Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,67

got no romance in your soul.”

“I’d love to see the ranch,” Dyma said. “And Grizzly. And hey, Mom. You’d have the right clothes for that. Bonus.”

Jennifer thought, You are not seeing that ranch. Aloud, she said, “Time out. So for whatever reason, you’re feeling an intense desire to go to a New Mexico spa resort, Harlan. Realizing, of course, that Dyma and I really do have to get home tomorrow.”

“And that I do, too,” Owen said. “Calving.”

“I’ll get you all home,” Harlan said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got this jet.”

She shouldn’t do this. In no way should she do this. It was a very bad idea. It was also an obscene amount of money. She should say, “Fly us home to Wild Horse, please.” She was going to say that.

She said, “Give me ten minutes.”

It took her about three of those minutes to say, “Taos looks good. It’s pretty, and there’s a smaller resort that seems nice, where you wouldn’t be as exposed to the public. El Monte Sagrado.” Upon which, Harlan jumped up and headed to the cockpit to give the pilot the itinerary.

When he got back, she was still working on the phone.

“Too late,” he said. “It’s decided.”

“No,” she said. “I’m checking out available rooms.”

He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“I told you,” she said, hanging on to it. “It’s my job.”

“Nope. You’re going to cheap out on me. I can see it in you. That look right there,” he said when she smiled, and his charm was irresistible. “That’s the cheaping-out look. Your part’s done. Give it to me.”

She sighed and handed the phone over. “What we should be doing is having a conversation about your sister and your dad. I could be helping, at least.”

“You are helping,” he said, not looking up from the phone. “Keep on doing that. Hang on. I need some privacy for this conversation.”

“If you’re reserving the honeymoon suite,” she said, “that’s a no.”

“Aw,” he said. “You’re no fun.” And she had to laugh.

After that, he went into the back of the plane, and she couldn’t hear him. Which was, yes, all very exciting, and nothing like her life.

And a truly terrible example for her daughter. Who wasn’t even doing her homework.

She wasn’t even surprised by the black Suburban at the other end of the trip—she’d discovered who bought up all the black ones—or the discreet-but-fabulous entrance to the resort, an adobe-colored, timbered-pueblo place set in immaculate grounds that looked lush even in winter, all of it surrounded by mountains glowing purple in the late-afternoon light.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know places like this existed. She booked them all the time for Blake. It was just that she’d never expected to see one in person. Unfortunately, she was so tired and sore by this point, all she wanted was to flop onto a bed.

Harlan had been right. The second day was the worst, and the afternoon of a second day you’d spent either sitting in a vehicle or standing out in the freezing cold was the worst of the worst.

If you were whisked away on a private jet for a fabulous overnight by an All-Pro NFL wide receiver—and, yes, she’d looked him up during the flight, feeling like a stalker while he’d lounged opposite her, staring out the window at nothing with a frown on his face and one booted foot stuck out straight in front of him, like he was worrying again—well, anyway, if that was the kind of evening you were looking forward to, surely you shouldn’t mostly be thinking about how your upper back and shoulders ached all the way across and up into your neck, your thighs were so stiff that you were more or less tottering along, you couldn’t shift position without wincing at the pain in your abs, and you couldn’t tell whether it was the bruising or the muscle soreness that made your butt hurt so much. She climbed out of the SUV with the aid of Harlan’s hand and stifled a groan, and he kept his hand around hers and said, “Not doing so good?”

“I’m fine. Never mind. Also, I looked you up on the flight. I’m just telling you, so you know. Honesty’s important.”

“Ah,” he said. “Not before this? Am I losing my curb appeal, or what?”

“Don’t joke about it. I’m serious. What are they thinking, publishing your contracts like that for everybody to see? And since they do, why the heck aren’t you being more careful about stalkers,