Baby It's Cold Outside (8 page)

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Authors: Addison Fox

BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside
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“They don’t call him Hooch for nothing, after all.”
He was impressed when she didn’t move to give an early end to the old couple’s evening, instead turning her attention back to him. “I’m not flashing cash, as you so rudely put it. And even if I were, it doesn’t change the fact these people hadn’t given her the time of day until someone poured a bit of liquor in them.”
“So you’re going to play the avenging angel and make it all better?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m lending some support.”
“Let me give you a hint, Princess.” He leaned forward, not quite sure why he had gotten engaged in this idiotic battle of wills in the first place. “Your friend’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for. Why don’t you just try being her friend?”
 
Sloan knew she should be feeling profound joy that her idea had taken off, but all she felt was a sensation of dark melancholy working its way through her. Her little ploy had worked. They’d been in the hotel for only an hour and already Grier was the center of attention, the townspeople anxious to meet her, introducing themselves in groups as they sought to get acquainted.
She should feel joyous and happy for her friend and all she felt was the one-two punch of bitchy and manipulative.
And where in the
hell
had that come from?
Grier was an awesome person and these people had judged her without benefit of a fair trial or even a friendly conversation. All she’d done was facilitate a few meet-and-greets, letting everyone get a chance to hear Grier’s side of the story.
A father she’d never met. A sudden inheritance that necessitated a trip as geographically far away as she could get from home and still stay in the United States. And a new family member who’d decided she was no more interesting—or welcome—than a pile of moose droppings.
So why were Walker’s comments so upsetting?
Why don’t you just try being her friend?
Damn it, that
was
what she was doing. Grier deserved better treatment than she’d been receiving from the townspeople of Indigo.
And if the sense of anger and annoyance she felt for her best friend matched the disappointment Sloan felt at being an outcast in her own hometown . . .
Well.
She just wasn’t going to go there.
And as for the disillusionment she felt in finding out the hot man with the broad shoulders and warm brown eyes was Grier’s useless, good-for-nothing lawyer, well, she just wasn’t going there, either.
On a whispered
shit
, she discreetly dragged her coat out of a pile in the far corner of the lobby and headed for a side exit of the hotel. A few minutes of fresh air would clear her head and kick whatever glum ache had settled itself in her heart to the curb.
A few minutes to gather herself.
A few minutes before she had to get back to being the gracious hostess with the burning platinum card.
“That really is quite the party you’ve got going on in there. Although, you’ll be pleased to note Hooch and Chooch just bundled themselves up for the walk home.”
Sloan shrieked as she whirled around to see Walker’s large silhouette framed in the doorway. Before she could reply around the pounding in her throat, he moved forward, the door closing gently behind him. “You’re going to freeze yourself. Here. Put this on.” He held out a large man’s coat to her as he shrugged into his own.
“I have a coat,” she informed him primly.
“And you need another one. Put it on.”
She took the offered garment, already understanding his point as the frigid night air seeped through the wool of her dress coat. “Thanks.”
“You need some new things. That coat won’t do up here and those boots”—he gave the stiletto heels a nasty glare that let her know
exactly
what he thought of them—“really won’t do.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gunn. So glad to have the fashion lesson. Now I know exactly what does
not
work.” The confused look in his eye both reassured and brought a small smile to her face. “Not a
Project Runway
fan?”
“Um, no.”
“You’re more the man-cave dwelling, let-me-watch-my-football type instead of the Heidi-and-Tim type?”
“You could say that.” A small smiled hovered over his lips as he fastened the last button on his coat. “Maybe we could try this again?”
“Try what again?”
Walker extended his hand. “Walker Montgomery.” When she just stood there staring at him, he reached for her arm, dragging her hand toward his. “And you are?”
Sloan tightened her grip. “Sloan McKinley.”
If she hadn’t been standing, frozen to the very depths of her impractically clad toes, Sloan wouldn’t have believed it. But as Walker’s hand enveloped hers for the faux introduction, a shot of electricity tripped along each and every nerve ending she possessed.
As waves of warmth flooded her wrist and traveled up her arm, settling somewhere in the center of her chest, she tugged lightly and tried to pull back her hand. Despite her best intentions to stay immune to his charm, the warmth continued to fill her, spreading out like ripples on a pond from her very core.
Oh man, was this guy lethal.
When he wouldn’t release her hand, she opted for bored disdain. “You make it a habit to follow women out into the cold, stealing men’s jackets for them?”
“Only when it’s women from the Lower Forty-eight, who don’t seem to know how to dress for the temperature.”
“Sounds like you get a lot of them up here, from what I’ve heard. That big competition next weekend is all anyone can talk about.”
Walker moved forward and Sloan had to tilt her neck to look up at him. She wasn’t a small woman—and the heels on her boots only added to her height—so the sensation was as unfamiliar as it was welcome. Up close, he was even bigger than he looked. “Tell me about it.”
There was something so manly—so physical—about him, Sloan was torn between taking a few steps back or tackling him to the ground and having her way with him.
Where had that thought come from?
As unexpected as the idea of tackling him was the bubble of laughter that threatened at the dismal note in his voice.
“You’re not all that crazy about the event?”
“Would you be?”
Sloan tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. Although the gesture had been innocent, she didn’t miss the way Walker’s eyes grew even blacker in the reflection of the light, his gaze following her fingertip with rapt attention. “So the men don’t like it and the local women don’t like it. Seems like that would make for more trouble than it’s worth.”
“That’s not exactly how my grandmother sees it. And several of the men actually look forward to it.”
“You’re just not one of them.”
“No.”
“And the other grandsons?”
“Mick and Roman?” Walker let out a harsh bark of laughter. “They’d prefer a trip to the dentist, too.”
“Oh, come on, it doesn’t sound that bad. It is for charity.” Sloan had paid attention to Sophie’s little PR piece during the town hall, where the woman attempted to explain her grand vision of what the competition was
really
all about.
Charity.
Yeah, right.
Sloan tried to focus on the conversation at hand, though Walker’s strong physical presence was doing a number on her. A town full of marriage-obsessed matrons, desperate to marry off three men who had no interest and willing to go to great lengths to achieve it.
“So my grandmother hasn’t tempted you to compete in the event yet.”
Horrified at the thought, Sloan firmly pulled her hand back, suddenly remembering it was clasped tightly in Walker’s very warm palm. “No.”
“She’s awfully persuasive. Besides, how are you going to write about it if you don’t compete in it?”
“I’ll be interviewing the competitors for the piece.”
Walker shrugged, but she saw the light of battle in his eyes. “Seems like a cop-out to me.”
“I hardly think so.”
“Oh really. You come up here and claim the entire town’s out to get your friend. Then you decide to make a few bucks at our expense writing about us. Maybe you need to put a little skin in the game.”
Chapter Five
 
“S
kin in the game?”
Walker watched the red already in her cheeks from the biting night air turn a deeper shade. It wasn’t until Sloan echoed his comments that he realized what his words might have implied. A distinct warmth settled in his core and his body tightened uncomfortably at the image of her exposed skin that lit up his mind’s eye. “Some commitment from you. Especially if you want to write a well-rounded article and all.”
“I don’t need to be
in
the competition to do that. I’m going to interview town residents, the competitors, as well as the bachelors. It will be a very well-rounded piece.”
“Sitting on the sidelines?”
“It’s a reporter’s job to watch and listen.”
Walker shrugged, enjoying the conversation—and baiting her—far more than he’d expected to. “I just think you could write a stronger piece if you put yourself in the game. If it’s too much for you, that’s another story.”
The hands she’d been rubbing together to keep warm slammed on her hips as her eyebrows rose. “Reverse psychology, Counselor?”
Damn it, but this was fun. It didn’t hurt that the light in her blue eyes offered an enticing challenge. “I’m simply making an observation.”
“Sure you are.”
“Come on. You heard the lineup of events during the town hall. It’s all done in a spirit of fun. None of the games are hard, per se. And the best part is that all the money raised goes into a town fund to help the community.”
“From what I’ve also heard, you’ve never been a huge champion of the contest. Right this moment, you sound like the tourism board.”
“What my grandmother and her friends have cooked up is sort of amazing.” As the words left his mouth, he had to admit they weren’t lip service. His grandmother
had
created something pretty amazing.
Why hadn’t he ever noticed it before?
And why did it take someone—even a someone as enticing as Sloan—to make him realize it?
“For the record, the bachelors don’t actually compete. They’re just the recipients of the attention.”
“But there is an auction, right? Do you participate in that? On a stage, in front of everyone.”
He ignored the neatly tossed jab. Clearly, Avery must have already been sharing stories. “I leave that to the younger guys.”
Sloan snorted, the uninhibited gesture pushing an extra puff of breath into the air. “Yeah, right.”
“Just because I choose to humor my grandmother doesn’t mean I have to actually be in the contest.”
“Play the tough guy all you want, Counselor. I don’t think you’re quite as immune to all this as you say.”
“Oh, really?” Walker stepped closer, seized by the urge to reach out and touch her. He moved before he could question the impulse. “And what gave you that impression?”
“I think you like being an object of such intense attention. All those women fawning over you. You and your buddies, the eligible bachelor brigade, on display.”
Walker took the last few steps to close the gap between them. Despite the heavy layers of clothes—and the oversized coat she’d wrapped herself in—he could still smell her captivating scent. The rose notes that must be her shampoo filled his senses. “Why don’t you compete and find out?”
“You may not like what I write about you.”
“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”
“I refuse to be influenced by my subjects.”
Walker leaned down to press his lips against her ear as he settled his hands on her waist. “I can’t promise I won’t try to influence you.”
Her voice fell from her lips in a hushed whisper. “I wouldn’t be a very good reporter if I allowed myself to lose my objectivity.”
Sloan’s head fell back slightly, allowing him better access to her neck, and Walker reached up to lay his hands on either side of her throat. He shifted so his mouth hovered over hers, anticipation humming through his body with eager pulses that matched the beat of his heart. “You can remain as impartial during the competition as you’d like, Ms. McKinley. Just so long as you don’t remain impartial to this.”
With a tenderness that belied the crazy, raging need that gripped him, he pressed his mouth to hers and plundered.
 
Sloan had never felt blindsided by a kiss before. Excited, yes, even thrilled.
But gobsmacked?
Absolutely not.

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