“No more lavender bath products,” I lectured myself as I dried off, trying to ignore the lingering sensations ghosting across my skin. “Clearly, they’re hallucinogenic.”
Stumbling into the suite’s bedroom, the bed called to me like a siren song. Not bothering with pajamas, I collapsed onto the mattress. But as I sank into the feather-soft sheets, I couldn’t help but trace my lips with my fingertips, wondering what it would have felt like if the dream had continued for just a few seconds more.
“Damn it, Sam. Get it together.”
With a groan, I buried my face in the pillow, determined to sleep dreamlessly until morning. I had a job to do, after all, and it didn’t involve grumpy mountain men, no matter what my subconscious might want to focus on.
Tomorrow would be strictly professional. No thoughts of Noah. None at all.
RING RING RING.
I pried one eye open. Morning light streamed through the windows, transforming the penthouse suite into a sun-drenched paradise. The mountains in the distance looked like they’d been painted into place, impossibly majestic against a backdrop of pristine blue sky.
For one blissful moment, I forgot about my travel ordeals, and my late night bath dream about a certain blue-eyed mountain man who had somehow worked himself into my regular dreams too.
RING RING RING.
“Alright, alright.” I squinted at the phone screen. It was Mom and Dad, of course. “Hello?”
“Samantha! Are you alive? I saw on the news that a hiker got lost in Montana and had to be rescued by helicopter!”
In the background, I could hear Dad clarifying the geographic locations of Western states. It was their morning routine: Mom catastrophizing, Dad attempting to de-catastrophize.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said, forcing myself upright. My head throbbed slightly, a souvenir from last night’s Mountain Sunset Martinis. “Totally fine. Not lost. Not helicoptered anywhere. And I’m nowhere near Montana. Ithink.”
“See?” I could hear Dad’s voice in the background. “Put her on speaker.”
There was a fumbling sound, followed by Dad’s voice. “Have you seen any mooses yet?”
“Nomooseyet,” I answered, padding toward the panoramic windows in my luxurious LuxeLife robe. “But I did see a wolf-dog.”
“A wolf-dog?” Mom’s voice ratcheted up several notches. “Do they have rabies shots in Colorado?”
“It belonged to the guy who was supposed to pick me up from the airport.” My mood darkened at the memory. “Why do the good-looking ones always have to be so obnoxious?”
Silence fell on the line.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” I hissed, holding my hand over my phone speaker. Too late, I realized I’d said out loud what I meant to keep in my head.
“The man was good-looking?” Mom’s voice perked with interest, probably already calculating wedding guest lists in her head.
I closed my eyes, mentally kicking myself. “Well, I mean, I suppose. If you’re into those kinds of things.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know. Things.”
“Whatkindsof things?” Mom repeated. She’d spent the past decade trying to orchestrate my love life. No way in Colorado she’d be deterred now.
“Well, let’s see.” I mentally went through the checklist. Bulging forearms. Chiseled jawline. Eyes the color of alpine lakes. Shoulders that could probably carry fallen timber. Not that I would admit any of that to Mom.
“Mountain man things,” I said. “Flannel. Beards. Whatever.”
“He sounds very practical,” Mom said approvingly. “Have you met his mother yet?”
I simply shook my head.
“Send your dad and me a picture,” Mom demanded. She never pretended to be subtle.
