Garrett strode in through the wood and glass paneled front doors of Indian Peak Ski Resort. Through the familiar entrance with its merlot floor tile, registration desks made of wood and granite, and the pièce de résistance in the form of a floor to ceiling mural behind the desk. It depicted a herd of mustangs racing over the grassy range with the nearby mountains in the background.

Or home, as he thought of it.

Considering this was where he spent the bulk of his time, it was a rather accurate depiction. He kept a suite of rooms on the premises for his personal use because there were some days he just couldn’t get away—or, more often than not, the drive back down the mountain proved too treacherous to undertake during peak ski season.

“Georgia, Curt, how are you this morning?” he asked the two registration clerks behind the desk.

“Oh honey, we are booking up solidly for the summer season. I do hope you’ve girded your loins,” Curt replied. Curt was a six-foot, reed thin African American, with skin the color of coffee. He was a drag queen, at least in his time off. While he was on the clock the man was efficient, hardworking, and could cut a body down with a simple glance of his mocha gaze.

“Properly girded. Anything you need me on?” Garrett asked.

“Yes. Maintenance needs to talk to you about the pool. There was also an issue with one of the ski lifts,” Georgia replied. While Curt could be counted on for dramatics, Georgia, with her elegant features and dark hair scraped back into a bun, was about as strait-laced as a nun in church on Sunday.

They made an exemplary pair running the front desk operations.

“I’ll head over to maintenance right now then.” And pray he could get an infusion of coffee here at some point.

Garrett course-corrected and headed down the hallway to the left of registration. He walked past the Relaxation Spa, the fully equipped gym, and the fitness and yoga studio to the maintenance office. Using his access code, he entered the maintenance office and found Gary, head of all things when it came to making things run in the hotel, on the phone.

“I need that part overnighted. Yes, I understand there’s an astronomical shipping fee,” Gary said derisively. Garrett had known Gary going on eight years now. The taciturn man with his gruff appearance—a bald scalp, full black beard peppered with gray, tattooed arms and barrel chest—could fix just about anything you put in front of him. A former Marine, he’d lost the lower half of his left leg to enemy fire in the Middle East, but he never let the lack of limb stop him. In fact, most people just thought he had a slight limp instead of a prosthetic leg.

“Umhmm, that’s correct. And I’ve gotten the confirmation email already. Thanks.”

“Problem?” Garrett asked, careful not to lean up against anything in here. He’d done that once and had the turpentine stains on a pair of Armani slacks to prove it. Gary kept the maintenance office meticulously in order, with his tools, extra parts, chemicals and more all stored on metal shelving lining the room in a system he had devised.

“There’s a part on the pool pump that’s cracked. Need to replace it quickly.”

“Is it okay for the pool to be used?” Garrett asked.

Gary shrugged. “My recommendation would be to shut it down until I can get the part in tomorrow and replace it. As it is, it’s not pumping and re-filtering the water well enough. It’s already made the pH and chlorine levels climb, so there could be some issues for guests.”

“Do it. I’d rather play it safe than risk a lawsuit. Anything else?” If there was one thing he had learned from his father’s tenure as head of Brooks Hotels International, it was that a guest’s safety was paramount. That meant if they had to go without the pool for a night, he’d prefer to refund the guests who complained a night of their stay versus the potential lawsuit that could cost the hotel thousands of dollars. Always better to play it safe.

Gary leaned back in his chair and crossed his beefy, tatted arms in front of his chest. “Since we’re heading into the off season for skiing, I recommend we do an overhaul of the chairlifts. Take each one down. Repair what’s needed. Check all the lines and cables. And work on the operating system.”

“Is it that bad?” Garrett asked, running a contemplative hand over his beard.

“No,” Gary shook his head, “but I could tell a few of the lifts were showing some basic wear. Considering how busy we were this past season, it’s not a surprise. I just would rather we do it now while the weather is favorable in the coming summer months than have to repair them come winter and potentially in the height of ski season.”

“Get me the numbers on what it’s going cost, but I think it’s something we can handle. It may be time to upgrade the system anyhow.” Gary had never steered him wrong when it came to repairs. If he said that the resort needed to do it, then Garrett was for it. They were making more than enough to cover the expense, but he still preferred having the estimate up front.

“That’s why we work well together, boss. I will get you those estimates with what I think we should do by tomorrow.”

“Works for me, Gary. Call me if there are any more problems with the pool as well,” Garrett replied. He left maintenance and headed toward his office and what he hoped was a full pot of coffee. Considering it had been almost three by the time he’d made it home last night and it was just shy of eight in the morning, he could use an infusion. Hell, if he could tap a vein to get the infusion of caffeine, at this point he would.

But on his way to his office, Alberta in Guest Services called, and he course-corrected once again, heading back toward the front of the resort. And that was how the bulk of his morning went. He liked being in the thick of it, day in and day out. With it being mid-May they were shifting from their winter operations to their summer schedule. They were booked solid clear through September, which was great, and that was after a hopping winter. They’d barely had a single empty room all winter. However, if this pace continued, he’d need to hire more help.

Garrett didn’t mind being a workaholic. Much. Or putting in eighty hours a week. It was what the job tended to demand. But Christ, he was tired.

Which was how he’d allowed Jackson to drag him to the club last night. They both tended to be the job. And when Jackson finally had a night free, he’d twisted Garrett’s arm to meet him there. There really hadn’t been much twisting required.

And it had been exactly what he’d needed. He would have to commend Spencer for his choice in the newest waitress at Cuffs & Spurs. Cora. Christ, even thinking about her, remembering how succulent her cunt had been, the way she had gripped him as he’d lost himself in her flesh, made his dick twitch at the memory.

Garrett wanted her again. Would like to tie her to his bed and not let her up until he had satiated this clawing need she’d engendered.

Cora was a walking wet dream. From the moment she’d stopped at their table, he had hungered for her lithe form and tits a man could happily drown in. She had silken skin that carried a hint of golden tan. Her face was a thing of true beauty: full, pale pink lips, high cheekbones, and eyes that he’d nearly drowned in. Her eyes were the color of cinnamon with flecks of amber and gold in a starburst pattern, framed by arched brows and a generous forehead, and a wealth of dark brunette hair that was nearly black secured in a high ponytail. He’d wanted to wrap his hand around those silken tresses and fuck her.

And he had. It had taken a tremendous amount of enticing on his part to win her over—more than he was used to—but it had made her capitulation and surrender all the sweeter. When she’d finally caved, he was the one who had been surprised. He hadn’t expected her to taste like the sweetest honey, or to feel like she belonged in his arms.

In the end, he had been the one left stunned by the undiluted, intense power of their lovemaking. Garrett had lost complete and utter control the moment he’d entered her.

To be fair, it had been a while since he’d lost himself in a woman. And Cora of the sweet tits and stellar ass had left him dumbfounded and unsteady. When he’d held her, as they knelt on the floor, with her body cradled against his and sated, he’d wanted her again. He’d wanted to bury himself inside her and not relent until neither of them could move. And then do it all over again. Garrett had been careful throughout the years about getting attached to a woman. He loved women, but tended to eschew any deeper emotions. He’d done that once, let himself fall, and he didn’t recommend it.

Yet he’d knelt there, buried in her pussy, wanting to know more about her, wanting to be with her again—hell, even wanting to be with her out in the real world. To say it had rattled him to his core was putting it lightly. It was why he’d withdrawn and headed into the bathroom, using the need to dispose of the condom as an excuse to put a barrier in place. Which was why she’d been able to get away last night. She’d run from him faster than the roadrunner ever had from the coyote.

And he had no idea why. It stumped him.

He’d gone from orgasmic bliss, wanting to convince her to forgo leaving and engage in a second round, to watching her hightail it away from him with him trying to catch up. He normally wasn’t slow on the uptake. But she’d blown his mind with her fiery passion, the way she’d moaned and come apart beneath his hands and mouth.

It still begged the question: why had she fled from him? Had she been as moved by their time together? Or had it been regret that made her run?

The upside was she worked at the club, which meant he would see her again. Then he could figure out why she’d run hell bent from him—after he’d convinced her to do another scene with him, of course. He’d love to restrain her on all fours on the padded fuck bench and feed his cock in her mouth while a plug stretched her back hole, prepping her ass for his dick.

Garrett adjusted himself in his dark gray slacks. He hadn’t been this hot for a woman since Gail in college. Garrett enjoyed women, and he never lacked for bedpartners at the club. But he’d not been serious about anyone since college, which was a lot longer ago than he’d like to remember.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t dated over the years; exclusive Dom/sub relationships that he had tried to make work. But none ever stuck. They ended up reaching their natural conclusion and parting ways—for the most part, on a congenial basis.

Although perhaps he’d finally overworked his brain so that it was misfiring, and he was only thinking about her this way because she was like a new toy when the fact was that most likely he’d be bored inside of a month. He didn’t want to be elitist, but she was a waitress, after all. He hated that his privileged upbringing would sneak in at times, but there it was. He’d come from money, had inherited a boatload from his grandfather, and had a keen insight for investments that had allowed him to increase his bottom line significantly.

Cora might only be a temporary diversion, but it was one he needed. In fact, he was already trying to work another trip to the club into his schedule this week. That way he could entice her back into his bed.

His cell phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts, and he sighed. He still hadn’t gotten a damn cup of coffee.

“Sasha, I’m trying to get to the office, what do you need?” he asked as he answered.

“To remind you that your interview with the potential new yoga instructor was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago,” she replied sweetly.

The interview! Dammit! “Shit. I forgot. I’m on my way. And if you could—”

“I just had the restaurant bring a fresh pot of coffee for you,” she said drolly.

“What would I do without you?” Sasha made sure his needs were taken care of and kept him from losing his mind most days. As his executive assistant, he could admit she ran him, not the other way around.

“Let’s hope you never have to find out,” she said, and he made a mental note to look at when she’d last received a raise. Perhaps another was in store because he’d be damned if he would lose her.

“I’ll be there in three minutes,” he promised.

“We’ll see,” she said and disconnected the call.

Garrett strode through the halls to his office. It took him fifteen minutes to actually reach it but, inevitably, he was stopped at every turn. The business offices were located on the first floor in the far-right corner of the resort. That area held his office, the office for his executive assistant and the ruler of his life, Sasha, as well as accounts receivable with the cashbox room with their on-site safe. Because of the large quantity of funds that tended to filter through the resort—from the restaurant, to room service, to the bar, and the spa, not to mention registration—he never allowed the registers to hold too much cash and had some of the highest security tech enabled for the safe and the room it was held in.

Garrett pushed the walnut door open and Sasha gave him a bland uh huh glance. She was a good decade older, trim, with her strawberry blonde hair artfully arranged. She was married to Kent, one of the Doms with the club, and considering the way she ran Garrett’s life, always made him wonder who the real Dom in their relationship was.

“Where’s the interview?” he asked, surveying her office. The cherry wood desk and filing cabinets behind her were meticulously maintained and always clean. There were a set of chairs against the wall, a sort of waiting room area when he was stacked with appointments, but no interviewee.

Sasha gave him an arched glare. “She’s already in your office. Her resume is on your desk. And the pot of coffee is there as well.”

“Bless you,” he said. He strode past Sasha’s desk to the walnut double door entrance to his office.

Garrett pushed the door open and strode inside, skidding to a halt when he spied the woman seated in one of the leather chairs by his desk.

It was her. Cora.

At his entrance, she swiveled toward him. The moment she spotted him, the smile she wore slipped and she paled. Yet he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face.