The Kincaids: New Money. Jennifer Lewis

      Brooke followed him into another grand room, decorated in an updated, minimalist interpretation of hunting-lodge chic: pale sofas with muted plaid accents, a painting of a stag and an impressive stone fireplace. The last rays of sunlight blazing in through a wall of windows largely obscured the view, until RJ opened a pair of patio doors and she saw an endless vista of tree-cloaked hills.

      She walked out and stood beside him. There were no signs of civilization at all, just peaks and valleys filled with more trees. “It feels like we’re on top of the world.”

      “Maybe we are.” He stepped behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Her belly shimmered with arousal. They hadn’t kissed since their date two nights ago, and on the plane she’d been too nervous to think much about kissing. Or any of the things that might follow.

      RJ bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck. “You smell sensational.” Excitement trickled through her, peppered with anxiety about where this was all going. Now his hot breath warmed her ear, making her shiver with anticipation.

      “Shouldn’t we put our bags away?” She could hardly believe that was her voice interrupting the sensual moment.

      RJ chuckled. “Trying to delay the inevitable?”

      “Just being practical. That’s why you hired me.” Ouch. Why did she have to remind him—and herself—that she was his employee?

      “Let’s leave the office at the office.” RJ still held her tight in his embrace, and his mouth had moved barely an inch from her skin. “Do you think any of those trees care about memos and meetings and deadlines? It’s a whole different world up here. Breathe in some fresh mountain air.”

      “I think I am.” Surely if she wasn’t she’d have passed out by now. Which was a distinct possibility the way RJ was tantalizing her earlobe with his tongue and teeth.

      “Mountain air is restorative. Draw it all the way to the bottom of your lungs.”

      She drew a breath deep down into her belly the way she’d learned in yoga class. Evening cool, scented with pine and fresh soil, the rich air filled her lungs, and she exhaled with gusto. “That does feel good.”

      “Standing up here restores perspective. Out here it seems like time doesn’t exist—the sun rises and sets and everything stays the same except the slow change of the seasons.”

      “RJ, you’re turning out to have more dimensions than I expected.”

      “And you’ve known me five years already. Just shows how important it is to step out of context. Now kiss me.”

      Before she could protest he spun her around and pressed his lips firmly to hers. Her eyes slid shut and her hands rose to his shoulders. The kiss was delicious, golden and heady as the sunset warming their skin. The slight stubble on RJ’s chin tickled her and she felt his eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

      She hugged him, enjoying the closeness she’d craved, letting go of her worries and losing herself in the powerful sensation of his strong arms around her waist, holding her tight.

      When they finally pulled apart, by only a feather’s depth, his eyes sparkled and she knew hers did, too. Happiness swelled in her chest and the moment felt so perfect.

      “You’re a very beautiful woman, Brooke. The sunset suits you.”

      “Maybe I should wear it every day.”

      “Most definitely. And I have a feeling that sunrise will become you, as well.”

      “I guess we’ll have to get up early and find out.” A tiny blade of anxiety poked her stomach. By morning they would have slept together.

      Or would they?

      After they disentangled themselves from each other’s arms, RJ took her to a bedroom with panoramic views and invited her to unpack. Then he disappeared. Maybe they weren’t going to sleep together at all. The closet was empty, except for a few hangers and a plain white terry bathrobe. The room had an adjoining bath, with freshly unwrapped soap and tiny bottles of expensive Kiehl’s shampoo and conditioner. The rustic yet elegant bentwood bed was covered with a thick, soft duvet and the whole room was decorated in neutral colors that complemented the jaw-dropping view out the window. It was like being in a very high-end hotel.

      Brooke hung her few items in the cavernous closet, then changed out of her work suit into her favorite jeans and a green shirt that highlighted her eyes. The carpets were soft pure wool, so she left her feet bare to better enjoy them and show off her rather daring jade-green toenails.

      She peered out into the hallway. She followed the sound of whistling and found RJ in a similarly spacious bedroom, with a large bed made of rustic planks, checking his phone. “Settled in?”

      “Perfectly.” There was his bag, half-unpacked, on top of a pine chest of drawers. So they were sleeping in separate bedrooms. She should be relieved, but instead she felt disappointed. Maybe she was hoping for a whirlwind romance and he just planned to cast some flies and kick back in the sunshine.

      “I’ve never seen you in jeans before.” His eyes roamed down her legs, heating her skin through the denim. “Clearly, I’ve been missing out.”

      “I’ve never seen you in jeans before, either.” She smiled, glancing at the pair peeking out of his duffel bag.

      “Mine don’t hug me quite the way yours do.” A dimple played in his cheek.

      “Shame.” A sudden vision of RJ’s body flashed in her mind. Even in his suit—the jacket hung over a corner of the wardrobe door and his sleeves were rolled up—you could see he was built and muscular. He played a lot of tennis and squash and sailed competitively. No doubt his muscles were bronzed by all that time in the sun. Hopefully soon she’d get to compare her imagination to reality.

      If that was really a good idea.

      “Are you hungry?” RJ’s expression suggested he wanted for something entirely different than food.

      “I am. All that shaking with terror on the flight built up an appetite.”

      “Good, because I’m making dinner.”

      Her eyes widened. RJ Kincaid in front of a stove?

      “Don’t look so shocked. You should know by now that I’m a man of many talents.”

      “I’m impressed.”

      “One of my talents is delegating to skilled professionals.” He strode out of the room, leaving his phone on the bed. “Frankie Deleon owns the best restaurant in town and this afternoon I had the fridge stocked with provisions.” She followed him into a bright kitchen with gleaming professional quality appliances. He pulled open one door on the fridge. The inside revealed a collection of smart earthenware dishes, each labeled with a Post-it note. “Let’s see, jambalaya, baby back ribs, black-eyed peas and greens—hey, those need actual cooking. Poached salmon, sesame noodles.” He moved a dish aside to reach behind it. “Macaroni and cheese, rice salad, green salad, beet and goat cheese salad … Where do you want to start?”

      Brooke’s mouth was already watering. She could get used to this Kincaid lifestyle. “It all sounds sensational. What are you in the mood for?”

      His blue gaze settled on her face and she read her answer loud and clear. A smile crept across her mouth as her nipples tightened under her green shirt.

      “You decide.”

      A challenge. She knew RJ liked people who could think on their feet and make executive decisions. “Ribs with sesame noodles and green salad.”

      “I like.” RJ pulled the containers from the shelves and placed them on a butcher-block island large enough to have its own sink. Brooke turned on one of the stainless steel ovens, and RJ pulled some fine china dishes from one of the cabinets. They picked a chilled white wine to sip while waiting for the ribs to bake.

      “Did