Fire and Ice [Après-Ski 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)
Page 1
Après-Ski 4
Fire and Ice
English Insurance Investigator Chelsea Hoxton, is determined to track down priceless black diamonds stolen during a daring heist in Amsterdam and beat the competition to the finders’ fee. Leads take her to Nevella, the hip ski resort straddling the French and Spanish borders where Jack Gower, hot American helicopter pilot, becomes a person of interest.
Jack thinks his life’s looking up when Chelsea takes a ride with him that ends up in his bed. He’s finally met a woman who’s sassy, beautiful, enjoys being dominated, and gets his personal rotor turning. Then he catches her searching his rooms—an invasion of privacy impossible to forgive.
Convinced Jack is not one of the bad guys, Chelsea thinks she’s blown the one good thing to have happened to her in years. Can she find a way to regain Jack’s trust and enlist his help in tracking down the thieves?
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense
Length: 49,553 words
FIRE AND ICE
Après-Ski 4
Zara Chase
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic
FIRE AND ICE
Copyright © 2014 by Zara Chase
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-673-5
First E-book Publication: November 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
FIRE AND ICE
Après-Ski 4
ZARA CHASE
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Jack Gower turned the heater to full blast, knowing it would take a good ten minutes before it wheezed out any warm air—if he was lucky. It worked just fine when Judy coaxed it into life but she insisted that was because she talked to it nicely. Jack did not talk to inanimate objects, other than his beloved helicopters, of course. But that was different. Everyone knew choppers had souls. Just so long as they were flattered, nurtured, and had regular installments of cash bestowed upon them, the relationship worked just fine. A bit like a few of the women I’ve dated, he thought, chuckling.
He looked longingly at the coffee machine but knew he would lose all feeling in his extremities if waited for it to get its act together. With a few inventive curses and the oft-repeated refrain that there had to be warmer places and easier ways to make a living, he pulled up the collar on his sheepskin flying jacket, donned his Ray-Bans, and reluctantly ventured out into the crisp morning air. Who needed warmth, sleep, or caffeine anyway?
Jack was in urgent need of an infusion of all three, as it happened. What else was new?
“Another day, another bunch of adrenaline junkies,” he muttered as he strode across the helipad, flying boots crunching on the frosty ground, the feral cats that hung around peeping out at him from beneath the storage shed where they found shelter, if not warmth. Probably waiting for Judy to turn up with their breakfast, he thought. What was it with English women and cats?
His Hughes 500 had just been pushed from the hanger by his Irish engineer, Paddy. Its red paint gleamed, lifting Jack’s mood fractionally. Only the sight of a particularly sexy helicopter or even sexier woman could hit that particular spot on such a morning.
Jack carried out his pre-flight checks with meticulous care. Paddy would already have done them, but two pairs of eyes were always better than one. Only idiots with death wishes cut corners with aviation safety. Jack pulled his stocking cap closer over his ears and shivered as the chill of early morning seeped into his bones. It was colder than a witch’s tit but one of those clear winter days in the making when the sky would become a cloudless, cerulean blue and a strong winter sun would refract blindingly off the snow-peaked mountains. A peaceful winter wonderland—until the skiers fell out of bed and wrecked it all. Still, look on the bright side, Jack reminded himself. Without them, he’d be unemployed.
“A great day for skiing, Jack,” Paddy shouted cheerfully.
“Or for freezing your frigging butt of in a chopper,” Jack groused, nursing the mother of all hangovers.
“Who got out of the wrong side of bed this morning then?”
“Who made it to bed?”
Paddy chuckled. “I should get so lucky.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Ten minutes later, checks completed, Jack returned to the office. Judy, his only other member of staff, telephone answerer and general assistant, was manning the coffee machine which had miraculously sprung into life. Needless to say, the office was already toasty warm. Jack resiste
d the urge to kick the heater. Judy nodded to Jack, rolled her eyes—presumably because he’d removed his shades and she’d observed the bloodshot state of his own peepers—and slammed a mug of steaming black coffee in front of him.
“I really ought to marry you,” he said, winking at Judy. “You know what I need before I even ask for it.”
“What you’ll need is a liver transplant if you carry on tearing the arse out of it,” she replied cheerfully, sounding every bit as English as Paddy did Irish, and proud of it. As an American in Europe, Jack felt outnumbered, even if he did reside at the infamous Hadleigh’s. That establishment was run by another American expat, and four others from his side of the pond also hung out there on a permanent basis.
“Ouch, don’t shout, my lovely.” Jack closed his eyes. “It hurts. Everywhere.”
Judy, middle-aged, overweight, and perpetually good-natured, chuckled. Jack closed his eyes and stretched his legs out on the surface of his desk, knocking a pile of papers to the floor and leaving them where they fell.
“What lucky victims do we have this morning?” he asked.
“Three first thing. Stan’s meeting you at Haston Ridge.”
“Weather forecast?”
“It’s on your desk. Or was.” Judy grunted with the effort it took her to bend and retrieve the offending document from the floor. “Conditions ought to be just about perfect.” With his eyes still closed, he heard the smile in her voice. “Other than the condition of the pilot, of course.”
“Can I help it if I have demands on my time?”
“Burning the candle at both ends results of meltdown, so my old mum kept telling us kids.”
“Your mother was a wise woman.”
The coffee gradually revived Jack and he managed to open his eyes without squinting. He glanced at the booking sheet for the day and it finally registered that they had three heliskiing customers for ten that morning. That was unusual. Most of their customers came later in the day and Judy would normally ensure Jack had a full load of five on the chopper if possible. It made economic sense all around.
“The two guys are Dutch,” she explained, somewhat unnecessarily. With names like Klaus Bushnell and Yannick Closson, Jack got that. “They wanted to go early. Insisted upon it. I said it would cost them more because your minimum number was three, but they didn’t seem to care. Then, blow me, not five minutes later, the woman on the list called and said she needed to go early, too. I figure Klaus and Yannick will be glad to save a few euros.”
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” Jack stood, sighing. “I’ve got two more lots after this today, then I can sleeep, right?”
“Not much gets past you.” Judy grinned as she tapped the list Jack was clutching. “Go on, get out there and stop making the place look untidy. I think your passengers are here.” She pointed to two guys climbing from a four-by-four. “Go and do what you do best.”
“Darlin’,” Jack said, leaning over Judy and kissing the back of her neck. “You have no idea what I do best.”
That comment earned Jack another eye roll. “Do I want to know?”
“If you weren’t already spoken for I’d—”
The phone rang, cutting off Jack’s flirting routine. Judy didn’t seem heartbroken. Instead she shooed Jack into the area set aside to meet and greet clients. Some of Darcy’s more creative shots of off-piste skiing decorated the walls and leaflets shouting about the fantastic deals offered by Medina Valley Ski School, of which Jack’s helicopter service formed an integral part, were prominently arranged by Judy in neat racks. Coffee and fresh pastries had already been set out for the customers by Jack’s ever-efficient assistant.
“Hey,” Jack said as the guys entered the building, rubbing their hands together for warmth and stamping snow off their boots. “I’m Jack Gower, your pilot. Welcome to Nevella Heliskiing.”
Klaus and Yannick introduced themselves with firm handshakes. He expected the usual barrage of questions, the nervous anticipation he’d become accustomed to. Getting out of a helicopter at the top of an ungroomed mountain and skiing through deep powder, even with a local guide, was not for the fainthearted. It didn’t matter how good a skier you were or how often you’d done it before, nerves still played a major part. But these two seemed to have made an art form out of verbal economy.
“When can we go?” Klaus asked.
“Just waiting for one more,” Jack replied. “Help yourself to coffee.”
“We asked to have you to ourselves.”
“I think it was explained that we like a full bird, if at all possible,” Jack replied, wondering why they were being so anal-retentive over something that made so little difference. “And this must be her now.”
Jack watched a tall woman climb from a taxi, pay the driver, and then take a moment to have a good look around before shouldering her skis and heading towards them. As she got closer, she had Jack’s full attention. No one looked at their best in skiing gear, which got him wondering how good this particular babe would look out of it. She was dressed in tight-fitting black salopettes, a bright yellow jacket and matching stocking cap pulled down over her ears. He couldn’t tell much about her top half through the thick, padded jacket, but the salopettes left little to the imagination. And Jack’s imagination had already gone into overdrive. Long, slim legs that refused to quit, a small butt he could probably fit into his hands very comfortably, and an elegant way of moving, even with the added burden of her skis, had Jack’s juices flowing. His jeans suddenly felt a couple of sizes too small.
She was through the door before Jack had finished taking inventory.
“You must be Ms. Hoxton,” Jack said, stepping forward and relieving her of her skies. “I’m Jack Gower, your pilot today.”
“Call me Chelsea,” she said, shaking his hand and flashing a smile that could stop traffic. “Sorry if I kept you waiting. Couldn’t get a cab.”
“No problem. These are your fellow skiers.”
He introduced the Dutch, who, unlike Jack, seemed to have little interest in Chelsea Hoxton. That made them extremely happily married, or gay. Jack’s money was on the latter. They seemed pretty tight and had wanted to ski without company. No heterosexual male with a pulse, however happily embroiled with another female, could help giving Chelsea a second or third glance. It just wasn’t natural.
She removed her cap and glasses, revealing a tumble of strawberry blonde hair and piercing blue eyes housed in an elfin face with prominent cheekbones and a lush mouth that just screamed to be kissed. Jack adjusted his jeans. Oh man, make that three sizes too small. Klaus and Yannick still showed no reaction other than impatience to be off. They seemed edgy and bad-tempered and kept exchanging words in…well, double Dutch. Jack couldn’t make them out and quit trying. It took all sorts.
“Let me get you some coffee to ward off the cold,” Jack said, pouring Chelsea a cup and pointing her in the direction of the cream and sugar.
“Thanks,” she replied. “It is a bit chilly out there. Say, are you American?”
“Guilty as charged,” Jack replied. “And I can tell from your accent that you’re English. I hang out at Hadleigh’s. Leo Hadleigh is a Yank, and I think you’ve all met Ross Ward, chief instructor at the ski school.” But Ross hadn’t told Jack about Chelsea, even though he would have taken one look at her and known she was just Jack’s type. Jack would have to have words with his buddy. Just because he was all cozied up with his Tanya, he had no right to forget about his buddies’ needs. Jack had been without a regular sub for some time. Not that Chelsea was likely to share his sexual proclivities—that was too much to hope for—but, hey, he could do vanilla sex along with the best of them. “Ross is another one from across the pond. We get everywhere.”
“When do we leave?” Klaus asked, tapping his watch.
The guy was seriously starting to piss Jack off.
“We have a few minutes yet,” Jack replied. “Which gives me time to run through the rules. Once we get on the chopper
, it’s pretty noisy. It’ll take about fifteen minutes for us to get to the point where I drop you off and pass you into the capable hands of Stan, your off-piste guide.”
“That seems a long time in the air,” Yannick said, scowling. “The pickup point isn’t far away as the crow flies.” He jabbed a finger at the map he produced from his bum bag to prove his point.
Good, Jack thought. He doesn’t like flying. He suppressed a smile, reminding himself they needed the business and Judy would scalp him if he deliberately frightened the paying customers. Even so, in this guy’s case, he just might be prepared to take the risk.
“Unfortunately we can’t fly directly over the village,” Jack explained. “For safety reasons and because the residents complain about the noise. But, hey, you get a nice aerial view of the valley, no extra charge. What’s not to like?”
“We explained as well that we don’t need a guide,” Klaus said crossly. “I thought we had made ourselves clear on that.”
What was it with these assholes? “Sorry, a guide is not optional,” Jack replied. “We would lose our license if we allowed that and there was an accident. Besides, if you’ve done this before, you’ll know that even on a perfect day like today, the weather can close down at a moment’s notice and you’ll find yourselves lost and disorientated in a complete whiteout. Take it from me, you’ll be glad of Stan’s local knowledge if that situation arises.”
“Sounds sensible to me,” Chelsea said, sipping her coffee and nibbling at a pastry. The other two hadn’t touched the refreshments.
“You’ve all been checked out by Ross at the ski school, right?” Chelsea nodded readily enough. The other two did so with ill-disguised impatience. “He took you all off-piste, put you through your paces and signed you off as being a good enough standard to heliski. I hate it as much as you do that all these regulations are creeping into Nevella,” Jack said, apologizing with a wave of his hands, “but they are done with your safety in mind. We hate to lose repeat business through carelessness.” Chelsea smiled. The Dutchmen remained stony-faced. “I just need you all to sign these disclaimers to that effect and then we can get in the air.”