But right as she parted her lips to tell Ashlyn about the man who was creating big changes in her heart, headlights arced across the front window, and the studly studmuffin himself was home.
A huge swell of relief filled her. It was as if she'd released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Maybe it was from him coming home last night all beat up, and she was worried. Or perhaps a little piece of her thought he would bolt and not come back until her vacation was finished. He'd been upfront with his urge to roam.
"Hey, I have to go," Ashlyn said. "My mom has called three times, so it must be important. I'll talk to you tomorrow. No working!"
"I'll try not to."
"And take lots of pictures and send them to me so I can live vicariously through you while I karate chop Gary's kisses away."
Blaire snorted. "Okay deal, I'll send you snow pictures tomorrow. It's beautiful up here. There's even a wolf."
"Oh, get pictures of the wolf. I want that, too. Gah, Mom is calling again. She's probably on Web MD freaking herself out."
"Tell her I said hi."
"Will do, bye-bye now."
Blaire ended the call and grinned big when a knock sounded at the door. She really liked that he came to see her before he even went into his house.
When she opened the door, he stood there in an unbuttoned tan winter jacket and tight V-neck sweater, exposing the top of the perfect line between his pecs. His winter hat was pulled low, but it's dark color made his green eyes look even brighter. Arms locked against the door frame, he canted his head and gave her a crooked smile that made her ovaries go boom.
"I got you a birthday present," he said in that sexy, deep rumble of his.
"Is it … something dirty?" she asked hopefully.
"Oh, it's filthy." His smile stretched wider, and inside, her inner sex goddess bounced and clapped like a seal.
Gentry pulled something from his back pocket and handed it to her.
It was a paintbrush.
"Filthy, huh?" she asked in a dead voice.
"Oh, we'll have paint all over the place," he said in a phone-sex operator voice. His smile was obnoxious.
Blaire crossed her arms over her chest. "Perhaps I don't want to spend my second night of vacation painting."
The smile dipped from his lips as he pushed off the door frame. He shifted his weight and looked off into the woods. "Painting isn't the point."
"What is?"
He leveled her with a look. "Spending time with me."
She inhaled sharply at what he did to her heartbeat. "Is this … is this like a painting date?"
"I don't date." When a soft sound came from his chest, he shook his head hard. "I can't, but I want to spend time with you. I have a million things to do around here to get it fixed up to sell, but you're only here for six more days, and I don't want to waste our time together."
She really liked the way he'd said our time.
Slowly, she took the paintbrush from his hand and ran her fingers across the soft bristles. "Let me get dressed in some old clothes, and I'll be right out."
Standing aside, she nodded her head for him to come in and hoped to God it was as smooth as she'd tried to make it. Gentry was really good at winks, head nods, and smexiness, while she still felt like an amateur with this flirting stuff.
Gentry strode in with the smooth gait of a lion as he stripped out of his jacket. She made a beeline for the bedroom so she could get dressed in a rush and stare at him again that much faster.
"Wear something warm," he called from the other room.
"You're telling me to put more clothes on?" Blaire stared into her drawer of old night shirts and pouted.
"Or you can wear nothing," he suggested. "I'll be happy, but you'll freeze your perfect little ass off."
"I like that you called my ass little, ya liar."
A deep chuckle sounded from the other room, and then, "You read books?" The soft noise of paper rustled, and she imagined him skimming the manuscript that was sitting on the counter.
"Yeah, lots of them. Read page eighteen."
More papers rustled as Blaire pulled her hair into a high ponytail, and then Gentry huffed a laugh. "Baby gravy?"
Blaire giggled and shoved her legs into a pair of leggings with a hole where her inner thighs had rubbed it threadbare. She called these her "easy access pants," but Gentry didn't need to know that. "I'm an acquisitions editor for a publisher. I read a lot of manuscripts and pick the ones to bring to my boss. I try to get the good ones contracts so they can distribute through the publisher I work for. Contracts, editing, marketing … there is an entire machine in my office. I'm just the first cog."
"Do you read paranormal romance?" he asked.
His tone had gone serious and dark, so she pulled on the black, thigh-length tunic sweater she'd bought on clearance for four dollars and poked her head out of the room.
"Like vampires? Nope, not my department, though I wouldn't mind reading something different. I mostly consider contemporary romances right now. Sometimes I look at motorcycle club romances if I'm getting antsy for a change, but then I'm right back on contemporary." She sat on the floor next to the door and shoved her feet into her snow boots. Distractedly, she admitted, "I used to love to read. It was my passion, and I thought this would be the perfect job for me. But it's different when you do your passion for a corporate setting, you know? Now reading is work, and I don't read the books I want to anymore, just the ones the publisher thinks will sell in the current market."
"Why don't you read outside of work?"
"Because I'm exhausted. I was overdoing it, overworking myself, bringing my work home, obsessing with staying distracted after my marriage fell apart, and I just … I don't know … lost the passion for reading a good book outside of work. It's like, if I have any extra time outside of the office, I don't want to be doing something that reminds me of my career anymore. It's the part I miss most, getting lost in a story that I don't have to pull out of to think about the plot, characters, believability, and whether my boss will go for the book or not."
Gentry was bent over the counter, fidgeting with the corner of one of the pages, his eyes trained on her tight-clad legs. "How many manuscripts did you print out for this week?"
"Twelve."
"Where are they?"
"My room," she muttered, tying her laces.
Gentry strode into her room and returned shockingly fast with her work satchel. "You can print these out again?"
"Yeah, they're saved on my computer," she murmured, following his progress toward the fireplace with her gaze. "What are you doing?"
"Freeing you up to actually take time off."
He dumped the manuscripts into the hearth and reached for a box of matches on the mantel.
A part of her revolted at the idea of burning manuscripts, but as the flames caught on the edges, she thought perhaps Gentry had a point. If they were in the house, she would work this week, and it would take away from the time she had off.
"My best friend would like you," she murmured, drawing her knees up and watching the fire build. "She didn't want me to work this week either."
"The one who booked you this vacation?"
"Yeah. Ashlyn. She kept me sane the last few years."
Gentry leaned against the mantle, his back to her as he said, "She wouldn't like me for you if she knew me, Trouble." Then he cast her a quick, blazing-eyed glance over his shoulder and straightened his spine. With a plastered smile, he asked, "Are you ready?"
"Do I look like cat woman?" she asked, standing and dusting her bottom off. Her all-black skintight outfit was the oldest she had, but she also cared about being cute for Gentry. He looked like a runway model, and right about now, she looked like a starless night in a pushup bra, who was sporting some seriously obvious panty-lines.
He huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Trouble, you don't want to be a cat around me. You look sexy as fuck, though."
She gave him a cheeky grin. "Then yes, I'm ready right meow."
Gentry chuckled and rushed her, picked her up with his forearms resting right under her butt cheeks. "Oh, right meow?"
Blaire let off a little hiss and gripped her claws into the back of his neck.
"Retract those claws, kitty cat, or you'll be asking to get fucked against the table over there." Gentry's voice had gone silken, filled with promise.
The smile fell from her face. Whoa, he was good at putting hot images into her head. Her, naked, boobs down on the table, legs locked and splayed. Him driving deep inside her, hard, his face focused as he gritted out her name, his powerful body flexing with every thrust...