Mountain Grump, page 4
I’m not complaining. I’d love to find my way under him, arms wrapped around his neck, my legs wrapped around his hips, holding him like a vice.
I turn the heat down in my hotel room. It’s stifling.
“Well, find out, and if he is, ask him out for drinks. You can put it on the company card. But I need that interview.”
“He’s not going to let me film him,” I say.
“It’s fine. He doesn’t have to be on camera. I mean, it’d be better if you could catch a shot of him coming out of the hotel pool, dripping wet. I’ve seen his picture, Cali. The man is pure eye candy.”
I bite down on my tongue to keep from speaking and telling her he’s not just good-looking, he’s also Grumplicious. But that doesn’t help my situation. “Do you suggest I stalk the pool?” I’m only half-joking. I could lie around in my swimsuit and read all afternoon, waiting for a glimpse of Logan.
“Do what you have to do.”
Does the man swim in the hotel pool? Maybe he has a small pool upstairs in the penthouse suite where he lives.
I wonder if there’s a way I can get up there and check it out? Julianna isn’t likely to let me upstairs, and there’s zero chance Logan will invite me to his suite. He’d sooner make me sleep outside in the snow.
I hang up with Bridget and put my swimsuit under my clothes. Just in case I get the opportunity to grab a rare picture of Logan Henderson in a swimsuit. Although, I’m kind of hoping he prefers to swim naked.
Although, that’s not very likely in the hotel pool where guests are allowed to frequent.
I grab a towel and head down to check out the pool. A few noisy kids are swimming and splashing, soaking the lounge chairs. Most of them are fairly young, and their parents are in the room, not exactly supervising them.
Opting not to get soaked by kids, I head down the hallway and catch a glimpse of Logan in the fitness room. He’s lifting weights, and I can’t help but stand by the glass window and stare.
Seconds tick by, and I should keep moving. But I don’t. He’s handsome and sexy as hell. His face is red, the veins on his arms bulging with each flex.
That’s not the only vein that I’m thinking about bulging. I shouldn’t have such illicit thoughts about Logan. He’s trouble. Positively off-limits. Sleeping with the owner of a resort is only going to sway my review. That would be unprofessional.
Unless I were writing a review about his sex appeal or how he performed in bed.
Logan Henderson is a giver. The man is a glorious grump with a 3-1 record of giving more orgasms than receiving. Beneath his tough and stuffy exterior he puts on during the day, at night he’s a wild lion in the sheets, searching for his lioness to pin down and devour.
He is a beast, and the longer I stare, the more guilty I look when he catches my gaze. I open my mouth, thinking my eyes must be wide like a doe, and I hurry down the hallway, pretending I wasn’t just standing there ogling him.
Is there any chance he didn’t notice?
With my towel in my hand, I head toward the elevators, and Jules waves at me excitedly. She’s not alone. Beside her is a girl about her age, but with darker hair and a gothic punk look. The girl could seriously be in a band. She gives off a rockstar vibe.
“Cali!” Jules says. “This is my girlfriend, Izzie.”
Izzie gives a sideways grin and wrinkles her nose. “Girlfriend?”
“What?” Jules asks, glancing back at her friend.
“I thought we weren’t telling people. It was just between us,” she hisses at her.
“Relax, she’s cool, and she’s not about to tell my dad. He hates her.”
Izzie snickers and shoves her hands into her pockets. “Are you heading to the pool?” She nods toward the towel in my hand.
It’s dry, along with the rest of me. Well, most of me. Staring at Logan didn’t exactly keep me a saint.
I could use a dip in the water and cool off if there weren’t a bunch of little kids in there. “I was going to but got distracted,” I say as they lead me toward the pool and back through the hallway where I’d just been staring at Logan lifting weights.
He steps out of the fitness room, a towel slung over his neck, shirtless.
Is the man trying to give me a heart attack?
I trip over my feet, not paying attention to anything but the man with rock-hard abs. Is that the only thing that’s rock hard?
With my feet coming out from under me, I jolt forward toward the floor. But Logan catches me, his arm around my waist, pulling me to his chest, not letting me hit the ground.
“Thanks,” I say.
And if I wasn’t embarrassed enough before, now I’m humiliated.
“I should go.” I try to untangle myself from his arms, but he doesn’t let go of me.
He glances down at my feet. The boots that I just bought are still secure. “Are the boots too big?” he asks, and his hands slide from my waist down to my feet, checking to see if there’s too much room for my toes in the shoes.
“They fit fine,” I say.
A few nearby guests gasp at the sight, and I inhale a sharp breath.
They pull out their cameras like they’re trying to do us a favor by recording this event. But it’s not what they think. He may be down on one knee, but he’s not proposing.
He presses down with two fingers on the top of my soles, discovering that the boots indeed fit as they should.
Logan glances up, noticing the guests crowding around the hallway and watching us. “Nothing to see here.” He gestures them all away, but it isn’t until he stands that they decide to take his word for it and go about their merry way.
Jules and her friend Izzie exchange smiles and giggles before hurrying down the hallway, leaving the two of us behind.
“Well, that was awkward,” I say, clutching the pristine white towel to my chest.
“People are so damn nosy,” Logan mutters, and runs a hand through his short dark hair. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t fall,” I point out, appreciating that he caught me. “I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe you should have a doctor examine you.”
“Why? I’m fine.”
“You’ve tripped twice, one time injuring yourself. The second could have been worse if I wasn’t here.”
Yeah, if he weren’t here, I wouldn’t have tripped. My attention was on the fact that he was shirtless and looking sexy as hell.
“We have a physician on-site. I can take you there, have him look you over to make sure you didn’t hit your head.”
“I’m fine, I promise. It’s just my ankle, and it feels better. Maybe I twisted it back into place.”
“That’s not a thing,” he says, his gaze never wavering.
“Well, it should be.” I glance away, his stare too heated and intense for me. It’s like he’s staring right through my soul.
“Humor me. If the physician says everything is fine, I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, you’ll buy me dinner, and this time, sit with me during our shared meal.”
His eyes crinkle with mirth. “Are you asking me out, Sunshine?”
At least he’s not calling me clumsy. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Grumpster.”
“That sounds like Dumpster,” he huffs, clearly unamused. “That better not stick.”
“Then don’t be such a grump.”
He growls and leans in. I swear he’s about to kiss me. Maybe it’s because I want him to kiss me. My lips tingle, and he sweeps me off my feet, his arm coming up under my legs as he carries me.
“Put me down!” I laugh, and while yesterday, his carrying me was romantic because my ankle hurt, today, I’m embarrassed by the attention he’s giving me.
“Not until I’ve taken you to be checked out,” he says.
“You’ve been checking me out,” I say cheekily.
For a moment, I think he’s going to drop me. I wrap my arms around his neck. It’s the most romantic gesture a man’s ever made, carrying me, and now he’s done it twice.
There’s silence between us and chatter in the halls as he carries me through the lodge and outside.
I grumble at the cold, wincing. Couldn’t the physician be in the main building?
There’s a medical building that isn’t attached, but it will be one day. An overhang covers the top and plastic sheeting to keep the elements out but no heat.
I shiver, clinging closer and tighter to Logan.
“Sorry, we’re almost there,” he grumbles as we approach the door, and he backs up with his butt, hitting the handicap button to open the door automatically.
Logan carries me into the medical center with ease. It’s a small waiting room out front, and he puts me down in one of the chairs.
“Mr. Henderson, how can I help you?” the receptionist asks.
“Cali took a tumble yesterday in the lodge. She twisted her ankle and then had another near miss walking in the hallway. I’d like the physician to look her over. Make sure there isn’t something neurologically wrong with her.”
“My head is fine. You’re the one with the stick up your ass. Maybe you should have a doctor check to see how far it’s been shoved up there.”
I can’t help the snarkiness, and Logan turns around and tilts his head, eyes wide. He looks shocked, or he’s appalled by my remark.
Well, he has been a grumpy ass. What’d he expect? There’s only so much of the man I can take. Unless we’re talking sex, I can take one hundred percent of him inside of me.
My gaze moves over his body and down to his tight-fitting jeans.
The receptionist forces a smile. “You’re already here. How about we have the physician look you over to make sure you’re all right.”
With two sets of eyes staring back at me, it’s hard to say no. “You owe me dinner,” I say, pointing at Logan.
“It would be an honor.”
Somehow, I don’t think he means it. He’s putting on a show for the receptionist.
Why? Is he concerned that she might start a rumor about him sleeping with a guest? I’m sure there’s better gossip around the lodge.
“Do you need a wheelchair to head back to one of the rooms?” the receptionist asks.
“No, I can walk,” I say, and stand. I sway slightly, and it takes a few seconds for my feet to feel like they’re back on land again.
The receptionist escorts me back to one of the rooms, and Logan hangs out by the front desk. She’s the triage nurse, not just the receptionist.
She takes my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature before disappearing out of the room and leaving me alone.
My blood pressure is a little low, but that’s not unusual for me. I’ve always had low blood pressure. As a teenager, I was told by a cardiologist to load up on salt and caffeine because I used to faint. I’m not sure that was the best advice, but it helped.
A few minutes later, a gentleman comes sauntering into the room.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Reynolds,” he says. “I hear that you fell and hurt your ankle.”
“My ankle is doing better. I tend to be clumsy, and the ogre out in the hallway insisted that I get checked out.”
He raises a curious eyebrow. “Ogre?”
“Logan Henderson,” I say.
“My boss.” He grins and laughs. He’s about Logan’s age, but his hair is a little more salt and pepper, and he has less beard. Logan is all beard, thick, dark, and it accents his features. “How about we appease him for a few minutes and I examine your ankle, and if you can, I’d like to have you walk around on it.”
“Sure,” I say. He looks at my ankle, satisfied that there’s no swelling and it doesn’t hurt when he touches or tries to have me move it. He has me stand.
“Can you walk to the other side of the room and back?”
It’s a small space, only a few steps, so I do as he instructs.
“Good,” he says. “Now, I’d like you to walk a straight line. From heel to toe.”
“Easy,” I say, but when I try to do as he’s asked, my gait staggers, and I sway.
His hands come out to make sure that I don’t fall, but I catch myself.
“Have you had trouble with balance?” Doctor Reynolds asks.
“Not that I noticed.”
“Stand with your feet together.”
I do as he instructs, and the longer I stand, the more I sway to the left and catch myself, moving my legs apart to keep from falling over. “That doesn’t seem normal,” I say.
He doesn’t answer my remark. And as much as I feel like Logan is brooding, this man’s silence wins. My stomach flops.
“It’s because I twisted my ankle. Right?”
“Sit for me,” he says, and gestures to the chair.
He has me follow a penlight and quite a few other tricks. He doesn’t indicate anything specific. “Did you go down the ski slopes?”
“No, I don’t know how to ski. I’ve never been,” I say.
“Do you have a primary care physician?”
“Back at home. I don’t live around here.”
“I recommend that you follow up with your primary care physician when you return home. It could be inner ear related, or they may want to give you a referral to a neurologist.”
“What?” My voice squeaks.
“Are you having any issues with dizziness, vertigo, nausea, or hearing loss?”
“No,” I say. “I’m just clumsy.” At least, that’s what I thought it was. I’m nervous. But maybe he’s wrong. He’s used to seeing broken bones and concussions all day. I’m not his usual type of patient.
After I finish with Dr. Reynolds, I head out into the hallway. Logan is waiting in one of the plastic chairs. He immediately stands when he sees me, his eyes wide. He wants to know what the doctor said.
“I’m fine.” I brush him off and glance at the receptionist. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s already taken care of,” she says, nodding toward Logan.
“It’s on the house,” Logan says, opening the door, letting me walk back as we head through the outside corridor.
I wrap my arms around myself, chilled from the news and the air temperature.
“Dinner?” he says, glancing at me, nudging me as we walk. His hand slips to my lower back, keeping me close.
I sigh, leaning into his touch. I don’t want to tell him I’m terrified. The doctor's remarks weren’t what I was expecting to hear. What made Logan insist on having me examined?
“I’m not hungry,” I say. I lost my appetite when the doctor brought up possibly having to see a neurologist.
Logan opens the heavy glass door that connects to the lodge. A warm gust of air assaults me and is a welcoming relief from the frigid chill.
“I owe you dinner, and it’s getting late,” Logan says.
“What about your daughter?”
“She’s with her friend. They won’t miss me. We can sit down in the restaurant and have a bite, or I can make something upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” I repeat. That catches my attention. “Is there another restaurant upstairs for VIP clients?” I hadn’t seen anything online or in the brochure about an upstairs restaurant.
“I meant I’d cook for you.”
“You know how to cook?” I can’t hide the smile. I’m not sure why, but I don’t imagine this man having labored in the kitchen for years. “You don’t have a chef?”
“My chef is in the kitchen downstairs, at the restaurant,” Logan says. “Just because I’m well off doesn’t mean I can’t do things for myself.”
“Sorry,” I say, quick to apologize. I didn’t mean to insult him. “Is this kitchen part of your house or a private kitchen for your most elite guests?”
“It’s in the penthouse suite.”
He’s inviting me up to his room. My feet sway slightly, and Logan’s arm wraps around my hip.
“I swear if you fall again, I’m flying you to the nearest emergency room for a second opinion.”
“Isn’t that a little much?” While I should shrug off his touch, I don’t dare admit I enjoy his arm wrapped around me.
“I’ll decide what’s necessary,” he says.
He escorts me to the elevator and groans as another gentleman steps inside with us. “Wyatt,” he mutters, apparently knowing the guy. Logan punches the button for the penthouse suite and shoves his key into the lock for access.
I offer a warm smile, and Logan wraps his arm possessively around my shoulders like he’s claiming I’m with him.
Possessive much?
“Where are you two lovebirds off to?” Wyatt quips. There’s a wry grin on his face.
I open my mouth to say that we’re not anything, but Logan answers before I can.
“Cali, this is my younger brother, Wyatt.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, and offer my hand. I recall seeing him the other day now.
“Likewise. Are you sure you want to be accompanying this guy up to his room? He’s pretty gruff. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
Logan growls at Wyatt. “I’m inviting her up for dinner.”
“You cook?” Wyatt’s eyes widen. “Wow. My apologies, Cali. I hope you ate a late snack.”
The elevator doors ding open, and Logan mutters, “That couldn’t come soon enough.”
Wyatt pretends not to have heard him. “Have fun, you two, and if you get bored with the old grump, I’ll be downstairs at the bar.”
The younger brother shuffles out, winks at me, and the doors close.
“I’ll kill him,” Logan grumbles under his breath.
I smile, staring up at Logan. “Why? He was just being friendly.”
“He was trying to get in your pants,” he says, matter of fact, and straightens his shoulders. He tilts his neck to one side, cracking it and releasing quite a bit of tension.
“And that’s a problem, why?” I ask, a faint smile on my lips.
He lowers his head, his gaze locked on me. “If you’re looking for a one-night stand, he’s the guy for it. But don’t expect anything else from him. Ever.”
The elevator reaches the penthouse suite, and the doors open directly to his room. “Are you coming?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Unless you prefer to get laid with no strings attached tonight. Wyatt is the man to push all your buttons.”
