Her nostrils flared and she clamped her hands around her ski poles. For a moment she looked like a dragon about to huff out a breath of fire. Then she relaxed and let out a laugh. “It’s a thing I’ve done since I was little and first learned to ski. My thoughts just flow really well while I’m skiing. Whenever I had a blowup with my dad I used to run for my skis.”
“The infamous Mad Max?” Since Max Rockwell was his official host at the lodge, Lyle had no intention of badmouthing him. But he could definitely see how he and Isabelle would have clashed.
“Yes, he has that nickname for a reason. I mean, he’s older now, and has that heart condition, so he’s much more mellow. When I was growing up he used to be a real hardass. While I, of course, was an angel incarnate.”
Her dry tone made him laugh. Angel? Not the word he would associate with Isabelle Rockwell. She was too fiery, too passionate, too fierce. Avenging angel, maybe.
Somehow, they’d both started gliding along the trail that led back to the lodge.
He cleared his throat, figuring this was as good a moment as he was going to get. “I’m glad I ran into you. I mean, not literally. Sorry I knocked you into the snow. But I’ve been hoping to catch you alone. For some reason, that’s been hard to accomplish.”
She cocked her head at him, lips curving in a wry smile. “Well, we never seem to be in the same place at the same time.”
“Strange how that works out.”
She let out a sigh as she glided next to him. He tried not to stare but it was difficult; she was so graceful and light on her skis. She wore cobalt blue snow pants and a white fleece hoodie with a snowflake pattern. Her wool hat looked hand-knitted and had a pom-pom on top. Her chestnut hair curled under the cap and stuck to the skin of her neck.
“This is the ‘why am I avoiding you’ conversation, isn’t it?”
“Only if you want it to be. It could also be the ‘let’s figure out a reasonable way to go forward’ conversation.”
“You mean the ‘we’re both adults so why can’t we act like it’ conversation?”
He grinned. In Rome, as he and Isabelle had downed one glass of red wine after another, they’d verbally sparred the entire time. It made for great foreplay. “That would be the one.”
“Okay. I’ll start.”
“Of course you will.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Of course you will.’” She bristled, unintentionally skiing closer to him. He shifted to the side to avoid another crash.
“Just that I’m sure you have something to say about it and I’d love to hear it,” he said as diplomatically as possible without breaking into a laugh.
“Well, yes, I do have something to say, although I also am fine with saying nothing and continuing as we were.”
“Really? Because I got the impression that avoiding me was starting to really cramp your style. For instance, you’re never at the Last Chance. Avoiding me is interfering with your relationship with your own twin brother.”
She snorted scornfully. “That’s impossible. Jake and I have always been and will always be fine.”
“Okay then. What about the Rockwell family dinners? I’ve been invited twice now, and both times you conveniently had other plans.”
“Girls nights out,” she said promptly. “I grew up here and haven’t seen my friends in years.”
“Which absolutely explains why you missed the family dinner in order to play bingo at the Elks Club.”
“Won twenty dollars.”
He laughed. His net worth fluctuated by the day—and at the moment it was in limbo. But twenty dollars was twenty dollars, he supposed.
“By the way, a funny thing happened the other day when I was looking for a book about the Cascades in the library room.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, I could have sworn there was someone else in the room. Hiding under that antique desk.”
“The lodge is filled with ghosts. It’s quite disturbing, actually. I hope you don’t have any nightmares.”
He had his share of nightmares, but they were mostly based on real-life events and he didn’t intend to share them with Isabelle. “So was it a ghost that left that half-eaten cinnamon roll in the ski room? I walked in to check out the ski selection and someone had just left.”
“I try to avoid sweets.”
He’d seen Isabelle eat an entire bar of Toblerone that night in Rome. He wasn’t buying it for a second. “I’m guessing ‘try’ is the operative word there.”
“You’re going to sweet-shame me? Don’t bother. I’m a doctor.”
“No shame. But I am glad about the reminder that you’re a doctor. Maybe I need to come up with some kind of minimally painful injury. You’d be obligated to treat me, right?”
“Depends. Do you have insurance?”
Her innocently batted eyelashes made him laugh out loud. “You treat Sudanese fieldworkers with machete injuries. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of insurance.”
For the first time, her guard dropped, just a bit. “You remember that.”
“Of course I remember that.” On their second bottle of red wine, she’d talked about the kinds of patients she treated with Doctors Without Borders. As a trauma surgeon, she had to deal with everything from gunshot wounds to dysentery. She’d ridden on a Jeep into war zones with nothing but a white flag and a “Medecins Sans Frontiers” t-shirt to identify her as a doctor. On other assignments, she’d taken everything from a canoe to a camel to see patients. The more she’d talked, the more his admiration for her had ballooned.
He wasn’t sure if she knew that.
“I remember everything about that night,” he said softly.
Her expression hardened again. “What about the morning? Do you remember that too? Because I do. There was no man when I woke up. No note either. Nothing on my phone.”
“I’m sorry about that. I can explain.”
With an impatient huff, she skied ahead of him. “I don’t want or need an explanation. Actions speak louder than words, especially coming from an arrogant, coldhearted businessman. Whatever you say now is going to feel like an excuse. And you don’t need to make any excuses because it was just one night. And it’s over now and doesn’t matter.”
“Then why the constant cold shoulder? Why can’t we coexist in a normal way while I’m here?”
“Why are you here?” she cried. “That’s what doesn’t make sense to me. Of all the lodges in all the mountains on this entire planet, why this one?”
“Nicole came to me and pitched me on investing, and—”
“That’s not what I’m asking. You can invest in the lodge without actually being here. Especially for the winter. I mean, it’s almost Christmas. Don’t you have somewhere else you’d rather be for Christmas? Someone you’d rather be with? Family, friends? Other billionaires?”
The question struck him cold, like an ice pick through his heart. Christmas was like a worldwide reminder of what he didn’t have. What he’d never had and probably never would. Over the years he’d tried many different ways to survive the day. Kung-fu movie marathons. Networking parties. Working all day and night. One year he’d flown to Beijing so he wouldn’t be surrounded by Christmas reminders.
But the hotel where he’d been staying didn’t get the “no-Christmas” memo and sent him a plate of desserts with a weird Santa figurine. So even fleeing to a foreign country didn’t really do the trick.
When he’d accepted Jake’s invitation to stay at the lodge, he hadn’t thought about Christmas. But it was bound to be a full-on, decorations-and-tree experience. Maybe he should plan an escape when things got too festive.
“I’m not much of a Christmas guy,” he said briefly.
“Are you Jewish?”
“Not raised to be.”
She looked back at him over her shoulder, a curious glint in her eyes. “That’s a funny way to phrase it.”
“I’m an orphan who grew up in foster care. I’m actually n
ot sure of my background. I was never told anything about my parentage.”
She stopped on the trial, forcing him to ski around her so as not to crash into her again. All the while, he cursed himself for revealing that very personal piece of information. “Really? It doesn’t say that anywhere online.”
He lifted his eyebrows. So she’d looked him up, had she? He liked hearing that. It meant she was interested, one way or another.
“Yes, I Googled you after you showed up at Thanksgiving. Can you blame me? It said you moved around a lot, but graduated from a private high school in Houston, Texas.”
“I moved around a lot because I ran away a lot. I lived in some tough neighborhoods. But my last foster family was wealthy.”
That fact was now causing him a shitload of problems, as a matter of fact. If Drew Clayton hadn’t been his first and best investor, he wouldn’t be causing all this trouble. Lyle wouldn’t be laying low as requested by the board of directors. He wouldn’t be here in Rocky Peak.
So maybe it wasn’t all bad.
Isabelle was still watching him closely. At least he had her attention. “I lived with eleven different foster families before them. Some good, some not.”
Why was he doling out details like candy here? Why didn’t he just shut the fuck up?
He gestured at the trail ahead. “Race you back to the lodge?”
She waved a ski pole in the air. “Wait wait wait. Normally I live for a race, but we haven’t settled anything yet.”
“Fine, let the negotiations begin.” He leaned on his own poles. “That’s why I came out here. Jake said you’re at your most relaxed when skiing. I might disagree with that, but I only have that one night to go by.”
Even though Isabelle’s skin was still bronzed from her time in the Sudan, he noticed a quick wash of color on the tender skin of her neck.
Good. The attraction on her side was still there, no matter how much she tried to squash it.
“I…I mean…like I said, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re two grownups. We should be able to get along just fine. All I really want is to know why you’re here.”
“And if it has anything to do with you.” He finished that thought for her.
She turned an even deeper red. “I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t. Why would it? Our thing was months ago, I barely even remember it and I’m sure it was just a blip on your radar, and—”
“I already told you, I remember all of it.” He did. It was seared into his soul, every minute they’d spent together. Not just the nearly naked parts, but the talking and laughing and flirting. She hadn’t known who he really was, and probably wouldn’t have cared. Isabelle was driven, passionate, but also loose and relaxed after her break from the intensity of her work. He’d been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Or maybe a bug-zapper.
Still was.
But tell her that? Probably not a good idea, judging by her wariness.
He could tell her part of the truth, and that would have to do.
“I’m in the midst of a business crisis. It’s getting ugly, so the board asked me to step down while the lawyers work things out. We’re trying to keep it out of the press. I came here to finalize the funds for Rocky Peak and Jake suggested I stay for a while to experience what I was investing in. Seemed like the perfect way to lie low. So here I am.”
“So it’s just business, then? Nothing personal?”
“If you Googled me, you know my reputation. It’s always business.” A sense of sadness washed through him as he said those words. Since the age of seventeen, he’d been working to become a success. That left no room for anything “personal.”
Sexual, yes. But not personal. And the fact that ‘sexual’ and ‘personal’ could be two separate things was part of the problem.
Isabelle studied him, almost as if she could tell the direction of his thoughts. “Your reputation is that you’re a renegade who plays by his own rules. Is that true?”
“Careful. If you ask me too many questions like that, I might think you want to get to know me.”
She gave a mock-shudder. “God forbid. Like I need another billionaire in my life. They’re a pain in the ass, those guys.”
“Well then, you’ll be glad to know I’m de-billionaired at the moment.”
“De-billionaired?”
“Yes. For now. Long story.”
“Hm.” She glanced down at his skis. “At least you managed to snag a hot pair of G3’s before you became de-billionaired.”
He looked down at them too. “Yeah, they’re fast. Almost too fast. The edges—”
He realized she was gone, her trim figure skiing fast in the direction of the Rocky Peak.
“Race you to the lodge!” she yelled over her shoulder.
“Lowest trick in the book,” he called back as he worked to get his skis moving.
“Oh, I have plenty lower than that. Three brothers, remember.”
In a minute, he was hot on her trail. He was physically very fit—he’d earned his first money in the boxing ring—but Isabelle was a born skier. So he gave up trying to pass her and simply enjoyed the sight of her graceful motion and round ass in her snow pants.
Come to think of it, had they actually “settled” anything?
They hadn’t, and that was fine with him. Because when it came to Isabelle, he didn’t plan to settle. He wanted more than that.
Which would probably scare the ski pants off her and therefore would remain his own private business.
3
“It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when a grown woman goes home and stays in her old bedroom, she might as well give up and become a child again.” Isabelle surveyed her room, which was filled with the detritus of the past, as if the outgoing tide had left it behind.
Old lip glosses, movie tickets, textbooks, a shaggy purple beanbag chair, Harry Potter books, a ukulele, the yearly Rocky Peak Lodge brochures, her favorite Raggedy Ann doll that Mom had made for her. A closetful of ski pants and hoodies and boho skirts from her faux-hippie phase. Twinkle lights in the shape of skulls from her goth phase. A holographic image of a snake-haired goddess from her “spiritual” phase.
She’d gone through a lot of phases.
“Are you talking to yourself or being haunted by Jane Austen?” Her younger sister Gracie poked her head around the door, her blond hair a flash of platinum.
“A little of both.”
Damn it, she had to stop doing that. Goodbye, Jane.
“Can I come in?”
“Why would you stop now? Haven’t you been raiding my closet for the past fifteen years?” Isabelle slung an arm around her sister’s shoulder and hugged her tight as she stepped in.
Gracie was wearing sparkly tights under a black velvet dress, with her hair gathered into a puff ball on top of her head, and looked adorable as always. She and Isabelle were opposites in so many ways—artist versus doctor—but they rarely fought. Isabelle saved that for Jake.
“Of course I have.” Gracie tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “That’s the good thing about being the only one left at home. I get to borrow all the clothes.”
Even though she said it in a bright tone of voice, there was something wistful about that comment. “Gracie, you don’t have to stay here, you know. You can go anywhere you want.”
Her younger sister shrugged. “I like it here. I don’t know why everyone wanted to leave. Rocky Peak has everything. Beautiful mountains, beautiful snow…”
“Beautiful boys?”
“Lots of beautiful boys. Homegrown and imported by the tourism industry.”
Gracie always made light of her love life. She made light of everything, actually. Sometimes Isabelle wished that she’d take her life more seriously. Did she really want to spend the rest of her years at a secluded lodge ruled by the impossible Mad Max?
“Can we be serious just for a second?”
“Excuse me. I’m a Rockwell. You know we’re all about sarcastic humor. Laugh so you don’t cry, r
emember?”
“I know. But I swear, this won’t hurt a bit.”
“Doctors always say that,” Gracie grumbled. She walked to Isabelle’s closet and shoved hangers aside, clearly looking for something in particular.
“You’re what, twenty-two now?”
“Twenty-three. I had a birthday.”
“Oh my god, did I forget your birthday?” Isabelle clapped her hands onto her head. “I blame time-zone brain.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take this as my birthday present.” With an incandescent smile, Gracie held one of Isabelle’s favorite dresses against her body. It was slinky, black with a subtle glitter woven into the fabric. Isabelle had worn it to prom and never felt more beautiful.
“It’s all yours. You know what? You should wear it somewhere amazing. Like Paris. Or San Francisco. Somewhere not Rocky Peak.”
Gracie sighed heavily and draped the dress over her shoulder. “You know, I do go places. I’m not some kind of freakish hermit crab. I went to Yosemite with Kai.”
“Yes, if it weren’t for Kai flying you places, you would never have set foot out of the Cascades.”
“Yeah, well…so what’s the problem? I like to be home.” Gracie skipped toward the door—more like, fled toward the door. “You should try it more often. Don’t you get tired of always traveling?”
Yes, she actually did, but she’d never admit that to any of her family members. “Look, just tell me you’re happy here. That’s all I want to know.”
Gracie’s gaze flitted to meet hers, but only briefly. “That’s funny, because I was going to ask you the same thing. You look tired.”
“Thank you.”
“Gorgeous, but tired.”
“Too late.” Isabelle smiled, but even she knew it was a tired smile. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted.
“Is it because of Lyle?”
“What? No.” She scowled at her sister. “What kind of question is that?”
“A shamelessly nosey one, obvs.”
“It has nothing to do with Lyle. I’ve … well, I’ve been …” She hesitated, unsure about bringing Gracie into her current dilemma. Her sister looked at her alertly, and she realized, with a shock, that her little sister truly was all grown up. Why not trust her with this? “Actually, maybe you can help me.”
The Renegade Page 2