...Panic tightened her chest at the thought she might have missed the weekend’s first activity. She glanced out the nearest window over the thick evergreen treetops. The sky was several shades darker than when she’d entered the community cabin to do some quiet studying. How much time has passed? Automatically, she slapped a hand to her waist where her cell phone was usually clipped.

Damn. No cell service in southern California’s San Bernardino mountains.

“Damn wilderness.” Who in hell suggested holding a corporate retreat in such a rustic location? She ran a hand through her hair and swiped fingers under both eyes. Napping hadn’t been in her schedule. Instead, she’d been memorizing the weekend’s agenda. No opportunity to advance her position at Aristo-Stall would be wasted. Maybe she had time to go back to her shared room in Cabin Five and splash water on her face. Scooping up the company-issued notebook, she dashed out of the cabin, down the steps and turned toward the walking path.

“Hey, watch out.” A deep voice sounded from behind followed by a long skid of tires, a dull clatter of metal on dirt and the echo of thudding footsteps.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, and the next thing she knew, she was pinned by a wall of firm male flesh. “Oww.” Kit’s head bounced against the cabin’s wood siding and the binder dropped. She grabbed for the nearest solid object and wrapped her hands around a set of rounded biceps.

Hot, hard muscles.

A throaty grunt sounded in her ear. The tang of male sweat mixed with the crispness of February mountain air assailed her nostrils.

“Sorry, but you walked right into my path.”

His breath ruffled the hair along her nape and she shivered. Now, she recognized the voice. Tadeo Xalvador—the wonder boy of the sales division. Dropping her grip, she braced her hands on the cabin siding and wiggled her shoulders to loosen his hold. “You can let me go. I’m fine.”

Warmth disappeared from the front of her body when he stepped back. “No problem.”

The knowledge he’d be at Aristo-Stall’s retreat was one thing. But being manhandled before it even started was another. She looked into dark eyes that always appeared to mock her, noting his straight eyebrows and slightly crooked nose. A bright red helmet hid what she knew to be thick, dark hair with just a touch of wave when he let it grow.

Kit stilled. Not that she’d ever really noticed.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He inclined his head and stepped toward the silver bicycle lying on its side in the branches and rocks at the side of the dirt path. With a jerk, he undid the chinstrap and set the helmet on a nearby boulder. A scowl drew his dark brows together. In a slow move, he lowered to a crouch and ran his hand over the bike’s supports.

Why was she watching his hand and wishing it still gripped her body? Her mouth went dry. Dear God, the man was wearing skin-tight biking shorts. Every move he made broadcast a flexing of toned thigh or bunching of rock-hard ass.