Except for his neighbors, the house was everything he’d wanted. Glass and wood and surrounded by nearly an acre of land, he had all the privacy he required. Or so he’d thought. From the second story window, Tanner had quite a view. Acres of trees sprawled across the landscape, stretching out for what looked like miles. But then, it wasn’t the trees themselves he was having a problem with. It was the farm owner’s entrepreneurial spirit. Apparently the Angel family who owned the farm, had come up with the idea of expanding their holiday business into a year-round concern.
There were event weddings taking place nearly every weekend, hayrides, picnic sites and, God help him, even kids’ birthday parties. All of which had resulted in a never ending stream of cars roaring up and down the narrow road in front of his property. The Angel tree farm was turning into a pain in his ass.
But that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the music, piped out of speakers attached to telephone poles. Holiday music. In August. Blistering heat outside and Tanner was forced to listen to “White Christmas” on a daily basis.
While he was trying to sleep.
“You could consider giving up the whole ‘live like a vampire’ thing and sleep at night like most people,” his cousin Nathan suggested.
“I tried that when I first got here,” Tanner muttered, turning away from the view to stare at the flat screen computer monitor on his desk across the room. “You try working on a medieval war game while listening to the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’ in a never ending loop.”
No, working at night had been the only reasonable solution, he thought, remembering the sexy woman roaming his house. How was he supposed to concentrate on work when he knew she was here? Right downstairs?
“Okay, forget I said that,” Nathan told him. “I’d rather have you crabby as hell and that computer game you’re working on finished by deadline. How’s it coming, anyway?”
This was why his cousin had called in the first place. Tanner’s company, King Games had entered into a partnership with Nathan’s company, King Computers. The new computer game Tanner was designing would be included in the software of every new King PC. It was going to be huge. If Tanner finished the thing on time.
Which, thanks to the Angel tree farm—and now, Ivy Holloway—was looking less likely by the minute.
Of course, the game was actually near completion. He’d done most of the art work months ago and the programmers had coded the damn thing. Now he was working out a few of the details in the graphics and story line itself and he was behind schedule. He could have handed the project off to any number of the designers who worked for him. But designing games was what Tanner enjoyed most—and this particular game was far too important to trust anyone else to do it the way he wanted it done.
Besides, a King game was damn well going to be designed by a King.
“I hit a snag last night,” Tanner grumbled, scrubbing one hand across his eyes.
“We’ve got production set to roll in another month.”
“Thanks, I’ve got a calendar. Don’t need the reminder.”
“I’m just saying, if we want the first of these games to be ready for the Christmas rush then you’ve got to bring it in on time.” Nathan blew out a breath. “As it is, we’ll be scrambling in production. We can’t take a delay on this, Tanner.”
“It’ll be ready. Just don’t talk to me about Christmas, okay?” Or about beautiful, clever blondes. He kept his mouth shut about Ivy. He didn’t need to hear any teasing from his cousin on that score, too. Nathan was a legendary player. Had more women in his life than he could keep track of. If he got wind of what Mitchell had set Tanner up for this time, he’d never hear the end of it. Besides, she wouldn’t be here long.
“Right. Look, I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes with the distributors. I’m going to be talking up this game and the new King PC so let’s just stay on track here, okay?”
“Relax, Nathan. I know how important this is. To both of us.”
His video/computer gaming company was already more successful than even he could have dreamed. Tanner had built his enterprise into a worldwide success—and this partnership with his cousin was going to put King Games into the stratosphere. Just where he wanted it.
All he had to do was focus.
And somehow, keep his mind off the woman downstairs.
Two hours later, groceries had been delivered from town and most of them were already stashed in the amazingly numerous cupboards.
Ivy was completely in love with Tanner King’s house. Especially, she thought, the kitchen.
Oh, she loved her own place too, of course. The old Victorian where she’d grown up had plenty of character—lots of that character was grumpy, but still she loved it. There were memories etched into every square inch of the battered old house and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. But if she were going to trade, she’d take Tanner King’s house in a heartbeat.
“Honestly, the man has a kitchen to die for and he keeps it stocked with beer and pretzels. No wonder he needed help.” She was talking to herself, which was understandable because the house was so quiet if she didn’t, she might start feeling a little creeped out at the silence.
How he worked in such a barren atmosphere, she didn’t know. And how he invented such intricate games that were filled with wit and magic while he was working in a black hole of solitude she’d never understand.
Ivy liked people. She thrived on the energy of being in the midst of things. Being a part of life. She was awake at dawn and resented having to close her eyes to sleep every night. There was just so much to do. So much to plan. So much to dream. She felt as though she never had enough time to accomplish everything she wanted to do.
Which made it even harder to understand a man like Tanner King choosing to shut himself away. Hard to imagine why anyone would want to live like that.
Two months Tanner King had been living in Cabot Valley and not a soul there knew him at all. Not even Merry Campbell who had been known to uncover a person’s life story over a short cup of coffee. Of course, the man would have had to actually go into town and step into Merry’s store for that to happen.
And he hadn’t.
As far as Ivy knew, he hadn’t been into town once since moving into this flawless, spectacular wood and glass palace. He had his few groceries delivered and avoided all other contact.
“Well,” she corrected herself, “not all.” He’d certainly been spending time talking to the sheriff of Cabot Valley. He’d lodged at least a dozen complaints about the Angel Christmas Tree Farm in the last couple of months. The crowds. The noise. The music. The traffic.