by Stacy Gold
When we met at that IFMGA cert class, his eyes were the first thing that got my attention, followed by his smile and his incredibly broad shoulders. The ones that led down to the strong arms that had no trouble holding me up while he fucked me standing.
God, I couldn’t forget all those incredible nights of crazy monkey sex. Or how hard I’d worked to convince myself he was just a rebound since I was fresh off my divorce. That I wasn’t as crazy about his mind and his soul as I was about his body. Not to mention what he did with it.
I hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but by the end, neither of us wanted to say goodbye. We’d agreed to stay in touch once the class was over. Then I’d gone back to the States, and he went to France for a ski patrol job. I’d regretted the hell out of it after I got home. Realized I should’ve figured out a way to make something work. Or at least tried.
The man had left permanent imprints in my head, my heart, my soul, and a whole lot of other places—which I did my best to ignore. Three months later, when the yearning got to be too much, I worked up the courage to email him. Four times. I even left two messages on his voice mail. He never responded.
The next time I saw Max was when I showed up for my first day of work at Emerald Mountain in November and discovered his piercing gray eyes staring at me above a badge that read Ski Patrol Director. Just like they were right now.
A chorus of “Hey, Soph” broke through my thoughts.
I crossed the room, grabbed a flowered ceramic mug from one of the hooks under the shelf, and poured a cup of coffee from the ancient coffeemaker on the counter. I added a splash of milk, turned, and squeezed onto the end of a bench at the scarred table that dominated the open meeting room. I couldn’t have sat any farther away from Max.
Still, even with eight people between us, his presence put me on high alert. I was excruciatingly aware of those gray eyes on me, thinking God knows what. Maybe that I was a liability. Or a cute little girl who needed to go back to the mall. Or that he wanted to fuck me.
The tingling between my thighs caught me off guard. Pissed me off. I struggled to maneuver my boots around the supports under the table until I could cross my legs.
“You on avy control this morning?” Troy asked, as my hipbone nudged his.
I smiled at his eager expression. “Yep.”
“About damn time.” He held up his mug in a toast.
I clinked it with my own. “Right?”
“You picked a helluva a day to start. We got nineteen inches of fresh snow up top last night. That shit’s gonna be reactive as hell.”
My heart thrummed. I’d missed doing avalanche control. While my old resort didn’t have a ton of avalanche-prone terrain, we did bomb a few steep slopes. The whole process, from assessing the danger, to choosing a route and setting off the explosives, required every bit of thought, energy, physical strength, and attention to detail I could muster.
Something about watching a big slope crash down, feeling the vibrations roll through my sternum, not to mention being in control of all that power and fury, got me going every time. Made me come alive in a way no man had ever done.
Except Max.
“Okay, everyone.” Max’s serious voice rang out over the early morning chatter, and the room went silent except for the low hum of the generators, and the whistle of the wind against the poorly sealed wood windows. “Mother Nature and our forecasters say avy danger is extreme, but we’re going to do our best to get the upper mountain open by noon—assuming this storm lets up—which they’ve promised should happen by nine. Troy and Ryan, you guys are on Powder Basin. Tommy and Jackson, you two hit Emerald Basin. Sophie and I will clear Ruby Chutes.”
The excitement shivering in my nerve endings cranked up a notch. Wow. He’s definitely not keeping me on the bunny slopes anymore.
Ruby Chutes held the steepest, narrowest, gnarliest double black diamond terrain at Emerald Mountain. The way that huge cornice loomed over the chutes, and the forty to forty-five-degree pitch… When an avalanche came down there, it swept anything in its path through trees and over cliffs ten to thirty feet tall. We would not be fucking around.
Even if we weren’t planning to open the chutes today, the excess snow had to be cleared, or we’d end up with the kind of in-bounds avalanche that could close a resort for good. Which meant that, regardless of the weather, someone had to get up there and do control work. Apparently, today it would be me and Max.
“Expect wind-blown snow accumulations on West facing slopes in particular today. Any questions?” Max scanned the faces of the patrollers seated around the table. “Okay then. Grab some bombs, and stay safe out there. Sophie, you’re with me.”
He waved me over. I stepped as close as I dared. Close enough to see the aerial photos he’d spread out on the table. Close enough to smell his warm, spicy scent even through the general ski funk miasma that clung to this old building.
His dark, wavy hair tangled at the nape of his neck, begging for my fingers. But that was neither here nor there.
I forced myself to focus on his words and where he pointed on the images. We were about to be on top of a big, rugged mountain dealing with explosives and avalanches. The information he was giving me could literally mean the difference between life and death. I couldn’t afford to be distracted or make a mistake.
Besides, I’d long ago made it a personal policy never to sleep with bosses. Or assholes.
Chapter Four
The tempest lashed and swirled around my head. I mentally thanked the wise ski patroller who’d installed a safety line along this route years ago, because I couldn’t see shit. Without that steel cable for a guide, in a whiteout like this, even with a headlamp, chances were good an unlucky ’troller would step right over the edge.
Chances were even better that it would be me. Today. Because every time the wind gusted I couldn’t tell where the snow stopped and empty air began. And because having Sophie out here with me made it hard to focus. I needed to focus. This job was dangerous enough without distractions, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention.
I gripped the cable in my gloved hand. The roar of the wind ripping through the peaks drowned out all noise other than the ragged sound of my breath and the crunch of my boot toes digging into the snow. Still, I could sense Sophie right behind me.
That hadn’t changed since the first amazing night we’d spent together. From the first day we met she drew all my attention. I could never forget the intoxicating combination of soft skin, hard muscle, and smart mouth that was Sophie Tremore. Really smart mouth, in fact… Especially when it was on my dick.
Dammit.
I kicked another step in the steep, icy face and focused on straightening my leg and pushing my body up. I repeated the same process with my other foot, climbing steadily toward the top of the peak and the giant, looming cornice that formed with every wind-whipped snowstorm. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. I felt it looming over us like I felt Sophie on my heels.
Despite the almost foot of height and hundred-pound difference between us, she carried a full pack and kept up no problem. Not that I expected anything else. When we took that course in Chile, she’d been one of the strongest in the class in every way. I’d been mad impressed, and seriously turned on.
It was stupid to be worried about her. She was solid out here.
The problem was me. I couldn’t get the memories of Anna’s accident out of my head, even after almost two years. Anna smiling and laughing right before the whole slope slid—the slope I’d declared stable. Anna being pulled unconscious out of the snow. Anna locked in a full body brace. Anna deciding to move to Ecuador and never ski, let alone work on ski patrol, again.
And now, in my head, Anna’s broken body had Sophie’s face.
****
I leaned into the slope, angling my face away from the wind and the pinpricks of blowing snow spearing my cheeks. Swear to God one of those gusts was gonna bl
ow me right off this ridgeline, especially with the skis on my pack acting like a sail. Every time I looked up to check Max’s position in the dim dawn glow, I almost toppled over backward from the awkward weight alone.
That would so not be a pretty picture.
Even clipped in to the guide-line I could tumble thirty feet. Wasn’t happening though. Just like Max wasn’t getting ahead of me.
Pushing on my ski poles, I straightened my knee and searched with my free foot for the step Max had just kicked into the slope. His longer legs meant the steps were too far apart for my comfort, but it took less energy to match his larger stride than kick my own steps. I was used to it, anyway.
My family joked I must’ve been swapped at birth because my dad and every one of my brothers was at least six feet tall. Even my mom was five nine. Bets were on I’d suddenly sprout up in my late teens, but it never happened. It also never stopped me from keeping up with them—or anyone else.
I peered into the blowing snow trying, and failing, to see Max’s red jacket. We had to be near the summit ridge. I tucked my head, and counted my steps until I made out his tall, muscular form, a burgundy and black ink spot in the blowing flakes.
Not that I needed to see him to know he was there. My body knew.
Relying on my poles for balance, I bent into the wind and made my way to where he stood. He held another tethered cable in his hand.
Leaning in close, he shouted over the wind, “Grab a bomb.”
I slung my pack off, fished out an explosive device, and clipped it onto the end of the line in his hand. Max signaled a trajectory with his arm as I slipped my pack back on my shoulders. I took the cable from him, checked the wick, lit it, and threw with all my force. It flew out and disappeared into the gray void.
With a few hasty steps, we moved as far away from the edge as possible. The cable went taut. Slipping my fingers under my helmet and into my ears, I crouched, waiting. At least as aware of Max’s strong legs inches from mine as I was of the bomb about to explode below us.
The blast reverberated around me, in me, through me. It vibrated deep in my chest and echoed off the cliffs. The slightly quieter rumble of an avalanche followed.
We eased toward the edge and peered over. The avalanche churned through the trees at the bottom of the chutes, and a cloud of snow hung in the air.
In the brightening light, I stared across the ridgeline. A good-sized chunk of cornice had ripped out at least half the slope, in places all the way to the rocks. Max raised his fist with a grin, and I bumped it with mine.
He pointed back the way we’d come. “One down, three to go.”
We headed back down the ridge to our next target. The wind barely swirled the falling flurries, and I could actually see farther than his broad back right in front of me. We took turns throwing explosives, but the rest of the slope held solid. No surprise really. Given the size of the first avalanche we set off, if the rest of that face was going to go, it probably would’ve already.
I lifted and dropped my shoulders, and shook the tension out my arms and hands. As much as I enjoyed the adrenaline of avy control, what I liked most was heading back down the hill unhurt.
Max unclipped from the guide cable, dropped his pack in the snow, and unlashed his skis. I did the same.
“Ready to make some turns?” He grinned.
“Always.” I grinned back. Hard not to when we were about to enjoy one of the few serious perks of our high-risk, low-paying jobs—first tracks.
I clicked into my bindings and followed Max around the shoulder of the ridge to a treed slope on the back side. A broad, convex rollover of untracked snow formed a steep hump leading down to a forest of medium-spaced trees. This zone wasn’t as sheer or cliffed-out as Ruby Chutes, but it wasn’t avalanche-proof either. I raked the slope with my eyes, searching for safe zones and hazards in case it slid on us.
That rollover, with its snow load on top, was our area of concern for sure.
Unlike the high ridge we’d just bombed that hung above the skiable runs, this area was inside the resort boundaries and regularly skied. Using explosives here wouldn’t be ideal unless we wanted an unsuspecting skier to stumble across an unexploded bomb.
“I’ll ski cut it first, then you follow.” Max pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the slope I was eyeballing.
No fuckin’ way.
“I’ve got it.” I put a hand on his arm, working to keep my voice serious instead of sarcastic. “Then you can follow.”
“Thanks, but I know this slope. I’d feel better if I cut it first.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You ski across at the top of that rollover and stomp hard there, and there, trying to get something to release. Then you head for that safe platform by those trees?”
“I know you know how to read a slope.” He smirked. “But I’m still going to ski cut it first, and you’re going to follow.”
“Because you don’t think I’m capable of doing the first cut safely?”
“No, because I’m your boss, and that’s what I want you to do.”
The anger I’d tamped down last night flared hot in my veins. “Seriously? You’re going to pull a ‘because I’m the boss’? And just when I was starting to believe that maybe you think I know what I’m doing.”
“It’s not that. It’s—” He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and blew a hard breath out his nose. “Fine. Make sure you take a solid bite out of it in both spots. Once you’re in the safe zone, I’ll follow.”
Okay. I’d take that. I traversed the top edge of the face, stomping hard into short turns at what should be the weakest spots. Nothing moved. Breathing like I’d run a marathon, I stopped in the safe zone and kick-turned around to watch Max. He dropped a little lower, stomped the weak spots even harder. Nothing moved.
He skied up next to me. “Let’s dig a snow pit. I want to double check the stability of the new snow before we ski it,” he said, dropping his pack and popping out of his bindings.
“Sounds good.”
I shucked my pack and took out my shovel. Stepping in beside him I shoved the lip into the snow. Each time I turned to dump a shovel-load beneath us, our shoulders bumped and my pulse jumped.
This was way too much of a reminder of when we were in guide training together. We’d spent hours digging pits and assessing snowpack, then gone back to our hotel rooms and assessed other things. Something about working together as a team all day, deciphering the layers of snow, made spending the nights deciphering each other’s bodies that much hotter.
“Seems deep enough. Let’s cut a column.” Max’s voice jolted the image of his naked body hovering over me, my fingers digging into those strong shoulders, right outta my head. Good thing too. I didn’t need the distraction.
I grabbed my snow saw and got to work cutting an isolated column of snow from the uphill side of the pit. Max pulled out a notebook and I tapped on the column, calling out results, hoping we wouldn’t find any weak layers buried in the snowpack. The sooner we finished this job, the sooner we could ski out of here, and I could get some space.
****
Sophie filled in the pit we’d just dug while I reviewed my notes. This slope was far more solid than the Ruby Chutes. The wrinkles I hadn’t even noticed in my forehead, relaxed. I filled my lungs with cold air and let it out nice and slow, forcing the remaining tension out with it. All we had left to do was ski down to the base and file a report. Piece of cake.
I repacked my pack, looking forward to making a few turns and getting as far from Sophie as possible. All that spunk and strength and intelligence packed into that hot little body drove me crazy. Every time she stood up to me, or stood up for what she believed fair, it was all I could do to not reach out, wrap my hands in her hair, and kiss the daylights out of her.
Shit.
I checked to make sure she was busy with her gear and adjusted my semi, willing it to go down. I thought about faceted snow crystals and ice layers and slope declination un
til it was safe to look at her again.
Floating snow sparkled in the sunlight, forming a halo around her head as she repacked her pack. I loved how serious and competent she was when it came to her job. Such a dichotomy from the wild woman she morphed into in bed.
I heaved out a breath. If I didn’t get a break from her my small head was going to get the best of my big head—and that would not work out in my favor, or hers. Not when I was her boss.
Definitely not when my dick sprang to attention every time I caught a glimpse of her. More so when she was carrying fencing, digging snow, and generally busting ass, like one of the guys. Only she looked a hell of a lot sexier in the red and black uniform.
Yanking my gaze away, I knelt and loaded my shovel, inclinometer, and notepad into my pack. If she hadn’t been on the rebound from her divorce when we first met, I might’ve tried to build a real relationship with her.
Instead I let her go.
I’d meant to get in touch when I came back to the States but then my season went to hell. Anna got injured and taking care of her consumed my life, not to mention throwing my desire to be a ski patroller, or even a skier, into serious question. Returning her messages was the last thing on my mind.
The main reason I took this job was to get over my fears so I could make a rational decision about the future of my career. That, and as a favor to Sam. It had not worked out like I planned.
When Sophie showed up here still as smart and sassy and gorgeous as I remembered, it was all I could do to function. It’d only gotten harder with each passing day.
Literally.
I tightened the draw cord on the top of my pack, flipped the lid over, and clicked the buckle into place. As soon as we got down, I intended to send Soph out on the groomers so I could quit staring at her like a starving man for a few hours. We kicked into our skis side by side.
“You want to drop in first?”
“Sure.” Her smile lit up the day almost as much as the rays of sunlight poking through the clouds. “I thought you’d never ask.” She pushed off our perch and sliced a perfect, arcing turn through the untouched snow below.