She stroked the side of his hand. “The short, single marriage line beneath your little finger shows one walk down the aisle. No divorce.”
He linked his fingers with hers, and sent her heart racing. “My parents have been married for thirty-five years. They still act like newlyweds.”
Allie smiled, but said nothing. She seldom discussed her single mom. Margo, as her mother preferred to be called, didn’t do mother-daughter. Margo liked to be one of the girls. She refused to grow up or grow old.
A sip of her buttered rum, and Allie turned the conversation to skiing; to the hazards of off-piste and the adrenaline rush of conquering the slopes.
“Your winter playground of choice?” she asked.
“Stowe,” he answered. “I like Vermont. I stay at the Red Fox Country Inn and cross-country ski from the back door to the base of Mt. Mainsfield. The Stoweked Grille makes the best seafood stew in New England. How about you?”
“Solitude near Salt Lake City,” she said. “No lift lines, crowded runs, or overtracked snow. The best chicken and chorizo chili in Utah is served at Wiley Coyote, a local mountain pub.”
The bar crowd had begun singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Allie leaned closer to be heard. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, spice and citrus. Subtle, yet masculine. “Are you pure powderhound?” she asked.
Aidan shook his head. “Winter’s my favorite season, but year-round, I enjoy adventure racing.”
She was familiar with the sport. It required a combination of skills, depending on the competition. Athletes often ran, mountain biked, ripped down rapids in a canoe, then rappelled off a one-hundred-foot rock face. The race could last a day or a week.
“Dangerous and disciplined,” she admired. “You push yourself physically.”
He finished off his scotch. “What makes your heart race?”
The sexy look in his eye challenged her to answer him. The intensity of his stare made her curl her toes in her snow boots.
“The savage beauty and intimacy of the slopes,” she said honestly. In that moment she realized the closest relationship she’d had in four years was with her skis. A flutter of anticipation made her shiver. That would all change tonight.
They’d talked further, gotten to know each other over the next hour. He liked science fiction and action movies. She leaned toward mysteries and crime-solving dramas on TV.
Aidan owned a Blackberry Torch. Allie had a disposable cell phone.
He only bought black cars. Her sunglasses were always red.
He had two golden retrievers. She’d never had a pet.
He confessed to working high-end retail. She shopped blue-light specials, the bigger the bargain the better.
She admitted to being a ski instructor on holiday.
All around them, the crowd thickened, pressed, and Allie soon took an elbow to the ribs as several women sought space at the bar. Definitely snow bunnies, with their big hair, perfect makeup, fitted snow pants, and designer jackets with furry hoods. They cruised the lobby and the bar, never leaving the comfort of the lodge.
The ladies winked at Aidan; wedged themselves closer. They nearly knocked Allie off her bar stool.
Aidan had come to her rescue. He interlocked the wooden legs of their stools so no one could slip between them. His intimate closeness toyed with her body and sex played on her thoughts. They sat as privately as any two people could sit in a packed bar.
They’d swiveled slowly on their stools, brushing hands, bumping hips. He slid his knee between her legs. The rub of their ski pants was raw and sexual. A stirring inside her begged to be satisfied and she found it hard to sit still. Her fingers itched to touch him. Their chemistry was off the charts.
She’d taken a sip of her cocktail and let the caramelized brown sugar and dusting of cinnamon seduce her tongue. If Christmas had a taste, it would be hot buttered rum.
Their gazes had locked when the bartender asked if they wanted another round. They both passed. Aidan paid for the drinks and left a big tip.
They’d slid off their stools, grabbed their jackets, and cut a path through the boisterous crowd. He pressed his hand to her back as they crossed the lobby. The man had big hands. His palm fit at the base of her spine and the tips of his fingers brushed her side. A delicious shiver caressed her every nerve.
Only one clerk along with the concierge manned Reception. Red garlands draped the rustic beams near the main counter. Silver bells hung above the mantel on the fireplace in holiday celebration. Two evergreens decorated with gold pine cones flanked the bank of elevators.
They rode in silence to the twelfth floor. The doors opened to a set of suites. Aidan pointed Allie to the far end of the hallway.
His suite was far larger than her room. She took it all in. Two bedrooms branched off the living area. A kitchen and computer alcove framed the back. Sliding glass doors showcased night skiing, the mountain a black spike against the full moon. Electric high-intensity lamps lit the trails. The snow sparkled like diamonds.
Tall privacy walls encased a short wooden deck, the hot tub at its center, all bubbly and steamy and awaiting naked bodies. Allie lowered her eyes, but not out of shyness. She didn’t want him to guess how turned on she was; she’d rather show him.
They had hastily lowered zippers, flicked snaps, and unhooked buckles. He moved with surety. She was all thumbs.
Aidan had taken her hand and lightly kissed her palm. He’d gone on to study her palm as she had studied his at the bar. “Your sex line indicates you’re a good lover.”
Her lips twitched. There was no sex line.
“Your fantasy line has spikes,” he continued. “It shows you’re kinky, sweetheart.”
That made her smile. He’d lightened the mood, put her at ease, and made her want him even more.
They finished undressing. Fabrics rasped over their skin, fell where they might. Across her toes, the arms of her powder-blue fleece hugged Aidan’s black wool sweater.
Against his ankles, her navy ski pants straddled his own gray pair. Between them, his boxer briefs humped her blue cotton bikinis.
Kicked to the side, the heels of his Nordicas rubbed the toes of her snow boots. Their clothes were getting it on.
She stared openly at him, this man of muscular physique and hotter-than-hell face. Ink-dark hair mussed his brow, and his pale gray eyes were nearly opaque. His cheekbones slashed to a lean jaw. His mouth was sexy, his lower lip suckable.
He, in turn, admired her breasts and abdomen. He ran his finger over the tiny skier tattoo near her navel. His eyes dilated at her v-zone.
Allie took in his erection and inhaled her approval. She sucked in her stomach nearly to her spine. Her skull prickled and her skin itched. She was so turned on she could barely stand still.
He hadn’t even kissed her.
She’d debated jumping his bones, right there on the plush brown carpet. They’d suffer rug burn, but she was wired, wanting, and tired of waiting.
She wasn’t into ski lodge affairs, yet it was Christmas Eve. She had no idea where her mother was spending the holidays or if Margo was still alive. Years had separated them. All contact had been lost.
Her sisters had surprised her with a ski vacation. They’d wanted her to play, not work. Beth had booked Allie’s room. Laura had prepaid all lift fees. Allie had saved for a year and sent them on a Caribbean cruise.
Her sisters loved the sun.
Allie lived for snow.
Her holiday stocking was presently empty.
She’d chosen Aidan as her gift and unwrapped him.
He stood before her, six feet of testosterone and male arousal. She wished he had a red bow around his neck, or silver bells jingling at his groin.
One corner of his mouth lifted, as if he’d read her mind. He believed in foreplay and prolonged the inevitable.
He’d taken her hand and led her across the living room. His backside was chiseled, his butt muscular. She could’ve followed him for miles.
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The glass sliders hissed on their tracks as the inside warmth escaped, meeting air so sharp and crisp her nipples puckered. Goose bumps skittered down her spine and up her inner thighs. Her breath blew frosty. A fat snowflake tipped her nose. It had started to snow.
She closed the doors behind her, hoped she wouldn’t turn into an ice sculpture. Amazingly, the cold hadn’t affected his erection. He pointed toward the North Pole.
Aidan had stepped into the hot tub and drawn her in behind him. The water lapped her calves as the steam shot to her crotch. He lowered himself onto the bench then gave her room to pick her spot. She chose to sit across from him. Awareness closed all space between them.
Her heartbeat quickened. He’d teased her on the slopes for three days then aroused her further in the bar. She was on edge, same as Aidan. They’d soon find release . . .
“Are you still with me, babe?”
His question drew her back to the moment. She blinked, focused, then said, “I didn’t go far.” She’d already taken the memories of this man into her heart.
Allie leaned back against the cedar and looked at the sky. Snow drifted down, yet each flake melted within the rising steam of the hot tub. Only the furthest corner of the deck collected snow, a small white drift against the wooden siding.
Anticipation played between them, a sexual tease. She flexed her leg and made the first move. She skimmed the tips of her toes over his knee. The ball of her foot grazed the inside of his thigh then worked up and over his hip. She flicked her toes over his abdomen and he inhaled sharply. Her heel gently pressed lower, and his sex brushed the side of her foot, thick and tickling, and making her smile.
She teased lightly.
He groaned deeply.
His opaque eyes were hooded by his ink-dark lashes. Desire flared his nostrils. His release of breath was rough, rushed. His hips now rocked.
“My turn, sweetheart.” He slid along the bench, closed the distance between them. He lifted her slightly, until she straddled his groin. Moist and trembling, she waited for him to fill her.
They were now breast to chest.
Thigh to thigh.
Sex to sex.
He could have entered her with the slightest shift of his hips. But he didn’t. Instead he stroked her, long, lazy strokes that left her liquid. He massaged her scalp, her neck and shoulders. Making a fan of his fingers, he palmed her breast. She arched her spine, squeezed his hips with her thighs. He felt so good wedged against her wet heat, all solid and hard.
The warm whirl of the water seduced their bellies. The steam rolled off his shoulders and collected between her breasts. They grew hotter together.
He flattened his hands on her thighs, then went on to trace the crease of her sex with his thumbs. She was so ready for him, she nearly mounted his fingers.
Allie moved closer and he eased back. The man gave new meaning to prolonged foreplay. She squirmed, and he continued to tease her.
The play of his fingers wound her tight. So tight, the craving for the feel of him penetrating her made her pubic muscles clench. She leaned in and bit his lower lip. “I want you,” she breathed against his mouth.
He slipped the tip of his tongue between her lips. “Want me more.”
His control nearly killed her. Two could play this game. She would make him beg. She stroked his erection, squeezed him from base to tip until he threw back his head and hissed through his teeth.
Hunger glittered in his eyes.
His skin pulled taut across his cheekbones.
His lips flattened in both pain and pleasure.
She increased the pressure and he rocked his hips. His sex thrust between her palms. He panted, groaned, his body pumped with lust.
“I want you.” He repeated her words.
She exhaled, a slow, sexy smile curving her lips. “It’s about time.”
He cupped her bottom, lifted her easily. He rose like a god from the sea. Water streamed and steamed between them as he stepped from the hot tub.
A slide of the glass door and they reentered his suite. He shoved the door closed with his foot. He headed straight for the bedroom. He walked damn fast.
Aidan was hot for this woman. She’d attracted him the first day of his vacation. He’d stood back and taken his time to meet her. She’d been pursued by numerous male skiers, yet she declined each invitation. Lady was selective.
He courted her on the mountain, a woman in tune with the slopes. She reminded him of a snow angel with her pale blond hair, sky-blue eyes, and winter-pink cheeks.
Yet her smile was far from angelic. Her lips were lush, the flick of her tongue sexy. He’d wanted her mouth on him for the holidays. Her kisses all over his body.
He’d made his move on Christmas Eve, hopeful she’d join him for a cocktail. Her acceptance had pleased him. He’d been hard from the moment they entered the bar.
A drink had led to the hot tub, now to his bed. He kicked open the door. The room had a rustic décor: a dark wood armoire and two overstuffed chairs in an evergreen print. A king-size bed welcomed sleep and sex.
Aidan didn’t care if he slept a wink that night.
Their bodies were still damp, but he didn’t take the time to towel either of them off. Instead he tossed back the dark brown comforter and laid Allie on the ivory cotton sheet.
He stared at her, this woman he craved. Her hair was wild; her gaze passionate. Her breasts were high and firm, her ribs symmetrical. Her stomach was bounce-a-quarter flat.
He was a leg man. Her skier legs were slender, toned, and ready to wrap his hips.
As he eased over her, the blend of cool sheets and hotbodied woman nearly undid him. She rose up to meet him, and they kissed deeply. Their tongues mated with need and expectancy.
His heart was pounding so fast, he could feel the pulsing in his dick. He snagged a condom from the drawer of the nightstand, ripped the foil with his teeth, and slipped it on. She lifted her hips and he slid in to her. They were one.
Their first time was swift and fierce. She clawed his back and he clutched her bottom. He left bruises on her butt cheeks. He wanted her to take what he was feeling and make it her own. She did.
She arched against him, her body clenching.
His body strained against hers.
She let go, melting against him.
He came a moment later.
Afterward he tucked her so tightly against his body she became an imprint on his skin. A sexual tattoo, invisible, yet memorable. The best sex of his life.
They spooned for hours, making small talk. Her spine curved nicely against his chest. The firm roundness of her bottom pressed his groin, teasing him erect.
He would have taken her again, yet he felt the need to talk, to deepen their connection. “I was born and raised in the Midwest. I’m an only child,” Aidan whispered against her ear. “This year my father came down with bronchitis right before our family ski trip. My mother refused to let him travel.”
Allie stirred and her shoulders stiffened. Her sigh sifted into him, her voice soft and hesitant. “I’ve lived in nearly every city in California, mostly in apartments, twice in a trailer, and once in a tent on Hermosa Beach.”
He nuzzled her neck, her scent one of sun-touched snow and clean mountain air. “Your mother liked to travel?”
She shook her head and strands of her blond hair settled on his cheek. “My mom was always looking for a good time. I think she was lonely. Some women need a man. My mother never found the right one. She bar-hopped and we took our meals at truck stops. She refused to put down roots. I’ve two sisters. None of us has the same father.”
“Tell me about your sisters?”
“Both are older; both remain single. Both own homes, have cats, and are nicely settled.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a ski bum at heart. I play wherever there’s fresh powder.”
He nipped her earlobe. “Play with me now, Allie.”
She did. They played three more times
that night.
When their hunger turned to food, they showered, donned hotel bathrobes, and she cooked for him. The refrigerator was fully stocked, and she made Monte Cristo sandwiches. They lingered in the living room, turned on TV, and watched the weather channel. An ice storm was forecast, which would close down the slopes. Traffic would be limited to emergency vehicles. They’d soon be snowbound.
His decision to extend his vacation came easily. He was drawn to Allie and hoped she’d commit to a few more days at the lodge. He wanted to know her better.
Once back in bed, he tucked into her softness. He liked holding her. Liked watching her sleep. Liked hearing her breathe.
He drifted off, a man content.
He wakened early, wanting to make plans for more skiing, more loving . . . only to find himself alone in a very big bed.
The quiet unnerved him. He lay on his back, fully naked, the bedroom air chilly. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, still numb from a long night of kissing. He cocked his head, noticed the scratches on his shoulder. A love bite centered over his heart. His morning erection craved attention.
The bedroom door stood ajar. “Allie?” he called.
No response. The silence scared him.
He intuitively knew she was gone.
He pushed up on his elbows, looked around. The sheets were untucked, the comforter sprawled on the floor. They’d shared a king-size pillow. The imprint of her cheek and chin remained on the cotton case. Her sexual heat lingered, along with her woman’s scent.
Confusion and loss hit him hard. What the hell had happened? She’d wanted him as bad as he wanted her. Yet she hadn’t stuck around, hadn’t given them a chance. She’d left without breakfast or a good-bye.
He knew so little about her. He had no idea where she lived. Where she would next ski. Where she spent the summer.
They hadn’t exchanged last names.
Chances were good he’d never see her again.
His holiday went to hell.
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