Secrets of a Perfect Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  The last day of the year 2000 turned out to be spectacular. The sun shined from an almost cloudless sky, and the temperature hovered around thirty degrees. Perfect skiing weather.

  “Are you sure I’m not going to fall off?”

  “Yes, and if you do, I’ll catch you.”

  Even though Thomas seemed to know what he was doing, Brina was a bit uneasy. Sure, he’d helped her rent the right clothing and gear, the right length of poles and skis, but she wasn’t so sure about the chairlift.

  The lift line moved forward and Brina planted her poles and moved with it. They’d only run through a few quick lessons before moving into the lift line. “Shouldn’t we try the bunny hill first?”

  “Bunny hill’s for weenies. You don’t want to be a weenie.”

  Actually, she could live with that. “In this outfit, I’d fit right in,” she said, referring to the dorky one-piece suit that zipped up the front and cinched in at the waist. It was powder blue with the brand name Patagonia embroidered on her left breast.

  “You look cute,” Thomas said, trying to sound sincere, but his smile was just a little too amused. In contrast to Brina, Thomas didn’t look like a dork. Dressed completely in black, he looked like one of those pro skiers photographed in a Ray-Ban ad.

  “Well, I can’t stop thinking about the last time I went skiing. I can’t stop thinking about falling and breaking my leg again, only this time when those really cute ski patrol guys come for me, I’m wearing an Easter Bunny suit.” She scratched her nose with her gloved hand. “I’m thinking about how much that will suck.”

  Thomas looked at her through sunglasses so dark she couldn’t even begin to see his eyes. “Then don’t think about it.”

  She frowned. “Gee, wished I’d thought of that.” They moved forward in line, and she ran through the instructions he’d given her on how to get on the chair-lift. Look back, grab the bar on the outside of the chair with her outside hand, and sit when the chair hit the back of her thighs. Easy.

  To her surprise and relief, and with Thomas’s help, getting on the lift was easier than she’d thought. Staying on was harder. Her boots and skis were so heavy she felt as if they would pull her off. Her slick suit didn’t help.

  She panicked and grabbed the back of the chair. “I’m sliding off.”

  Thomas reached above their heads and lowered the safety bar. Brina rested her skis on the bottom peg and relaxed as the chair lifted them up and up, high above the snowcapped trees. The people below resembled brightly colored ants, and only the sound of the cable running between the lift wheels filled the crisp air that brushed her cheeks.

  “What kind of private investigating do you do?” Thomas asked, breaking the silence.

  She looked over at him, his dark hair and black coat in stark contrast to the backdrop of clear blue sky. His cheeks were beginning to turn pink, and the bright sun shot sparks like solar flares off the dark reflective lenses of his shades. Her pupils contracted and she lowered her gaze to his full lower lip. “Missing persons mostly,” she answered. “Sometimes I investigate insurance fraud.”

  His mouth formed the word, “How?”

  “Investigate fraud? Well, say an insurance company based back east somewhere needs some work done in Portland. They call my office and hire me to research a claimant’s charge. For instance, last year a woman fell at her place of work and supposedly hurt her back and was confined to a wheelchair. She filed a workmen’s compensation claim, but nobody had seen her fall and there were no security cameras. The insurance company hired me and I followed her around for about three weeks.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Boring mostly. But I finally photographed her driving bumper cars with her kids in Seaside.”

  “You always were a tenacious little thing.” He smiled, a flash of white teeth against this tan lips. “I thought you were going to be a nurse.”

  Watching his mouth did funny things to her stomach, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. To lean over and press her cool lips to his, kiss him until the temperature changed and their mouths turned hot and moist. She turned her gaze and looked down at the tree tops. “And you were going to be a doctor.”

  His quiet laughter drew her attention to his mouth once again. “You used to give me ‘medicine powder’ you’d made from crushed Smarties.”

  “And you used to give me shots in my bottom.”

  “But you never pulled your pants down very far. All I ever saw was the top of one cheek.”

  “Is that why you wanted to give me shots all the time? You wanted to see my bum?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “We were in grade school!”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have any sisters, and after your swimsuit fell off that one time, I was curious.”

  “You were a little pervert.”

  A cloud passed across the sun, and from behind the dark lenses of his glasses, she felt his gaze on her, looking as if he could see beneath the blue ski suit. “You have no idea,” he said, and something hot and liquid curled in her belly. Thomas Mack had wanted to see her bum. He hadn’t been the harmless little friend she’d always thought. Not quite the innocent boy whom she’d helped build a tree fort near the old forest service road not far from his house.

  The chair lowered and approached the top of the lift. Thomas raised the safety bar. “Do you remember how I told you to get off the chair?”

  She transferred her poles to her inside hand.

  “The most important thing is to make a wedge like we practiced at the bottom of the hill.”

  She nodded as her skis slid along the snow and she stood. The edge of the chair pushed her forward and for a few brief moments she thought, I’m doing good. Then the ramp dipped and curved to the left. Brina continued straight forward and picked up speed.

  “Point your skis in the direction you want to go,” Thomas yelled from somewhere behind her.

  “What?” She frantically dug her poles into the snow to stop, but it was no use. She slid straight off the ramp and into orange plastic netting that had been strung up like a fence to keep skiers out of the trees. The tips of her skis poked through the holes in the orange plastic as she grappled with it. She didn’t fall, but only because she’d grabbed the top of the fencing and held tight.

  “Brina.”

  She looked over her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  A little girl no taller than Brina’s waist swished past on a pair of tiny skis and shook her head as if to say, “What a doofus.”

  “How do I get out of this?”

  Thomas moved behind her, grabbed ahold of her belt, and pulled her free. He moved on the downhill side and informed her of the new plan. “Hold on to my pole and I’ll ski in front of you. Use your wedge and I’ll steer.”

  Brina had her doubts, but the new plan worked pretty well. On the slight incline of the cat track, he controlled their speed, his skis perfectly together, the tails moving effortlessly from side to side, making an elongated pattern like a snake in the snow. She held her poles in one hand, the basket of his in the other, and instead of watching the pines or other skiers who passed, she studied the backs of Thomas’s powerful thighs. He made it look so easy.

  They stopped at a trail marker, their skis horizontal, and Brina looked down the mountain.

  “I thought we were going to ski down a beginner run.”

  “This is.”

  She wrapped her arm around his to keep from sliding. Beneath the layer of his coat, his muscles felt rock-hard. “It looks like Mount Everest.”

  He glanced down at her. “Are you scared?”

  “I don’t want to break my leg again.”

  “Let’s try this,” he said as he removed her arm from his. He slid her in front of him and transferred his poles to one hand. “I saw this at a ski school for little kids.” He came up behind her, his skis on the outsides of hers, the tips pointed inward. He pressed his palm into her stomach and pulled her back against
his chest. The insides of his thighs brushed the outsides of hers, and the top of her head fit just beneath his chin.

  Brina looked up at him, her mouth a few inches from his. The scent of musky shave cream and of crisp mountain air and of him clung to his skin. Their breaths mingled and hung in the air and got trapped in the top of her lungs. If he lowered his mouth just a little, their lips would touch. She wanted them to touch. She wanted to rip off her glove and lay her warm palm against his cool cheek. She felt the heat of him through their nylon and Gore-Tex ski pants. Impossible, yet through all those layers he warmed her back and behind, her thighs and low in her abdomen. “What do you want me to do?” she asked her reflection in his glasses.

  “Put your poles together and hold them about halfway down, straight out in front of you like you’re a waiter.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t really know.” He shook his head and his chin brushed her temple. “I saw an instructor make a class of little kids do it. I think it might have something to do with balance. But I want you to do it so you don’t stab me in the leg.”

  She laughed and did as he asked. “Anything else?”

  “Let me do the driving. And relax,” he added, just above her ear. Then he turned their skis and they slid down the mountain and made elongated Cs.

  Relax. She tried, and if it hadn’t been for his pelvis pressing into hers as he pushed out the tail of his ski to slow them down, or thighs pressing inward to speed up, relaxing might have been possible. She might have actually relaxed enough to enjoy the wind in her hair and the cool breeze on her cheeks, or the knowledge that she was actually skiing. But she was much too aware of the subtle pressure of his groin against the small of her back. She dropped her hands and pressed her ski poles into her hips.

  “Are you okay?” he asked over the sound of their skis sliding across snow.

  “Yeah.” But she wasn’t so sure. As Thomas pushed out the tails of his skis, preparing for a turn, he instructed her on the use of her edges. Instead of paying attention, she was thinking about that morning, when she’d stuck her hand in his pocket, and she recalled the heat of his semierect penis against her fingertips. Beneath her clothing, her breasts tightened, and the abrasion of her sheer bra against the nylon suit irritated her sensitive skin. He calmly continued to instruct her while she continued to picture him naked. She felt guilty and perverted, and suddenly, she was no longer as afraid of falling down as she was afraid of falling for Thomas Mack.

  He spread his fingers across the front of her suit and spoke next to her ear. “Your hair smells like a piña colada. In high school you smelled like baby shampoo.”

  The warmth of his words slid down the side of Brina’s neck and the tips of her skis crossed. The heels of her boots lifted, and she pitched forward.

  Thomas made a grab for her belt. “Damn,” he swore as they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, skis and poles. He landed on top of her, the air whooshed from her lungs, and they slid about ten feet before skidding to a stop halfway down the mountain.

  “Brina?”

  She lifted her face from the snow. “Yeah?”

  “Are you hurt?” he asked as she felt his weight lifted from her.

  She’d lost her poles and skis somewhere, and she turned onto her back. He hovered just above her, and her elbow bumped his chest. He’d planted his hand in the snow by her shoulders, and his thighs straddled her hips. He’d lost one of his skis and the remaining one crossed over the toes of her boots. He’d shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head.

  “I’m okay,” she answered. “I just got the wind knocked out of me a little bit.”

  He smiled and creases appeared in the corners of his blue eyes. “That was a pretty good header.”

  “Thanks. Are you hurt?”

  “If I am, will you kiss it and make it better?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “What I have to kiss.”

  His quiet laughter touched her face. “Forehead,” he said.

  Brina placed her gloved hands on his cheeks and kissed him between the brows. “Better?”

  He looked into her eyes and his lips brushed hers as he nodded. “Much.”

  Brina’s breath got stuck in her chest, her mouth parted, and she waited for his kiss. Instead he pushed himself to his knees and glanced at the three teenaged girls who skied past. “You’re lucky,” he said, dug the toe of his boot into snow, and stood.

  Crisp air and disappointment cooled the hot anticipation spiking her blood pressure. He’d been about to kiss her. Hadn’t he? “I know,” she said, hoping he mistook the confusion in her voice. “I could have broken my leg again.” She sat and looked for her skis.

  “That isn’t what I meant.” He lowered his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and covered his eyes. “I’ll get you gear.”

  While Thomas rounded up their gear, Brina dug snow out of the wrists of her gloves and wondered what he had meant—exactly. The more time she spent with him, the more confused she became. He helped her with her skis and poles, and when they were ready, he skied beside her this time. He told her when she needed to start her turns, and when they reached the bottom of the mountain, she’d only fallen twice more.

  As they waited in line at the chairlift, Thomas gave her instruction on how to better use her edges, and he entertained her with a story about the time he hit a “death cookie” and rolled “ass over elbows” down the side of a mountain. They eased into comfortable conversation, the kind shared by two people who’d known each other well, but who’d changed. They’d grown in different directions but were still connected, deep down where visceral memories were kept like wonderful gifts just waiting to be reopened. Brina listened to the sound of his voice and deep laughter and thought she could probably listen to him forever. For the first time since he’d walked into her hotel room that morning, she relaxed completely.

  Until Holly Buchanan raced up to them like an Olympic downhill skier and sent up a cloud of snow when she stopped. Holly’s skintight stretch one-piece hugged her Barbie-doll curves. The suit was the same color as Brina’s, and they both resembled bunnies. Only Holly looked like the kind that got to hang out with Hugh Hefner, while Brina looked like she should be delivering dyed eggs.

  “I thought you were going to meet us on the back side.” Holly spoke to Thomas without sparing Brina a glance. Ten years had passed, but some things hadn’t changed. Brina had a life she loved and a career she enjoyed. She was happy and successful, but standing next to Holly still made her feel insignificant.

  “I’m teaching Brina to ski.”

  Finally, from behind the lenses of Holly’s blue goggles, she turned her attention to Brina, and Brina felt like she was back in the seventh grade. Perfect Holly Buchanan was looking at her and finding absolutely nothing worth her time. And like in seventh grade, she almost expected Holly to look down her nose and ask Brina if she bought all her clothes at Sears.

  “Mark told me you’d changed,” Holly said, then turned her attention back to Thomas. “You should come. Everyone is over there. Someone set up gates and we’re slalom racing.”

  “Maybe later,” Thomas told her as he and Brina moved forward in the lift line. Holly moved with them.

  “Oh, okay.” When she gazed at Brina again, it was like she was finally looking at her and seeing something unexpected. A threat. “It’s a lot of fun. You should come too.”

  Brina shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  She and Thomas moved in position to grab the next chair. She transferred her poles to her inside hand and looked over her outside shoulder. The chair scooped her and Thomas up and lifted them off the ground, leaving Holly behind.

  “Wow, that was some outfit,” Brina said as Thomas lowered the safety bar. She wanted reassurance. She wanted him to tell her Holly was a horrible person. She wanted him to lie and say she was fat and ugly.

  “Yeah, all that yoga pays off.”

  Irrational anger pus
hed Brina’s brows togther and she shoved her hand through her pole straps. “You don’t have to ski with me anymore. You can ski with her if you want.”

  “I know I can.”

  She turned her face away and studied a passing pine. She wanted him to tell her Holly was a lousy lay. “So did she really get all freaky like a goat?” When he didn’t answer, she looked at him. He gazed straight ahead like she hadn’t asked him a question. “What’s the matter? Are you embarrassed?”

  “Why would I be embarrassed?”

  “Because you had some sort of freaky sex with Holly Buchanan. I’d be embarrassed if I were you.”

  “Why? Are you a prude?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever had freaky sex?”

  She wasn’t sure. One time she’d done it in a public rest room with an old boyfriend. “Of course.”

  He finally looked at her, but he had his sunglasses on and she couldn’t see his eyes. “How freaky?”

  She didn’t want to tell him.

  “That’s what I thought. You’re a prude.”

  “I am not.”

  Over the top of his sunglasses, one dark brow lifted up his forehead.

  “I’m not!” she insisted. “I can get freaky.” For emphasis she added, “Extremely freaky.”

  His other brow lifted. “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “If you do, I’ll tell you what you want to hear about Holly.”

  “Bathroom stall at the Rose Garden.” She didn’t mention that her boyfriend had worked there, the Trail Blazers had been on the road, and the stadium had been virtually empty. “Twice, now it’s your turn.”

  He waited a few moments before he asked, “Do you want all the juicy details about Holly and me?”

  She wasn’t so sure she wanted to know anything anymore, but she’d come too far to back down. “No. I just want to know what the goat position is.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t have sex with her.”

  “What?”