I was cut off mid thought, and my head jerked up to the sound, and I looked to Matt. It sounded like someonewasat the front door of the Inn.
But, the storm raging outside was way too intense for anyone toactuallybe knocking at the doors of the Bear Valley Inn. The snow was swirling in such a way that even someone like myself, who had lived in Bear Valley for the majority of their adult life, would quickly be disoriented. No one who lived in Bear Valley for any time at allwould beout in this kind of storm.
Well, not on purpose.
I pressed the crash bar to the outside doors, unlocking them with a satisfying click, only to be met with someone surging through the door, snow falling off them in sheets.
“Thank God,” a distinctively male voice rumbled, deep, but with his teeth literally chattering in his head as he stumbled into the space between the outside doors and those leading into the lobby.He was tall, as tall as I was or Matt, broad shoulders and a face that I couldn’t see between his hat and his scarf. Just like his face, the rest of his build was lost under snow and winter clothes.
The guy had luggage with him, a simple, elegant trunk-style suitcase, something snow covered that I can’t identify, andapack on his back. Wewereexpecting a single guest to check-in that day, according to my previous look at the system, but there was no way it could be this man at such an early hour and in the snowstorm. The mere idea of him being able tofindthe Inn in the storm was ridiculous.
Instinct took over, as the oldest of five, organizer of most of the family businesses, and CEO of our family’sphilanthropy organization, I automatically assumed the caretaker role more often than not and this man definitely needed care. Temperatures are dangerously low, and he had enough snow on him to soak him through despite being dressed for the weather the best he could be. Plus, not even the grateful tone of his voice couldmask the thread of exhaustion.
“Come in, it’s brutal out there,” I told him, ushering him in all the way to the fire.
“Sowarmin here,” he whispered, flexing his fingers like they were reawakening. “Didn’t know if you would be open,” he continued, words muffled under his scarf and appeared to be hard in forming. Maybe his chattering teeth were in the way.
His accent was slight; twangy, but just barelyso. It was sexy as hell and I noticed it right away. Spring Break in the south was my favorite for a reason. Those accentsdid somethingto me.
“Good thing for my insomnia, then,” I said lightly, directing him next to the hearth that was wide enough and tall enough he could sit on it easily. To me, the fire was almost too warm to standby, but he didn't seem to mind at all. “Here, get out of anything wet, and let’s warm you up,” I finished, frowning at the now exposed lips of the stranger. They are full and bracketed by blond neatly kept facial hair long enough to be soft.
But the full lips are also blue around the edges.
My libido may have been like a broken compass lately, but one look at the guy and it was ready to declare a brand new due north. The beautiful man was oblivious, though, and just started pulling off all the wet top-layers.
He stopped for a moment.
“I should do this in the vestibule,” he muttered, noticing all the snow falling off him, making slushy puddlesonthe wood floor.
“No, here, where it’s warm, don’t worry about it,” I assured him. The man was practically freezing and he’s worried about a few puddles?
He looked at me for a moment, deep brown eyes truly assessing me for the first time. Itwasa little bit like being dissected.Then something shifted and he nodded in agreement with my suggestion.
Once his hat came off, I was rewarded with a golden cascade of messy curls that fell into his eyes. The gloves were peeled back to reveal long, strong fingers set against wide palms. But, when the scarf was unwound from his neck, I was struck again by the brown eyes that seemed to light up the room whentheyfound mine. Thereweregold flecks in them, giving a dimension to the brown I was not prepared for.
Fuck, but he is hot. Stunning, Abercrombie-model level hot. We were of a similar age, and every piece of outerwearhe took off revealedsomething new about him that only madehimmoreattractive to me.
Likeallthe attractive things made a home in one long and lean package.
He looked like a golden surfer more than a skier. Tall, rounded muscles, feline movements, with dark gold hair and those pretty eyes. He was checking all of my boxes in record time, from the low rumble of his voice, to his tall stature with wide shoulders hinting at the muscle beneath, and practically indecent lips. Full and pouty, not like what you would expect on a guy at all.
I wondered, briefly, if this was a joke from Quinn. Sending this guy to me as a New Year’s joke would be very true to form for that particular brother.
Quinnhadmentioned that New Year’s luck was made by seeing a guy naked on New Year’s Day. I’m pretty sure the superstitions were actually about eating black-eyed peas, or wearing red underwear, or a putting dime under your plate.
If the hot blond didn’t stop stripping layers, I guess I would have my answer.
Finally, I realized I couldn’t just stare at the guy, and that no stripper was likely to brave the snowstorm, not even for Quinn’s twisted sense of humor.
“You must be Perrin Thayer,” I said, finding my voice and remembering the name of our sole guest that day. The only new face coming to Bear Valley to stay on the first day of theNew Year, and I reached out to shake his cold hand, “I’m Jack Mann.”
Perrin
Jack is gorgeous.
As in the I was sure Iwasabout to swallow my tongue if hekepttouching me to help me getwarm kind of gorgeous.
Whatever snowstorm I had just braved, plus the craziness the last 72 hours had brought, it all slammed to a halt when that man laid those blue-green eyes on me. I was willing to guess the color changed with his feelings; a permanent mood-ring you coulddecodeif you tried hard enough.
