...Long fingers curled around the water goblet mesmerized Rika Kiley. She pressed her lips together to keep her tongue from tracing a circle around them. That was it. If he didn't make a move tonight, she would. They had known each other a month, first as business acquaintances then as dating material. It was time. It was past time.

Candlelight from the globe at the center of the table and the two set high on the wall caught the gold in Ryan Fletcher's dark brown hair. Rika visually traced each strand along its not-too-long path then gazed at the sharp facial angles now softened by shadow. His smoke-gray gaze clicked up to hers, sparkling with life and what she hoped was desire.

They were expressive, those eyes of his. She'd seen them in business, in play, and as they watched her. No one need doubt what the man was thinking. His demeanor might be poised, professional, but one look could send an errant employee scurrying away to right a wrong.

That's what helped make Fletcher's a quality hotel resort. No screaming, no ranting, just orders given quietly with a smile and that look.

Rika would never forget the dinner party the first week of her assignment. One woman complained her roast turkey was cold. Not a complaint, really—more of a casual statement. Ryan's gaze zeroed in on the waiter, then on the cook in the kitchen alcove beyond. Before he could finish saying, "Please fix Mrs. Nelson's dish," the plate was replaced with a steaming one. Ryan smiled and thanked the men, but the smile never penetrated his eyes.

She'd listened outside the kitchen once the party departed, waiting for an explosion sure to come. It didn't. In fact, the only caution given from Ryan was to be watchful and to try to not let it happen again. It didn't matter if the food was hot when it left the kitchen. If the customer said it was cold, it was cold. The customer was always right. She'd seen those same qualities in his brothers.

That was how Rika started the first in her series of newspaper articles about Fletcher's. Now she was here with Ryan, having moved beyond business to the personal, hanging on every word, every movement. And to think she almost missed it.

Rika had pitched a fit when her editor had told her about the assignment. True, as a columnist for travel and social section of The Sentinel, it was her responsibility to cover a story on Fletcher's. But not during the holiday season when the demands from her family were the greatest. She'd been hoping for a little vacation time in order to deal with it.

All the pleading in the world wouldn't budge Art. So, for the week leading up to Thanksgiving and the week following, Rika became an extension of Ryan while Fletcher's prepared for their holiday season. She'd even wound up spending Thanksgiving at Fletcher's rather than with her family. They were kindred spirits that day—both choosing work over family. It turned out to be the best Thanksgiving Rika had ever had, if not the least stressful. At the end, when the job was over, when she was back in the lonely comfort of her very snug, one-bedroom apartment, one thing was certain—she missed his company.

Apparently the feeling was mutual. Just when she was debating whether or not to call him with some excuse about needing more information, he called her. Tack on two more weeks of dating and it was enough for her to know—this was definitely a man she wanted to share a bed with.