by Larissa Ione
But could she handle the women who threw themselves at him? The…what had he called them? Cougars? And what about the groupies? Surely there were women who would sell their souls to bed an Olympic medalist. Could she deal with that even for a brief affair?
It was all so complicated. She wanted him, but did she want the risks involved with taking him for a lover? She glanced at her cell phone, still flashing the message icon on the screen.
God, her life was messed up right now, her world upside down and nothing certain. And for someone who needed structure and schedules and security, nothing could be worse. Not knowing if she’d ever get another job or an auction emcee or even if she should hazard a fling with Sean left her feeling lost and vulnerable for the first time in years. Since the last time she’d returned home, actually.
And now here she was, preparing to immerse herself in the shallow winter sports culture she’d happily left behind years ago.
Turning to the open closet, she glared at the new ski outfit she’d purchased at the Downhiller Shoppe before dinner last night. Well, she’d promised to ski with Karen, and if she couldn’t keep any other promises today, she’d at least keep that one. She’d spend a few hours on the slopes before diving back into her pool of despair. After that, she didn’t know what to do.
“Look at me, Sean! Look at me!”
Sean grinned at the six-year-old skiing past at a snail’s pace. The boy had only yesterday mastered the rope tow, and though Sean couldn’t convince him to discontinue the “fall down” method of stopping, he had to admit the kid had a great attitude.
Sean gave him a thumbs-up and then waved to the Tiny Tots instructor, whom Sean sometimes got talked into helping. Not that he minded. Teaching kids to love the snow as much as he did was an opportunity he never passed up—and it was the reason he’d known about Ski-Do, the charity Robyn’s class sponsored. He’d been their spokesman during his competition days.
“Sean Trenton? Is that really you?”
A twenty-ish man wearing a jester-style knit cap slid toward him with a big, goofy grin on his face and funky square sunglasses covering his eyes, even though the sun had yet to peek through the low cloud deck.
“Sweet! It is you. Can I get your autograph?” The guy gestured at Sean’s jacket. “Ski patrol? Bummer. Nothin’ like going from Olympic medal to that, huh?”
“Yeah, helping people is a major step down.”
The guy nodded, oblivious to Sean’s sarcasm. “No doubt.” He took off a glove and fumbled around in his pocket before producing a pen. “I don’t have paper, but you can sign my lift ticket.”
“Lucky me.” Sean scrawled his name on the ticket and handed the pen back.
The autograph hound thanked Sean and slid off, shouting to his buddies that he’d gotten an Olympic medalist’s signature. Definitely Sean’s cue to get out of there before he got swarmed by more autograph seekers who felt sorry for him.
But not sorry enough to not want his mark on something.
He jammed his poles into the snow to shove off, but stopped at the sound of his name—this time spoken by the one person he didn’t mind finding him. Robyn. And she looked amazing in a cream jacket and ski pants, and a green headband, all of which would look even better in a pile beside his bed.
“I see you still have quite the fan base,” she said with a fragile smile. Even though he understood it, he cursed her issue with fame and fortune, and as people began to look in his direction thanks to the loud-mouthed autograph seeker, he scrambled for damage control.
“Nah. That’s a rarity. No one remembers me.”
A big lie. With the ski competition and snowboard championships taking place in a few days, fans and groupies, skiers and non-skiers from all over the world, had taken over the resort. He’d been swarmed—and propositioned—several times during the last week. There had been a time when he’d have welcomed the attention and offers, but now he only wanted to escape.
Quickly, before anyone could catch him, he grasped Robyn by the elbow and eased her toward the nearest lift. “I saw Karen head up the hill a few minutes ago. She said she’d be skiing Thunder Run until you catch up with her. Wanna share a chair?”
“Where’s your partner? Don’t you have to go up with him?”
“Nope. He’s waiting for me in the warming house at the top of Demon’s Dive.”
Heaving a theatrical sigh, she said, “I suppose I could bring myself to share a seat with you. You did bring me breakfast, after all.”
As they moved forward in the lift line, he leaned close, letting his lips graze her cold-reddened cheek. “Breakfast in bed. Don’t forget the ‘in bed’ part.”
He certainly wouldn’t. She’d looked so sweet as she slept curled into a flannel ball, her fiery hair fanned out over the pillow, her mouth curved in a gentle smile. He wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning, minus the pajamas.
And when she’d moaned in her sleep, flicked her tongue over her lips, he’d wanted so badly to kiss her awake, to make her moan for him instead of some stupid dream. He’d settled for a kiss on her cheek, a poor substitute.
She looked like she wanted to say something, but their turn at the ticket scanner came up, and they scooted into position for the lift. A chair swooped in behind them, and then they were swinging into the air and up above the crowd. Robyn’s eyes sparkled as they climbed.
“I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed this,” she breathed.
“It never gets old, does it?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The way she took in the view, hanging far over the chair’s side railing, her gaze intense, said it all. Brushing a stray snowflake from the tip of her nose with one hand, she pointed into the distance with the other. “Why is that pine decorated with underwear?”
“That’s the bootie tree.” At her uncomprehending expression, he elaborated. “Have sex with a stranger, collect their underwear, and toss ’em off the lift at the tree the next morning.” He peered down. “Looks like a lot of people got lucky last night.”
Her naughty smile made the blood rush hotly through his veins. “What if your partner doesn’t wear underwear? What do you throw then?”
“Trying to tell me something?” Images of Robyn’s bare body beneath her snowsuit flooded his head, and he shoved them away before his brain short-circuited.
“You have a one-track mind.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it under her fleece headband. “I’m a guy. We all have one-track minds.”
“Good point.”
They continued up, and the temperature dropped sharply when they entered the cloud deck. Swirling mist surrounded them, growing so thick that the chairs in front and behind disappeared. Beneath them, the ground melted away in an ocean of gray.
Robyn blew out a long breath. “This is freaky. Like we’re floating all alone.”
“Alone is good.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Mmm.” He wriggled closer so their hips touched. “Why not?”
“Because I know exactly what I want, which, FYI, isn’t you—until we’re alone together.” His pulse quickened as she turned her face up, her mouth so temptingly close. “And then I forget why I don’t want you,” she finished on a whisper.
Her lips parted and her tongue slipped out to moisten them in a motion that was so unintentionally erotic that his chest constricted and his cock stirred. Had he ever wanted to kiss a woman so badly?
Knowing the answer and unable to wait any longer, he leaned forward, covered her mouth with his. Her lips yielded to the gentle nudge of his tongue, which tingled with the taste of her cinnamon gloss, so sweet and spicy, like the woman who wore it. A sigh that was a boost to his ego escaped her as she reached around to cup the back of his head and pull him closer.
As if he needed encouragement to crush his body to hers.
Arousal rippled through his veins, making him want more than what he could get on a ski lift above the t
imberline, especially when her hand slid down his arm to his waist, and then lower, where it brushed over his now straining erection and settled on his thigh. His fingers ached to touch her, and he tugged off a glove from the hand not holding his poles and slipped it under her jacket and sweater. The soft, bare skin there quivered at his touch.
Robyn moaned, arching against him and stroking his tongue with hers, deepening their kiss and turning it into something hungry and urgent. Plunging into the hot depths of her mouth, he smoothed his hand up her ribs until he found the lace edge of her bra.
This was crazy, feeling her up in a chair lift, but he didn’t care, and apparently, she didn’t either, because she shifted to give him better access. A low growl of approval rumbled up from deep in his chest as he brushed his thumb over the plump lower swell of her breast. A delicate shudder wracked her body, a purely feminine response that called out to the male in him to make it happen again.
Heat flared inside him, a slow burn of sensation that threatened to grow out of control with every passing second. Her fingers squeezed his thigh, inches from where he needed her to be. Silently, he willed her to slide her hand up, to stroke him until the world around them ceased to exist.
“You can do some wonderful things with your mouth,” she murmured against his lips.
Smiling, he dragged his mouth away, which was a good thing, since they had started to break out of the clouds. “Oh, I haven’t even begun to do wonderful things with it yet.”
She took a sharp intake of breath, and her cheeks, already flushed from the cold, flamed red. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop making me forget that I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“No way, because I want everything to do with you.”
Her chin came up, and she watched him for a long moment. “Why me? You can’t tell me you don’t have groupies and bobcats falling all over you.”
He tugged his glove back on and flexed his fingers to warm them. “Cougars. And I gave that up a long time ago.” He noted her pursed lips. “You don’t believe me.”
“Would you?”
“No,” he admitted. “I’ve been around the sports world too long. When a guy says he’s done with groupies, he means he’s done until the next one flashes some cleavage.”
“So how do I know you aren’t just waiting for the next one?”
“I pursued you, not the other way around, remember?”
“I suppose…” She trailed off, a moment’s pause before continuing quickly, as if she hoped to catch him off guard. “But what if I’d come on to you in the bar?”
“I’d do what I always do. I’d suddenly remember I was late for an important meeting.”
Liar. Had she jumped into his lap right there in the crowded room, he’d not have complained.
She slanted him a guarded look still edged with doubt, but at least she didn’t call him on it.
Their chair climbed above the fog into clear air, leaving the deck of popcorn clouds below. The undiluted sun beat down on hundreds of miles of craggy mountain peaks as they pierced the layer of clouds stacked against them.
He never tired of the view, never lost that feeling of awe, but today the gorgeous woman beside him made the scenery pale in comparison. Her eyes, bright with wonder, took in the magnificent landscape, and her lips, parted slightly, glistened with his kiss. Nothing had ever been so beautiful.
Unfortunately, her run was approaching, and he’d have to let her go.
“How does six o’clock sound?”
She turned, blinking at him in confusion. “What?”
“You’re having dinner with me. Remember? How about if I pick you up at six?”
“Oh. Right. That should work. I’m going to visit my parents, but I’ll be back in time. Want to meet at Après Ski?”
“Sounds good.”
The lift line leveled out and eased across the ski-run ramp. She slipped out of the chair and slid to the right with a wave, giving him a temporary, but tantalizing, view of her backside squeezed into tight ski pants. Talk about scenery. He winced and adjusted his aching arousal. Talk about uncomfortable. He really needed to get her into bed.
Gritting his teeth, he threw back his head and studied the morning sky. Six o’clock was a lifetime away. But if he could just hold on they’d have several hours together, time, perhaps, to get her over her celebrities-are-off-limits deal.
And time for him to conquer his own issues. Which he would. He always had. An athlete could only function properly if he faced his fears head-on. Not that he was an athlete any longer, but some lessons stuck with a person for life.
He had a helluva to-do list. And Robyn was at the top of it.
Robyn hit the slope tentatively, her skills so rusty she was amazed she was still standing upright. More practiced skiers flew past, and she imagined them laughing at her as the taunts of the past echoed in her brain. God, why had she allowed Karen to talk her into this?
Because she needed a friend with her on this trip, that was why. Still, as her unsteady legs carried her down the run, she wondered if bringing Karen had been worth it. She tried to relax, tried to welcome the cold wind in her face as a remedy for the heat simmering in her veins thanks to Sean. But it didn’t work. Heat still simmered, and tension still made her muscles clench. At least he wasn’t here to witness her clumsy attempts at skiing.
A couple of women passed her in a spray of snow, their sleek suits a blur of color that screamed “look at me!” Karen had tried to talk Robyn into buying something similar, but she’d wanted to blend in with the slope and hopefully become invisible. So far, so good.
Yes, her paranoia and fear was ridiculous, but she hadn’t confronted all the monsters of her past, something she’d hoped to do at the reunion. Conquering the slopes was a whole other monster.
By the time she reached the bottom, she was drenched in nervous sweat and her leg muscles screamed with exhaustion, but her childhood skills had started to return, and she’d dredged up a little more confidence.
She caught up with Karen near the lift, where she was flirting with the goth-guy she’d been hanging all over in the hot tub the night before.
“Rob, hey.” Karen waved. “This is Freak.”
Robyn nodded at the mega-pierced man. Karen’s taste in men had always been a mystery. “Hi. I’m Robyn.”
“Nice to meet you.” Freak leaned toward Karen, whispered something that made her blush, and then slid away on his snowboard. “Later.”
“Isn’t he cute?” Karen said with a sigh.
“Sure. In that way crocodiles are cute.”
Karen giggled, something she did only when a man was involved somehow. “So…tell me how it went this morning.”
“You mean when I woke up to some strange guy in the room because you gave him a key?”
“Exactly.” Karen grinned, utterly pleased with herself. “Don’t tell me you wasted the opportunity.”
“What opportunity? To get him into bed?”
“Of course. Didn’t you say you were torn? I figured I’d help you along.”
Robyn groaned inwardly. After Karen returned to the room last night, they’d sat up and talked until three a.m., and she’d admitted just how tempted she was to jump Sean’s bones now that she knew she wouldn’t be seeing his face on TV.
“Thanks.” Robyn didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm as Karen steered her toward the chair lift. “But I’m still torn.”
“The groupie thing?”
“Mostly. He said he was over that…”
“But you don’t believe him.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I believed everything Damon told me, and look what happened.”
“Personally, I don’t think it’s a big deal even if Sean is lying. It’s not like you two are getting married or anything. But the fact that he’s chasing you and not the other way around sort of proves he’s telling the truth, don’t you think?”
“That’s the argument of the day.�
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“Then just do it. Do him.”
“We’ll see.”
Karen rolled her eyes and Robyn sighed. She was ready for a casual fling. She was. Of course, she had to fight her very nature over that one. She took life—and relationships—seriously. No matter how hard she’d tried, she simply could not separate her emotions from anything.
Which was part of what frightened her about Sean. Had he been a pretty face in a shallow shell, a casual relationship might have been possible—she’d done it before. But he appeared to be so much more, someone she could fall for if she wasn’t careful. Could they keep things fun and low-key?
Maybe she was concerned over nothing. Tonight she’d get to know him better, and maybe, just maybe, he’d shatter the illusion he presented of being perfect. He’d reveal his flaws and she could have her fling because her emotions wouldn’t get in the way.
So it was settled. She’d give him some rope and let him hang himself.
Bells tinkled as Robyn opened the door to her mom’s bakery, Hausfreunde. Translated into English, Friends of the House suited the quaint shop that regularly burst at the seams with people her mother considered friends, not customers. Today was no exception. The tables were full and a line of customers waited at the counter for service. Regulars chatted amongst themselves, and new customers admired the collection of German-crafted cuckoo clocks and pictures of grand mountain chalets on the walls.
Robyn wove her way through the crowd, mouth watering at the mingled aromas of savory baked breads and sweet pastries. They were the smells of comfort and happiness and childhood. The bakery had been the one place where she found solace from the cruel world outside, and today she sought solace from all her confused thoughts about Sean.
“My baby girl!” Gretchen Montgomery’s faint German accent rang out as she hurried from the kitchen to engulf Robyn in a huge hug. Before she could catch her breath, her mother dragged her into the kitchen and hugged her again. “You look good, honey! A little thin, I think, but we can fix that.”