Ruthless

by Lisa Jackson

  For the first time she realized that they had skied away from the major runs and that the lifts were far in the distance. The area was secluded, trees surrounding the trail and the frozen creek that peeked from beneath drifts of snow.

  Gavin reached down and unfastened her bindings as well.

  A thrill raced up Melanie’s spine. “And what did you plan to do with me?”

  “Just this,” he said, taking her into his arms and pressing ice-cold lips to hers. They tumbled together in the snow and laughed as the icy powder tickled their noses and caught in their hair.

  “Someone could come along at any minute,” she protested.

  “Let them.” He kissed her again, and his lips warmed hers, heating her blood, easing the chill from her body.

  Melanie’s heart knocked loudly, her pulse leaped and she wished she could stay here forever, locked in his arms, the pristine stillness of the snow-covered forest surrounding them.

  When he reluctantly drew back, his gold-colored eyes gleamed and he smiled at her as if they’d been lovers for years, as if all the pain and twisted truths of the past had never existed. “I love you, Melanie,” he said, and tears tickled the corners of her eyes. She could hardly believe her ears. Gavin loved her? If only she could believe it was true.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “You know I love you, Gavin. I hate to admit it, but I probably always have.”

  He laughed. “What’re we going to do about that?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

  “Well, I do.” He kissed her again and, pulling her against him, lay with her in the snow. Warmth invaded her body, and she closed her eyes, remembering how much she’d loved him. That love seemed to pale compared to the emotions that tore at her now.

  Shouts and hoots interrupted the stillness, and Gavin, with a groan, struggled to his feet. He pulled her upright just as two teenagers swished past them, spraying snow and hollering loudly.

  “Come on,” Gavin said, eying the retreating figures. “Let’s get in a couple more runs before I lose control completely.”

  “Or I do,” Melanie thought aloud, stepping into her skis.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon on the mountain, laughing and talking.

  Finally, after dark, Gavin drove her home. He lingered on the doorstep, holding her close and pressing urgent lips to hers.

  “You could stay,” she offered, surprised at her sudden boldness.

  “I have to be at the lodge.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I should be.”

  She grinned up at him. “What would it take to change your mind?” she asked coyly, her fingers crawling up his chest

  He grabbed her hands. “Don’t get me excited.”

  “Why not?”

  He kissed her again, harder this time, his lips sealing over hers, trapping the breath in her lungs. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes had darkened. “Oh, the hell with it! Since when was I responsible?”

  Lifting her off her feet, he carried her inside, slammed and locked the door with one hand and hauled her upstairs, where he dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed.

  A second later he was beside her, kissing her and removing their clothes, anxious to love her. And Melanie didn’t stop him. Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head to hers.

  Tonight, she thought. I’ll just think about tonight.

  She woke early the next morning. It was still dark outside, but Gavin was staring down at her, his hand moving slowly against the smooth texture of her shoulder. She could see his face in the half-light from the moon sifting through the window.

  “I’ve got to go,” he whispered.

  “Already?” She clung to him, his body warm as it molded to hers.

  “No choice. The grand opening is tomorrow.”

  “At least let me make you breakfast.”

  He brushed a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know I don’t,” she said crankily, unhappy he was leaving her, “but I want to.”

  “Sure you do.” He laughed as she climbed out of bed and, slipping into her bathrobe, struggled with the belt.

  Downstairs, she started the coffee, opened the back door for Sassafras, then decided to get the paper. Donning a ski jacket over her robe, she hurried to the mailbox, grabbed the paper with near-frozen fingers and returned to the warmth of the kitchen.

  She tossed the paper onto the table and returned the coat to the rack, then set about making waffles and sausage, suppressing a yawn and listening to the sound of water running as Gavin showered.

  How right this all felt, she thought dreamily, wondering what it would be like to be married to him.

  Within minutes Gavin hurried downstairs, his hair combed and wet, his expression positively devilish. “Well, aren’t you the domestic one,” he joked, wrapping strong arms around her waist and standing behind her.

  “Watch it,” she warned, lifting her spatula. “I’m armed.”

  He laughed, his breath stirring her hair. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

  “Sit,” she ordered good-naturedly, pointing with the spatula to the table. “You’re the one who had to get up at this ridiculous hour.”

  He did as he was told, and as Melanie plucked the first waffle from the iron, Gavin snapped open the paper. Melanie placed the waffle and a couple of sizzling sausage links onto a plate, turned and set the plate on the table. As she did, Gavin’s hand grabbed her wrist.

  She giggled, thinking he was still playing, but when she caught his glance, she realized that something was horribly wrong. His eyes were hard, his nostrils flared and his mouth a grim, hard line.

  “What—what’s wrong?”

  “Everything!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Confused, she looked down at the table, then stood frozen, reading the headlines of the front page of the Tribune: GAVIN DOEL RETURNS TO TAYLOR’S CROSSING FOR LONG LOST LOVE.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “It just gets better and better,” he said, his lips tight.

  Swallowing hard, she read the article, written by Jan, which detailed their romance and the feud between the two families. There was a picture of her and Gavin at the lodge, obviously young and in love, and a picture of Jim Doel, the man who went to jail for negligently killing Melanie’s mother.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered, reading on and feeling sick to her stomach. There was nothing written about the baby, just Melanie’s quick change of heart and short marriage to Neil Brooks.

  “It could be worse,” he muttered, “and it probably will be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that Michaels isn’t about to let up. Each week he’s going to find something to dredge up. Again and again.”

  “The baby?” she whispered.

  “Eventually.”

  She sank into the nearest chair and told herself to be strong, that there was nothing more to worry about. She reached for Gavin’s hand, but he stood slowly and impaled her with angry eyes.

  “I think I’d better leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got things to do.” His face darkened with determination. “And I can’t be sure that some reporter or hotshot photographer isn’t camped outside your back door.” There wasn’t the least spark of friendliness—or love—in his eyes. His expression was murderous.

  “You—you think I was a part of this?” she whispered, disbelieving.

  His jaw clamped together. “I don’t know, Melanie. Were you?”

  “Are you serious? You know I wouldn’t do anything . . .” But she could see it in his eyes—all the past lies and accusations surfacing again. Her world tilted, and her fantasy shattered. “You’re right, you’d better leave,” she said, standing on legs that shook and threatened to buckle.

  He hesitated just a moment as a glimmer of love glinted in his eyes
, but he grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the house, letting the door bang behind him.

  “And good riddance!” she said, tossing his uneaten breakfast into the trash before she collapsed and slid down the cabinets to the floor. Tears flooded her eyes, and she tried to fight them back.

  Pounding an impotent fist against the cabinets, she hiccupped and sobbed, and then her stomach, already on edge, rumbled nauseously. She scrambled to her feet, dashed to the bathroom and promptly threw up.

  When she was finished, she sluiced cold water on her face and looked at her white-faced reflection in the mirror. You’ve really got it bad, she thought sadly. She hadn’t wretched in years. The last time had been—

  Time stopped. The world spun crazily.

  With numbing disbelief Melanie realized that the last time she’d been so ill had been eight years ago, when she’d been pregnant with Gavin’s child.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Melanie stared in disbelief at the blue stick from the pregnancy test. There it was—physical proof that her monthly calendar wasn’t inaccurate. She was pregnant. With Gavin’s child. Again.

  Ecstasy mingled with pain. What could she do? Sitting on a corner of the bed, she weighed her options and decided not to make the same mistake twice. She had to tell Gavin and she had to tell him soon.

  Sighing, she shoved her hair from her eyes. She had to confide in him—there was no question of that. But she didn’t have to marry him. In fact, she’d be more than willing to raise his child alone.

  No longer a frightened girl of seventeen, she could handle the demands of a child and a career—if she ever got her career going again. Never again would she turn to another man. Marrying Neil had been a mistake she would never repeat. If and when she married, it would be for love.

  And she couldn’t imagine loving anyone but Gavin.

  “You’re hopeless,” she told herself, but couldn’t ignore the elation that she was pregnant.

  Suddenly she wondered how she’d be able to speak with Gavin alone tonight—opening night. She thought about avoiding the party but knew that both Gavin and Rich expected her to attend. As official photographer for the lodge, she could hardly beg out now.

  She spent the day wondering how she would tell him. There was no easy way.

  Finally, that evening, she took an hour getting ready for the formal party that would officially kick off the season and reopen Ridge Lodge. Tomorrow there would be races, sleigh rides, an outdoor barbecue and snowboarding and skiing demonstrations, but tonight the lodge would be ready for dancing and hobnobbing.

  Not in a party mood, Melanie stepped into her one nice dress, a mid-thigh royal blue silk sheath with high neckline and long sleeves, then added a slim silver necklace and matching bracelet. She brushed her hair and let it fall in curls that swept past her shoulders.

  Slipping into a pair of heels, she muttered, “Here goes nothing,” to Sassafras as she petted him on the head while grabbing her coat.

  She drove carefully to the lodge, joining a procession of cars up the steep grade and smiling to herself as snowflakes landed on the windshield. If Gavin’s lodge failed, it wouldn’t be for lack of snow.

  The lodge was ablaze with lights. Torches were lit outside and every room cast golden rays from the windows and dormers. Melanie parked near a back entrance and, squaring her shoulders, walked through the main doors, where her pictures were now highlighted by concealed lamps.

  Guests, employees, caterers and musicians already filled the lobby. In one corner a piano player and backup band were playing soft rock. In another a linen-covered table was arranged with silver platters of appetizers, and behind the bar two bartenders were busy refilling glasses. Waiter and caterers hurried through a throng of bejeweled guests.

  Smoke and laughter floated up the three stories to the ceiling, and Melanie wished she was just about anywhere else on earth. She spotted some local celebrities and a couple of famous skiers and their wives, as well as some of the more prominent townspeople.

  She mingled with the crowd, searching for Gavin, wondering how she could break the news.

  “Well, what do you think?” a male voice whispered in her ear. She turned to find a beaming Rich Johanson surveying the crowd.

  “Looks like a success.”

  “I think so,” he agreed anxiously. “And Gavin was worried!”

  “That’s what he does best.”

  “I—um, sorry about the article in the paper,” Rich said. “I had no idea—”

  “None of us did,” she said. Then her heart thumped painfully. Behind Rich, through the crowd, stood Gavin, tall and lean, impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo. At his side, her arm threaded through his, was the most beautiful redhead Melanie had ever seen. With a sinking heart she realized the woman was Aimee LaRoux.

  Rich, following her gaze, frowned. “Surprise guest,” he said with a shrug.

  “She wasn’t invited?”

  “Not by me.”

  But by Gavin. Melanie cast the unhappy thought aside. She trusted Gavin, and he had told Melanie he loved her, hadn’t he?

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, wending her way through the guests to Gavin. He hadn’t seen her yet—his head was bent as he listened to Aimee—but when he raised his eyes and found her standing in front of him, he managed a tight smile.

  Melanie returned with one of her own. “Congratulations, Gavin,” she said. “The party looks like a big hit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, this resort is just fabulous!” Aimee said, bubbling. “But everything Gavin touches turns to gold.”

  “Not quite,” Gavin said.

  Melanie drew on her courage. “When you’ve got a minute—not now—I’d like to talk with you.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  Gavin glanced at his watch, whispered something to Aimee, then, taking Melanie’s arm, propelled her quickly to the back hall. “Hey, wait, you’ve got guests,” she protested.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He strode quickly to his private suite and locked the door behind them.

  “There’s something you should know—”

  “Mr. Doel?” A loud knock thudded against the door.

  Gavin, swearing, opened it quickly. “What?”

  The caterer, a tall man of thirty or so, stood fist in the air, poised to knock again. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the champagne is running low—”

  “Open another case—there’s more in the refrigerators near the back door,” Gavin said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “And if you have any other questions, talk to Mr. Johanson.”

  “Yes, sir,” the caterer replied.

  Gavin closed and locked the door again. “Now—what’s so all-fired important?” he demanded.

  Her stomach, already knotted, twisted painfully. “You left the other morning in a hurry,” she said, reaching for the back of a chair to brace herself. “And I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” he repeated, frowning. He folded his arms over his chest and waited.

  Her palms began to sweat. “Aren’t you leaving soon ... to rejoin the racing circuit?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t made definite plans. It all depends on what happens here.” He crossed the room and stood only inches from her. “What’s going on, Melanie?”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, facing him and seeing the shock and disbelief cross his features.

  “You’re what?”

  “Pregnant.” When he paled, she added, “Of course, the baby’s yours.”

  “But you said—I thought you couldn’t have children.”

  “I couldn’t—not with Neil.”

  “You’re sure about this?” he said, still not making a move to touch her, his suspicious gaze drilling into hers.

  “I took a pregnancy test this morning, but no, I haven’t seen a doctor. I’m late and I’ve been throwing up and I haven’t felt this way since the last time
.” Her fingers were digging into the back of the chair, and she felt herself begin to shake.

  “We’ll get married,” he said without a second thought.

  “No.”

  His head snapped up, and he regarded her in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “I’m not going to trap you, Gavin. You have your life and it doesn’t include me or a baby. You won’t be happy unless you’re racing headlong down a mountain as fast as you can.”

  “And so what do you plan to do? Marry another man?”

  She sucked in a swift breath. “No. I’m going to raise this baby alone, the way I should have the first time. And I’m going to love it and—”

  “You lost the first one.”

  The words crackled through the air, burning deep in her heart. “I won’t lose this one,” she vowed, “no matter what.”

  “You’re right about that,” he said, his disbelief giving way to a new emotion. His lips twisted, and his eyes turned thoughtful. “I won’t let you,” he said softly, kicking the chair from her hands and throwing his arms around her.

  “Mr. Doel?” Pounding erupted on the door again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered against her ear.

  “But . . .” She cast a worried glance at the door.

  “Come on!” Taking her hand, he opened the back door and hustled her down the steps of his private deck.

  “Where’re we going?” she asked, and his answer was a ripple of laughter.

  When her high-heeled shoes sank into the deep drifts, Gavin lifted her easily into his arms and carried her toward the base of Rocky Ridge, where a gondola sat.

  “You’re not serious . . .” she whispered, but he was. He started the lift and ushered Melanie inside the gondola. The operator, recognizing Gavin, took instructions, and within seconds Melanie and Gavin were moving quickly uphill, the night dark around them.

  “You’re insane,” she chided.

  “Crazy. The word is crazy and I’m crazy about you.” When the gondola was at the top of the lift, it stopped suddenly.

  Melanie gasped. “What’s going on?”

  “Tony’s giving us half an hour of privacy.” Gavin drew her tightly into the circle of his arms. “And in those thirty minutes, I’m going to convince you to marry me.”