The Double Deal. Catherine Mann

dad had announced his surprise engagement to the Mikkelson widow—Jeannie. Stock prices had dropped.

      Then her brother had gotten engaged to a Mikkelson and they were parenting a baby together.

      Boom. No warning.

      Stock prices dipped again. The board of directors rumbled there was too much chaos, too much emotional fallout and not enough strategy. They weren’t sure how the merger would play out, and the board hated uncertainty.

      She wasn’t so sure she disagreed with them. She trusted her family. But the Mikkelsons? She’d been raised to consider them the enemy. Had that feud ended just because their patriarch had died? Could the entire contentious atmosphere be blamed on one person?

      Not likely.

      She needed to solidify her role in the company. She was keeping a close eye on things from a legal perspective, but she’d need to win as many allies as possible to act on any discrepancies she found. She didn’t know how the rival companies would be blended or how leadership positions would be divided. Nabbing Royce Miller for her family’s team would go a long way in garnering loyalty and upping her professional profile.

      But she would be a fool to think she could accomplish that tonight. She would settle in and watch his body language; she’d wait for that moment when he started to relax. Another courtroom tactic with a practical application.

      Her stomach rumbled, reminding her how little she’d eaten. She’d only managed a few crackers in the morning and a cup of soup at lunch.

      Now? She was ravenous. Yes, she had a job to do here with Royce, but she also needed to take care of her baby and keep track of what she ate. With her finicky taste buds lately, it was all too easy to skip eating until she was nearly dizzy, like now.

      Setting aside the tablet, she stood and made her way to the kitchenette, sidestepping the table where Royce tapped away at his computer. He glanced up just as she opened the minifridge.

      Royce tipped back in his chair, eyeing her with heavy-lidded dark eyes. “That’s my food.”

      “I’ll be glad to pay for my portion of this pudding cup and pear.” She tossed the fruit in the air and caught it with a quick snap. “We’re stranded. Do you intend to let me starve—or make me freeze out there ice fishing?”

      He chuckled softly, a whiskey rich sound. “If you’re hungry, help yourself to anything in the pantry.”

      “I am starving, actually. Bear hunting is quite exhausting.” She crunched a bite of the pear and searched for a spoon. “Can I make you something, to earn my keep and all? I imagine grading papers is tiring.”

      “I’m fine. I ate earlier.” He toyed with his abacus key chain, thumbing the beads back and forth. “Thank you though.”

      Inspiration struck and she sliced the pear instead. Suddenly, scooping the slices through the chocolate pudding sounded five-star awesome. Her taste buds seemed to vacillate between “no way” and “oh my God good,” these days.

      Settling across from him again, she scooped and crunched, savored and watched. A lot of oh my God good for the senses around this place.

      Sighing, he finally met her gaze. “What?”

      Blinking fast, she smiled widely. “Sorry. Am I bothering you?”

      “I’m used to working alone, in quiet.” His gaze homed in on her snack plate.

      “Sorry the snowstorm didn’t accommodate. Truly. It could be days, so honestly, it will be easier if we make nice, perhaps talk a bit. You can’t work all the time.”

      He closed his computer again and scooped up the key chain. “Fine. Let’s talk. Aren’t you worried I’m a serial killer?”

      In a whisper, she asked, trying to ease him into a conversation. Tease him a bit. She had enough brothers to know this tactic would probably work. “Are you?”

      “My answer isn’t going to matter.” The abacus beads clicked under his fingers. “You know that, right?”

      He had a point, but he didn’t know she wasn’t operating blind here. She wouldn’t be able to carry this off long without risking alienating him altogether. “I’m an incredibly insightful person.”

      “From meeting so many people at work.”

      She looked up sharply. “Yes, actually.”

      “Well, lucky for you, I’m not a serial killer. I’m just an antisocial scientist.”

      “That must be tough to maintain in the classroom, Professor.”

      “Works fine in a lecture hall.” He set his key chain down again.

      Her mind zipped back to the first time she’d heard him speaking to an auditorium full of students and even professionals who’d joined the class to hear him. He saw the oil industry through revolutionary eyes. He walked a difficult line in making all sides of the spectrum happy, upping production while finding ways to increase safety and decrease ecological impact. His brain was every bit as sexy as his body.

      O-kay.

      Her distraction level was peaking.

      She shot to her feet, tossed her empty pudding cup in the trash and popped the last slice of pear into her mouth.

      “I thought you were going to eat and read?”

      “I think I’m just going to turn in. Since you’re not a serial killer.” She winked.

      He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need some sweats?”

      “I think I’ll be fine in my thermal leggings and undershirt. Although I may need to take you up on that offer of sweats tomorrow when wash time comes.” Guilt tugged at her. She really wasn’t playing fair. “Thank you for being so nice about letting me stay here.”

      “Don’t be so quick to thank me. I may not be a serial killer, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up my bed for you.”

      And there he went being funny again, like with his litany against the bear. “I didn’t ask you to give me your bed.”

      Although she couldn’t deny the raw attraction crackling tangibly in the air. The fire of it filled her mind with images of sharing that bed with him. Something must have flickered in her eyes because his widened, then narrowed, holding hers.

      His head tipped to the side.

      Nerves tingled along her skin, an unusual occurrence. She wasn’t one to back down. Ever.

      Perhaps she could call this a retreat. She swallowed, trying to recover from the heat in his dark eyes. “The sofa’s more than fine. Thank you.”

      His chair legs lowered to all four on the floor again. “It’s okay, Naomi. Take the bed. I’ll be working late, anyway.”

      “But—”

      The words died on her lips as he shook his head. “My mama wouldn’t have it any other way. Manners and all. I’ll sack out on the sofa. Good night, Naomi.”

      Good night?

      Sleep felt like the furthest thing possible.

      * * *

      Naomi woke up, legs tangled in the tan satin comforter.

      It was dark overhead, but that didn’t mean anything in Alaska. She checked her watch and...holy cow. It was already five in the morning. She’d slept for nearly nine hours, out like a log. She shoved her hair back from her face.

      When would she get used to these pregnancy hormones owning her body?

      She was grateful for her baby, but she sure hadn’t expected so many physical changes in a couple of months. Slowly, she sat up, wary, but her stomach stayed steady.

      Scanning the studio area, she looked for Royce but found the space empty except for the dog snoozing