CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I SABELLE ’ S brEATH CAUGHT when she glimpsed the huge steel and glass house as the helicopter flew over the forested gorge, before landing on a heliport on the far side of the ridge.

The vivid blue sky cast a clean, clear light over the Rocky Mountain range as far as the eye could see, spanning a staggering three thousand miles—south to New Mexico and north all the way to British Columbia. While the rock formations lacked the dramatic peaks and sharp descents of Androvia’s younger Alpine range, there was something about the rugged, breathtaking terrain that made the land here seem wilder and more untamed.

Isabelle wrapped the thick down coat that she’d donned when they’d landed in Denver International around herself to climb down the helicopter’s steps while Travis finished the flight checks with his co-pilot. She had hardly spoken with him since she’d woken on the jet to find him working on his laptop in the lounge, looking relaxed and far too handsome. Her grand plans to discuss all the things they should work on while they were in Colorado had hastily been put on hold as another bout of inappropriate yearning had assailed her.

Travis and the pilot began loading their luggage onto a two-seater quad bike parked next to the heliport once the chopper’s blades had stopped.

How odd... Where are the house’s staff?

‘Hey, grab that bag, Belle,’ Travis shouted at her.

She lifted the small suitcase that contained her cosmetics and toiletries. And joined him at the quad.

‘Sling it in the back and hop in,’ he said.

She felt the surge of affection at the casual way he spoke to her. Then felt foolish for her giddy reaction. Surely, he spoke to everyone in the same way? Exactly how sheltered was she?

She thanked the pilot, who had finished loading the bags—which appeared to be all hers apart from a large rucksack—and climbed into the quad.

‘Thanks, Chad,’ Travis said, slapping the pilot on the back. ‘We’ll see you on the first for the pick-up. I’ll check in with Megan if we need anything, but otherwise have a great Christmas.’

Isabelle tensed. She’d conveniently forgotten about the upcoming festive season—thanks to the pressures of the wedding and the wedding night. She forced herself not to panic.

She had a plan to refocus their working relationship over the next ten days.

All she needed to do was find the right time to suggest it.

The pilot waved goodbye, promising not to lift off until they were at the house.

After jumping into the quad, Travis drove through a grove of aspens laden with snow. The track opened out onto the valley ridge. Isabelle’s breathing clogged again as his mountain home appeared. The striking multi-level structure was much larger than she had expected, and as breathtaking as the stunning panoramic view across the Rockies.

He’d called the place a cabin, so she’d envisioned something cosy and quaint made of wood. She certainly had not expected anything this modern—or this imposing. The steel and glass edifice was several storeys high and built into the ridge-line with terraces on two levels that ran the length of the house. A seventy-five-foot lap pool encased in glass hung over the cliff on the lower level. Steam rose from the water, which was open to the elements.

‘You swim outdoors? At this time of year?’ she asked.

He braked the quad in front of a four-car garage. ‘Yeah, the water’s heated to twenty degrees, so I don’t freeze to death. Swimming is a good way to iron out the kinks after a day’s boarding, or a workout in the gym here if the weather’s not cooperating.’ He slung his arm across the steering wheel, his gaze roaming over her—and sending her pulse into overdrive. ‘I’ve always had a surplus of energy. I need to find ways to work it off during the day, or I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin by nightfall.’

‘I... I see,’ she stuttered.

He smiled, that slow sensual smile that had heat curling in her abdomen and made her feel as if she were about to crawl out of her own skin, too. Even though she had never had a problem with hyperactivity.

‘Yeah, I guess you do now,’ he murmured, the suggestive look making her sure he wasn’t talking about swimming any more.

Apparently, their truce was over.

Before she could come up with a suitably non-confrontational response—and stop the heat from sinking any deeper into her sex—he had jumped out of the quad.

He slung his rucksack over a shoulder, then stacked a couple of her suitcases under his other arm. ‘Grab what you can, and I’ll come back for the rest.’

She lifted the biggest suitcase she could manage, not wanting to seem like a shirker, but wondering again where his staff were. Not that she minded carting her own luggage, but she was starting to become concerned about the silence... And that intense feeling of intimacy that had been so electrifying—and so problematic—the last time they’d been alone together.

‘Open up.’ He barked the command into the frosty air as they headed across the terrace. A glass panel slid open in the house’s facade.

The electric door slid closed behind them as they entered the indoor space. The double-height living area was stunning, the glass walls giving them an unencumbered view of the frozen landscape, while the flames from a granite fireplace in the far wall threw a warm glow over the luxurious furnishings.

Isabelle spotted a strikingly modern kitchen on the other side of the living area—with bespoke wooden cabinetry and state-of-the-art appliances—but then she stopped dead. In the other corner of the living room was a ten-foot freshly cut fir tree, decorated with red silk ribbons, gold baubles and white fairy lights.

Emotion wrapped around her ribs, like a suffocating blanket, threatening to yank her back into the past, as the memories she had suppressed for so long, and so diligently, slammed into her and the scent of pine resin got trapped in her lungs.

‘What’s wrong?’ The husky question from behind her—which was far too perceptive—made her jolt.

She blinked furiously, the twinkle of lights blurring, as she struggled to cut off the melancholy thoughts.

‘Hey, are you crying?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not,’ she said, but the denial sounded weak and unconvincing.

Biting into her cheek, she shoved the memories back into the box marked ‘ancient history’. ‘It’s just... The tree is a surprise. I didn’t think you would be the sort of person to have one,’ she managed, struggling to cover her reaction.

He stared at her, for the longest time, and she had the awful suspicion he could see through the lie. But then he glanced past her at the cause of her distress. ‘I guess Megan, my housekeeper, had it put up,’ he murmured. ‘I can take it down if it bugs you.’

Yes, please.

She swallowed the pathetic reply.

Pull yourself together, Isabelle. It’s just a tree, and a beautiful one.

There were Christmas trees all over Androvia at this time of year—even if she never had one in her private quarters. She was used to seeing them and immune to their charm. She was just stressed and jet-lagged and had not been prepared to see one here, that was all.

‘No, don’t take it down. I like it. It’s very festive. And I wouldn’t want to insult your staff,’ she managed. ‘After all their hard work.’ She pushed the words past the blockage in her throat.

He was still watching her, with that searing intensity, which made her feel transparent. But then his eyebrow quirked. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. They won’t know.’

‘But aren’t they here?’ Isabelle blurted out, the silence pressing down on her.

‘Nope,’ he said, but his gaze remained fixed on her face. ‘I always give my employees paid vacation from December twentieth until after New Year.’ He was looking at her now with that vague sense of judgment. ‘So they can enjoy some quality time with their families, instead of having to wait on me.’

‘Oh...’ Her lungs deflated, while emotion swelled in her throat and the fireball of need sank into her abdomen.

‘What’s the deal, Belle?’ he said, making no attempt to hide his mockery now. ‘Not used to cooking for yourself?’

She wanted to be indignant, insulted even, that he considered her position had made her spoilt and entitled. But all she could do was muster a vague embarrassment—beneath the wave of anxiety now holding her lungs in a death grip.

After all, he was correct—she had never cooked more than the most basic meals for herself, and that had been several years ago in college. But far worse than the realisation he thought so little of her was the news that for the next ten days she was going to be entirely alone with him.

And she would have nothing to do or think about other than her inability to look after herself, and how much his attention still disturbed and excited her.

What if having to celebrate the festive season with him risked exposing the vulnerable little girl again, behind the facade of competence and composure?

Had her fake honeymoon—which was always likely to be a challenge—just morphed into a full-blown Christmas nightmare?

‘Could you show me to my room?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone firm and even.

‘You don’t want anything to eat?’ he asked.

She stared back at him blankly. Was he going to demand she cook a meal now? To test her culinary skills?

‘I’m really not hungry,’ she said, which was true, because her stomach was currently tying itself into tight greasy knots at the thought of what the next ten days had in store for her.

He shrugged. Then pointed past her shoulder. ‘Elevator is over there. Guest rooms are all on the top level. Take your pick.’

She grasped her suitcase handle and began to wheel the bag to the lift.

‘I’ll be out boarding tomorrow. So, help yourself to food,’ he called out, forcing her to turn again. ‘The chef will have left some meals in the freezer, which you can nuke in the microwave,’ he added, with that note of judgment she was already starting to hate. ‘Feel free to check out the house. Pretty much everything is voice activated because I hate reading instructions.’

She nodded. From the rigid look on his face, she suspected he was regretting having to spend his Christmas alone with her now, too. But given he was the one who had insisted on putting them both in this untenable position, she had no sympathy for him—whatsoever.

She stored up the spurt of anger, hoping it would help fortify her for the days ahead.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely, because good manners had always been the shield she used to hide wayward emotions. And inappropriate urges.

A cynical knowing smile edged his lips.

And too late, she remembered her handy shield was about as useful as a thimble of water in an inferno when it came to not getting burned by her counterfeit husband.

‘Relax, Belle. We agreed, this is a marriage without conjugal rights...’ His gaze drifted down her figure, making her panic—and the curl of heat—flare alarmingly. ‘But if you change your mind again, let me know. I’m always looking for an entertaining way to let off steam.’

‘I won’t,’ she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel but was determined to fake.

But as she turned her back on him again, the desire to hide until New Year from that mocking smile—and the hunger that refused to die—made her race towards the lift in another unseemly retreat.