by Carrie Quest
“Let me in, Isabelle.”
I open the door slowly, and she hands me my passport. “It was in my bag.”
“Thanks.” I reach out and take it, then wait for her to go.
But instead of turning to walk away, she pulls me into a hard hug.
“Be careful,” she whispers roughly. “Call me if you need anything.”
I nod. If I try to talk, I’m going to sob all over her, and Zoe hates crying. I wrap my arms around her and we hold each other close for a few minutes. Then she pulls away and heads for her room without another word. I wait until she’s inside, then gently close the door and lean back against it.
I stay there awhile, letting everything wash over me. I’m done. No more pulling on that skating costume and fake smiling my way through hours of performances night after night. No more interviews. No Kimmy tonight.
No Zoe telling me what to do and where to go and who to be.
Just me.
I did this. Me. The decision that seemed impossible to make for years is finally behind me. I did the thing everybody said I couldn’t do, and maybe it will be glorious and maybe it will be awful, but whatever happens I am strong enough to survive.
Something blooms inside me then, a little seed of joy and possibility in my chest that expands slowly at first, and then explodes. I feel light, like I could float through back-to-back triple axels with no effort at all. I stay still for a minute, breathing through it, and even my lungs have expanded because I haven’t breathed this deep in years. It’s happiness, I realize, raw and powerful and real. It’s intoxicating.
I let out a whoop so loud that I almost don’t hear the knock on the door.
“Belle?”
Gabe.
I throw the door open and pull him into the room. He’s dragging his suitcase behind him and laughing down at me, and when he bends to take my lips, his kiss is the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt or tasted. I grab his shirt and yank him closer, deepening the kiss until he’s groaning into my mouth and pushing me toward the bed.
And god, it’s tempting to sink into the mattress and let him cover me with his body. All this power and adrenaline running through me needs an outlet, a release, and the hardness against my belly tells me that Gabe is more than up for providing that for me.
Probably a couple of times.
But…
“Wait,” I gasp. “The car…”
Gabe licks his way down my neck, and I swear to god everything below my waist quivers.
“I’ll fuck you in the car,” he says agreeably. “After.”
He sucks my earlobe into his mouth and bites down on it.
“No,” I say.
“Don’t worry, it’s got a privacy screen and a really big back seat.” His hands work their way under my sweater and he flicks my bra open.
“I mean, yes,” I pant out as he pinches my nipples, then pulls on them. “I mean…”
Hell, I have no idea what I mean when he touches me this way. Why am I objecting again?
“The plan!” I yell.
Gabe drops his hands and presses his forehead against mine. He’s breathing hard and his face is flushed and his eyes are flashing that bright grass-green and fuck it, we probably have time.
But he shakes his head and takes a step back when I reach for him.
“You’re right,” he rasps out. “The car is meeting us in ten minutes, and there is no way I can do everything I want to do to you in ten minutes. I need hours, Belle.”
“Hours?”
He runs his eyes over my body, lingering on my chest, where my nipples are trying to tunnel through my sweater to get to him.
“Hours,” he promises. “But right now I’m going in the bathroom to think about some dead frogs or something, and you’re going to fix your clothes. Otherwise we’ll never make it out of here tonight.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Dead frogs?”
He laughs. “Decomposing frog eyeballs. At least.”
“How’d it go with your dad?”
He winces. “Good idea. No decomposing frogs necessary. Also, please don’t ever bring up my dad when my dick’s this hard. All that blood suddenly rushing away could damage him.”
I palm his erection through his pants and he groans. “Now you’re just confusing him.”
I let go and start hunting down the last of my stuff. “Your dad?”
He flops down on the bed. “About as I expected. He said he’ll delete the pictures, and he’ll stick to it for a while because he doesn’t believe I’m not coming back. Later, though, when he figures out it’s for real…who knows?”
“Thanks for trying.”
He props himself up on his elbows and gives me a smile so sweet I swear I feel a cavity form on one of my molars. “Anything for you.”
I run into the bathroom to get my toothbrush. And maybe think about some decomposing frogs of my own.
“What about Zoe?” he calls out.
I lean against the door. Safe distance and all that. “She wasn’t happy, but she didn’t steal my passport and strand me in Russia, so I guess it went as well as it could have gone. We still have some shit to work through. She’ll be ready to talk by Christmas. Probably.”
I tuck my toiletries bag into an outside pocket on my suitcase and zip it up.
“Done. Let’s go.”
I half expect Zoe to come bursting out of her room to read Gabe the riot act, but if she hears the familiar squeaky wheel of my suitcase, she doesn’t let me know. I say a silent goodbye. Hopefully she’s in there eating chocolate and watching Gilmore Girls, taking a break for once in her life. But more likely she’s already on the phone, putting out feelers for a new job.
We hit the lobby and I brace for photographers, but it’s quiet. It’s a big night out there, I guess. The skating finals are always a big deal, and with the way Kimmy has whipped the press into a frenzy about whether or not I’ll show up, they’re probably all outside the rink, waiting for the scoop.
Well, they’re about to get lucky.
Gabe shoves the bags in the car and has a quiet word with the driver while I stare down the block at the place that’s been haunting my dreams. Night is falling and the building glows from inside. I tilt my head.
“What do you see?” His lips brush my ear as he speaks and I smile.
“It’s a beautiful building,” I say. “I haven’t really let myself appreciate it before.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess. I only have eyes for you.”
“Charmer.” I grab his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a sec.” He pulls on his official Olympic jacket.
“Nice touch,” I say.
He grins. “I wanted to make sure they recognize me.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
He laughs, and the nervous feeling that had been building in my stomach disappears. The plan will work or it won’t. I’ll be remembered as a skater or a tragedy or a coward. Catie and Kimmy will trash me all over national television or they’ll keep their mouths shut so they don’t look like fools. Gabe’s dad will release the photos or he won’t. All of it is outside my control, and I’m okay with that. I have to be.
I can’t control the stories other people tell about me; all I can do is live my own story the best I can.
We walk toward the rink hand in hand. There are still hours until the performances, but most of the skaters will be inside already. Or maybe warming up at the practice rink nearby. They’ll be putting the finishing touches on their hair and makeup, dealing with last-minute costume challenges, trying to force themselves to eat a little something and drink enough water. Their bodies will be buzzing with adrenaline, and their routines will be playing in their heads every time they close their eyes.
I used to think that was the best feeling in the world, but running away to an island with the love of your life isn’t bad.
It doesn’t take long for the photographers to see us, and soon we’re surrounded by a pac
k of them, lights flashing as they snap away. Gabe pulls me closer, putting his arm around my shoulder to shelter me. I could hide my face if I wanted to, duck under his strong arm and let him do the talking for both of us.
Instead, I hold my head high and smile, maybe the first genuine smile I’ve given a photographer since I won Worlds three years ago.
Kimmy’s waiting for me out front, milking the publicity for all she’s worth, and I’m not surprised to see Catie standing next to her. She’s still got plenty of time to warm up, so why not get in some extra camera time first?
“Are you ready, Isabelle?”
Kimmy shoves a cordless mic toward my mouth. Jeez. She really did come prepared.
Well, so did I. This gazelle has teeth, ladies. Pounce at your own risk.
I grab the mic and turn to face the cameras. “Actually, ladies, I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. Gabe and I have an announcement to make. I’m leaving the skating world for good and he’s retiring from snowboarding.”
A wave of noise runs through the crowd and Gabe squeezes my shoulder. Everyone is screaming questions and the flashes are blinding me. I look desperately for the car, but it’s not in sight. Gabe peels my fingers off the mic and holds up his hand.
“We’ll take a couple questions, then we’re out of here, folks. Got a plane to catch.”
“Where are you headed, Gabriel?”
Gabe shakes his head. “Not falling for that one, Olivier.”
The photographers laugh and I start to relax. Gabe’s good at this. He should be, by now. Plenty of experience.
“Will you be traveling together?”
Gabe turns to me and smiles. “Ready?” he whispers.
I nod, and he leans in to kiss me. Wolf whistles and cheers erupt all around us. Lights flash and chaos reigns, but we’re the calm in the center of the storm. None of it matters. Not when Gabe’s lips are pressed against mine.
He pulls away and drops one final kiss on my nose. “All right?”
I nod and he grins.
“I see our car so we’ll say goodbye. Best of luck to everyone competing tonight and for the remainder of the Games.”
He hands the mic back to Kimmy, whose mouth is gaping open so wide I spot a filling. Catie is glaring at me, but the noise from the crowd is too loud for her to say anything. I wink at her and follow Gabe toward the car. He’s moving slowly, greeting some photographers by name, stopping to shake hands with a few others.
It’s a blur of sound and movement, but he’s gripping my hand tight, like he’ll never let me go. Then we’re at the car, and he opens the door and I practically dive inside. He follows, gives one last wave, and pulls the door shut, leaving us in a cocoon of silence. Gabe knocks on the privacy partition and the car pulls smoothly away. Heading for the airport.
Heading for a brand new life.
“That went well,” Gabe says.
“It went perfectly.” I can’t say anything else, not with words. That wild happiness is back, leaping though my bloodstream, lighting me up, moving faster and faster, looking for a way out. Instead of talking, I pull him toward me as I lean back, until I’m lying down and he’s on top of me.
And hey, he was right, the seats are plenty wide for what I’ve got in mind.
I close my eyes, basking in the moment, and feel his lips skim over my ear.
“What do you see?” he whispers.
“You inside me.”
He chuckles and presses his pelvis against mine, rubbing his hardness against me until I moan.
“What else?”
I open my eyes. There’s enough light from the street coming in through the tinted windows that I can see the tenderness in his face. The love in his eyes.
“A gazelle riding off into the sunset.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners and that delicious chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Your mind is a beautiful mystery.”
“I’ll explain later,” I tell him, pulling him down for a kiss.
We’ve got time.
The End
<<<<>>>>
Thank You!
Thank you for reading Gabe and Belle’s story! I hope you enjoyed this prequel novella. Keep reading for a sneak peek at DROPPING IN, the next book in the Snow-Crossed Lovers series!
Want to see Gabe again? You can catch a glimpse of him in WIPING OUT, Book Two in the Snow-Crossed Lovers series.
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Dropping In
Natalie Berensen has one short summer to ace her writing class and convince her parents she’s not a hopeless screw-up. No more changing her major once a month, taking time off to travel, or random friends-with-benefits. She doesn’t have time for distractions or hook-ups, not even if her longtime crush is in town for the summer and living in her basement. Who cares if he’s a snowboarding god with six pack abs and a hashtag devoted to his apparently magical penis? She’s not interested.
Until she is.
Ben Easton’s focus and self-discipline is legendary. He’s built a career as a professional snowboarder by training harder than anyone else on the mountain and steering clear of anything that doesn’t take him one step closer to his goal: Olympic gold. Then his best friend crashes in the half-pipe and Ben drops everything to take care of him. No more training. No more competitions. No more snowboarding. It’s over.
He’s back in Boulder to help with Adam’s rehab, not fool around with his little sister’s best friend, no matter how much he loves her laugh or the way her ass looks when she walks up the stairs. There’s no way in hell he’s going anywhere near Natalie.
Until he does.
Contains: a grumpy guard cat with a taste for blood, discussions of Ents as phallic symbols, and plenty of sexy times.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at DROPPING IN!
Prologue
Nine Months Ago
The earth moved sixty seconds after I grabbed the Australian surf god’s cock.
I mean, I was expecting it to be good. You don’t drag a twenty-five-year-old Australian surf god back to your shitty hostel room expecting the experience to suck, right? Shane had everything I was looking for on the last night of my New Zealand escape: abs flatter than his surfboard; a naughty glint in his eye; and a slow, deep drawl that made my toes curl. He was perfect.
We’d both been at the hostel in Christchurch for three days. On the first night, we chatted in the kitchen while our ramen noodles simmered. On the second night, we went out with a bunch of British students and ended up drunk and dirty dancing in a bar. I would have hooked up with him then, but he walked me back to the hostel at four a.m. and took off with his friends to surf. Waves before babes, I guess. Plus, we were both sleeping in the group dorm room and silent bunk-bed sex, while it can be kind of kinky, wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
For my last night I upgraded to a double room (still had the bunk beds, but at least we’d be the only ones in there), dumped our cheap-ass noodles into the same pot, and we ate outside under the stars. I brought the wine and he brought the condoms. It was backpacker romance at its finest. We laughed, we drank, we stumbled back to my room in a lip lock, and at exactly 9:47 p.m. I snaked my hand down the front of his pants to find out what Shane the Australian surfer was packing down there.
The good news? It was like a sea serpent on steroids. (In a good way.)
The bad news? At 9:48 a massive earthquake rocked Christchurch. The earth moved, all right, but his dick never even made it out of his pants.
The sound came first. A deep rumbling, like a train passing by, which was weird since I knew damn well there were no trains anywhere near this hostel. So I noticed it, sort of, but then my fingers brushed the tip of Shane’s dick and he groaned in my ear, pushing out all other noises and thoughts.
Then the shaking started, just a little rocking at first, nothing serio
us. The cheap metal bunk bed hopped, like someone was bouncing on the top bunk, and scooted an inch or two across the floor.
“What the fuck?” Shane removed his lips from my neck and glanced up at me, his mouth hanging open. “Is that…?”
Then shit got serious. The bed jumped into the air, crashed down, and jumped again. The metal frame vibrated, and the rumbling noise was drowned out by glass smashing as the TV rocked off the table across the room and hit the floor. I tried to sit up, but Shane lost his balance and fell across me, trapping me on the bed as it bucked up and down. The windows shattered, sending slivers of glass flying, and he swore in my ear as they bit into his bare back. My face stung and I buried it in his shoulder, then screamed and grabbed onto the first thing I could find.
Which happened to be his rapidly shrinking penis.
“Fuck!” he screamed. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
He tried to roll off me, but the bed was rocking so hard it skidded all the way across the room, before slamming into the door, trapping us inside. The lights flickered a few times and went out, leaving us in total darkness. I let go of Shane’s mangled love stick and grabbed onto his shoulder instead, pulling him into me, needing to feel something solid, even if it was 220 pounds of surfer crushing the breath out of my lungs.
His back and shoulders were slippery, and it was too dark to tell if it was sweat or blood from the shattered windows. My hands slid over his skin, desperately searching for purchase, desperately hoping for at least the illusion of safety.
The ratty wooden dresser crashed to the floor, sending my books and toiletries flying. Shane grunted and tried to roll off me again, maybe to avoid squashing me, maybe to save what was left of his manhood, but the earth bucked underneath us, and he ended up right back where he started.
It was hopeless. We were totally helpless. We couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, couldn’t control anything at all.
Adrenaline flooded through me, hitting my system so fast I felt nauseous. My heart tried to punch its way out of my chest, and I swear I could hear the blood racing through me, swooshing in time with my insane heartbeat and drowning out the “shit shit shit” that Shane was chanting in my ear.