Shotgun Daddy. Harper Allen

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      “I’ve got to turn on the heat. You might want to take off that fur.”

      All he could see of her was the back of her head as she stared out of the side window at the gathering darkness. “I’m not cold.”

      “I am.” He reached forward and switched on the heater, jacking the fan to full speed. “I haven’t acclimatized yet.”

      She turned to frown at him before opening the coat and slipping her arms from its sleeves. “When I saw your vehicle parked and running in the drive, I assumed one of Larry’s guests was leaving early—but you weren’t at the party, were you.”

      Her question sounded faintly accusatory. He kept his face expressionless.

      “The name’s Gabriel Riggs. You’re right, I wasn’t invited, but I showed up anyway. You walked past me after you tossed your engagement ring into the salmon mousse. Larry landed in the same general vicinity a couple of minutes later.”

      The four-wheel drive corrected itself on a curve. Gabe exchanged the high-beams for the regular headlights to cut down on the hypnotizing dazzle of the now-swirling snow.

      “You threw him off the stairs? Why?”

      “Because of a man named Leo Roswell. Your ex-lover let him get his throat cut, honey.” He glanced at her. “It was a Recoveries International situation that went real bad, real fast, but I was the negotiator on the spot. I should have guessed Larry might think it was a good idea to pull the plug.”

      “A man got his throat—” She didn’t finish the sentence. He heard her indrawn breath. “That’s horrible.”

      Gabe didn’t know why he’d put it so bluntly. He didn’t even know why he was talking to her about it. “Yeah, it was horrible. So did you walk in on Larry with Jink, or whatever her name was?”

      “Jinx. I don’t want to discuss it.” The frosty tone was back in full force. Gabe took the hint, and for the better part of the next hour there was nothing but silence between them—a silence that was finally broken by Caro herself when his arm accidentally brushed against hers as he reached for the stick shift. She stiffened. “How long before we get to Aspen?”

      The lady might as well have posted No Trespassing signs, Gabe thought. It was obvious not only that she wasn’t interested in having a conversation, but that she was having second thoughts about being in his company at all. To be fair, he couldn’t really blame her for her show of nerves just now. He had a pretty good idea of what she saw when she looked at him—a big man with straight black hair that should have been cut two weeks ago and an outdoor-worker’s tan deepening his natural copper, wearing faded jeans and a thin cotton shirt. Not at all what she’d been expecting when she’d made the snap decision to hop into his waiting vehicle outside the chalet.

      And if she wasn’t enthralled with having him as a travelling companion, he thought wryly, she was going to be real thrilled about bunking in with him tonight.

      “Change of plans,” he said, narrowing his gaze against the heavy snow and wondering if he’d already passed the place he was looking for. “We’re not making Aspen—not till morning, at least. This blizzard’s getting worse. We’re going to have to find somewhere to hole up for the night.”

      Her gaze was arctic. “Stay the night with a man I met an hour ago? If that’s supposed to be a joke, I don’t see the humor—and if it isn’t, you’ve made a big mistake, Mr. Riggs. The driving can’t be that bad. We’ll keep going.”

      Ignoring her peremptory order, Gabe saw the lane-way he’d noticed earlier in the day when he’d been heading the other way. He eased his foot onto the brake, thought for a tense moment that the vehicle was going to lose it on the patch of glare ice that appeared suddenly in his headlights, and then made the turn. Gravel crunched under the tires as they took a slight incline to the darkened building ahead.

      “A weekend lodge like this, they’ve probably got an alarm system.” He brought the four-wheel drive to a stop, looked at her stiff figure and took the keys from the ignition. “Trust me, we wouldn’t have made it, and if it’s your reputation you’re worrying about, don’t. I’m going to disable the security, so even if the cops could get here in these conditions, they won’t have a need to.”

      Her eyes lasered through him. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to spend the night with you. My father’s William Moore, and if that name doesn’t mean anything to you, it should. Turn this car around right now.”

      It had been a long day—hell, a long week, Gabe reflected tightly. Even when he’d been busy throwing Larry over the banister he hadn’t allowed himself to lose the numbness that had surrounded him since he’d seen Leo Roswell’s dead body. He’d known that a single spark of emotion would be enough to blaze down the flimsy barriers holding back his emotions.

      Caro Moore had just lit that spark. He tried to count to ten, gave up at seven, and got out of the car. He went around to her door and opened it.

      “Drop the lady-of-the-manor act, honey, and pronto. I’m not your chauffeur. I’m getting real tired of you treating me like one. Get out of the car.”

      “Didn’t you hear what I just—”

      The rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp as he lifted her from the car seat and deposited her unceremoniously into one of the snowdrifts beside the vehicle. He looked down at her.

      “Let’s get things straight, princess. You’re a rich bitch. I’m some version of hired muscle. You obviously think that means I can’t wait to have my crude way with you, but at the risk of shattering your illusions, I’m not interested.” He forced an evenness into his tone. “I’ll help you up.”

      “I don’t need your help,” she retorted, her heeled boots choosing that moment to slip on a patch of ice.

      He reached down and hauled her to her feet—too roughly, he realized as he became momentarily unbalanced.

      Only the fact that his vehicle was behind him saved them both from losing their footing. Furious blue eyes met his from a distance of only a few inches as Caro slammed against him.

      “You’re the one with the illusions, Mr. Riggs—” Her lips, pale pink and way too close, bit off the words. “Am I supposed to believe this wasn’t planned, either? Let go of me.”

      “My pleasure.” He released his grip on her, hoping that nothing of what was going through his mind showed in his face.

      The breathlessness he’d felt when he’d first seen her was back worse than ever, he thought hollowly, and it didn’t matter that she was too rich, too arrogant and too damn spoiled. Just for an instant he imagined how she’d look beneath him, that pale hair spread out on the snow, those pale lips parted—

      He turned away quickly, his fists clenched at his sides. “Wait here. This shouldn’t take long.”

      Whoever the lodge’s owners were, they were like Kanin; their security system had all the bells and whistles. But one snip through a wire made it useless. It was the same with the dead bolt on their front door. Gabe jimmied it open and walked back to the car, but by the time he’d locked the vehicle, he saw her slim figure, her back ramrod straight under the fur coat she’d slipped into again, entering the house.

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