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He snarled. “If you want a fancy dollhouse.”
“What? I can’t even believe my father would consider selling this. It has been in the family forever.”
“He’s been consolidating real estate. Wants to enjoy life. Besides, he told me he bought another vacation home somewhere else.” Mierda. Santiago pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll call the airfield company and tell them to find a pilot to pick me up,” he said. Shit. This wasn’t going according to plan. He’d waited over a month to book the world’s best ski instructor. The guy had worked with a bunch of amputee clients, even a few Olympians. The TV pilot he planned to pitch to his cable network—a winter version of his acclaimed travel show, where he visited dangerous destinations, was in development. To do a good job he needed to learn how to ski. How would he visit the coldest places in the world, if he didn’t master the sensation of gliding down the snow?
“Crazy. There may be a blizzard tonight.”
“I don’t have to go back to the States. I’m happy with Toronto or another city.” As long as it’s far away from you. He turned, but she nudged his elbow, forcing him to look at her. Or was it the sizzling sensation spreading through his flesh at such a random touch? God. He’d give anything to outline her jaw, then slide his finger down her neck and he’d quickly take off her—
“Are you really so arrogant? You’ll endanger yours and someone else’s life just to be away from me?”
He blinked out of his nonsense. “Endangering people’s lives because of my own agenda isn’t my style, Tiffany,” he said, and a part of him almost second-guessed his boldness. Her baby blues darkened to an intense cobalt, and if he hadn’t swallowed—twice— he wouldn’t have been able to breathe.
She shrugged. “Right. Well, go ahead and make your call then,” she said, and headed toward the kitchen.
He tried hard to ignore the pain in her voice, pointlessly. She left his sight, and his gaze adverted to her curvy figure. Patricia had been a runner, and many women envied her slim shape and strong biceps. Tiffany though… had an extra layer of flesh, and at times he imagined she had dimples over her round ass. He’d imagined stroking her culo, his hand vigorously massaging her ass.
Basta!He jammed his hand into his pocket and grabbed his iPhone. Turning, he slid his finger on the device and relief poured over him when the call went through. In the past, connection at the cottage was spotty and frustrating.
“Kevin here,” his pilot said on the other end of the line.
“There has been a change in plans. I need to leave ASAP,” he said, a trace of urgency in his voice.
“Hi, boss.” Kevin cleared his throat, and he pictured his longtime employee scratching his head. “Sorry, but it’s not possible to fly in this weather.”
“Even if I just want to go one town over?” he asked, desperate.
“Yeah. I just checked the national weather service. A cold front hit the area, and in a couple hours you’re going to be pounded with snow.”
“Then calling a car service is not an option. I don’t want to endanger anyone.”
“No one without a death wish would go out after that forecast. Is there an emergency?”
Shit. “No, I’ll sort it. Thanks,” he muttered and hung up. There’s no way out. He’d have to share the same roof with Tiffany for at least one night.
Tiffany had always been his Achilles’ heel. He’d wanted her more than he wanted anything. Best to stay away he’d told himself, because when he met her years ago she had been a minor and his stepsister. Those were enough reasons to keep him from her—and complete motivation for him to invest in a much more appropriate relationship with Patricia. Now, with Patricia gone and Tiffany older and legal, a lesser man would yield to the temptation.
Tiffany had always been his secret passion… and sharing the cottage with her without touching her would send him straight to the nuthouse.
