by Dani Collins
Rolf was giving zero fucks about anything his brother said, not even lifting his head from whatever he was reading.
“Do I have to ask Glory how long you’ve been boning Ilke?” Trigg’s hand went to his phone.
Nate pulled out his chair and clicked on his computer. “Remember that time with the thing that I promised I’d never talk about in front of your brother?” He was lying. There was no ‘thing.’ He was fucking with Trigg because he wanted to shut him up. “It’s like that.”
“What thing?” Rolf said promptly.
“What thing?” Trigg scowled. “There’s no thing.”
“Trigg,” Rolf’s head came up along with his hackles.
“Are you kidding me?” Trigg said to Nate, then twisted to look at his brother. “I’m not twelve. I don’t hide shit from you. He’s throwing me under an imaginary bus because he doesn’t want to talk about Ilke.”
“Then shut up and leave him alone. Learn to read a fucking room.”
Trigg sent Nate a disgruntled look, muttering, “Asshole.”
It was a toss-up if he meant Nate, Rolf, or the both of them. Either way, Trigg left him alone. Hashtag winning.
*
Marvin had rented a tuxedo for his own wedding and could barely fathom buying one outright for his daughter’s. When would he ever wear it again?
Nevertheless, he found himself herded into one of two rooms Vivien had appropriated for the tailor and his assistant. They’d flown in from Milan, for God’s sake. Apparently, Giovanni made all the Johansson suits. Vivien’s husband had been buried in one of his finest.
Marvin privately thought the tailor must have started out as a migrant fruit-picker, the way he was so eager to get up in the crook of the tree and fondle the plums and banana. He couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned, though. Trigg had said, “He won’t even buy you dinner first.”
Marvin only flinched a little, but that was hardly the most awkward and uncomfortable part. As they finished up, he broached the subject of cost and was told it was taken care of.
No. He would not allow his future son-in-law to buy his clothes. He went to find Vivien, who was in the next room, sifting through fabric samples and pocket squares, setting them on folded shirts in a variety of pastels, some with contrasting collars, others holding a subtle stripe.
“I was just going to ask you to come see me before you go back downstairs. Glory said you want to order a few extra suits along with the tuxedo.”
“Yes, about the tux. Giovanni said Rolf is paying for it? I can’t allow that. I’m not an usher. I’m the father of the bride.”
“I’ll let you work that out with Rolf,” she said absently, critical eye on the swatch of crimson silk she held near his cheek. “You seem to favor browns and beige. I think you should try at least one suit in charcoal. Definitely a navy.”
“Not necessary, Vivien. I was going to run into Kalispell one of these days and pick up a few things at the department store. I just haven’t found the time—”
“Marvin.” She took hold of his upper arms. For one heart-stopping second, he thought she was going to hug him again. “You are the owner of a luxury chalet at a prestigious resort. You’ve seen the guest list. This is your first impression with your future clientele. Most of them will be here all week. You can’t wear an off-the-rack sport coat made in Bangladesh with a big box label. It’s time to dress the part. What size is that shirt you’re wearing?”
She gave him a little spin, then made him hunker so she could turn up the back of his collar. Her fingertips tickled against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He started to blush.
“I’ll see about getting a barber in right before the wedding.” Her breath moved the hair by his ears, stimulating him even further.
“There’s one in town. I tried to get a haircut last week, but there were too many people waiting.” He regretted hurrying back here now, but there was always so much to do.
He turned back to her, tugging at his collar under his tie, feeling entirely too warm, certain he looked like he was suffering an asthma attack.
She misunderstood his motion and said, “Oh, yes. Take it off.” She began sorting through the shirts. “Let’s go down a few sizes, see how these fit. Once we have your proper size, Giovanni can send more. I think this stripe would be quite smart on you.”
“It’s pink.” He hesitated to undress. The door to the hall wasn’t even shut all the way.
“Merlot. Oh, don’t be shy, Marvin.” She waved a hand at him and went back to looking at the sizes on the shirts. “This navy stripe? Is that better?”
She was removing pins and not even looking at him. He glanced at the open door and loosened his tie, then flicked open his buttons before dragging his shirt from his pants and shrugging it off.
Vivien shook out the shirt and held it out as she turned with a smile. Her eyes widened and her smile faded.
“What?” He set a hand in the middle of the white pelt across his chest. He’d overheard the young men these days. Manscaping, it was called, and he didn’t know the first thing about how to do it. This was all natural. Offensive?
“You’re really—I mean—” She touched her throat and blushed and turned away. “This one will be too big.” Her gaze slid back to his chest. “I didn’t realize you were quite so trim.”
He dropped his hand to his belly, which had firmed considerably over the last year of working alongside the young folk pulling carpet, shoveling snow, and shifting boxes. He even went down to the gym a couple of mornings a week, finding it improved his sleep.
Something else was firming up regularly and he gave a surreptitious brush of his hand over his fly, trying not to spring a boner.
Vivien handed him the shirt she called ‘merlot’ and stood in front of him while he put it on, lashes batting so she looked about fourteen while he felt about fifteen, awkward and fearful she would notice his stiffy.
“That’s, um… It’s a good fit, don’t you think?” Her hands were all over him like little birds scattering and landing and flitting and swooping, grazing his shoulder and tugging near his hip, drawing the front closed and bumping into his as he tried to fasten the buttons.
He’d always thought Vivien smelled like something too expensive for words and the scent now filled his head. Her gaze was climbing to his and her cheeks looked soft as baby powder. She licked her lips and he grew a full salute, tall and strong, like it was the first time in his life. His blood pooled so fast and hard behind his fly, he felt light-headed. At the same time, a rush of startling hunger went through him. A weird confidence that made his hand go to her waist while he lowered his head.
“Vivien—”
She pressed into him and lifted her mouth, just as if they’d been coming together like this for a lifetime.
He kissed her. He didn’t mean to, but her mouth was right there under his and he just did it. In the back of his mind, he quite expected her to slap him down, but her eyes fluttered closed. She made a little sound as his mouth touched hers like she was succumbing to something. That murmur was music. The way flowers must sound to bees.
A distant noise came to his ears. A footstep maybe and the creak of the door, but he didn’t want to stop kissing her to check. This was too enthralling. She was right. They weren’t old. Her lips felt plump and sexy, her shape firm and womanly. His whole body caught fire in the way it had back when he’d been full of sap and barely able to grow a whisker. He wanted to hold on to her like this forever.
When he finally made himself lift his head, there was no one at the door.
Even so, chagrin at hauling her into his embrace struck very belatedly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, I—” She was flushed and sparkly-eyed, fingers touching her hair.
His stomach was full of butterflies, his pulse still in the red zone. They turned away from one another and he gave himself a brief squeeze through his fly. Good for you, you little son of a bitch. Who knew he still had that in him?
“I, um, this seems perfect.” He fastened the cuff of his shirt and stretched his arm. The shirt pulled at his shoulder, but not uncomfortably. It fit perfectly.
“I agree. And maybe this silver tie?” Her voice was high, striving for normalcy. She held the tie out at the end of her fully extended arm.
He only went as close as he needed to catch it from her fingers, then quickly tied it.
“Oh, double Windsor, Marvin. It’s so much smarter-looking. And look at this lighter gray for the jacket and pants.” She set the swatch across his shoulder.
He moved to the mirror. His face was superimposed on another man’s body, one who was ten years younger and infinitely more stylish. His cheeks had a better color than he’d had in years. His eyes were bright and his pecker still firm.
“I’m going to tell Giovanni you’ll keep all the shirts in that size and he should send ten more. Then I’ll hunt down Trigg. He has to be measured before he leaves tomorrow.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Meetings about the terrain park, then Whistler for some off-season training.”
“Right, right.”
She smiled and hurried away on flustered feet, causing him a pang of loss, but at least he began to calm the hell down.
*
Nate didn’t see Ilke in the lobby and she didn’t answer his knock. He went to his room and texted her. Work out?
Did already, she replied promptly.
Dinner? He preferred to sweat, shower, then eat, but he’d make an exception.
Doing my laundry. Someone’s waiting.
It could get pretty cutthroat in there. He’d had his underwear dumped on the floor more than once.
Lemme know when you’re done. I’ll be in the gym.
K.
He changed, then swung by the laundry room on his way, peeking in the window. The machines were mostly reserved for use by housekeeping, which put them at a premium for staff. Ilke was sitting on a washer, nose in a book that had a man’s naked chest on the cover.
Her hair was in a ponytail, but clean and combed and glossy. Her bare ankles were crossed. She wore a zipped hoodie over her velvet pants and he would bet nothing underneath, which was cute and sexy at the same time.
In the weeks since she’d arrived so unexpectedly, he’d tried really effing hard to believe whatever attraction he’d felt in January had been a fluke. Then he’d kissed her today and his head had been buzzing ever since. His whole body was still sparking and zinging. That’s why he needed to work out, not stand here fantasizing about going in there, pushing her knees apart, and feeling her heels dig into his ass as he ground himself against her.
He shot down the stairs into the basement gym. He’d always been a Y-guy, and still went there when he was visiting family, but he was turning into a snob for this fancy-ass, semi-private facility. It was clean and bright with mirrored walls and a bank of narrow windows along the ceiling that could be opened to offer some fresh air when required—which a gym often did. It had a full complement of Wikinger’s best equipment and all the satellite channels on three different televisions.
Paula and Lina came out of the women’s change room, waving at Nate as they left. Trigg was on the treadmill, but straddled the belt and hit the stop button, when he saw him. He muted the replay on the television.
“Thought you’d be getting your Swedish on.”
“Thought you’d be packing.”
“Yeah, I’m leaving at ugly-dark-thirty.” Trigg glanced at the clock. “The tailor took his time giving me a hand job, so I’m running late. Literally. You want this?” He stepped off the tread.
“Nah, I’m—” He didn’t bother to explain he was keeping his workout short ’cause he had a date. Sort of. He picked up a rubber strap and used it to give his shoulders a flex to warm them before he started working them.
Trigg moved to the low-row bench and leaned to move a pin in the weights. “But since it’s just us girls here, why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you and the blonde bombshell.”
“Your dog doesn’t shove his nose this high up my crotch, you know that?”
“So you admit you’re having sex with her.”
Nate shook his head and hung the strap, moving to grasp the overhead bar for a few pull-ups.
“Dude. For serious.” Trigg leaned his elbows on his splayed thighs. “She had a shitty games. We would all need a kiss and a cuddle after that, but what is she doing? Quitting?”
“Jesus, man.”
Nate dropped onto his feet and hooked his hands on his hips. He was a private person and this was the sort of pain he wouldn’t normally share, but he was still hating himself over not being as happy as he should have been in the first place. Ilke wasn’t the only one fearing bad mojo had caused them to lose that baby.
“She was pregnant, okay? But she lost it. That’s why I ran out that day.” It scraped him raw to say it, but it kind of helped to acknowledge the pain. The loss. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“It was yours?” Trigg’s mouth hung open. “And she was keeping it?”
“Fuck, man.” He dropped his arm. “Yeah she was keeping my baby. Fuck you.”
“No, I meant—” Trigg held up a hand. “I’ve never seen her let anything get between her and skiing. When it comes to men, if she lets them near her, she’s tap and go.”
Classy.
Nate looked to the ceiling, ignoring the burn in his throat. “You sure you shouldn’t be packing?”
“Is that why she skied like shit? That’s a tough break for both of you.”
“You think? And now you know, so how about you shut up about it.” He reached up and grasped the bar.
“You two are that serious you’re making babies? Since when?”
“Christ, Trigg.” He dropped to his feet again. “Do I ask you about the women you sleep with? It was a slip-up, all right? That shit happens. Maybe take a lesson.”
Trigg scratched his beard, seemed to debate, then said, “I know it does.”
Okay, that was interesting. Nate set his hands on his hips. “Yeah? When did that happen?”
“I was seventeen.”
“Shit. That’s young. What did you do?”
“Shat myself,” Trigg stated with a snort. “Dad had just died. It was right after he bought this place, actually. Wikinger was going in the toilet because the avalanche leveled the resort. Rolf was training for Turin. I couldn’t lay it on Mom. She had enough to deal with. All I knew was that I was not ready to be a parent. Mandy was nineteen, wasn’t ready either. She didn’t ask me one way or the other, just told me she wasn’t going to have it. I was relieved when she said it, but soon as I hung up… I don’t know. Even now, I still think about it all the time. I’d have a twelve-year-old.”
Instead you act like one, Nate was supposed to say, but they stayed frozen in the moment, neither moving nor talking while what-ifs swirled around them like autumn leaves in a breeze.
Trigg snapped out of it first. “But I’m not asking you about women. I’m asking about Ilke. Her and I go back. I want to know if your intentions are honorable.”
“Really.” Like Trigg would know what that looked like. Even so, old-fashioned jealousy prickled. “How far back?”
“I dunno.” Trigg made a face. “She didn’t have tits or front teeth. You do the math. Bit of an ugly duckling, if you want the truth. I was surprised she turned out that hot.” He swore as something occurred to him. “You know, I think I might have called her that for a while.”
“Ugly duckling?”
“That’s probably why she’s always shut me down.”
“It’s a wonder any woman waves you in.”
Trigg shrugged that off. “So why is she still here? You that good at oral?”
Nate wanted to knee him in the mouth—he really did—but Ilke’s future had been niggling at him since this morning, when she had ment
ioned how murky it was. Actually, after their kiss, he’d been wondering if there was any sense in pursuing something with her or if she’d be leaving as soon as her fortunes turned around.
He still hadn’t figured that out, but he didn’t want her barricading herself in her room, losing her will to live.
“How do sponsorship deals work?” he asked Trigg.
“Oh, yeah. She would have lost a bunch of her funding, wouldn’t she?” He rubbed his thighs. “If you’re asking me how to get money from Wikinger, I can’t help you. They give me a full ride and sponsor a crap-ton of other athletes, but there’s a whole arm’s length thing in place against my having any say, since I’m still competing. So I can’t sabotage someone who might actually have the balls to think he’s better than me. But Rolf could pull some strings, if he wanted to. If he doesn’t, let me know. I’d help her out of my own pocket.”
“Really?” Generous, but Nate instantly hated the idea of Trigg supporting her. Still: “She’s that good?”
“Hell, yeah. Glory bitches about what kind of damage my dick causes, but, Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”
“Too fucking soon, man.” He walked away a few paces, hands on his hips, starting to see the full scope of what the pregnancy had cost her. It humbled him to realize that she had been willing to go through with it despite that.
“My bad, dude, but, hey. Her mother has money and her stepfather—Actually, forget that.”
“What?” He turned back. “I know she’s not real close to her mom.”
“Yeah, and her stepfather is a card-carrying dink.” Trigg reached to change out the handle on the cable. “Likes to coach women, likes to fuck them while he does.”
“Cheats on her mom?”
“So hard. Moved to New Zealand because no one would work with him in Europe anymore.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. I guarantee Ilke won’t accept money from them. But tell her to talk to Rolf and get her ass back on the slopes.”
Chapter Eleven
“I can’t ask Rolf.” Ilke kept her voice low as they came down the stairs into the lobby. Did he think she hadn’t thought of that a million times already?