From the Top

by Dani Collins

  She sighed, turning her face forward into the dark beyond the headlights. “They were trying to figure out if you and I are planning to try again to have our own.”

  “Yeah.” The way his voice sounded so graveled abraded inside her own chest. “Which wouldn’t have any bearing on whether I’d make a kid with Frankie. I won’t.”

  She didn’t say anything, only sat there wishing she could have a do-over on having his baby. At the same time, however…

  “I need to make some hard decisions, Nate.”

  His thumb stroked the back of her hand. He sighed. “I know.”

  “Care to weigh in?”

  “I don’t think that would be fair.”

  He was right. He could offer a future that she might take with both hands only to feel held back and cheated. This was something she had to decide on her own.

  They were quiet the rest of the trip, just holding hands.

  He had left Murphy with Lina because they were planning to be out all day. He took her in his arms the minute they were in his room.

  She felt as urgent for closeness as he seemed to be. Not because they’d had to skip a night while Aiden was here. It was the outside pressures, the things demanding a shift that neither of them wanted to make because this. Why should they ever have to think about anything beyond how perfectly their mouths fit, how good his palm felt rubbing her breast, how the flex of his shoulder muscles under her hands somehow weakened her knees?

  His skin against her own was better than cashmere. The scent in his neck made her drunk. When she tasted his salty flavor, taking as much of him in her mouth as she could, she wanted to suck him dry.

  “Not tonight, babe,” he growled, fist in her hair gentle but inexorable. “I gotta be inside you.”

  Then he made sure she was ready for him, tonguing her until she was nearly wild before sliding deep, filling her so completely she shook. A few testing pumps and she was locking her knees against his rib cage, hands clawing at his back while an orgasm twisted through her.

  “Feeling you come is almost better than doing it myself, you know that?” He cupped a tender hand against her cheek and kissed her, moving in lazy thrusts.

  She stroked his hair and beard, yearning for things she couldn’t have. “If I could give you what you want, I would.” She meant the idealized family he craved.

  Solemn now, he said, “I wish I could give you what you want, too.”

  They had this, though. It was almost enough.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Good morning, Nate.”

  The male voice had Ilke lifting her gaze from her breakfast to find a blond, blue-eyed hunk had stopped at their table. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Hey, Quinn. You get in last night?” Nate rose to shake the man’s hand.

  “Yeah. Crew’s sleeping in, but I was hoping to catch you before you head down to the base. Warn you we’ll be crawling around.”

  Right, Ilke recalled. He was a producer of extreme sports documentaries. She had occasionally seen him from a distance or in his own work. He was as fearless as any of the athletes he filmed, often posting GoPro footage of leaps from cliffs or photos of stitched injuries sustained while working.

  “Have you two met? Ilke Lundquist. Quinn Baxter,” Nate provided.

  “I know you by reputation,” she said, smiling and rising for a quick handshake. “I’m always impressed by what you do.”

  “Back at you,” he said with smooth flattery.

  She automatically dismissed it. Men said things.

  Then he added, “I was hoping to schedule some time with you today.”

  “Me?” He was looking right at her, so she resisted the urge to look behind her. “You know I ski Alpine, not freestyle?” Even at that, he usually showcased the really daring sports like cliff diving and parkour ten stories off the city sidewalk.

  “Quinn is gathering footage here for a How They’re Made documentary,” Nate said.

  “To show the resort coming online? That’s a great idea.”

  “This trip is more about setting up time-lapse cameras for the melt and construction of all the buildings.” Quinn pushed his hands into his pockets. “But Rolf told me you were here. Suggested I get your impressions of the terrain, the snow. From an athlete’s perspective.”

  “Um, sure.” Rolf and Trigg couldn’t exactly talk up their own project, could they? But what about her own credibility? On the one hand, a cameo in the sort of films that Quinn Baxter made was fantastic exposure that could only help her in terms of sponsorships, but what if her return to skiing was short-lived and a disaster?

  She agreed, not really feeling she had a choice, and figured there was a good chance he wouldn’t use her interview anyway.

  She sat down with him a few hours later. By then she was wearing makeup and a black turtleneck. He took her onto the patio where she stood against the rail. It was the third week of April. The pond was still frozen, but the trees had dropped their loads of snow to show dark green boughs. It smelled damp and pine-fresh out here.

  Quinn already had lighting umbrellas and bulbs ensuring she wasn’t backlit by the bright scenery. His camera was on a tripod and he stood next to it making final adjustments.

  Ilke had done the odd on-camera interview before, mostly for local networks in Sweden. She had been tutored on how to stand still and straight, smile, speak a little slower than normal, since nerves got the better of some people.

  “Say something,” he said, fiddling with something she presumed was sound levels.

  “When do you expect this movie to come out?”

  “We’ll be in post-production this time next year, hoping for wide release as the second season opens. Provided the first one opens successfully and we get some good edits of these hills being shredded. Ready?”

  “One thing, off the record,” she hurried to say, holding up a staying hand. “I, um, had a miscarriage recently. I’d rather not discuss it on camera. If you were going to ask me what happened in Korea, that’s what happened.”

  “I was.” He picked up the notepad he had left on a nearby stool and drew a line across a few things, then made a few fresh notes. “Okay. Take your time and answer as fully as you need to. There’s no rush. Ready?”

  She took a breath, tried to smile without looking stiff, then nodded.

  He started with some background questions. She repeated a lot of what she had told Wanda and Frankie. Then he asked about the terrain here.

  “Very challenging in some places, in the best ways. There are no groomed slopes yet, but I saw the potential when I skied the powder in January.”

  “I was up there end of January,” he said. “It’s something else, isn’t it?”

  “They told me ten miles. That’s sixteen kilometers?”

  “Two-thousand-meter drop in elevation.”

  “We took two hours coming down. We stopped a few times for avalanche control. I was exhausted, but went up again that afternoon.” She laughed at herself. “No spa built yet, either. I was sore the next day, but I couldn’t get enough. No regrets.”

  “Is that what draws an athlete to make a particular resort their training facility? You’ve moved around a few times. What will this mountain offer the professional that others don’t?”

  “The Johanssons,” she said dryly. “They’re bringing a unique perspective to the development. Recreational skiers will love it here, but as an athlete, you’re looking beyond good conditions, wanting a good club. I foresee both when this resort opens.”

  “When you say ‘a good club,’ do you mean a good community among fellow athletes? Do you look to them for support? Or are they the competition?”

  “We all want to win. You can’t win without competitors or you’re just having a nice day of skiing.”

  He nodded amused acknowledgment.

  “Of course, I study my fellow athletes to see what they’re doing. If I see something that might give them an edge, I’ll try it. Maybe that athlete has a protein shake
before practice. I’ll see if that improves my own performance. There’s no magic bullet, though. Well, I guess there is one for protein shakes—”

  She was going off the rails, but he only grinned and rolled his wrist, indicating she should keep talking. She tried to focus on answering the question intelligently.

  “I don’t begrudge my competitors when they win. They worked just as hard as I did for their chance.”

  She had been trying to internalize that truth since her loss in Korea. The winners had won because they had been prepared to win, same as her. When she moved out of the way, it became their day. It shouldn’t feel like a robbery.

  “Your real competitor is the mountain. The conditions of the day,” she said, knowing as she spoke that wasn’t the whole truth. Somehow this had become a bit of a confessional. Her smile faded as she grew even more reflective.

  “Actually, your hardest competitor is yourself. Body and soul, head and heart. It all has to want the win. And even when you do everything right, you can still lose.” Her body had let her down: first in Korea, then with the baby. She still hadn’t forgiven it.

  “Which is really disappointing.” Her voice broke as emotion overcame her. “Can we—?” She waved at the lens with one hand, appalled with herself. “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course.” Quinn touched the camera and pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket.

  “You’re prepared,” she said, sniffing as she plucked one out.

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve started to film someone only to realize they have snot running down their lip.”

  That made her laugh and shove the tissue against her nostrils.

  “You’re fine,” he assured her. “Doing really well.”

  “The lack of sexist questions makes it easy,” she joked.

  “I was just getting to those.”

  She laughed and used a fresh tissue to ensure her mascara wasn’t running.

  “I’d like to finish up with a couple of softball questions. If you don’t mind.”

  She agreed and went back into position.

  He restarted the recording and asked, “Are you a natural blonde?”

  He was joking, but she still gave him a disgusted look. “Are you?”

  “Nice.” He nodded approval, then rapid-fired a few quick questions like, “Best race? Worst injury?” And finished up with, “What do you wear under your racing suit?”

  It was a silly question that sports athletes were asked as often as Scotsmen about their kilts. She gave him the pat and predictable answer.

  “Skin to win.”

  “Naturally,” he commented, pressing a button and nodding. “Thanks. That was great.”

  She tucked her hand behind her neck, still feeling self-conscious about her small breakdown.

  Trigg came out from the lounge at that point, though—Murphy on his heels, tail wagging. The men did the shake and half-embrace greeting.

  When Trigg transferred his attention to her, she wasn’t ready for awkward questions, so she quickly asked, “What do you wear under your snow pants when you compete?”

  “Skin to win, man,” he said promptly.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Yeah, but I shave it down to the wood. Like a swimmer.”

  God in heaven. Ilke made her escape.

  *

  “The world doesn’t match the way I was raised,” Marvin said, topping up her wine.

  Vivien put down her pen and followed the direction of his gaze. The lounge was full of young folk, virtually all of them on their phones. Some leaned close to look at their neighbor’s screen, but only a few were having actual conversations.

  “All those push-up bras and liquid eyeliner, going to waste,” Vivien agreed with dismay.

  Quinn’s crew was mostly male with one woman who looked boyish and her girlfriend who wore a dress. The first woman had her ear in one half of a pair of headphones.

  Glory was leaning to listen in the other. Wedding music was being auditioned.

  Rolf was on Glory’s other side, equally red-eyed from jet lag. He slouched tiredly, but was giving Quinn his attention. Trigg was on the other side of Quinn, but turned away from the table so he could look at something the girls from housekeeping were showing him on their phones. Those girls were wearing short skirts, lipstick, and ought to sign a waiver before letting Trigg so much as glance their way.

  Nate was on Trigg’s far side, Ilke beside him. She was on her phone; he was listening to Quinn. One of Quinn’s boys had sat down next to Ilke a few minutes ago, expression not unlike Murphy’s when he smelled bacon. That’s when Ilke had reached for her phone and Nate had reached for her hand.

  Those two were so adorably connected these days. It was lovely to see.

  Quinn’s boy gave up and looked at his own phone, not giving any notice to the chambermaids or the weekend desk clerk, Shana, who was sending smoldering looks his way.

  “But every generation thinks the next one is disrespectful, ignorant, and doomed,” Vivien said.

  “They are ignorant and doomed. When I was their age, I had a newborn. Twenty years went by like that.” Marvin snapped his fingers. “They ought to pull their heads out of their devices and pay attention.”

  She knew the feeling, but lately felt less resentful of her age. She’d been angry through the menopause transition. The boys had grasped their own lives with both hands. Her husband was gone. The men courting her were more interested in a nurse or a purse than her feminine charms and then, even those had begun letting her down.

  “Do you think Rolf and Glory will have kids?” Marvin folded his arms on the bar to lean close, lowering his voice conspiratorially. He was looking rather dapper, having shaved before dinner and wearing a suit vest with a subtle stripe in it over his white shirt and tie. He had rolled up his sleeves and she noticed the hairs on his arms were white. She had an urge to pet them.

  “I’m dying to ask her,” Marvin continued, looking toward his daughter. “But I’m afraid she’ll pick up on how badly I want to be a grandfather and refuse out of spite.”

  “Maybe let her get the wedding over with first,” Vivien said dryly, not so comfortable with her age that she was ready to be called Grandmamma, even by her stepson’s children. “But I expect Rolf is eager to raise the next gold medalist. Man knows how to get things done, too. Serves him right if his child turns out to prefer folk dancing or computer programming.”

  Marvin chuckled and straightened to polish glasses. “Or write love stories, like Glory. What about Nate and Ilke? What’s happening there, do you know?” He glanced their direction.

  “You old gossip,” she chided.

  “My primary source of entertainment while I was teaching. That’s a sad fact, but there was no shortage of drama between young folk on a college campus. I worry about Ilke. Has she heard from her mother at all?”

  Vivien shook her head. “I’d be dead shocked if she told her anything about it.”

  “Hmmph. Well, Trigg’s always coming and going. I would have thought she would be back to training by now. Or is she staying to be with Nate?”

  She and Nate had their heads together, cooing like lovebirds.

  “I’ve tried talking to her a few times, offered her money if she needs it. I’m sure that’s an issue, but she’s always been extremely independent, determined to do things herself.” Vivien was heartened to see her in what looked like a healthy relationship with a terrific young man, but Ilke had always been wary of being in debt to anyone.

  “Needs a sponsor, you mean? What about Rolf?”

  “I asked him before they went away. He said if she wants him to sponsor her, she’ll ask.” Vivien didn’t think it would kill him to offer, but it wasn’t her place. She had done her part by making it known to him she wanted it to happen. More than once, actually.

  When she looked back at Marvin, he was watching her, an expression on his face that was so tender, her heart did a little skip in her chest.

  “Wh
at?” She touched her hair.

  He blushed. “You’re very tenderhearted, Vivien. You’re so smart and beautiful, it catches me off guard when you’re sweet and kind as well.” He slowed in his polishing and set aside the glass with care. Cleared his throat.

  They sat like this most nights, talking about work or guests or the wedding. He made her laugh. He was smart and delightfully open-minded where she’d often been surrounded by men who thought women should be seen and not heard. She knew how to hold her own, but it was work to stay on her toes all the time. Marvin wasn’t work. He was comfortable, but not in an old-shoe way. He allowed her to be calm and let down her guard. He was a warm blanket, a cozy fire, a beautiful song, and a perfect glass of wine.

  He was a friend. One whom she sometimes kissed.

  One she cherished enough she was hesitating to turn him into a lover in case things went awry.

  And it only occurred to her now that he was waiting for her to make that decision, not trying to make it for her as the men in her younger years had.

  “Marvin, do you think we should…” she drummed her nails on the bar “…take this to the next level?”

  “Take wha—Oh.” He blushed. “I’ve thought about that quite a bit, actually. Definitely wanted to wait until the boys were back so I could ask permission to date you.”

  She burst out laughing, then cut herself off as she realized, “Oh, you’re serious. Hell, no, you won’t.”

  “Hear me out,” Marvin said, flicking his glance to the group across the room as he set down his towel. “I gave Rolf a hard time for taking up with Glory. He would have every right to expect me to at least talk to him, especially as it concerns business arrangements between Whiskey Jack and Blue Spruce Lodge.”

  “Marvin. Darling,” she said as gently and firmly as she could. “I am an adult woman with all my faculties. I will fuck whom I please and inform my children of that event if and when it suits me.”

  “You—You just said that to disconcert me.” He picked up his towel and shook the bunched terry at her. “You let me know where and when, then,” he said in sharp challenge. “Because I’ve been to my doctor and got my blood pressure medication sorted. I’m not thirty, you know. If that’s the direction we’re going, we ought to damned well get there before we’re too old to make it work.”