steps before tripping on the spike heels and lurching into Grant’s arms. Her cry of surprise was swallowed by his lapel, suddenly crushed against her mouth as his hard form absorbed the slam of her soft curves.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’m not complaining,” Grant said, holding her tight, his chin against the top of her head. A tidal wave of desire swept through her. Don’t trust him, Jami reminded herself as she stood entwined with him mere inches from her bed. No way would she let another man shred her heart as her ex-husband had done. Grant could find another victim. She tried to channel her feelings into righteous anger.
“Please, let me go,” Jami whispered forcefully, still cradled against his massive chest.
“Mmm. You smell heavenly,” he whispered, his minty breath warm against her ear, sending delicious shivers down her neck and arm.
Jami moved to separate their bodies, disgusted with herself for letting him send her sensations into a tailspin every time they were close. She nearly stomped Grant’s toe, but was afraid her deadly footwear would cause permanent damage. “I can’t walk in these stupid heels.”
“Then take them off.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Grant raised a brow in question.
Lips pressed together, Jami mutely stared back at him.
“We’re not going out in public. Carry your sandals,” he explained in a reasonable, business-like tone. “You can slip them back on if Mike needs you to wear them for a shot.”
“Stocking footed in a cocktail gown?”
“Regardless of footwear, you’re beautiful.”
Jami slipped off the stiletto sandals, one at a time, a sigh escaping her lips. “Those heels are torture.”
“On the phone tonight, Sierra told me you dislike high heels.”
“That high I do,” Jami replied earnestly. “What else did Sierra tell you?”
Grant smiled down at Jami. “Not nearly enough.”
As they entered the Garden Room, Jami nearly dropped the sandals dangling from her fingers. “I feel like we stepped outside, but we’re still indoors.”
Directly across from them stood partially open, arched French doors flanked by floor to ceiling windows to bring the outside inside. That window design continued around the room to form three of the four walls, which gave the impression of a room of glass, set in the mountain woods.
“It’s always been a favorite spot of mine,” Grant said proudly. “In the winter when snow frosts everything, it’s unbelievable.”
“It’s unbelievable now,” Jami gasped, charmed by the intrinsic blend of nature with the interior decor in the romantically old-fashioned room. Muted strains of saxophone music floated from stereo speakers hidden somewhere behind the greenery.
She spun around to appreciate the way strategically placed indoor plants of climbing ivy, trailing gardenias, and hanging ferns teamed with six-foot umbrella trees, split-leaf philodendron, and potted trees to enhance the wilderness effect. The room’s cool, inviting terrazzo tiled floor blended well with natural wicker furniture, but the center crown was a lace-covered dining room table. Ivory taper candles cupped in antique brass and a goblet holding a floating lily blossom graced the tabletop, along with twin crystal champagne flutes and rose-rimmed, gilt-edged china.
Grant led her to the table, then pulled out a floral cushioned wicker chair to seat her. “Becca went all out for us.”
“For CupidKey,” Jami corrected, wanting to remind him that their romantic dinner was based on business.
“For us and CupidKey.” He took the chair directly across from hers, then he scooted it nearer to sit intimately close.
Hand flying to her throat, she glanced around for the photographer. “Where’s Mike?”
“He’ll be here. I noticed he already has his equipment set up.”
Jami glanced at the abandoned tripod and lights several yards away. Beyond, the French doors opened out onto a slate patio where she could see a sunken, redwood hot tub. But no sign of Mike.
Grant leaned a fraction closer. “Mike is probably hanging around Becca’s kitchen.”
“Hoping for a taste of her delicious baking?”
“Hoping for something,” Grant replied with a wink. “Becca’s helper is a pretty teenage girl named Pam.”
Jami unfolded her creamy white linen napkin, spreading it over her lap. Anything to keep from meeting Grant’s piercing gaze. Awareness raced through her in response to his dynamite glances, alerting Jami that her traitorous body needed to be reminded this date was fantasy. She and Grant had nothing in common and certainly weren’t a real couple. This rendezvous was for Sierra. Nothing more. Now if only Jami could convince her heart.
“I haven’t met Pam.”
“Pam only helps out for special events.” Grant reached across the table to place his hand over Jami’s. “Since we comprise a