The Virgin and Zach Coulter (13 page)

“For some reason, I find that incredibly arousing,” she said, laughing when he frowned at her.

“Don't tease,” he warned her. “I'm hanging on by a thread here.”

“So, are you saying no more kissing?” She really, really hoped he wasn't giving up on the kissing. He wasn't the only one who was addicted.

“You want kissing?” He watched her carefully, his muscles flexing, bunching with tension under her fingers.

“Definitely.”

“Good,” he muttered, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them. He tugged her forward, snugging the vee of her thighs against his silver-buckled belt. “If I go too far, too fast, tell me.”

She barely nodded before he cupped her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his.

He licked her bottom lip and she caught her breath, her lips parting as he fused their mouths together. Heat roared between them as she followed the teasing strokes of his tongue with hers. When he finally lifted his head to look down at her, arousal streaked color over the arch of his cheekbones. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body pressed tightly against his, her cheeks hot.

“I'm going to follow you home,” he said, his voice harsh with need. “Because if I don't, we're going to end up in my bed. Before that happens, I want to be damned sure we both know what we're doing and that you're ready for it.”

Cynthia grumbled, but he was adamant. A short hour later, she was in her own bed, alone, and Zach was gone.

She knew tonight marked a fundamental shift in their relationship. She'd lowered shields she'd had in place for seemingly forever, told him things she'd never told anyone else and he'd responded with a fierce protectiveness that made her feel cherished.

He really was sweet, she thought sleepily. Incredibly sexy, too, and the nice-guy-side of him she'd seen tonight only made him more attractive. Smiling, she bunched the pillow under her head and drifted off to sleep, the taste of Zach's kiss still on her lips.

Z
ach hardly slept at all. When he wasn't tossing and turning, he was lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

Cynthia's revelations had placed him squarely between a rock and a hard place. He wanted her so bad his teeth ached. Even when he was working nonstop on the Lodge, he'd been thinking about the day when he'd coax her into his bed and planning exactly how to make that happen.

Now he wasn't sure it
should
happen. He'd never slept with a virgin. Even as a teenager, he'd avoided girls that were looking for more than a good time. As an adult, he had no interest in marriage, the word
relationship
wasn't in his vocabulary and he'd made sure the women he dated knew that up front. He never led anyone on.

But with Cynthia, he hadn't been thinking at all.

Much as he hated to admit it, he'd taken one look at her and all the rules he'd insisted on with women in
the past had been forgotten. He wanted her. Whatever it took to get her, he was ready and willing to do.

Until she told him she was a virgin.

And damn if that only made him want her more—except now, he had this feeling he should be protecting her.

There was no solution. He groaned, staring at the pattern of moonlight flickering across the ceiling above his bed. No matter what he did, he was in trouble.

And the hell of it was, he liked her. He liked being around her. He liked the way she laughed—and the way she made him laugh.

But he couldn't sleep with her and take her virginity if it was only sex he wanted. What kind of a complete jackass would that make him?

Yet the thought of her sleeping with someone else made him feel homicidal.

When he finally fell asleep just as the sun was coming up, he was no closer to answering any of the questions that had plagued him all night long.

 

Both Cynthia and Zach were wary on Monday, walking carefully around each other, weighing their words. By Tuesday, some of their natural caution had eased and when Cynthia returned home after work, she was filled with optimism about the future.

She barely noticed the blue car parked at the curb just outside her house, humming to herself as she opened the door and stepped into the entry hall.

But the luggage piled haphazardly on the polished wood floor stopped her in her tracks. There was no
mistaking the bright red bags, nor the hot pink pashmina shawl tossed over the newel post at the staircase.

“Natasha?” she called.

“In the kitchen.” Her mother's voice carried easily down the hallway to the entry.

Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath and mourning the loss of her plans for a peaceful evening before she slowly released her breath and walked toward the kitchen.

“When did you get in?” she asked, crossing to the stove to switch on the kettle.

“A couple of hours ago,” her mother answered from her seat at the table. A carafe, coffee cup and a small plate with crumbs sat on one side, the newspaper spread out in front of her, folded back to the crossword puzzle. “You're home late. Where have you been?”

“At work.” Cynthia took tea bags from the tin and dropped one into a cup, the tag dangling over the side.

Natasha brightened. “You've found a job already? That's good news.” A small frown marked a vee between her eyebrows. “Wait—where can you be working in Indian Springs?”

“Zach Coulter is renovating the Lodge on his family's ranch. I'm helping with prep work and will manage it when it's open to the public.”

“Trust you to land on your feet,” Natasha said approvingly. “I was sure you would.” She sipped coffee and smiled. “That changes the situation, and all for the better, I must say. I wasn't looking forward to staying in Indian Springs for long.”

“I assume you've left…” Cynthia couldn't remember the name of her mother's latest man friend.

“Yes, I simply had no choice,” Natasha declared. “He was impossible to live with and, as it turned out, not very well-off. He actually lives on a budget.”

Cynthia hid a smile at the faint horror in her mother's voice. Behind her, the teakettle began to sing and she poured boiling water into her cup, setting the kettle back on the stove before carrying her tea to the table. “Lots of people do, Natasha. Live on budgets, I mean.”

“Well, it's not for me,” Natasha said, shaking her head with dismissal.

“Are you going to look for a job here in Indian Springs?” Cynthia asked. One of Natasha's few redeeming features was that she was an expert medical transcriptionist and whenever she was between lovers, never had difficulty finding employment.

“I'd rather not. I'd much rather settle in a larger town like Great Falls or Missoula.” Her face brightened. “Or Denver. And now that you're working, you'll be able to loan me funds to tide me over for a few months while I find a job and an apartment.”

“I'm sorry, Natasha, but I'm barely making enough at the Lodge to cover the bills here,” Cynthia explained. “Renovating the property is prohibitively expensive and I agreed to accept a salary package with escalating increases down the road.”

“Why on earth would you do that when you're a highly qualified professional who can make a competitive salary away from this town?” Natasha demanded, frowning at her.

“Because I like Indian Springs and I want to stay here for a while,” Cynthia said simply.

For the next half hour, she listened to her mother
rail and complain about her choice of residence and employment, knowing Natasha would eventually run down. When she did, Cynthia picked up her empty mug and set it in the sink.

“I'm going to have a shower before finding something for dinner. I'll be down shortly.”

Natasha nodded sulkily and returned to her crossword puzzle.

As Cynthia climbed the stairs and entered her room, stripping off her clothes and collecting clean pajamas from the bureau drawers, she almost wished she had enough cash to hand over to her mother. At the moment, losing the money seemed preferable to having Natasha as a roommate for the coming days or weeks before she moved on.

 

Over the next week, Cynthia was surprised as Natasha seemed to accept that she would remain in Indian Springs for the foreseeable future. Her mother even displayed an interest in Cynthia's days at work, which she'd never done before. Normally, the only interest her mother had in Cynthia's job was the amount of income it generated.

Now, when Cynthia came home, Natasha would linger at the house, sharing coffee, tea or a late supper with her and quizzing her about her work.

Natasha always went out around 9:00 p.m. however, telling Cynthia she was meeting friends. Cynthia was familiar with all the signs and she suspected her mother had hooked up with a new guy, but as long as Natasha was happy and not stirring up a big scene, Cynthia was happy. She didn't ask questions.

Just after noon on Friday, Cynthia left her office at the Lodge and went looking for Zach. She found him in an upstairs bedroom with a crew of two other men, sanding hardwood floors.

“Can I see you for a minute?” she called from the doorway.

“Sure.” He joined her in the hall, wood dust whitening the knees of his jeans. “What's up?”

“I wondered if you'd like to join me for an interview. I have Jane Howard scheduled for one o'clock—she's the assistant chef at the Black Bear, remember?”

“I remember the food. It was great. But you haven't needed me for the other interviews, why this one?”

“Because the others were preliminary visits. If I'd called them back for second interviews, I would have wanted you there for the final decision. But I think Ms. Howard might be our girl, which is why I'd like you to sit in on this first interview.”

“As long as you don't mind my showing up in work clothes.” He glanced down, brushing wood dust from the front of his dark blue T-shirt. “This isn't exactly a three-piece suit.”

“I don't care what you wear. I need your people-reading skills and your brain, not your fashion sense.”

He laughed. “That's good, because I'm not sure I have any fashion sense.”

“You look perfect just as you are.” She hadn't meant the words to come out quite so filled with appreciation. When Zach's gaze sharpened, darkened, she knew he'd read into the few words exactly how much she liked the way he looked in the snug faded jeans and dark T-shirt. “I'd better go.” She took several steps backward before
spinning and hurrying down the stairs and back to her office. She had the distinct feeling that if they'd been alone, he would have followed her.

One of these days,
she thought with a shiver,
neither of us is going to want to say stop.

Jane Howard arrived for her appointment five minutes early.

“Excuse me.”

The feminine voice caught Cynthia's attention, and she looked up from the file of invoices. The woman standing in the office doorway looked to be in her mid-to late-twenties. Long-legged and slim in a conservative blue suit, white blouse and navy pumps, she had curly strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a French braid that hung down her back. Delicate brows winged above thick-lashed moss-green eyes and her creamy, pale skin looked too fair to survive in the hot Montana sun.

“Hello.” Cynthia stood, welcoming her with a smile. “You must be Jane Howard?”

“Yes.” The woman stepped inside. “I hope I'm not too early.” She gestured at the open file on the desk in front of Cynthia. “I can come back if I'm interrupting…?”

“Not at all. Come in.” Cynthia waved her to a seat in front of the desk. “I'm Cynthia Deacon.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Am I late?” Zach said from the door.

“Not at all.” Cynthia saw Jane turn to look at Zach, but the other woman's face reflected only a polite inquiry. “This is Jane Howard—Jane, this is Zach Coulter, the owner of the Lodge.”

“Nice to meet you, Jane—no, don't get up.” He waved her back into her seat. “We're casual here. You'll have
to forgive us if you'd expected a more formal grilling.” He dropped into a heavy oak chair set at right angles to Cynthia's desk, facing both women.

Jane seemed to relax slightly at Zach's words. “Casual works for me,” she said with a reserved smile.

“Thanks for coming out to talk to us on such short notice,” Cynthia told her. “We're moving at warp speed, hoping to hold a soft opening within a few weeks.”

Jane's eyes widened slightly. “I hadn't realized it would be so soon.”

“Would that be a problem for you if the position were offered?” Cynthia queried, handing a copy of Jane's résumé to Zach.

“I don't believe so. My boss at the Black Bear has always been understanding,” she replied. “He knows I've applied for the position and if I needed to give him less than three weeks' notice, I'm sure he'd understand.”

Over the next half hour, Cynthia asked Jane about her work history, her training and detailed questions about her qualifications to run a kitchen where guests would expect gourmet meals. Zach interceded with the occasional request for clarification. Throughout the exchange, Jane remained calm and professional, fielding their questions with intelligent, thorough answers.

Cynthia was impressed with both Jane's demeanor and her résumé.

“I think you've answered all the questions I have,” she told Jane. “Zach, do you have anything more?”

“I do.” He shot her a quick smile before focusing on Jane. “I'm impressed by your references, Jane, and it's clear the people you've worked with think you have a bright future. But the Lodge will be catering to clients
from all over the world, some of whom probably employ full-time personal chefs. Tell me how a girl with no formal training, who's never worked at a five-star restaurant in New York, Paris or Los Angeles, can compete with someone who has.”

Jane's pause was barely discernible before she replied. “While it's true I don't have the credentials other more formally trained applicants may have, I grew up on a ranch not quite sixty miles from here. My mother was an amazing cook and she taught me to prepare just about every local food available. If you want the Lodge to have a menu that's unique, then you need someone who can provide that, and do it well. That's what I can bring to the kitchen that you can't get with a chef imported from New York City or Los Angeles.”

Zach grinned, his white teeth flashing in approval. “Well said,” he told her. “Next question—the Lodge will be open all year long. Although the person we hire will have set days off, we'll provide a three-bedroom apartment as part of the employment package because I want them to live on-site. Would that be a problem?”

“I'm a single parent with a six-year-old son,” she replied. “It wouldn't be possible for me to live on-site unless I could make arrangements for child care while I work. I'm not sure how I would do that here on the Triple C, away from Indian Springs.”

“What kind of arrangements do you have now?” Zach asked.

“I don't believe we're allowed to ask personal questions,” Cynthia interjected, giving him a warning glance. She hadn't missed the way Jane's fingers had tightened where they curved over the arms of the wooden chair.

“I'm not asking her how old she is or if she's married,” Zach said smoothly. “And you don't have to answer if you're not comfortable doing so, Jane.”

“I don't have a problem with your questions, Mr. Coulter,” she responded. “I can understand that the situation here at the Lodge is unique. Basically, my son's father isn't part of our lives and I have no relatives in the area. My little boy stays with a neighbor when he's not at school and I'm working. But that wouldn't be possible if we lived here at the Lodge.”

“No,” Zach agreed. “It wouldn't—and it wouldn't make sense for you to drive him to Indian Springs and have to pick him up after work, then drive back here.” He frowned. “We'll have to give that some thought.”