever seen.
But since that was highly unlikely to be the actual scenario come Monday, perhaps the best course was to explain to Maeve that the job hadn’t worked out.
There would be questions, of course, lots of them. And although there might be other jobs in Silver Glen, perhaps as a shop assistant making minimum wage, it would be difficult to find a place to live on that kind of paycheck. She owed Maeve a huge debt of gratitude. Not for anything in the world did she want to seem ungrateful.
Which left Libby neatly boxed into an untenable situation.
* * *
Saturday morning she awoke with puffy eyes and a headache. It was only after her third cup of coffee that she even began to feel normal. Breakfast was out of the question. She felt too raw, too bruised. There was no reason to think Patrick would be anywhere near the Silver Beeches Lodge, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
After showering and dressing in jeans and a baggy sweater, Libby sent a text to Maeve, asking her to drop by when she had a minute. In the meantime, Libby studied her paycheck. She had planned to buy the first pieces of her professional wardrobe this weekend. But if she was going to be fired Tuesday night, it made no sense to pay for clothes she might not need.
One step at a time.
When Maeve knocked on the door around eleven, Libby took a deep breath and let her in.
Maeve hugged her immediately. “I want to hear all about the job,” she said, beaming. “I saw Charlise in town Wednesday, and she said you were amazing.”
Libby managed a weak chuckle. “Charlise is being kind.”
The two of them sat down in armchairs beside the gas log fireplace. Although now Libby could barely afford the soap in the bathroom, the upscale accommodations were familiar in their amenities. Growing up, she had traveled widely with her parents.
Maeve smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her neatly pressed black slacks. Wearing a matching blazer and a fuchsia silk blouse, she looked far younger than her age, certainly too young to have seven adult sons. “So tell me,” she said. “How do you like working for Patrick?”
“Well...” Libby hesitated. She’d never been a good liar, so she had to tiptoe through this minefield. “I’ve spent most of my time with Charlise. But everyone on the staff speaks very highly of your son.”
“But what do you think? He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he?”
At last Libby’s smile felt genuine. “Yes, ma’am. Patrick is a hottie.”
“I know I’m prejudiced, but I think all my sons turned out extremely well.”
“I know you’re proud, and rightfully so.”
“Five of them already married off to wonderful women. I think I’m doing pretty well.”
Uh-oh. “Maeve, surely you’re not thinking about playing matchmaker. That would be extremely uncomfortable for me.”
Maeve’s face fell. “What do you mean?”
“I’m starting my life from scratch,” Libby said. “I have to know I can be an independent person. Although I was too naive to realize it at the time, my parents sheltered me and coddled me. I want to learn how to negotiate the world on my own. Romance is way down the list. And besides, even I know it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”
If a mature, extremely sophisticated woman could sulk, that’s what Maeve did. “I thought you’d appreciate my help.”
“I do,” Libby said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. “You looked out for me at the lowest point in my life. You helped me through Mama’s death and took me in. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But at some point, you have to let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure I can survive on my own.”
“I suppose you’re right. Is that why you wanted to see me this morning? To tell me to butt out?”
Libby grinned, relieved that Maeve had not taken offense. “No. Actually, I need your help in rounding up some hiking gear. Patrick wants to take advantage of the warm weather coming up to teach me what I’ll need to know for the team-building, outdoor-adventure expeditions.”
“So soon? Those usually don’t begin until early April.”
“I think he wants to be sure I can handle the physical part of the job.” Libby spoke calmly, but inwardly she cringed, Patrick’s words still ringing in her ears. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.
Maeve stared at her intently. Almost as if she could tell something else was going on. “Write down all your sizes,” she said. “I’ll gather everything you need and meet you here tomorrow around one.”
“I really appreciate it.”
Maeve stood. “I have a lunch appointment, so I need to run. You’ll get through this, Libby. I know how strong you are.”
“Mentally or physically?”
“They go hand in hand. You may surprise yourself this week, my dear. And you may surprise Patrick, as well.”
* * *
Patrick’s mood hovered somewhere between injured grizzly and teething toddler. He was ashamed of himself for letting his aggravation make him say something stupid. But damn it, he’d been talking to his brother...letting off steam. He didn’t go around kicking puppies and plucking the heads off flowers.
He was a nice guy.
Unfortunately for him, he could think of at least one person who didn’t think so.
During the weekend, he gathered the equipment he would need to put Libby through her paces. Normally, he and Charlise shared the load: supervising the employees who organized the meals, interacting with the executives, teaching skills, coaching the group through difficult activities.
But Charlise was not only accustomed to being outdoors, she also had a great deal of experience in living off the land.
Libby didn’t. It was as simple as that.
Patrick tried to juggle things in his mind, ways for him to take over some of Charlise’s duties so that Libby could handle a lighter load. But that would only postpone the inevitable. This first experience had to play out as closely as possible to the real thing, so Libby would understand fully what was involved and what she could expect.
By Monday morning, his mood hadn’t improved. He’d gone through his checklist on autopilot, but of course, he’d had to cover Charlise’s prep, as well. He arrived at Silver Reflections several minutes before eight so he would have some time to mentally gear up for the day’s events.
Libby’s car was already parked in the small wooded lot adjacent to the building. It was an old-model Mercedes with a badly dented fender. Suddenly Patrick remembered where he had seen the car before. Liam’s wife had driven it a couple of years ago until a teenage kid backed into her at the gas station.
Liam had decided it wasn’t worth fixing and bought Zoe a brand-new mommy van. The damaged car had been in Liam’s garage the last time Patrick saw it. Apparently, Maeve wasn’t opposed to getting the whole family in the act when it came to her “rescue Libby” plan.
Patrick headed inside, greeted the receptionist with an absent wave and holed up in his office. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a hip against his desk, pulled his phone out and sent a text.
We’ll leave at nine if that works for you...
Libby’s response was immediate: I’ll be ready.
Meet me out front.
He wondered if Libby was nervous. Surely so. But he knew her well enough already to be damned sure she wouldn’t let the nerves show.
At 8:55 he hefted all their gear and headed outside, only to get his first shock of the day. Libby leaned against a tree, head back, eyes closed. On the ground at her feet lay a waterproof jacket. From head to toe, she was outfitted appropriately. Sturdy boots, lightweight quick-dry pants, a white shirt made of the same fabric and an aluminum hiking pole. He came do a dead stop and swallowed hard.
Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet inexplicably she managed to look like a model for some weird amalgam of Vogue and L.L.Bean. The clothing fit her better than anything she had worn so far in his employ. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.
When he shifted from one foot to the other, he dislodged a piece of gravel. Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.
He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They stared at each other for several long seconds. He couldn’t get a read on her emotions. So he shoved aside the memory of her face in Dylan’s bar and forced himself to zero in on basics.
“Three things,” he said tersely. “The moment you feel anything on your foot begin to rub, we stop and deal with it. A major key to hiking in the mountains is taking care of your feet. Blisters can be incapacitating. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Her smart-ass tone was designed to annoy him, but he didn’t take the bait. “Secondly, if I’m walking too fast for you, you have to say so. There’s no need to play the martyr.”
“Understood.”
“Lastly, you have to drink water. All day. All the time. Women don’t like the idea of peeing in the woods, so they tend to get dehydrated. That’s also dangerous.”
The look on Libby’s face was priceless. “Got it,” she mumbled.
“Am I being too blunt?” he asked.
She gnawed her lip. “No. I suppose I hadn’t thought through all the ramifications.”
“That’s what this trip is about.”
He slid one of two backpacks off his shoulder. “I need to make sure the straps are adjusted correctly for you.” Without asking, he stepped behind her and helped settled the pack into position. With a few quick tugs, he was satisfied. Finally, he moved in front of her and fiddled with the strap at her chest.
Libby made some kind of squawk or gasp. It was only then that he realized his fingers were practically caressing her breasts. He stepped back quickly. “I’m sure you can manage the waistband,” he muttered.
“Uh-huh.” She kept her head down while she dealt with the plastic locking mechanism. After a moment, she stared off into the woods. “I’m good.”
“Then follow me.”
* * *
Libby had taken yoga classes from the time she was fourteen, although during the past year, she’d had to keep up the discipline on her own. She was limber and more than moderately fit. But Patrick’s punishing pace had her gasping for breath by the third mile.
His legs were longer than hers. He knew the rhythm of walking over rough terrain. And she was pretty sure he had loaded her pack with concrete blocks. But if Charlise could do this, so could she.
Fortunately, the boots Maeve had found for Libby were extremely comfortable and already broken in. Given Patrick’s warning, Libby paid close attention to her feet. So far, no sign of problems.
It helped that the view from behind was entertaining. Patrick’s tight butt and long legs ate up the miles. She had long since given up estimating how far they had come or what time it was. Since her phone was turned off to save the battery, she was dependent upon Patrick’s knowledge of the forest to get them where they needed to go.
At one point when her legs ached and her lungs burned, she shouted out a request. “Water, please.” That was more acceptable to her pride than admitting she couldn’t keep up.
Patrick had a fancy water-thingy that rested inside his pack and allowed him to suck from a thin hose that protruded. Not the kind of item a person borrows. So he had tucked plastic pouches of water for Libby in the side pockets of her pack. She opened one and took a long, satisfying gulp. It took everything she had not to ask how much farther it was to their destination.
The two of them were completely alone...miles away from the nearest human. The wind soughed through the trees. Birds tweeted. The peace and solitude were beautifully soothing. But a chasm existed between Patrick and her. At the moment, she had no desire to breach it.
As forecasted, the warming trend had arrived with a vengeance. Temperatures must already be in the upper sixties, because Libby’s skin was damp with perspiration.
Patrick hadn’t said a word during their stop. He merely stood in silence, his attention focused on the scenery. The trail had ascended a small ridgeline, and through a break in the trees, they could see the town of Silver Glen in the distance.
“I’m good,” she said, stashing the water container. “Lead on.”
Her body hurt and her lungs hurt, but eventually, she fell into a rhythm that was almost natural. One foot in front of the other. Zen-like state of being. Embrace the now.
It almost worked.
When they stopped for lunch, she could have sworn it was at least seven in the evening. But the sun was still high in the sky. Patrick had a more sophisticated standard for trail food than she had anticipated. Perhaps a certain level of cuisine was de rigueur for his Fortune 500 clients. Instead of the peanut butter and jelly she had expected, they enjoyed baked-ham sandwiches on homemade bread.
When the meal was done and Patrick shoved their minimal trash into his pack, she finally asked a question. “What do you do if you have someone who can’t handle the hiking?”
He zipped his pack and shouldered it. “Companies apply to come to Silver Reflections. We have a long waiting list. Most of the elite businesses institute some kind of wellness programs beforehand. They’ll include weight loss, stress management, regular exercise...that kind of thing. So by the time they come to North Carolina, most of the participants are mentally and physically prepared for the adventure rather than dreading it.”
“I see.” But she didn’t really. Patrick was already walking, so she stumbled after him. “But what about people that aren’t prepared? Do they make them come anyway?”
Patrick didn’t turn around, but his voice carried. “A lot of top corporations are beginning to realize the importance of physical well-being for their employees as a means to increase the bottom line. If an executive has a physical limitation, then of course he or she isn’t forced to come. But if an otherwise physically capable person chooses not to attend to his or her health and fitness, then it might be a sign that a top-shelf promotion isn’t in the cards.”
With that, the conversation ended. Patrick was walking as quickly as ever, making it look easy. Maybe Libby had slipped into the numb stage, or maybe she was actually getting used to this, but her aches and pains had receded. Perhaps this was the “runner’s high” people talked about. Endorphins at work, masking the physical discomfort.
At long last, Patrick stopped and took off his pack to stretch. Libby followed suit, looking around curiously. It was obvious they had reached their destination. Patrick stood on the edge of a large clearing. The area was mostly flat. About thirty feet away, a narrow creek slid and tumbled over rocks, the sound of the water as soothing as the prospect of wetting tired feet in the chilly brook.
Patrick shot her a look, clearly assessing her physical state. “This is base camp.”
“There’s not much to it,” she blurted out.
“Were you expecting a five-star hotel?”
His sarcasm on top of everything else made her angry, but she didn’t want him to get the best of her. So she kept her mouth shut. If he wanted her to talk, he was going to have to initiate the conversation.
Somehow, it seemed almost obscene to be at odds with another human in the midst of such surroundings. Though it would be several more weeks until the new green of spring began to make its way through the sun-kissed glades, even now the forest was beautiful.
She dropped her pack and managed not to whimper. Though it galled her to admit it, maybe Patrick was right. Maybe this job was not for her. It was one thing to come out here alone with him. But in the midst of an “official” expedition, Libby would be expected to pull her weight. Her new boss wouldn’t be free to coach her if she got in over her head.
He knelt and began pulling things from his pack. “The first thing Charlise usually does is put up our tents. I’ll be teaching the group how to do theirs.”
“Okay.” How hard could it be? The one-man tents were small.
“First you’ll want the ground cover. It’s the thing that’s silver on one side and red on the other. Silver side up to preserve body heat.”
Libby was a fast learner. And she was determined to acquit herself well. “Got it.”
Patrick pointed. “Leader tents go over there.” He stood, hands on hips, while she struggled to spread the ground tarps and smooth them out.
Next came the actual tents. Claustrophobically small and vulnerably thin, they were actually not that difficult to set up. Lightweight poles snapped together in pieces and threaded through a nylon sleeve from one corner of the tent to the opposite side. Repeat once, and it was done. The only thing left was to secure the four corners to the ground with plastic stakes.
All in all, not a bad effort for her first time. Even Patrick seemed reluctantly impressed. He handed her a rolled-up bundle that was about eighteen inches wide. “Look for a valve on one corner. It’s not difficult to blow up. And it won’t look like much when you’re done. But having this pad underneath your upper body and hips makes for a much more comfortable night.”
He was right. Even when she inflated the thin mattress, it didn’t seem like much of a cushion. But she wasn’t about to say so.
To give Patrick his due, he didn’t go out of his way to make her feel nervous or clumsy. Still, having someone watch while she learned new skills was stressful.
At last, both tents were up, pads and sleeping bags inside. The full realization that she and Patrick were going to spend the night together hit her hard. No television. No computers. Nothing at all for a distraction. He was gorgeous and unavailable. She was lonely and susceptible.
Nevertheless, the job was what she needed. Not the man. She couldn’t let him see that she was seriously attracted to him. Cool and casual was the plan.
She stood and arched her back. “What next?”
Four (#ulink_1d7adda3-2687-5d7b-bb0a-7e247da252be)
Patrick hadn’t expected much from a young, pampered, New York socialite. But perhaps he was going to have to eat his words. During the morning, he had set an intentionally punishing pace as they made their way through the woods. Libby stayed on his heels and never once complained.
Was it the past year that had made her resilient, or was she naturally spunky and stubborn? That would remain to be seen.
He glanced at his watch. Even with this current spring-like spell, it was still February, which meant far less daylight than in two months when he traditionally scheduled his first team-building treks. Kneeling, he pulled a small camp stove from his pack. “I’ll show you how to use this,” he said. “The chef at the retreat center has a couple of part-time assistants who prepare our camping meals the day before.”
“I assumed the execs would have to cook for themselves. Isn’t that part of the outdoor experience?”
“In theory, yes. But so far, we’ve only done short trips...two days, one night. So our time frame is limited. Since we want them to do a lot of other activities, we preprepare the food and all they have to do is warm it up. We don’t spend too much time on meals.”
Once Libby had mastered the stove, she glanced up at him. “Surely you don’t expect the entire group to use something this small.”
“No. I have a group of local guys who come along to carry the food, extra stoves and extra water.”
He stared at her, disconcerted by feelings that caught him unawares. He was enjoying himself. Libby was a very soothing person to be around. When she stood up, he walked away, ostensibly picking up some fallen limbs that had littered the campsite.
Grappling with an unexpected attraction, he cursed inwardly. With Charlise, he never felt like he was interacting with a woman. He treated her the same way he did his brothers. Charlise was almost part of his family. While he was delighted that she and her husband were so happy about the upcoming birth, he would be lying if he didn’t admit he was feeling a little bit sorry for himself. Silver Reflections had been going so well. He had honed these outdoor events down to the finest detail. Then Charlise had to go and get pregnant. And his mother had saddled him with Libby. A remarkably appealing woman who’d already managed to get under his skin.
What was he going to do about it? Nothing. It would be a really bad idea to get involved personally with his mother’s beloved Libby. Not only that, but with Charlise out of commission, he had no choice but to work twice as hard. And ignore his libido.
Surely he could be excused for being a little grumpy.
Libby called out to him. “What now?”
He turned around and caught her rolling her shoulders. She’d be sore tomorrow. Backpacking used a set of muscles most people didn’t employ on a daily basis.
“I’ll show you how we string our packs up in the trees,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He sighed, the look of befuddlement on her face the sign of an outdoor newbie. “Once we set up camp, we won’t be hauling our backpacks everywhere. We’ll use this as home base and range around the area.”
“Why can’t we leave the packs in our tents?”
“Bears,” he said simply.
Up until that point, Libby had done an admirable job keeping her cool, but now she paled. “What do you mean, bears?”
“Black bears have an incredible sense of smell. And they’re omnivorous. Anytime we’re away from camp—and at night when we’re sleeping—we’ll hang our packs from a high tree limb to discourage unwanted visitors. Don’t keep any food in your tent at all, not even a pack of crackers or scented lip balm or toothpaste.”
“I washed my hair with apple shampoo this morning.” Her expression was priceless.
“Not to worry. I should have told you. But the scent won’t be strong enough by the end of the day to make a difference.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled as she glanced over her shoulder, perhaps expecting a bear to lumber into sight any moment.
Patrick unearthed a packet of nylon rope. “There will be plenty of tall men around to do this part, but it never hurts to gain a new life skill. Watch me, and then you can try.”
“If you say so.”
He found a rock that was maybe four inches around and tied it to the end of the rope. “Stand back,” he said. Fortunately for his male pride, his first shot sailed over the branch. He reached for the rock again and removed it. “Now all you have to do is attach one end to your pack, send it up, and tie it off.” When Libby seemed skeptical, he laughed, his good humor restored for the moment. “Never mind. I won’t make you practice this right now. We have better things to do.”
“Like what?”
He grabbed a couple of water pouches and a zippered nylon case, then hefted both packs toward the treetops, securing them. “I’m going to show you where I teach the groups how to rappel.”
Libby’s expression was dubious. “Does Charlise do the rappelling thing?”
It was the first time she had seemed at all reluctant to approach something new. “No. Not usually. So if you don’t want to try it, you can watch me. But I do want you to get a feel for the whole range of activities we offer. C’mon...it’s not far.”
As they passed the two tents, neatly in place for the upcoming night, he felt his pulse thud. He’d never thought of camping out as sexual or even sensual. When he spent time with a woman, it was in fine restaurants or at the theater. Perhaps later on soft sheets in her bedroom. But certainly not when both parties were sweaty—and without a luxurious bathroom at hand.
He stumbled. Damn it. Libby was messing with his head.
The large rock outcropping was barely half a mile away. He strode automatically, only slowing down when he realized that Libby was lagging behind. When she caught up, he moved on without speaking.
Though she had been cooperative and pleasant all day, his inadvertent insult from Friday hung between them like a cloud. He would have to address it sooner or later, whether she liked it or not.
When they arrived at their destination, he unzipped the bag and pulled out a mass of tightly woven mesh straps. “Sometimes, if we have women along, I might ask you to help them get into their gear. If a female seems extremely modest or uneasy, it can be difficult for me or one of the guys to help with the harness...you know...too much touching.”
Libby nodded. “I understand.”
She stared at him intently as he prepared the equipment. Something about her steady regard made the back of his neck tingle. “I’m going to go around the side of that ridge and come out on top,” he said. “That cliff is only about thirty feet high, but it looks really far off the ground when you’re standing up there, particularly if you’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I can imagine.”
He tossed her a thin ground cloth to sit on. “Feel free to relax while I get up there. And you don’t have to worry about ticks or other bugs. It’s still too early for a lot of creepy crawlies.”
* * *
Libby hadn’t been worrying about creepy crawlies, but she was now. Ick. Her legs itched already from the power of suggestion.
If her companion had been any man other than Patrick Kavanagh, she might have assumed he was showing off. He could have explained how the rappelling worked without a demonstration. Maybe he just liked doing it. It was a sure bet he didn’t have any interest in impressing her.
Without Libby to slow him down, he appeared at the top of the small cliff in no time at all. She shaded her eyes and watched as he secured himself to a nearby tree. He checked all of his connections and waved. Then, looking like an extremely handsome and nimble spiderish superhero, he stepped backward off the rock shelf and danced his way to the bottom.
His skill was striking.
Something about a man so physically powerful and at ease with his body was very appealing. For a moment, she thought about other, more primal things he might do exceedingly well...but no. She wouldn’t go there.
Once before when she was young and immature, she’d fallen under the spell of a magnetic, powerful man—with disastrous results. History would not be repeating itself. She was older now, old enough to be tempted. But sex and romance were off the table. Keeping this job had to be her focus.
The demonstration took some time. Once Patrick reached the bottom, he had to go back to the top and untie his ropes.
Finally, he reappeared, striding toward her. She handed him his water. He dropped down beside her, barely breathing heavily, and took long gulps. Already, the sun was sliding lower in the sky, and a chill began to linger in the shadows.
Libby pulled her knees to her chest and linked her arms around her legs. “That was pretty cool. Have you always been fond of the outdoors?”
Patrick wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. “Would you be surprised to know that I worked in advertising for several years in Chicago?”
She gaped at him. “Seriously?”
His smile was self-mocking. “Yes. I loved the competitive atmosphere—stealing big accounts, coming up with the next great ad campaign. Brainstorming with smart, focused, energetic colleagues. It was a great environment for a young man.”
She snorted. “You’re still young.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“Then what changed?”
He shrugged. “I missed the mountains. I missed Silver Glen. I didn’t know how deeply this place was imprinted on my DNA until I left. So one day, I turned in my notice, and I came home.”
“And started Silver Reflections.”
“It took a couple of years, but yeah...it’s been a pretty exciting time.”
“So who’s the real Patrick Kavanagh? The man I just watched scramble down a cliff? Or the sophisticated guy who roams the halls of his übersuccessful, private, luxurious executive getaway?”
His quick grin startled her. “Wow, Libby...was that a compliment?” Without waiting for an answer to his teasing question, he continued. “Both, I guess. Without the time in Chicago, I doubt I would have understood the needs of the type A men and women who eat, sleep and breathe work. I was one of them...at least for a few years. But I realized my life was missing balance. For me, the balance is here. So if I can offer rest and recovery to other people, then I’m satisfied.”
“And your personal life?” Oops. That popped out uncensored. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
He chuckled but kept silent.
They were sitting so close, she could smell his warm skin and the hint of whatever soap he had used that morning. Not aftershave. That would be the equivalent of inviting bears to munch on his toes. Even mentally joking about it gave her a shiver of unease.
Not long from now, it was going to get dark. Very dark. Her nemesis, Patrick Kavanagh, was the only person metaphorically standing between her and the wildness of nature.
To keep her mind off the upcoming night, she asked another question. “Do you have any regrets?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I said something so stupid and unkind, and I’m sorry you heard it.”
She flushed, though in the fading light, maybe he couldn’t see. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it. You’re entitled to your opinion.”
He touched her knee. Briefly. As if to establish some kind of connection. “I admire the hell out of you, Libby. I didn’t mean what I said on Friday night. My mother is one of the best people I know. Her instincts are always spot-on. Her compassion and genuine love for people have influenced my brothers and me more than we’ll ever know.”
“You called me a misfit.”
Patrick cursed beneath his breath. “Don’t remind me, damn it. I’m sorry. It was a crappy thing to do.”
“I think the reason it hurt me was because it’s the truth.”
Patrick leaped to his feet and dragged her with him, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He looked down at her, his jaw tight. He was big and strong and absolutely confident in everything he did. With the five-inch difference in their heights, it would be easy to rest her head on his shoulder. She was tired of being strong all the time. She was tired of not knowing who she was anymore. And she really wanted the luxury of having a man like Patrick in her life. But survival trumped romance right now.
“You’ve been a trouper today,” he said quietly.
“But I’m not Charlise.”
One beat of silence passed. Then two.
“No. You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable in your own way.”
He wasn’t dodging the truth. Where she came from they called that damning with faint praise.
“I can learn,” she said firmly. Was she trying to convince Patrick or herself?
His small grin curled her toes in her boots. “I know that. And I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I’m not usually such an animal. Please forgive me.”
She wasn’t sure who was more surprised when he bent his head and kissed her. When either or both of them should have pulled away, some spark of longing kept them together. At least it felt like longing on her part. She didn’t know what Patrick was thinking.
His lips pressed hers firmly, his tongue teasing ever so gently, asking permission to slide inside her mouth and destroy her with the taste of him. Her arms went around his neck. Clinging. Her body leaned into his. Yearning. It had been well over a year since she had been kissed. Echoes of past mistakes set off alarms, but she ignored them.
The moment of rash insanity set her senses on fire, helping her forget that she’d walked through her own kind of purgatory. It felt so good to be held. So safe. So warm. She trembled in his embrace.
“Patrick...” She whispered his name, not wanting to stop, but knowing they were surely going to regret whatever madness had overtaken them.
He jerked as if he had been shot. Staggered backward. “Libby. Hell...”
The exclamation encompassed mortification. Shock. Regret.
It was the last one that stung, despite knowing that keeping distance between them was for the best.
She managed a smile, though it cost her. “We’d better get back to camp. I’m starving, and it’s going to be dark soon.”
His apology should have erased the friction, yet they faced each other almost as adversaries.
He nodded, his expression brusque. “You’re right.”
This time, following him through the forest came naturally. No matter the strained atmosphere between them, in this environment, she trusted him implicitly to take them wherever they needed to go.
Dinner was homemade vegetable soup warmed on the camp stove. The chef had made the entrée and added fresh Italian rolls to go with it. While Libby tended to the relatively foolproof job of preparing the meal, Patrick started a campfire and rolled a log near the flames so they would have a comfy place to sit.
With the cup from a thermos, Patrick ladled soup into paper bowls that would later be burned in the fire. He’d explained that the aluminum spoons they used were light in a pack and good for the environment.
Libby ate hungrily. It was amazing how many calories one consumed by walking in the mountains. Neither she nor Patrick spoke. What was there to say? He didn’t really want her here. Not to replace Charlise. And beyond that, they were nothing to each other. Virtual strangers. Except she normally didn’t go around kissing strangers. She jumped when an owl hooted nearby. Though she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the day had been warm, she scrambled to find her jacket. Huddling into the welcome warmth, she stared into the fire and tried not to think about the night to come.
If she had any hope of convincing Patrick that she was capable of filling Charlise’s shoes, she had to act as if spending a night in the dark, scary woods was no big deal.
She stared into the mesmerizing red and gold flames, listening to the pop and crackle of the burning wood. The scent of wood smoke was pleasant...a connection, perhaps, to her ancestors who had lived closer to the land.
She and Patrick had eaten their meal in complete silence. Libby was okay with that. All she wanted to do now was get through this overnight endurance test without embarrassing herself.
She cleared her throat. “So, it’s already dark. And it’s awfully early to go to bed. What do people do in the woods when they camp out during the winter?”
Patrick’s face was all planes and angles in the glow of the fire. He was a chameleon—dashing and elegant as a Kavanagh millionaire, but now, a ruggedly masculine man with unlimited physical power and capability. Looking at him gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The sensation was no secret. She was seriously in lust with her reluctant boss, despite his arrogance and his refusal to take her seriously. He could be funny and charming. He had been remarkably patient, even when saddled with his mother’s charity case.
But the truth was, he didn’t want her on his team. And when it came to the attraction that simmered between them? Well, that was never going to amount to anything, no matter how many hours they spent alone in the woods. She pressed her knees together, her heart beating a ragged tempo as she waited for an answer to what was one part rhetorical question and the other part a need to break the intimate quiet.
If she had a tad more experience, or if she honestly believed that Patrick felt a fraction of the sexual tension that was making her jumpy, she might make a move on him. But despite his kiss—which was really more of a hands-on apology—she didn’t delude herself that he had any real interest in her.
Women like Charlise were more his type. Athletic superwomen. Not timid females afraid of the shadows.
Besides, she had to stay focused on starting her life over. She was on her own. She had to be strong.
She had almost forgotten her question when he finally answered.
Five (#ulink_d6eb151d-4ba3-535f-b80f-920904d3a96f)
“Speaking for myself, I suppose it depends on who I’m with.”
Patrick wasn’t immune to the intimacy of the moment. He still reeled from the impact of the kiss. But all else aside, his mother would kill him if he played around with Libby. Libby was emotionally fragile and just coming out of a very rough period in her life. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she was already worming her way into his heart.
A part of him wanted to tell her how much fun sleeping-bag sex could be. But that would be crossing the line, and Libby Parkhurst was off-limits. He’d be exaggerating anyway. Most of the women he’d been serious about would run for the hills if he suggested anything of the sort.
It occurred to him suddenly that his love of outdoor adventure had largely been segregated from his romantic life. He hiked with his brothers. He took clients out in the woods with Charlise. But he’d never really wanted to bring a woman along in a personal, intimate sense.
Yet with Libby, he was tempted. Unfortunately, temptation was as far as it went. He had to keep her at a distance or this whole scenario might blow up in his face. Particularly when he had to fire her.
He picked up a tiny twig and tossed it into the fire. “You can always listen to music. Did you bring an iPod? It was on the list.”
Libby nodded, her profile disarmingly feminine in the firelight. “I did. But if I have earbuds in, I won’t be able to hear the wild animals when they come to rip me limb from limb.”
Patrick chuckled. Despite Libby’s lack of qualifications for the job as his assistant, he enjoyed her wry take on life. He also respected the fact that she acknowledged her fears without being crippled by them. As if he needed more reasons to be intrigued by her. But that didn’t make her an outdoorswoman.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.” It was true. Libby might not be the one to cover the maternity leave, but he felt an overwhelming urge to protect her.
Eventually, Libby needed a moment of privacy in the woods. He had known it was coming. But he was pretty sure she wasn’t comfortable about the dark.
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