Best of Desire. Оливия Гейтс

taken me a while to come to terms with Brant’s death,” she admitted, then sent a quick glance around her, checking out the property and Sam, still standing on the lawn watching them. “Could we talk about this inside maybe?”

      Irritation spiked inside him and was instantly squashed. He didn’t want to owe her but he knew he did. He’d given his word, not just to her brother, but to her. And one thing Jericho King never did was break his word. So he was going to have to deal with her whether he was happy about that or not.

      He looked at her as she stood there, shivering a little in the cold wind blowing through the pines. Didn’t even know enough to wear a jacket in the mountains. Even in California, fall could be a tricky time of year in the higher altitudes. But, he told himself, she was clearly not an outdoors kind of woman.

      Of course she wanted to be inside. It was where she belonged. She was the kind who liked the great outdoors…from the other side of a window while sitting beside a fire and sipping a glass of wine. He knew her kind of woman all too well. And as he realized that, Jericho acknowledged that maybe he wasn’t going to have to chase her off at all. Maybe she’d come to her senses on her own and admit that she wasn’t suited to working here.

      Besides, he could give her a cup of coffee at least before sending her off. Let her get a good look at the place she wanted to be a part of. See that she wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t fit in. Wouldn’t last.

      “Sure. Let’s go inside.”

      “Thanks,” she said. “It’s really cold here. When I left L.A. this morning it was seventy-five degrees.”

      “We’re higher up,” he pointed out dryly. Then he picked up on what she said. “You left this morning? And you’re just getting here? At most, it’s a three- or four-hour drive with traffic.”

      She rolled her eyes, planted a kiss on top of her silly dog’s head and shrugged. “There was lots of traffic, but the truth is, I got lost.”

      Jericho just stared at her. “Didn’t you have a GPS?”

      “Yes,” she said with a small sniff. “But—”

      “Never mind.” He turned, waved Sam off and led the way toward the house. When she didn’t fall into line beside him, he turned back to look at her. “What’s the problem?”

      Scowling, she jerked her leg and said, “My heels sank into the lawn.”

      “Of course they did.” He walked back to her and said, “Step out of them.”

      When she did, he snatched the shoes up, handed them to her and said, “This kind of shoe won’t work here.”

      She followed him, hurrying barefoot across the grass. She caught up to him, balancing the dog-filled purse in one hand and her shoes in the other. “But they look good,” she told him.

      “How’d that work out?”

      “Well,” she said on a half laugh, “it’s a first impression you won’t forget.”

      Jericho felt a short dart of admiration course through him. She wasn’t easily shot down. Then he stopped and looked down at her. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were flashing with humor and there was a smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose.

      She was way too beautiful.

      “What?” she asked. “Do I have dirt on my face?”

      “As a matter of fact…” He bent, scooped her up into his arms and heard her “whoosh” of surprise.

      “Hey, you don’t have to carry me.”

      “Those heels wouldn’t work on the gravel either, and you’re barefoot, Ms. Saxon.”

      She packed a lot of curves into her small body. As she wiggled in his arms, he felt a reaction that surely would have happened to any red-blooded, breathing male. The problem was, he didn’t want to react to her. All he wanted from Daisy Saxon was her absence.

      “Right. Got it. Heels, bad. I’ll remember. And call me Daisy,” she told him. “After all, since I’m snuggled in against your chest, no point in being formal.”

      “I suppose not,” he said tightly, as a small, low-pitched growl erupted from the dog she held close. “That’s a ridiculous dog,” he muttered.

      She looked up at him. “Brant gave her to me just before he shipped out.”

      “Oh.” Well, hell.

      He ignored the dog’s warning growls and Daisy’s stream of chatter about the house, the grounds, the weather, the fact that her car was almost out of gas and the nice people she’d met at the spa when she was lost.

      His ears were ringing by the time he reached the front door of the main house. For a man used to the gypsylike life of career military, even owning a home was different. This place, though, was special.

      This place had been in his family for almost a hundred years. One of his long-ago grandfathers had built the original cabin, then later it had been expanded into the King family getaway. Jericho and his brothers had spent nearly every summer of their childhoods here at the lodge.

      It sat high on the mountain, square in the middle of several hundred acres of forest, streams and rivers. The cottage had grown into a veritable castle constructed of logs and glass, blending in so well with its surroundings, it practically disappeared into the surrounding woods. It was a sort of camouflage, he supposed, which was something he was all too familiar with.

      He’d bought out his brothers’ shares of the place years ago and, knowing even then what he would eventually do with the place, had hired an architect to make some changes. The building had been expanded yet again, becoming at last a sort of fantasy mansion, with sharp angles, a steep roofline and enough rooms that Jericho never needed to run into a soul if he didn’t want to. He’d had the work done before he left the Corps so it would be ready for him. When he left the Corps, Jericho had headed straight here.

      This place was both a touchstone to the past and a foothold on his future. He opened the arched, dark wood door, stepped inside and set Daisy on her feet quickly. Best to get that curvy body away from his as fast as possible.

      She slipped her heels on and did a slow turn, taking in what she could of the house from the foyer.

      “Wow,” she whispered. “This is really…”

      Cathedral ceilings arched high overhead, with pale, varnished logs crisscrossing in geometric patterns. The last of the afternoon sunlight slanted through the glass and lay dazzling golden patterns on the gleaming wood floors.

      “Yeah, I like it.” He led the way into the main room, right off the hallway, and she followed as he’d expected her to, those heels of hers clicking musically against the uncarpeted floors.

      “It echoes in here,” she said.

      Jericho frowned as he looked back at her. “It’s a big room.”

      “And practically empty.” She shook her head as she glanced around. He followed her gaze. The furnishings were utilitarian but comfortable. There were sofas, chairs, a few tables and lamps and a long wet bar against one wall. There was a river-stone hearth tall enough for him to stand up in, and the view of the mountains was breathtaking.

      “It looks like a barracks.”

      He shot her a look. “Clearly you’ve never seen barracks.”

      “No,” she admitted, walking in, holding her dog and petting it as she moved, “but you’ve got this gorgeous place and it’s decorated like…” She stopped and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. None of my business, is it?”

      Jericho frowned again. What the hell was wrong with the room? No one else had ever complained. Then he told himself, city girl, and dismissed her observation entirely.

      “So. Sam tells me you want to cook for us.”

      “Yes.”