“But we can keep going for another hour. You’re really making great progress. Another lesson and you’ll really gain some confidence. I definitely recommend it.”
“No, thank you.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
Why did he look so bewildered? Had he not just seen her windmilling her way sideways down the hill? It didn’t seem that shocking to her that it was time for the goggles to come off.
“Does a chicken have a pecker?” Chelsea dusted her ass off. “This is very stressful for me, all this concentrating and worrying and knee bending and leaning and whatnot. I need a break.”
“Okay. Sure.” Brody smiled. “Last time down, then. And, yes, you can hold my pole.”
Without thinking, her eyebrows shot up. Did he have any idea how much she’d like to hold his pole? It seemed he did, because immediately he seemed to realize what he’d said. His eyes darkened and there was a strangled sound that came from the back of his throat.
“Is that a promise?” Chelsea asked him, unable to resist.
But Brody didn’t back down or pretend to not understand what she was referring to. “Yes. But only if you really, really want to.”
If the excess saliva pooling in her mouth and the throbbing wetness in her panties was any indication, she wanted to. She moved in closer to him, willing herself not to fall on her ass. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, actually.”
She was certain if they weren’t wearing goggles and skis and it wasn’t snowing and he wasn’t at work and they weren’t on the side of a mountain—okay, really more like a hill where they were—that he would absolutely, one hundred percent kiss her.
“Grab on,” he murmured, lifting his ski pole up between them. “And in case you’re still around later, I get off at four.”
It was tempting to make a joke about that choice of wording, too, but she restrained herself. “Oh, yeah?” she said brilliantly. This was the tricky part. She wasn’t chasing after him. It wasn’t her style, and she had learned the hard way that if you chase, they run. Or they let you catch them, but then you had to work for everything through the entire relationship, always giving, never taking. She wanted a two-way street, even in a weekend fling. She was not going to be the vacationer who threw herself at her ski instructor.
So the question was, if he didn’t expand on that piece of information, what did she do?
Play it cool. “I’m off now. This was exhausting.”
“You’re going back to your hotel?” He looked disappointed.
Or so she’d like to think. “I don’t have a ride back, but as soon as my friends are done, yeah. But I’ll be in the coffee shop until then.”
“Do you and your friends have plans tonight?”
“Probably something awful like dinner where I have to watch them flirting with their boyfriends.”
“Well, if you want to grab a beer, I’m available.”
Yep. There it was. Come to mama. “Is that so? Mabel won’t miss you?”
“She can manage alone for one night.” Brody gave her a smile. “Do you like beer?”
“Does the pope wear a funny hat? Now do I have to stand here holding your pole all day or are we going to move?”
His jaw dropped before he quickly recovered. “Keep a tight grip, smartass.”
“Is that how you talk to all your students?” she managed to say before she let out a shriek. “Holy crap!”
Brody didn’t hold back. He was pulling her forward at what was surely death-defying speeds. She was going to crash. She was going to fall. She was going to wind up flat on her back with no hope of an orgasm whatsoever. She was going to…wind up at the bottom of the hill. Well, whatta ya know.
She’d made it.
Sucking the cold air in and out, she was about to deliver a scathing setdown that would clearly show him who was in charge.
Only she wiped out. Just fell flat on her ass for no apparent reason, her skis slipping between his open legs. She wound up facing the front of his ski pants, both the wind and her sass knocked right out of her.
Brody hauled her to her feet. “Good run,” he told her. “Your best yet.”
Now who was the smartass? “I have snow up my back and I don’t like it.”
“Snow’s cold. You kind of have to expect that.” He bent over and popped her boots out of her skis and picked them up for her. “Let’s go inside and warm you up.”
She had no sarcastic response to that. Grateful for the freedom of being on solid ground, walking erect, instead of sliding hunched over on surely one of man’s weirdest inventions, Chelsea asked Brody, “Who invented skis? I mean, really, who thought this was a good idea?”
“Humans have been skiing for five thousand years, but only for recreation in the last one hundred years or so. The first downhill ski race was in Switzerland in 1911.” Brody opened the door for her. “But maybe that was a rhetorical question.”
“It was,” she assured him, pulling her goggles off. “But I feel well informed for final Jeopardy! now.”
He laughed. “Toss your boots in the boot dryer and give me your phone number. I have another lesson starting in ten minutes.”
As Chelsea looked around, wondering what in Sam Hill a boot dryer was, she recited her number for Brody, liking the challenge he suddenly presented. Not a challenge in terms of getting his interest—she knew she had that—but a challenge in that he wasn’t turned off by her sense of humor, nor was he a puppy-dog type. That’s who she usually attracted, and while Lacey had once told her it was like she carried a penis in her purse, wanting to be the man in relationships, it wasn’t something she had intentionally sought out. She’d much prefer a manly man. Just one who treated her as an equal. It wasn’t her fault that normally only wimps were attracted to her.
“That’s a boot dryer,” Brody told her, pointing to where boots were lined up. “It dries your boots.”
“Of course it does,” she scoffed. Duh. She would have figured that out eventually. In a year or two. Which was how long it would take her to actually get the boots off.
Brody was a manly man. She couldn’t wait to see just how manly. There was no way to tell anything in ski pants, but she was hopeful she wouldn’t be taking a spin around the short track later that night.
“Your skis are in this rack.” He put the poles in after. “And I’ll call you when I get off work, okay?”
“Sure,” she said breezily, because that’s who she was, Chelsea Breezy, independent woman and master of nonchalance. She had skis and poles and looked damn good in these tight pants thanks to that insane hot yoga Amy had insisted she try. She was sexy and seductive and hair-flipping flawless.
“Don’t try to jump off any balconies in the meantime,” Brody said. “Or fall in a snow drift.” He gave her a cocky grin and left.
If she didn’t want to have sex with him so badly Chelsea would be annoyed. As it was, she was more than slightly irritated. This was her fantasy, and he really should respect the fact that in her own mind she should be entitled to be perfect.
Really, men could be so obtuse. Chelsea wondered, not for the first time, how exactly Snow White had managed to live with seven men without murdering at least one of them.
Mind-boggling. It really was.
After five unsuccessful attempts at removing her boots, Chelsea figured the hell with it all and went to the lounge where she ordered an Irish coffee and a brownie the size of her head.
* * *
Brody made it through two more lessons by rote, and fortunately his students were a little quicker to learn, and a little slower to argue than Chelsea. Which was good, because he was distracted, already thinking ahead to later that night when he could take Chelsea out for a beer, then take her home for something a whole lot more fun. Maybe it was presumptuous to think she would sleep with him on a first date, but hey, a guy could be hopeful.
Because there was something about her…
She made both his blood boil and his heart lighter. She
amused him in a way he hadn’t been amused in a very long time.
Maybe his sister was right. He’d gotten too serious over the last few years.
He was meeting his sister after his last lesson and he stripped off his outer layer and tossed it over the back of his chair as he sat down next to her in the coffee shop. Brody noted immediately there were at least four lovesick guys hovering around watching Tracey and trying not to be obvious. Given her local notoriety and her write-up in Sports Illustrated, along with a sexy photo of her wearing only her ski jacket and boots, it was no wonder she had a trail of horny twenty-year-olds behind her at any given moment. But she seemed completely oblivious to it, just like she had expressed surprise at Brody’s and their parents’ outrage at her partially clothed photo shoot.
Tracey didn’t strategize and she trusted everyone. She just wanted to ski and wasn’t really aware of how pretty she was. Brody had been the opposite. He had navigated the pro world with intense distrust. The irony was, who had ended up happier? Not him.
“You have a captive audience,” he told her now as he sat down and shoved her helmet out of the way.
“What?” Tracey glanced around. “What are you talking about?”
That she could actually look around and still not see it amazed him. “Never mind. How was your run? Are you having fun?”
Technically, she was home on vacation.
“Yes. You know I love being here. So much less pressure. Though I don’t know why Mom and Dad had to move to Florida. It would be nice to see them.”
He shrugged. “Snow can be tiring when you get older.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Brody, sometimes you sound old yourself. Will you please promise me that you’ll at least attempt to have some fun?”
That made him instantly defensive. He wasn’t boring. He just wasn’t a partier. Nothing wrong with that. He was thirty-two. Partying at his age was unnecessary. “I’ll have you know I have a date tonight.”
Tracey leaned forward on the table, the sudden gleam in her eye scaring him. “Really? Who is she?”
Right then Chelsea came into the coffee shop with the brunette she’d been with earlier, laughing and tossing her hair out of her eyes. The kick of lust he felt was unmistakable. He wanted to unzip that pullover and uncover every sexy inch of her. He wanted to have her legs wrapped around his head again, but in a totally different way.
“As a matter of fact, she just walked in. She’s one of my students.” Brody nodded in her direction.
Tracey turned.
If she was seeing what he was seeing, it was that Chelsea had spotted him and her laugh had died out. Her animated expression had been replaced by one of pure sexual interest, her tongue sneaking out to swipe her bottom lip. Brody shifted in his chair and raised his hand to wave at her. God, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman with this sort of base lust. It was uncomfortable. Yet exhilarating. Like doing the giant slalom. It banged you on impact, but it was the most satisfying of any course.
“Oh, well, she’s cute,” Tracey said speculatively.
Chelsea waved back and came over. “Done torturing beginners for the day?” she asked wryly.
“For now. There’s always tonight.”
Her jaw dropped a little before she recovered and gave a sexy laugh. “Some things I’m no beginner at.”
Damn. He had walked into that, and now he had an erection with only a small table between him and his sister and a roomful of people. Awkward.
Chelsea turned to Tracey. “I’m Chelsea, by the way. Nice to meet you. And this is my friend Lacey.”
“I’m Tracey, Brody’s sister. It’s wonderful to meet you, too. He was just telling me about you.”
Oh, God, seriously? Brody shifted in mortification. He hadn’t been telling Tracey about Chelsea. He’d said he had a date. Now she’d made it sound like he was gushing over Chelsea, like he never interacted with women at all. Like one little date was noteworthy in some way.
Which maybe it was, considering it had been about a year since he’d had one. But he didn’t want to advertise that.
“Really?” Chelsea looked downright delighted. She grinned at him. “Did he tell you how he rescued me from certain death?”
“No.”
Now Lacey was smiling, too, and Brody felt like a complete idiot. “I’m sure you would have managed without me.”
“Probably,” Chelsea agreed.
Nice.
“But then I would have twisted my ankle and I wouldn’t have been able to experience the joy of skiing, and where would the fun be in that?”
“That would have been disappointing for both of us,” he told her with a healthy dose of sarcasm. She was a handful. He couldn’t wait to silence her with a kiss. Or twelve.
Chelsea laughed. “See you later. I’m on my second brownie of the day, so after we grab some coffee we’re heading out.”
He wasn’t sure why a second brownie meant imminent departure, but with Chelsea, he figured there was no telling. “Cool. I’ll call you.”
She gave him an exaggerated double thumbs-up and made a weird face, then left, her hips swaying enticingly.
He wanted to nail her to the wall so badly it was becoming painful.
Tracey gave him a look. “Wow. I think I just may have met the woman who can crack your crusty exterior.”
Brody gave her a black look. “Crusty exterior? Don’t piss me off.”
Tracey just laughed. “You need a distraction from your brooding.”
“I don’t brood,” he said, now thoroughly exasperated. “Can’t I live a quiet life? Is that a crime?”
The look she gave him told him exactly what she thought of the nonsense he’d just spouted.
Hell, hearing it out loud, even he knew it was nonsense. He had been brooding.
Maybe that was about to change.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chelsea walked into the bar and grill where she was meeting Brody and scanned the room. She was wearing jumbo boots and a hat with flaps. It had taken everything in her to be practical and dress the way she had, but the reality was it was flipping cold and she didn’t figure she’d be very sexy shivering uncontrollably, so she’d gone with the winter wear. She shouldn’t have worried. Everyone in the entire restaurant was dressed like she was, layered up in wool and fleece.
Brody had offered to pick her up, but she had declined, feeling like it was just a little cooler to show up on her own. Besides, she didn’t really know him, and getting into his car didn’t seem too bright. He could have her cut up in minutes. The whole town was as cold as a meat locker. He could stash her anywhere and she wouldn’t rot until April. There was a cheery thought.
But better safe than sorry. That was something those chicks in fairy tales never caught on to, and look what happened to them—there was a witch/troll/wolf around every corner. Chelsea figured the smart-girl thing to do was meet Brody in a public place.
What she didn’t anticipate, however, was just how public it would be. The restaurant was a throbbing, undulating mass of bundled human bodies, with one whole corner of the restaurant consumed by young boys. It looked like monkey island at the zoo, with squawking and climbing and in-your-face confrontation occurring every which way. Scary. That was some seriously scary shit.
Brody was at the bar and he stood up, waving to her.
Chelsea took the seat next to him. “What is going on here? Why are all these kids out of the house so late?”
“It’s eight o’clock. I don’t think that’s generally considered late for ten-year-olds on a Saturday. But I’m getting the impression they just won their hockey tournament. There’s a lot of high-fiving and many rounds of Dr Pepper.”
“Oh, I guess that explains all those hockey sticks leaning against the wall.” Chelsea sat down. “Why did they bring them inside anyway? It would seem like it’d be easier to leave them in the car.”
“They’re expensive. They like to keep them in sight.”
“But you t
rust your skis outside in a ski rack?” Chelsea dropped her purse to the floor. “None of this makes sense to me.”
“You have a point. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes, I’ll take a dark beer. Whatever their specialty is.” She couldn’t stop staring at the kids, who appeared to have zero parental supervision. “Why are they all wearing those hats?”
Almost every kid wore a bright colored hat with fleece tentacles popping up in all directions. A couple had what looked like felt mohawks springing up from their skulls.
“It’s just what’s in style right now. They wear them skating and skiing. It’s fun to see those crazy hats come flying down the mountain.”
“I don’t think I want to wear one of those.”
“Well, you’re not a ten-year-old boy, so I think you’re safe from the fashion trend.”
One of the boys tackled another, and they both let out yells before crashing against the wall. Yeah, she was glad she wasn’t a ten-year-old boy, thank you very much. A woman three tables over stood up and yelled, “Boys, knock it off!” before taking a sip of her beer. Chelsea couldn’t confirm she was their mother. For all she knew, it was some random lady because, honestly, no one looked willing to claim these boys.
“This is definitely a happening place.”
“Sorry, maybe this wasn’t the best choice.” Brody flagged down the bartender. “Would you like to go somewhere else?”
And look like a total diva? No, thanks.
“No, this is fine. I like that it’s lively. Good people watching.”
But after one beer each and repeated shouts of “what?” to each other as they tried to converse over the melee, Chelsea was starting to rethink her response.
Brody frowned at her. “Did you just call me a twerp?”
Chelsea laughed. Maybe she wasn’t the most demure of women, but even she didn’t usually call her dates twerps. Not on the first date anyway. And then it would probably be something more R rated. “No, I said I was thinking about ordering dessert.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “How about I take you somewhere quieter for dessert? Do you like ice cream?”
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