"Derek, you ape! Put me down!" Elliot looked up to see Derek swinging George above his head.
"If you were my equal, George, you wouldn't be such a weakling. My God, circuit brain beat you at arm wrestling! Hey, Elliot, do you want her?"
Elliot quickly set down his coffee cup and jumped to his feet, just in time to catch George. He grinned to himself, stumbled backward, groaning loudly, and fell to the floor with George on top of him. There was an awful moment of silence; George scrambled off him. "Elliot!" She grabbed his hand and felt for his pulse. "You idiot!" she shouted at her brother. "He's hurt!"
Elliot couldn't help himself. He started laughing. He looked up at George's stricken face and watched her expression change from disbelief to red-faced chagrin. He clutched his stomach with laughter, and rolled onto his side.
"You jerk!" George yelled at him. "You scared the wits out of me!" She started pummeling him with her fists. Elliot grabbed her wrists and pulled her down beside him.
"Now," he said softly, "you have an idea of how I felt."
She stopped struggling, but she was still frowning. "That wasn't fair."
"You don't think we're even now?"
She pursed her lips. "No," she said, "I don't think we are."
Elliot shot her a look of mock terror. "Lord, what am I in for now, I wonder?"
Duke Hathaway called a halt at midnight. "We'll have great skiing tomorrow. All of you off to bed. Breakfast is at seven o'clock."
"Your famous blueberry pancakes, Dad?" George asked.
"You got it, cookie. And lots of sausage for my growing boys."
"I think Derek should have half a grapefruit," George said. "He has an inch to pinch; I checked him out."
"Just because I can play 'Oh, Susanna' on your ribs, George..."
Elliot left George at her bedroom door. "I think," she said softly, "that Tod and Mariana are still downstairs necking. Wanna come in for a nightcap, sailor?"
He rubbed his knuckles along her jaw and smoothed her hair behind her ear. "Under their roof, George, we'll exercise restraint." He pulled her gently against him and kissed her lightly. "Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well."
"Drat," George grumbled. "I will sleep, but I don't know how well."
The sun was brilliant against the snow, and the air was crystal clean. Snow-dusted pine trees lined the trail. George was skiing in front of Elliot, wearing a red ski outfit that outlined every perfect pound of her, a red wool cap and goggles. Her form was smooth, her movements lithe and supple. She turned her head and waved at him, then executed a full turn in the air as she flew off a mogul.
"Kid stuff, George," he called after her. He heard her clear laughter and easily copied her turn.
George reached the bottom of the run and came to a stop, turning to watch him.
"I must say, cowboy, you're not exactly a beginner," she said, eyeing him judiciously.
"You're the only one who assumed I was, George," he said.
"You also look good enough to eat." Her eyes wandered over his teal-blue ski outfit.
"Wait until you see my green, A perfect match for my eyes."
"Conceited jerk!" she said amiably. "You ready for a rest? I saw Mom and Dad head into the lodge on the last run."
They unfastened their skis and leaned them and their poles against the stone wall of the lodge.
"We were really lucky," George said, pulling off her goggles and cap. "When Mom and Dad bought the cabin, the lodge hadn't been built yet. The developer who bought the land wanted to buy them out, but they refused. So we're only a ten-minute hike from the center of the course. The only drawback is all the tourists,"
"It has spread out quite a bit. It's been several years since I've skied here," Elliot said.
"Have you ever raced?"
"Yes," Elliot said, "a bit. Would you care to get creamed this afternoon?"
"Your confidence is exceeded by little else."
He was laughing when they joined George's parents. "Where are the kids?"
"We take shifts," Dorothy said. "Since this is your first visit, Elliot, you won't have to watch three children on the beginners' slope."
"I don't mind," Elliot said politely, accepting a hot cup of coffee from a waiter.
George shot him an incredulous look before moving to the huge stone fireplace and warming her hands. The lobby of the lodge was filling rapidly, and Elliot joined her, leaving her parents with the only two available chairs.
"The old West was never like this," George said, "although I appreciate their efforts."
Elliot eyed the eighteen-foot-high beamed ceilings, the rough oak Western furniture, and the hooked rugs that covered the wood floors. "It beats the No-Tell Motel."
"For sure, for sure," George said in her best Valley Girl imitation. She lowered her eyes a moment to her cup of hot chocolate. "Have you thought about... well, what I asked you on the plane?"
"You mean there's a private lavatory around?"
Her cheeks, already rosy with color, flushed deeper, and there was a wary look in her eyes.
"Yes, George," he said quietly. "But—"
"But what?"
He sighed, avoiding her eyes. "Time, George." He wanted to shout at her that he was too old to be her oldest brother, let alone her husband.
George regarded him silently for a moment, then smiled up at him, a dazzlingly brilliant smile that made him want to fling her to the floor and love her until she
was breathless.
"After lunch, do you really want to give the kids a shot on the beginners's slope?"
"Absolutely," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll teach you how to race downhill.''
To Elliot's surprise, the three young Hathaways were eager to do anything he told them to. And they were good. "Children," he said to George, shaking his head. "They know no fear."
"None at all. Derek, Jr. broke his leg last year and it didn't faze him."
"Look at Kathy," he said, pointing to Jason's daughter. "Bend your knees," he called to her. "That's it, now snowplow!"
"Yes," George said slowly, staring at her niece, "I'm looking." And she was thinking, for the first time, of having Elliot's children. For a perfect moment, she pictured them on skis, laughing, waving plump little hands, tumbling with their parents in the
snow...
"Are you in never-never land, George?"
"What? Oh, no, I was just thinking."
"About my condos in Santa Barbara?"
Keep it light, George, she thought. "Exactly," she said. "And I do have some suggestions about that, Elliot."
"And here I was telling Maggie that you wanted only women to get rich."
"Oh, Dr. Smith. When did you see her?"
"Early last week, to apologize for calling David and not her. She wondered if you were embarrassed with David poking around, and I told her it was a matter of money and success for women and had nothing to do with modesty."
"Did David.. .poke around?"
"Not much," he lied smoothly.
"I don't believe you, and I'll never be able to face him again," George said firmly.
"Well," he said, unable to help himself, "he really wasn't all that concerned with your face."
She caught him off guard and he landed on his back in a snowbank. "I'll get you for that, Elliot Mallory! Just you wait!"
He came up balancing on his elbows and laughed at her. "What will you do, George? Call a woman doctor for me?"
He ducked a snowball. Within minutes, the three children had shed their skis and were flinging snowballs with them as fast as they could pack them.
Chapter 13
On Wednesday, over a dinner of six large pizzas, Duke Hathaway proclaimed Elliot King of the Slopes. He had won the downhill race handily, George his closest competition. Jason was given the Face in the Snow award and crowned with a hastily strung circle of pepperonis.
"Pretty good for a lazy doctor," George teased him.
"It's all the swimming," Elliot said, saluting her with a beer. "
You might have a chance against me if you could manage to swim more than six laps."
He was smiling at her, feeling very relaxed, until Dorothy said to him, "You fit right in, Elliot. I don't think George could ever really be happy with someone who wasn't as athletic as she."
He nearly choked on his beer. It had been easy, too easy, to become one of them, to laugh and horse around with them, to begin to hug George in their presence. Duke Hathaway had even seen him kissing his daughter rather passionately outside her bedroom door. But surely they couldn't want George to marry a man old enough to be her father. Not quite that old, he amended to himself, gazing toward the silver-haired Duke, but still.. .As if in answer to his thoughts, Dorothy continued serenely, "George has always been older than boys her own age. I suppose it comes from being so much with her brothers. That and the fact that George always intimidated the young men who wanted to date her."
"She is very beautiful," Elliot said cautiously. "Oh, it's not that, I don't think," Dorothy said. "I know that I wasn't at all like George when I was eighteen, or twenty-three, for that matter. She's very mature."
Elliot carefully set down his beer mug. "I am sure," he said to Dorothy, his voice clear and low, "that George can find a young man who will not be intimidated by her."
After a brief pause, Dorothy said lightly, "You're likely right. The week has gone by so quickly. I hate to think that Friday we'll be spread all over the country again."
It reminded him that George would have her operation on Monday. She had insisted that her family not be told. When he asked her why, she had said with a crooked smile, "You can't imagine what kind of grief I would have to put up with all week! A Woman's Problem—can't you just hear Derek?"
Dorothy thought her remaining slice of pizza tasted like congealed cheese. She wasn't blind. George's happiness was like a beacon, and she knew without a second thought that her daughter was sleeping with Elliot. There was a new softness about her, an unspoken intimacy that existed between them. She had assumed that George would marry him. He was, after all, the first man she had ever brought to meet the family. It simply hadn't occurred to her that Elliot might not be equally head over heels in love with her daughter. But he was, she thought, frowning slightly. One had but to look at him looking at George. She didn't understand it. She heard her daughter's delighted laughter at something Derek said, and felt tears sting her eyes.
After dinner, George grabbed Elliot's hand. "Let's go for a walk. It's stopped snowing."
"Where do you get all this energy?" he asked her.
"Well, I'm not using it on...other things," she confided.
The night was cold and clear, the newly fallen snow crunchy beneath their boots.
"This has been the best year of all," George said.
He grunted in reply.
"I hope you like my family?"
"Better than a circus." He paused a moment, knowing she wanted to hear more. "Your parents are very caring people."
"Do you like everyone?"
"Only Scrooge could dislike any of them."
She was silent for a moment, then accused him, "You've raced competitively before, haven't you?"
He laughed at her, relieved. "Well, I was state champion in Connecticut some fifteen years ago. When you were eight years old, George," he added.
"Did you ever think about the Olympics?"
"Good God no! Even if you think I'm the greatest jock in the world, George, I'm still a duffer compared to people of Olympic caliber,"
"I suppose you're right," she conceded unwillingly. She came to a stop on the rise that overlooked the lodge. "It's so beautiful, all the lights, and you can't hear a single tourist from here." She turned to face him and looked intently up at him. "You've been awfully quiet since dinner. Did you expect a crown of pepperonis with your award?"
"Indeed, and I was gravely disappointed,"
Suddenly, George thought she didn't know him at all. He was charming, as always, but he was evading her. She remembered thinking months ago that he was out of her league. She thought so again. She forced a smile to her lips. It was too dark for him to see that it didn't reach her eyes, "I'm cold. Even my black knee socks aren't enough."
She tucked her arm through his, and they tromped back through the snow to the cabin.
Elliot was standing next to Derek and Tammy and Mr. and Mrs. Hathaway in front of the lodge the following afternoon, waiting for George to finish her run. His eyes lit up when she came into view in a flash of powder blue.
"That's my girl," Duke said.
She looked up and waved one of her poles. Suddenly, she appeared to lose her balance and clipped a mogul. Elliot watched, horrified, as her poles went flying and she twisted in the air and came down in a tuck position, her skis slipping loose of her binders. She slid in the snow for several feet, rolling over onto her back, and lay utterly still.
"Oh, my God," Elliot gasped. He raced toward her, his gut wrenching in fear.
He heard Duke Hathaway calling him, but didn't slow until he reached George. She was sprawled on her back, her arms and legs spread in the snow. He dropped to his knees beside her. He drew a quick breath and forced himself to do a methodical examination. The pulse in her throat was strong. He stared down at her still face for a moment, afraid to touch her. Get a hold of yourself, he told himself sternly. Gently, he lifted her eyelids. There was a flutter of movement,
"George," he said, lightly slapping her cheeks. "Come on, sweetheart."
To his utter confusion, she opened her eyes and winked at him. In the next moment, she came up swiftly on her knees and tossed a hastily packed snowball in his face.
"Gotcha," she said with great satisfaction.
He sat back on his heels, aware now of the laughter craning from behind him. "That was all an act?" he asked slowly.
"Been doing it for years," she said. "I usually do a full twist in the air, but I was going too slow to give you my Class-A performance."
His surge of relief was quickly replaced by a blast of anger.
"My revenge," she said, unaware that he was not amused. "Now, doctor, we're even!"
"Damn you!" he growled at her. He jumped to his feet, grabbed her arm and jerked her upright. "Don't you ever do anything like that again! You damned little idiot—" He broke off, swore crudely and pulled her after him.
"My skis, Elliot!"
"To hell with your skis!"
Derek looked on with growing amusement. "I think," he said to his wife and parents, "that George has finally met her match."
"George up to her tricks?" Jason asked, trudging over to the group.
"Yep." Derek shrugged, watching Elliot drag his sister up the slope toward the cabin.
"I don't think," Duke said slowly, "that any of us should return to the cabin for a while."
"Elliot," George yelped, trying to pull away from him, "let me go. Good lord, my family's watching!"
"Let them," he said grimly. "They're likely applauding."
He opened the cabin door and pulled her inside. No one else was about,
"Now what are you going to do?" George demanded. "It was just a joke, Elliot."
"I'm going to beat the hell out of you," he said even more grimly.
She turned and fled up the stairs, Elliot at her heels.
He grabbed her midway up and flung her over his shoulder. "Good grief, you idiot, put me down!"
"Not on your life, lady!" He kicked open the door to his bedroom, slammed it shut with his shoulder and tossed George on the bed. "You scared me to death," he said in a very low voice, then grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over his thighs. His hand came down hard on her buttocks. He smacked her several more times, then flung her off him onto her back on the bed. She lay there, staring at him.
"Well," he snapped. "What do you have to say now?"
To his consternation, a large tear welled up and trickled down her cheek. He cursed softly, grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.
He felt no resistance
in her and slowly gentled his kiss. He tasted the salty tears on her mouth. He was trembling, from the shock of his anger and now from desire. His hands went wild at her clothes. George vaguely understood what was happening to him, and she lay passively as he stripped her. Her heart was pounding, and her bottom didn't hurt at all.
Elliot stood up and quickly pulled off his clothes. He came down on top of her naked, pinning her arms above her head, and he kissed her, all his anger turned to passion.
"Elliot," she whispered into his mouth. He let her arms go and she clutched him to her. When he finally entered her, she was eager for him, her senses heightened by the days of sexual tension between them. Their mating was brief and violent. Elliot collapsed over her, his breathing hoarse in her ears.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please don't be angry with me."
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, raising himself over her on his elbows. He looked intently into her eyes. "My bottom," she said.
"That you deserved." He was silent a moment, his gaze shifting from her eyes. "I didn't even think about your pleasure. I'm sorry."
"If you had, I'd likely be dead." He smiled at her, reluctantly, and rolled to his back, holding her against him. He felt exhausted, and disgusted at himself for his loss of control. The chill air touched him, and he pulled a thick quilt over them.
"That was a performance worthy of a macho romantic hero," she said with some satisfaction as she settled herself against his side.
He turned on his side, facing her, his expression startled. "Romantic hero?" he said blankly.
"Oh yes," she said, nibbling at his chin. "A romantic hero is always carried away by passion. He's unable to help himself, you see."
"I don't see anything romantic about it," he said dryly.
"It's a marvelous fantasy. What's supposed to happen is that the man is a terrible womanizer, changes women as often as his socks, until he meets the Right Woman. He treats her badly, of course, until he realizes toward the end that he can't live without her. Then he turns magically into a sweet, lovable, probably thoroughly boring person."
"You're putting me on," he said roughly.
"Never," she said positively. "Don't you see—in the romantic-hero fantasy, the man is all sorts of experienced, very worldly, but he has to forget all of that and become utterly faithful, and of course very gentle and tender with the heroine."
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