never imagined she could feel.
Michaela had never thought she was frigid or anything. But she read books that talked about passion and desire in terms she thought were fun, but excessive. Orgasms were nice, sometimes very nice, but not cataclysmic or life-altering. Everybody knew that.
But maybe not everybody was Jesse Grey, who could do more with a fully-clothed glance in a busy restaurant than some people could do with a wholly naked weekend retreat on a California king-sized bed.
She gulped. Audibly. And so obviously Jesse couldn’t fail to notice it.
He did, of course. His gaze seemed to get both brighter and darker at once, or more sharply male, somehow, but he only inclined his head toward an empty table over near the big stone fireplace. And Michaela was racking up a long list of reasons to hate herself on this road trip, but the fact she all but scurried across the restaurant floor to take her seat—and to put a little distance between them before she burst into scalding flames where she stood—probably topped the list.
They unpeeled themselves from their heavy layers as they sat, and that didn’t help anything. Jesse shrugged out of his coat and then pulled his fleece up over his head, exposing a strip of his ridiculously flat and muscled abdomen as he went. And then he was just a shockingly beautiful man with unruly hair he only raked a hand through, an unshaven jaw that should have made him look unkempt but really, really did not, lounging in front of the fire with his long legs out in front of him like an aspirational advertisement for outdoor living.
Outdoor adventures and then far sexier indoor ones, and Michaela had no idea what was happening to her. What was turning her into someone she hardly recognized, a stranger from the inside out.
You know exactly what’s happening to you, that voice inside of her whispered. Jesse Grey is happening to you. But she didn’t want to follow that line of thought. She was too afraid he could see it.
They ordered large mugs of strong coffee first and then, as the caffeine worked its magic, larger platters of home-style cooking. Flapjacks and bacon, farm-fresh eggs and sides of potatoes made three different ways. Then they settled in, both tending to their mobile phones and the Monday morning workday happening somewhere outside the veil of the harsh Montana winter. Jesse took a quick call that clearly related to his own business, and she liked the sound of his voice, quietly commanding and not the least bit blustery as he talked. There was the buzz of the other patrons all around them, the local news on the big screens, showing white-out conditions farther north, and beneath it all, the hum of something else. Something that vibrated like a tuning fork deep inside of Michaela.
Something she didn’t want to identify.
But she knew what it was. Contentment.
It made her shudder, and she thought he knew it, too.
Their food arrived, heaping platters piled high, and they both dug in. For a while there was only the scrape of utensils against their plates, and Michaela thought she’d never tasted anything better.
Soon enough the first frenzy of eating passed, and Jesse sat back in his chair across from her, that gaze of his cool and assessing. Michaela wondered if this was the tycoon version of Jesse she’d glimpsed on the phone earlier. And if it was, which one was the real Jesse? The lazy, too sexy guy she’d woken up with? Or the one she’d heard order the person on the other end of his phone call to sort out a deal or prepare for the repercussions if he had to do it himself. Nicely, of course, but the steel had been there and very real. Or maybe he was both, she thought as she met that gaze of his, sipping at her coffee—lazy steel and commanding masculinity, all wrapped up in a sinfully wicked shell. That was Jesse Grey. Not a mystery. Just… too much.
“Why did your family think they had to buy me?” he asked.
Michaela allowed herself a smile that, if
Michaela had never thought she was frigid or anything. But she read books that talked about passion and desire in terms she thought were fun, but excessive. Orgasms were nice, sometimes very nice, but not cataclysmic or life-altering. Everybody knew that.
But maybe not everybody was Jesse Grey, who could do more with a fully-clothed glance in a busy restaurant than some people could do with a wholly naked weekend retreat on a California king-sized bed.
She gulped. Audibly. And so obviously Jesse couldn’t fail to notice it.
He did, of course. His gaze seemed to get both brighter and darker at once, or more sharply male, somehow, but he only inclined his head toward an empty table over near the big stone fireplace. And Michaela was racking up a long list of reasons to hate herself on this road trip, but the fact she all but scurried across the restaurant floor to take her seat—and to put a little distance between them before she burst into scalding flames where she stood—probably topped the list.
They unpeeled themselves from their heavy layers as they sat, and that didn’t help anything. Jesse shrugged out of his coat and then pulled his fleece up over his head, exposing a strip of his ridiculously flat and muscled abdomen as he went. And then he was just a shockingly beautiful man with unruly hair he only raked a hand through, an unshaven jaw that should have made him look unkempt but really, really did not, lounging in front of the fire with his long legs out in front of him like an aspirational advertisement for outdoor living.
Outdoor adventures and then far sexier indoor ones, and Michaela had no idea what was happening to her. What was turning her into someone she hardly recognized, a stranger from the inside out.
You know exactly what’s happening to you, that voice inside of her whispered. Jesse Grey is happening to you. But she didn’t want to follow that line of thought. She was too afraid he could see it.
They ordered large mugs of strong coffee first and then, as the caffeine worked its magic, larger platters of home-style cooking. Flapjacks and bacon, farm-fresh eggs and sides of potatoes made three different ways. Then they settled in, both tending to their mobile phones and the Monday morning workday happening somewhere outside the veil of the harsh Montana winter. Jesse took a quick call that clearly related to his own business, and she liked the sound of his voice, quietly commanding and not the least bit blustery as he talked. There was the buzz of the other patrons all around them, the local news on the big screens, showing white-out conditions farther north, and beneath it all, the hum of something else. Something that vibrated like a tuning fork deep inside of Michaela.
Something she didn’t want to identify.
But she knew what it was. Contentment.
It made her shudder, and she thought he knew it, too.
Their food arrived, heaping platters piled high, and they both dug in. For a while there was only the scrape of utensils against their plates, and Michaela thought she’d never tasted anything better.
Soon enough the first frenzy of eating passed, and Jesse sat back in his chair across from her, that gaze of his cool and assessing. Michaela wondered if this was the tycoon version of Jesse she’d glimpsed on the phone earlier. And if it was, which one was the real Jesse? The lazy, too sexy guy she’d woken up with? Or the one she’d heard order the person on the other end of his phone call to sort out a deal or prepare for the repercussions if he had to do it himself. Nicely, of course, but the steel had been there and very real. Or maybe he was both, she thought as she met that gaze of his, sipping at her coffee—lazy steel and commanding masculinity, all wrapped up in a sinfully wicked shell. That was Jesse Grey. Not a mystery. Just… too much.
“Why did your family think they had to buy me?” he asked.
Michaela allowed herself a smile that, if
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