by Sarina Bowen
Nothing.
Figures.
When she turned around again, Duku was talking up Bear. “Do you know who this is, ladies? A legend. He’s been a pro snowboarder since you were playing with Barbie dolls.” He swiveled to look up at the bartender. “Could I have a couple more glasses? Thanks, man.” Stella tuned out the conversation. A few feet away, it looked as though Bear had tuned it out, too. He was polite when the girls asked to take a picture with him, though. She didn’t think the beleaguered expression on his face was only wishful thinking, either.
But then the more aggressive of the two girls put her boobs practically in Bear’s face, which made Stella feel quite stabby.
“You can have my seat,” Bear offered, standing up to get out of the woman’s strike zone.
“I’m fine right here, honey,” she said.
Yeah. If the girl got any closer to him, Stella was going to have to evacuate. She would not watch Bear hook up with some stranger on what was supposed to be her victory night.
On the other hand, the other young lady provided some comic relief to the situation. She was working it pretty hard for Duku and not getting anywhere. Stella kept an eye on them, wondering how long it would take the girl to realize she was going to crash and burn.
When the girl finally stooped to rubbing herself up and down Duku’s body, like a cat in heat, he said, “You’re not my type, Sweetie. It’s not personal.”
The young woman looked instantly offended. “Who is your type?”
“He is.” Duku jerked a thumb at the surfer-dude bartender. The kid didn’t make eye contact, but his expression grew smug. He was probably happy to hear all that free whiskey wasn’t going to be in vain.
When the girl’s eyebrows drew together in dismay, Stella felt a hit of glee, followed immediately by guilt. Stella had been shot down before, and it didn’t feel good. Especially when the shooter was the person she’d loved her whole life.
It still stung.
Unfortunately, the flirtmonster in front of Bear was only getting more aggressive. Worse, Bear had that glassy-eyed stare of a man who might be on his way to getting too drunk to fight her off. Someone would have to stage an intervention soon. And that someone was going to have to be Stella. But how?
Luckily, the two girls took a bathroom break together. Even though it risked sounding bitchy, Stella said, “Bear, I’ve had enough of this place.”
That woke him up a bit. “Let’s go then, buddy. I’m done here, too.”
“What?” Duku yelped. “You’re going to leave me alone to explain it to her?”
“It was your idea, man. Good luck.” He threw Hank’s hundred onto the bar. “Okay, Stell-Bell. Let’s go.”
Victory was sweet. Stella gave Duku a kiss on the cheek. Then she grabbed Bear’s hand and led him out of the bar.
Six
BY THE TIME THEY left the bar, Bear was drunk, which should have made him feel less depressed.
Should have. But didn’t.
He followed Stella into the hotel lobby where the cooler air woke him up a bit. “I gotta get a taxi,” he said. Driving right now was out of the question.
“No you don’t,” Stella said over her shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”
“But I have a reservation.” His hotel room was the dreariest place at Lake Tahoe, though. It wouldn’t help his mood.
“Not my problem. Come on.” Stella turned, heading across the lobby in long, graceful strides. Bear followed her, trying not to admire the view. But he’d have to be blind not to notice the way her jeans hugged her butt. Her walk had been making him half-crazy since high school.
They got on the elevator, and Stella pushed the button for the penthouse. Ah, well. At least that meant the room would have plenty of space and probably a couch to crash on if he didn’t sober up.
When the doors parted on the penthouse level, they emerged into a plush hallway. There were fresh flowers on the table beside the elevator doors and soft lighting. Because rich people demanded elegant details even before they made it into their suites.
Stella waved the key card in front of the lock, and then opened the door into an opulent room. It was a Lake Tahoe style of opulent — plush but unfussy. Everything was crafted from beautiful, natural materials with simple, rustic lines. It was the sort of look designed to make a guy want to sink down onto the nearest piece of furniture and laugh at his own good fortune.
Even though Bear didn’t come from money, he’d lived at the foot of it all his life. Literally. Henry Lazarus — Stella’s Dad — had built half the ski condos in Windsor County, Vermont. And John Barry — Bear’s father — had done electrical work in many of them. Bear had learned the rules for being a subcontractor’s kid from the very start: knock on the back door, not the front. Leave your dirty boots by the door.
Don’t let the boss’s daughter kiss you on graduation night, even if it practically finishes you off to say no.
Stella dropped her pocketbook on a table and marched over to the fireplace. Squinting at a control panel on the wall, she pushed a button. Whump! A fire jumped to life in the open-design chimney. Her face lit up more brightly than the flames. “That is so delightfully cheesy!”
Bear laughed, because it was easy to do that with Stella in the room, even if your life was crumbling around you. “You are a piece of work,” he said, not bothering to rein in his smile. His mood was like an injured bird, flapping ridiculously hard to stay off the ground.
“I am a piece of work who won the American Masters Cup today,” she said, stomping over to the sofa and throwing herself down onto it. “There goes the winner of the American Masters Cup, removing her boots.” She toed them off. Then she curled her knees up to her chest and turned to face Bear. It was quiet again, the fireplace the only audible sound. Stella’s face became very serious as she studied him. “You know you’re going to be okay, right?”
Thunk. His mood hit the dirt. “I know,” he said, walking over to sit beside her.
“They’re crazy to let you go. We’ve already established that. But sometimes a violent disruption can be good. Maybe it will lead you to a whole new way of looking at things.”
“I think I read that on a greeting card once,” Bear said. He’d meant to be funny, but it came out sounding bitter.
Stella rolled her eyes. “Do you remember when those condos burned down, when I was in third grade?”
“Sure.” He’d been eleven and still young enough that it was a thrill to run a half mile to see all the firetrucks arriving to douse the flames lapping at six half-built units facing the ski hill.
“That was a terrible day for my father. It cost him a fortune. The insurance settlement wasn’t enough money, and it wiped out his profits for the year.”
“Ouch,” Bear said. Funny, but he’d entirely forgotten about that disaster. The Lazarus family he knew didn’t suffer misfortunes. They made deposits at the bank, never withdrawals.
“It was a total loss. And it even cost money to have the debris hauled away. Daddy was so pissed off.”
She stretched out her legs until her feet landed in Bear’s lap. He grabbed one of them and pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot. “Here’s the winner of the American Masters Cup, having her feet massaged in the fancy-ass hotel suite.”
Stella closed her eyes on a smile and seemed to melt into the couch. When Bear kneaded her foot, she actually moaned.
Check, please. He really did not need to hear that sound again. Rubbing her feet was meant as an innocent thing. But the sound she’d made filled him with very inappropriate ideas. “So, what’s the punch line?” he asked as a distraction.
“Hmm?” She was lolling against the arm of the generous sofa.
“The fire cost your daddy a shitload of money…”
Her eyes drifted open. “Right. The punchline is that he made it all back, times ten. Because the construction delay made him reconsider his design. Instead of just rebuilding those six little apartments, he put up three stan
dalone houses with nicer finishes. They brought in a lot more money. And then his whole business plan was shifted toward higher profit dwellings.”
Bear swapped Stella’s right foot for her left one and considered this idea. “He had the capital to keep building, though. That kind of disaster might have wiped some guys out. He could have ended up working behind the counter at the copy shop, asking customers whether they wanted their documents collated and stapled.” Ack. That image was a pretty crystalline projection of his own fears. Hopefully Stella would be too blissed out by her foot massage to pick up on it.
But her eyes went soft. “You have lots of capital, sweetheart. You can do anything.”
Bear appreciated the sentiment, and he really didn’t mind the look on her face when she said it. If only it were true. Other guys his age had been to college. They had degrees in useful things. They had careers that didn’t end suddenly when they were pushed aside by nineteen-year-old whippersnappers.
Stella sunk a little further down into the couch cushions and let out a sigh. Bear admired her, even though she was just one more thing in his life which was close enough to touch, but completely unavailable to him.
“I think I’ll have to move back to Vermont,” he heard himself say. He owned a small condo in Park City. But that meant that his savings were tied up in real-estate. He’d need to sell.
The next few days were going to work just like this — uncomfortable details of his new reality smacking him in the face like fat rain drops. For example, the lease was almost up on his Land Rover. He’d expected to purchase the car after he made his final lease payment. But now that seemed like a bad idea.
“You’d live with your dad?” Stella asked.
“I think I’ll have to, at least until I figure out my next move.” Bear stopped the foot massage to reach the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. He dug his fingers in and frowned. “My dad is going to say ‘I told you so.’”
Stella sat up, removed her feet from Bear’s lap, and looked him straight in the eye. “He might,” she said. “But your dad has never ridden Dead Tree at Squaw Valley, or taken a helicopter into the Snake River Range. You don’t have to point that out to him, but if he’s giving you a lot of shit, telling you all the things you should have been doing these last ten years, I just want you to remember that.”
He got stuck for a second then, watching her big brown eyes positively glittering with indignation. “You are a very smart girl, Stella,” he whispered.
She lifted her chin. “I’m going to remind you that you said that next time we have one of our arguments.”
“You do that,” he smiled.
“Now spin around,” she said, giving his arm a nudge. “Because it’s your turn. I’m going to find the knot in your neck, because I’m sick of watching you paw at it like a dog with fleas.”
“Nice image, buddy.” But he turned around anyway. A moment later, Stella’s warm hands landed on his shoulders. And when her strong fingers began kneading, the buzz of stress inside his head got quieter. He let his eyes fall closed as she thumbed around his traps, searching for the knot.
“Christ, you’re tight,” she whispered.
“You think?” Losing your livelihood along with your entire identity can do that to a guy.
He still felt a little drunk, but not just on tequila. The fireplace had warmed the room, and her hands were stroking his neck. The soothing touch of feminine fingertips on his body was a rare treat. Bear didn’t have a girlfriend. Sex happened with frequency, of course. A pro snowboarder had his pick of vacationing ski bunnies whenever he was in the mood. But there was no one steady in his life. Traveling seven months out of the year made dating impractical. He’d hoped to have a real girlfriend someday, and then a wife. That had always been the plan.
But that was a logical error, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t be traveling all the time anymore. Yet who would want a guy who was washed up at twenty-nine? One who didn’t have a Plan B?
“You’re fighting me,” Stella said, her voice low. “Drop your shoulders.”
Shit, he was. Bear made himself relax. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Shhh,” she said. “Actually, lift your arms over your head for a second.”
He did it without thinking. And a half second later, his t-shirt was tugged over his head and tossed aside. He opened his mouth to launch a knee-jerk protest, but then soft hands landed at the juncture of his shoulder and his neck. The friction of her skin against his own was like medicine. Instead of arguing, he let out a big sigh instead.
“That’s it,” Stella breathed. “Drop your head.”
For once in his life, he let Stella have her way without a fight. The pain of getting squashed by fate had not been dulled by tequila. It had not been soothed by Duku’s antics. Stella’s touch was the strongest drug yet. And it wasn’t even a close contest.
“Thanks for letting me turn your celebration into my pity party,” he said. “I’m sorry about the timing.”
“No, sweetie. It’s not like that.” She dug her thumb into his achiest muscle. “I want to be around when the big stuff happens.”
“Today it’s all big stuff.”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“I do have some regrets. That’s why it’s hard to tell my father to fuck off. He’s right about some things.”
He felt her ruffling his hair now. “It doesn’t matter, though. Everybody has regrets, because nobody can do everything, right? You can only live your life in the way that creates the fewest of them.”
“How did you get so wise for someone so young?”
She delivered a quick slap to his shoulder. “First of all, I’m not that young, chump. And more importantly, it’s because I have this conversation with myself all the time. You might only get the lecture from your dad twice a year. But I get it all the time.”
“I’m sorry.” He knew that Stella’s parents weren’t as supportive of her athletic career as they were of Hank’s. Since she didn’t make enough money on the freeriding circuit, she couldn’t afford to keep a place out West, like Hank and Bear did. Every summer she lived at home. Her parents often tried to convince her to consider giving up competing. She hadn’t become an overnight sensation at nineteen like her brother, so they assumed there was no point.
“Your parents want to keep you close,” he said.
“That’s the nicest way to look at it.”
“Do you think you’ll end up with regrets?” he asked.
She stilled herself for a second. “I already have some.” Her hands resumed their magical healing powers, though she didn’t say any more.
“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Are you going to share?”
“I’m thinking about it,” she murmured.
Bear wasn’t sure what she meant by that. But it was hard to think too hard with Stella’s competent hands massaging his body. His eyes closed again, and he drifted, seeing images of the crystalline lake and the stark mountains against the darkness of his eyelids. In spite of all that had gone wrong today, this moment was pretty close to perfect.
As the knot in his neck relaxed, Stella’s hands wandered down his back. With a fist, she kneaded his lats, then rubbed her fingertips up and down his lower back. It felt divine. His body listened to her soothing touch, and it liked what it heard. So much so, in fact, that he began to tingle everywhere. He felt goosebumps break out on his chest. The low groan he heard seemed to have come from him.
Stella worked her way up his back again. Then she rose up onto her knees to make herself taller, providing leverage. But it also pancaked her lush body against his bare back. Sweet Jesus. The heat and pressure of her curves against his skin was a little more stimulating than he wished it to be. His dick began to feel nice and heavy as she moved against him.
Down, boy. He was trying to think of a polite way of shifting away from her when her hair swept forward, draping over his bare shoulder, brushing his chest. His nipples tightened up even as he registered the fact that Stell
a had lowered her mouth to his skin.
Time slid to a stop as she pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck. So fucking nice. Except… This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Even as he processed this, her sweet mouth moved to the sensitive skin just below his ear. And that would have been mind-numbing on its own, but her long hair continued to tickle his chest, setting him on fire.
He didn’t even try to hold back his groan.
Hearing it, Stella did not waste time. She threw a knee around his hip, almost straddling him. Yet she began to slip down his denim-clad leg.
Bear caught her with one arm, his hand cupping her ass. For a split second, neither of them moved. The only sound was his pounding heart.
Then Stella lowered her head, and he watched the slow-motion approach of her deep brown eyes. The first touch of their lips together was tentative, as if they both needed one more second to figure out whether this was truly happening.
Hell yes, it was.
Bear crushed his mouth to hers. And then they were kissing, and Bear was eighteen again, and desperate to taste her. He felt exactly the same surge of shock and pleasure as all those years ago. The slide of her soft lips on his lit him up. Without thinking, he cupped her face in one palm, and she opened up for him. A split second later, Stella’s tongue invaded his mouth. She tasted like limes and danger. And pure woman.
Stella kissed him as though she owned him. And for a few paralyzing moments, he would have willingly sold himself into slavery for even one more minute of her attention. But since the dynamic between Bear and Stella had always been an energetic power struggle, instinct kicked in. He took charge, hauling her to his chest, then flipping them both over until Stella lay on her back on the sofa.