The Virgin and Zach Coulter (6 page)

The look in his eyes grew heated. “No, you're not wrong.”

She leaned forward and set her mug on the glass-topped table between them before clasping her hands together and resting them on her knees, her back ramrod straight as she met his gaze. “That concerns me. Although I wouldn't normally discuss this with a prospective employer, I think I have to tell you that the reason I left my last position was…well, I was being sexually harassed by the hotel owner.”

His eyes narrowed, his big body going tense. “What happened?”

“He felt my job included my going to bed with him. I disagreed,” she said coolly. “I walked out. I doubt he'll give me a good reference, should you ask.”

“Hell.” Zach set his mug down on the table with a snap. “The bastard should be shot.”

His instant anger was a relief. “I take it that means you don't hold the same view?” she asked mildly.

“Of course not.” He looked insulted. “What do you take me for?”

“Truthfully?” She considered him for a moment. “I can't imagine you'd need to threaten a woman to get her into bed with you,” she said candidly.

His eyes lit with amusement, chasing away the remnants of anger. “No, ma'am,” he drawled. “I don't remember a time when I had to resort to threats.”

“Nevertheless,” she said repressively, trying not to be charmed by his smile. “That still leaves the question of what appears to be an attraction between us. I'm not comfortable accepting your offer until the issue is resolved. Particularly after what happened at my last job,” she added firmly.

“I understand.” His eyes narrowed over her. “Cards on the table?”

“Please.” She nodded.

“I want you,” he said bluntly, his gaze holding hers. “If you said yes, I'd take you to bed and keep you there for hours, probably until tomorrow, maybe longer. But I don't think you're ready for that and besides, I need your expertise at the Lodge.”

Cynthia ignored the rush of awareness that raced along her nerves, clenched her abdomen and tightened her thighs. “I'd like to help bring the Lodge back to life. But I need your promise that you won't use your position as my employer to pressure me for anything beyond a business relationship.”

“Pressure you?” He stared at her, eyelashes lowering as he focused intently on her mouth before his gaze returned to hers. “I can promise I'll treat you with all the respect due your profession—and that I won't make passes while we're working.”

Just as relief flooded her, he added “Unless you make it clear you want me to.”

“I thought we were being honest,” she said heatedly.

“I'm being as honest as it's possible for me to be in this situation—but I'm also being practical,” he said. “I'd never force my attentions on an unwilling woman. But I don't think for a minute that we're going to be able to ignore the heat between us forever. Sooner or later, we're going to give in. It's inevitable.”

“You have an ego the size of Mount Rushmore,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks heat. “But as long as you can promise you won't force me to cooperate, there won't be a problem.”

“You sound convinced.”

“I am.” She nodded, a brief decisive move of her head to underline her words.

He stood and stepped over the coffee table.

“What are you…?” Cynthia tipped her head back to look up at him but before she could finish her sentence, he bent and picked her up, then sat down on the love seat with her on his lap.

It happened so fast she had no time to gather her wits before he bent his head and kissed her.

She caught her breath, startled, as his warm mouth covered hers. For long moments, his lips plundered hers, changing pressure from firm to soft as he coaxed her to respond. He stroked the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips. She wanted, needed, craved, more and she let him in. He rewarded her by cradling the back of her head in the palm of his hand and tilting her face up to his to seal their mouths together. She forgot to breathe
as her heart raced faster and heat poured through her body, melting her against him, while his lips seduced and his tongue lured and teased hers. By the time he lifted his head, she was breathless and fighting the urge to pull his mouth back to hers.

“Sometimes a demonstration is best,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Are you still convinced pretending the heat between us doesn't exist will make it go away?”

The rasping sound of his deep voice rubbed over Cynthia's nerves, stirring a yearning need she suspected was better left sleeping.

“This is exactly the sort of thing I insist you not do,” she told him, her voice not altogether steady as she pushed away from him and stood. Her legs felt distinctly wobbly, she realized with dismay.

Zach rose to stand beside her. “All right. I promise not to repeat this, unless you ask me to,” he told her.

“Then we don't have a problem.” She narrowed her eyes over him. “Do we?”

“No problem—”

“Good.”

“But sooner or later, we're going to end up doing more than kissing. It's inevitable.”

Cynthia felt like pulling her hair. “You're incredibly single-minded.”

“No. I just recognize sexual tension when I feel it—and you and I have it in spades.”

“We're adults, not teenagers who can't control their raging hormones. We'll deal with it.”

“We'll deal with it,” he agreed. His expression was solemn but his eyes laughed at her.

Cynthia decided to leave well enough alone.

“Before I accept the job, I think I should see the Lodge for myself,” she said briskly, determined not to think about how close he stood, the faint smell of aftershave and warm male that she drew in with each breath and the ridiculous way her fingers itched with the need to reach out and test the warmth of his cheek. She couldn't help but wonder how the faint shadow of beard stubble would feel beneath her sensitive fingertips. She'd loved the slight roughness against her cheek when they kissed.

“That's probably a good idea. I'd prefer you have a clear grasp of the scope of the project before you commit.” He bent to pick up his Stetson and settled it on his head, tugging the brim down over his brow. “Why don't you come out to the Triple C around eight o'clock tomorrow morning? I'll drive you down to the Lodge.”

“I'll be there,” she said.

“Good.” He smiled at her. “Wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty. There's dust and cobwebs inches deep over everything.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“You're welcome. See you tomorrow.” He touched the brim of his hat and left the porch.

Moments later, he drove away, the black truck disappearing down the street.

Cynthia released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and collapsed onto the wicker love seat.

Was she really considering working with him? Was there even a remote chance she could be around him on a daily basis without begging him to kiss her again?

A
s she ate an early dinner that evening, her thoughts kept returning to those too-brief moments with Zach. Heat flooded her and the memory of his mouth on hers sizzled along her nerve endings.

She'd been kissed before, many times—but never quite so thoroughly. Zach was a man who clearly enjoyed kissing and he took his time, as if savoring the press and taste of her mouth under his. She couldn't help but wonder what else he did with that same, slow attention to detail.

She shivered and wrapped her arms over her midriff, wondering how many women he'd kissed to develop that kind of bone-melting expertise. Dozens, at least. Hundreds? Possibly.

And that,
she realized with sudden insight,
is exactly why I'll be safe working with him.

Because no man with his experience would want an
inexperienced woman in his bed—and Cynthia's experience was zero.

She'd lied to him when she said she had no worries about her ability to refuse him. The truth was, when he'd picked her up, settled her on his lap, wrapped her in his arms with his mouth on hers, she'd been in real danger of following wherever he chose to lead.

She hadn't stopped him—Zach was the one who had pulled back. And although she might deny it to anyone else, the truth was she hadn't wanted him to release her.

If, by chance, things did grow heated between them again, she'd have to remember to tell him no
before
he kissed her, since she apparently lost all ability to think when he got too close.

And if she felt the attraction was growing dangerously near to irresistible, she'd have to confess her secret.

She'd never slept with anyone. In a world where virginity seemed to be increasingly rare, Cynthia had held on to hers with the same strength of will that marked her drive to earn top grades in school from elementary through graduation from Harvard.

Looking back, she'd felt she had valid, compelling reasons for doing so. Her mother bounced from one love affair to the next while Cynthia was growing up—her many affairs made her the focus of local gossip and earned her a notorious reputation.

Natasha Deacon had been unwed when she gave birth to Cynthia at seventeen and although Cynthia had repeatedly asked, she'd never learned who her father was. Her mother refused to say and she'd finally stopped ask
ing. She had Nicholas as a father figure and the gentle older man was wonderful.

The fallout for being the daughter of the most scandalous woman in the county, however, was impossible to avoid. Although she'd been a shy, bookish child, by the time Cynthia was in junior high, boys assumed she would be as promiscuous as her mother. Mortified by the attention gained by her developing curves, she'd taken to wearing her clothes a size too big to conceal her body. But it was the unwanted attention from one of her mother's boyfriends when Cynthia was twelve that made her retreat from any interaction with boys.

With the exception of Grady Turner, who continued to treat her just as he had since he'd sat in the desk behind her in third grade, she ignored the male half of the high school population. By the time she arrived at Harvard, the habits she'd developed earlier were so ingrained she barely knew she froze men out of her life.

The end result was that Cynthia remained a virgin at the age of twenty-eight. And though she hadn't consciously planned to wait so long, the trauma at age twelve had effectively insulated her until the rush of raging teenage hormones had leveled out. Then it became an issue of meeting a man she really wanted to be intimate with. Not to mention the fact that she had to reveal she was a total novice in the bedroom.

In a world saturated with magazine articles about new and inventive ways to please your man, and media that seemed to declare everyone over the age of thirteen was having sex, Cynthia couldn't help but think her lack of experience was a huge hurdle.

Although she'd hoped several men she'd dated would
be the one to solve her problem, the relationships had fizzled and she'd moved on, still a virgin. Over the past year, she'd seriously been considering how, when, where and with whom to change her status. Unfortunately, the solution still hinged on finding the right man and so far, she'd had no luck.

And then Zach Coulter had walked into her life.

Now she couldn't help but wonder, and wish, that she'd met him when she was a teenager, and that her mother's boyfriend hadn't been drinking too much and that she hadn't been alone that night.

Maybe Zach would have been her first lover. Of course, he would have left town, and her, but still…

She sighed. Too late for wishes. She couldn't undo the past. She couldn't imagine having to confess she was still completely inexperienced. She cringed just thinking about it. So she could only hope Zach was wrong and that their attraction would fizzle out after they'd worked together for a while. Because working at the Lodge meant she could stay in Indian Springs, live in Nicholas's lovely home and settle down. And although she suspected having an affair with Zach would be better than her wildest dreams, he would surely quickly grow bored with her inexperience.

She'd worked with men and women who were ex-lovers and knew the situation could be an emotionally explosive minefield.

No, she thought, if she wanted to work at the Lodge, she had to stay out of Zach's bed.

The men in her past who'd been interested in her had eventually given up after she'd repeatedly ignored their advances. Granted, Zach seemed much more determined
but still, sooner or later, she was sure he'd give up and move on to more interesting game.

Which was a shame, she thought wistfully, because she would really love to have more of those toe curling kisses.

She finished eating, then tidied the kitchen before settling into the living room to boot up her laptop and research the history of the Coulter Lodge on the internet.

Later that evening, after she showered, donned pajamas and settled in with a bowl of popcorn to watch an old Alfred Hitchcock movie on TV, Cynthia considered the lack of information she'd found online about the Coulters.

It was as if the Coulter family had dropped off the face of the earth after Melanie Coulter's death. Prior to the date of the tragic accident that took her life, the newspaper archives were filled with articles about the rising star of the art world. Melanie's silver, copper and bronze work was nationally acclaimed. She'd won a coveted award and photos of her at the ceremony in New York City which she'd attended with her husband and four sons showed a happy, loving family. The Coulter Lodge was mentioned in articles featuring celebrities in the entertainment industry as well as the financial world, politics and American blueblood society.

There were numerous articles about Zach's mother's death and follow-up pieces reporting the media lockout by her grieving husband. But those slowed to a trickle and within a few months, stopped altogether.

The only references Cynthia could find to the family after that first year following Melanie Coulter's death
were related to art auctions. Even after she was gone, Melanie's work continued to gain in value, the price of the few pieces on the market skyrocketing each time one came up for sale as collectors snapped up the sculptures.

But the family was silent—and if Melanie had left unfinished pieces in her studio at the Triple C, no one would confirm, although art historians continued to speculate.

I wish I'd asked Zach if the Lodge had any of his mother's artwork,
Cynthia thought. The photos she'd viewed courtesy of the internet had been stunning. The sculptures of mustangs were especially vivid and so lifelike Cynthia almost felt they could step out of her laptop and thunder away.

The phone rang, startling her. She hastily wiped the popcorn salt from her fingers, muted the television and grabbed the phone from the table next to the sofa.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long to answer?”

Cynthia nearly groaned out loud. How like her mother to not bother saying hello before criticizing. “I'm eating popcorn and didn't want to get salt and butter on the phone.” Her mother rarely called but when she did, it was nearly always because she wanted something. Usually that something was money.

“I don't know why you'd care,” Natasha Deacon said dismissively. “Now that Nicholas isn't there to nitpick over every little fingerprint, I'd think you'd relax a little.”

“I like Nicholas's neatness. And I love his house. The
trees are leafed out and the flowers are blooming. It's lovely here.”

“I'm sure,” Natasha said impatiently. “I don't know why you like that old house so much. Listen, I don't have long to talk before Roger comes back…”

“Who's Roger?” Cynthia asked, trying to put a face with the name.

“You haven't met him,” her mother told her. “We've only been together for five months.”

“What happened to the one before that… George, I think his name was?”

“For goodness' sake, Cynthia, try to keep up.” Natasha was clearly exasperated. “I broke up with George over a year ago.”

“Ah.” Cynthia didn't know what to say. Her mother cycled through men too frequently for her to keep track.

I need a score card,
she thought wryly.

“The point is,” Natasha went on as if Cynthia hadn't spoken. “Roger is being difficult and I need to move out, get my own apartment and start a new life.”

This time, Cynthia couldn't catch the groan before it escaped her lips. “Natasha, not again.”

“Don't judge me, Cynthia.” Natasha's voice was sharp. “I only need to borrow enough for first and last months' rent. I'll pay you back.”

“I'm sure you would, Natasha, but unfortunately, I can't swing a loan right now.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You save money from your paycheck every week. You always have. How long are you staying in Indian Springs?”

“I don't know,” Cynthia replied cautiously.

“Why don't you know? How long did you tell your boss you'd be gone?”

“I no longer have a boss. I quit my job in Palm Springs.”

The dead silence on the phone was testimony to the unprecedented news.

“That's not possible. Unless you took a better position somewhere else.”

“No, actually, I just walked out.”

“Why on earth would you leave a job at a posh hotel in Palm Springs?” Natasha demanded, disbelief carrying clearly over the line. “I wanted to visit you there this winter. It was the perfect place to get away from Montana's cold and snow in February.”

“I left because the head of the company expected me to sleep with him. As I remember, he told me it was one of the ‘perks of the job.' I disagreed. And I left.”

“That's it? That's the reason you left—because the boss wanted to sleep with you?”

“That's pretty much it, yes.” Cynthia braced herself for the tirade she knew was sure to follow her confirmation.

“When are you going to grow up and start living in the real world, Cynthia? How many times have I told you this world is ruled by men and a woman has to do whatever's necessary to get ahead?”

“More times than I can count,” Cynthia said, stifling a sigh.

“I can't believe you left a job that paid so well and was in such a perfect vacation spot.” Natasha sounded seriously miffed. “It's a good thing you always have a
healthy savings account—which brings us back to the important issue here. I need you to send me a check.”

“Mother…”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Natasha's voice rang with exasperation. “I'm much too young to have a daughter your age and I'm tired of explaining to people that I was barely a child myself when you were born.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes. “If you want to be called Natasha, I can certainly do that. For a moment there, I forgot the rules of our relationship.”

“Don't be sarcastic,” Natasha said sharply.

“Of course not. However,” Cynthia said briskly, before her mother had a chance to argue, “I truly don't have any cash. My savings are tied up in IRA accounts, which will take some time to move from my last employer. So at the moment, I'm basically broke.” She wasn't lying—not exactly, she thought. She did have cash in a savings account, but until she went back to work, the funds would have to cover her living expenses.

“This is extremely inconvenient for me, Cynthia.” Natasha didn't bother to hide her frustration and annoyance. “I was counting on your help. You're the only family I have now that Nicholas is gone and we need to be able to rely on each other.”

“I'm sorry, Natasha.” Cynthia couldn't help reflecting that the sentiment had always been a one-way street for her mother—Natasha expected any request for assistance from her to be acknowledged and complied with instantly. But somehow, Natasha was never able to reciprocate since she was always too busy, or too far away, or much too needed elsewhere.

“I suppose I could stay with you at Nicholas's house if I absolutely had to,” Natasha went on.

Cynthia's stomach clenched. “Of course you could,” she said carefully.

“I'll have to review my options here,” her mother said. “I'll let you know what I decide.”

“Perhaps things will work out with Raymond,” Cynthia said, fervently hoping they would.

“Roger. His name is Roger. Honestly, Cynthia, do you ever listen to anything I say?” Natasha demanded waspishly.

“I'm sorry. Roger.”

“I have to go. I think I hear Roger's car in the drive. I'll keep in touch.”

And she hung up without saying goodbye.

Cynthia set the receiver back in its cradle before she rubbed her temples where a dull headache was beginning to grow.

Natasha never changed. She was totally self-centered and incapable of seeing anything beyond herself. And she never took it well when Cynthia declined to cooperate in one of her plans.