Shawna Delacorte - Stormbound With A Tycoon

Justin had brought Dylan home with him during a school break. Unlike the previous year when the awkward fifteen-year-old Jessica had developed a huge crush on Dylan and had tried all weekend without success to get his attention, the sixteen-year-old Jessica had basked in his attentiveness. Dylan had played cards with her, talked to her and then asked her if she wanted to go out to lunch. He had even bought her a stuffed bear to add to her collection. Obviously, he liked her very much, hopefully as much as she liked him.

She had dressed in her most sophisticated outfit, put on extra makeup and did her hair up on top of her head, all to show him she was mature enough to date a twenty-year-old college man. But when it came time for lunch, she had been devastated to find that it was not the date she’d thought it would be. It was a group lunch of nearly a dozen people and she was the only one who had dressed up. The worst part was that Dylan had brought a date with him.

She had been humiliated and embarrassed. She had never forgotten the incident, even though, in retrospect, she realized he had done nothing to lead her on and was only being polite in trying to include her with the group. She had heard what she’d wanted to hear rather than what Dylan had actually said or meant, but it had still been an emotionally traumatic incident that she had never forgotten.

But that was ancient history. She was now a mature, intelligent woman of thirty-one, not the type to be easily swayed by a handsome man with thick, dark hair, emerald-green eyes, a dazzling smile…and danger written all over him.

She pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow into a slight scowl. From what her brother had told her of Dylan Russell’s lifestyle, finding a woman in his bed was certainly not an unusual occurrence. Her scowl turned to contemplation. What was Dylan Russell doing there? He was not the type of man who would hide away in an isolated mountain cabin and certainly not without the benefit of feminine companionship. Everything she had ever heard about him said he was a charming rogue, a personable scoundrel who drifted from one quick-buck deal to another and one bed to another, without any roots, commitments or responsibilities.

Her contemplation turned to confusion. He was a globe-trotting playboy who would surely feel more comfortable in a luxury resort with a hot tub and room service. So what was he doing by himself in her cabin? Then another thought struck her. Could he be expecting someone to meet him there? A woman? The quick jab of anger caught her by surprise. She immediately shoved it away. His personal life was none of her business.

Even though she had always found her brother’s stories about Dylan to be fascinating, she knew no good would come from pursuing an interest in that sort of man regardless of how sexy and exciting she found him. And Dylan Russell certainly ranked at the top of any list of sexy and exciting men. She knew from experience that his type was all outward flash without any real substance underneath. She had been married to a handsome man with a roving eye and little concern about whose bed he frequented. She had no desire to travel down that path again. She dismissed the errant thoughts. Right now she needed to get dressed.

Jessica was not the only one contemplating the events of the past few minutes.

Dylan stared out the bedroom door toward the steps leading down to the living room. His teasing banter with Jessica had turned out to be far more interesting than he would have imagined. In fact, Jessica was far more interesting than he would have imagined. Justin painted his sister as an organized, no-nonsense type of person who knew what she wanted out of life and had her feet firmly planted on the ground—certainly not the type of woman he was accustomed to dating. What Justin failed to mention was that his sister was also drop-dead gorgeous with a body that would not quit.

Exactly where had Jessica McGuire been three months ago when he needed someone just like her? When everything turned sour and his life started falling apart? He shook his head and reminded himself that she was his best friend’s sister. He was not sure exactly what that meant, but the cautionary thought popped into his head. He could not consider this beautiful, intelligent woman who knew who she was and where she was going in life as another potential bed-mate.

Dylan took a deep breath, then slowly expelled it. He tried to clear his mind of the wayward thoughts, but he could not clear away the memory of her body snuggled next to his and his hand sliding across her silky skin. Nor could he erase the sight of her standing next to the bed, her mussed hair and scantily clad body giving her a look of sexy, uninhibited abandon. A tightness pulled across his chest. He took another deep breath in hopes of breaking the restrictive feeling, then threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, dressed and headed toward the stairs.

Dylan stopped short at the bottom step. He could see Jessica through the kitchen door. A scowl marred her otherwise beautiful face. She seemed to be staring at something. He entered the kitchen, walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder in an attempt to see what had captured her attention and caused her to frown like that.

“Is something wrong?”

The sound of his voice startled her. She jerked around and found her face almost touching his. For a long moment she looked up into the intensity of his green eyes, or more accurately, he seemed to be pulling her into the depth of those eyes as he searched her face for some sort of explanation.

“Uh—” she took a couple of steps away from his uncomfortable nearness “—wrong?”

“You were scowling at the stove. Is there something wrong?”

She took yet another step farther away from his disconcerting presence, coming to a halt when she bumped into the kitchen counter. Her voice held the same uncertainty that coursed through her veins. “Wrong?” She knew she sounded like an idiot, parroting the same word over and over. She gathered her composure and projected as much confidence as she could muster, but she couldn’t quell the disturbing sensations playing havoc in her stomach.

“There isn’t any gas…the stove burner won’t light, there’s no hot water and the floor furnace in the living room won’t light. There must be something wrong with the propane tank.”

“I didn’t use any hot water and didn’t even try to turn on the furnace or the stove when I arrived last night. I went right to bed. I was going to read for a while, but then the storm knocked the electricity out.”

“The tank shouldn’t have been turned off. It was just filled a week ago and was supposed to have been left on.” She glanced toward the window, then looked up at the ceiling and the sound of the rain pounding against the roof.

An exasperated sigh accompanied her words.

“Damn…there doesn’t seem to be any way to avoid going out into the rain to see what’s wrong.”

“Where is the propane tank?”

“It’s behind the garage.”

Dylan glanced out the window. “It’s raining pretty hard. I’ll go out and check it. You stay inside where it’s dry.”

“Forget it.” She snapped out the words. “I’m capable of taking care of it myself.”

“Whoa…” A slight edge of irritation crept into his voice. “I didn’t say you weren’t capable. I merely offered to help.”

Jessica grabbed a jacket from the coatrack by the front door. “You weren’t offering to help, you were telling me what to do.” She shoved her arms into the sleeves, turned up the collar, then opened the front door.

She paused long enough to shoot a contemptuous look in his direction. “I don’t need your help.” Then she stepped out onto the porch prepared to brave the elements.

She bit at her lower lip in a moment of contemplation. Perhaps she had been a little harsh with her comments. He really hadn’t said anything wrong. She clenched her jaw in determination. Dylan Russell had totally unnerved her and she didn’t like it. She hunched her shoulders against the chilly air and ran out into the rain.

Dylan stared after her, his annoyance overriding her show of irritation. She had literally dismissed him as if he had made some sort of disparaging comment rather than a sincere offer of help. He was not accustomed to being treated in that manner, especially by a beautiful woman. He allowed a brief instant of reflection. Of course, he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with independent, self-sufficient women who would even know what a propane tank was let alone what to do with one.

He followed her out into the rain, catching up with her just as she rounded the corner of the garage. He stood by as she bent down and checked the gauge on the tank, then made sure the connection was tight. She glanced up at him, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the rain. “The valve’s closed. The tank has been shut off.”

She opened the valve to start the flow of propane to the cabin, then she straightened up and took a couple of steps forward until he blocked her way. They stood very close together, almost as close as when they had been in the kitchen.

The tightness spread across his chest again as he stared at her. The rain matted her hair against her head. Rivulets of water ran down her face and formed her long, dark eyelashes into spiky clumps. He started to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist the urge. He wanted to wipe the water from her cheek and kiss away the droplets from her all-too-tempting lips. It was the kind of delicious-looking mouth that would drive any man to distraction. He forced down the desire and reluctantly stepped aside.

She remained rooted to the spot, unable to move. Every fiber of her being screamed out for the physical contact that was almost there but not quite. She swallowed down the lump lodged in her throat and tried to still her racing pulse. She finally managed, with difficulty, to break away from the invisible hook pulling her into the realm of his masculinity. She broke into a run, quickly covering the ground back to the cabin.

He followed closely behind. When they reached the covered porch she removed her rain-soaked jacket and shook off the excess water, then pulled off her muddy boots and left them on the porch before going inside. Dylan followed suit by kicking off his shoes, too. Once inside she hung her jacket on the coatrack to dry.

He pulled his wet sweatshirt off over his head, revealing a wet T-shirt. She tried not to stare at the way it clung to the well-defined planes of his hard body, but her attempts were useless. Her breathing quickened and, much to her dismay, her pulse started to race again. Somehow she had to put a stop to the physical effect he had on her.

He hooked the sweatshirt over the doorknob, then ran his fingers through his wet hair before turning toward her. “I guess that answers the question about the heat and hot water. Where do you keep the matches?” He glanced around the large open expanse of the cabin’s living room and dining room, then toward the kitchen door. “In the kitchen?”

She forced a calm to the inner turmoil running rampant through her body, at least enough to hopefully fool him with a neutral outer manner. “The propane company must have turned the tank off when they filled it last week, then forgot to turn it back on.”

She retrieved the matches from the fireplace mantel. “It’s lucky for you I showed up when I did to fix things.” Her thoughts had slipped out without her meaning to say them aloud.

He bristled at her words. “Turning on a propane tank and putting a match to some pilot lights is not beyond my capabilities.”