“Some cabin,” Piper muttered as the car ground to a slithering halt and she finally opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her was like something off a Christmas card or one of those sentimental jigsaw puzzles that Aunt Mabel would spend the winter putting together. Toffee-colored wood gables were topped with a thick layer of snow, and neat wooden railings ran around the front porch and upstairs balcony. “It looks like an enormous gingerbread house.”
“Thanks,” he murmured and killed the engine.
Light streaming out of the downstairs windows like golden inquisitive eyes made Piper uneasy. “And it looks like somebody’s already home.” Hell, she’d never even considered that he might have a live-in girlfriend.
“Remote instructions.” He lifted up his cell phone for her to see. “This is all I need to activate the heating, lights, and intruder alarm. I can even preheat the oven if I want so everything’s ready to go when I turn up cold and hungry.”
“I wondered who you were texting after we almost got crushed. I thought it might be your girlfriend or something.” It was a loaded statement, and maybe she shouldn’t have said it.
His dark gaze burned into her and she felt a little quiver skitter up her spine. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s not something I do. Dates, flings, and sex, yes, but nothing long term,” he said quietly. “Unless you’re volunteering to up the stakes on our deal and persuade me to change my ways?”
She wasn’t going to answer that; she couldn’t because she didn’t know what on earth to say in reply. “So,” she coughed lightly. “What happens if the power’s out like it is down the road? I don’t suppose your remote control wizardry’s much good in that case.”
“There are backup generators, three of them.”
“Not taking any chances, then?”
“I can’t afford to because it’s rented out most of the year. I don’t want any bad reviews of the place on the internet because of something preventable like a power outage, and I take great pride in offering a deluxe rental experience.”
“I guess it doesn’t come cheap, either.”
“No, it’s ridiculously expensive, but that doesn’t slow down business. There still seem to be plenty of executives out there with money to burn, world recession or not. I don’t mind taking some of it off them.”
“IT millionaires?”
“They come from different fields. IT, oil, banking, shipping, you name it, but I don’t get too close to it all. An agency deals with it.”
“Weeds out any trailer trash, too, I’ll bet.”
He laughed. “The security deposit tends to do that. We’re lucky it’s vacant for the next week. There was a last-minute cancellation.”
“They must be bummed about that.”
He shrugged. “It happens, life happens, and sometimes these hotshots have to give up one of their five holidays a year. They had insurance, and there’s always next season. Hopefully the housekeeper will have made it in to clean up after the last people left.”
“So it’s your cabin, but you never actually live in it?”
“It’s easier to stay in Passion Creek when I’m working here. It saves time and that means I get more work done. I can also walk back to wherever I’m staying if I put in a late shift at the Railway Tavern and I’ve had more than one beer.”
“You’re nutty. A multimillionaire and you choose to work behind a bar and rough it in a dive over a fried chicken takeout in Florida. I can’t begin to think of what motivates you to do something like that.”
“Billionaire. Now, let’s get inside and you can question me as much as you like.” A growl from the cat appeared to signal that she agreed with him completely.
Chapter Six
The ice-laden wind bit at her cheeks as they rushed from the safety of the car and up three steps to the covered porch that ran the length of the cabin front. Holding the cat box under his arm, Matt flipped open what at first seemed to be a wall-mounted mailbox by the door, but turned out to be something electronic—she should have anticipated that. He punched a series of digits into the keypad inside and the front door unlocked with a smooth whirr and a click.
He pushed the heavy wooden door open and indicated that she should enter, which she did very quickly. Stepping inside a great golden hall of warmth and polished wood, her gaze fell on a gas fireplace at the far side of the open-plan living room beneath a breathtaking cathedral ceiling. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” Matt said, shaking snowflakes off his shoes and holding his hand out to take her coat. “It’ll take a little while longer to warm up, but I’ll close the drapes to stop any drafts.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see him pull a thick tapestry panel across the front door. “You don’t have the drapes on your remote control?”
“Not yet.” He laughed softly. “Next rainy day project.”
The sound of a branch lashing against the roof in the wind made her shiver. “I’m so glad we’re not out there anymore.”
“Hopefully things will be calmer by morning.” He glanced down at the unusually quiet pet carrier. “I guess I’d better get her some food and water. When did she last have anything?”
Piper kneeled down and peered through the slats in the pet carrier. “I fed her before I went to work this morning, but I didn’t check if she’d eaten. Either way, she’s well overdue for dinner, poor thing.”
“We’ll have to improvise. I don’t keep any pet food here.”
“Got any canned fish? I’ll pay you for it. Tuna, salmon, sardines, something like that?”
“Yeah, there’s tons of that kind of stuff in the pantry, but you don’t need to pay for anything.” He grinned and crouched down beside her. “And milk?”
She could feel the heat of his body, he was so close. “No, that’ll upset her stomach. A lot of cats are lactose intolerant, so you shouldn’t give them milk.”
“Really?” His voice was soft and deep. “You learn something every day.”
Piper swallowed and stared pointedly at the box, not daring to meet his gaze. They were just too close to each other. “Not a cat person, are you?”
“Nothing against cats, but I’m not a pet person at all.”
“Too much responsibility?”
“Too much of a tie and too much potential heartache.” He stood up abruptly and strode toward a large window. He pulled the thick drapes across it to shut out the black night. “The damn things have a tendency of dying before you do every time.”