Snowbound

by Larissa Ione

  He opened the door, and she climbed inside. The interior was clean but just as abused as the outside. “How long have you had this thing?” she asked when he bounded into the driver’s seat.

  “Since I was eighteen. It ain’t pretty, but it can carry a lot of ski gear and EMT equipment, and it can’t be beat in the snow. I grew out of my sports car phase a couple of years ago.” He inserted the key into the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. He gave her a sideways glance as he drove out of the lot. “What do you drive? A sexy two-seater, I’d guess.”

  She shook her head. “I grew up in the land of SUVs, so that’s what I’ve got.”

  Her SUV was a luxury model that wouldn’t know what to do in deep snow, but the vehicle was a symbol of how hard she’d worked to get where she was, to where she could afford such extravagance, and she loved it even if it was more of a dainty show horse than a practical beast of burden.

  “My kind of girl.” He reached over and took her hand. “But then, I knew that.”

  She decided she’d keep her mouth shut about the truth of her SUV.

  Sean drove like a maniac on the main roads, but once they turned off onto a snowy backwoods mountain trail that would have made her SUV balk like a high-strung stallion, he eased the vehicle along until they arrived at a small log home.

  “Wow.” She climbed out of the truck and wished it weren’t dark outside so she could better see the surrounding forest and frozen stream that snaked around the floodlight-lit house. “Is this yours?”

  He took her hand and led her onto the porch. “Yep. It’s not much, but it works for me.”

  Not much? The place was wonderful. Rugged, welcoming, with just the right touch of masculine elegance. The moment they walked inside, heat from the wood stove in one corner of the great room enveloped her, and a fluffy gray tabby trotted across the hardwood floor to greet her with a bump against her shin.

  Sean scooped the cat up and gave it a playful rub between the ears before putting it down on the knotty pine-framed couch, which matched the rustic, outdoorsy décor.

  “You don’t strike me as a cat person,” she said, when the purring feline ran back to weave between Sean’s legs.

  “I wasn’t until I got Norbert.” He bent to remove his boots and she did the same before her idle hands ended up on his perfect rear.

  “Norbert?”

  “From the Angry Beavers.” He looked at her like she was a complete moron when she stared at him in incomprehension. “Cartoon.”

  “Ah.” He watched cartoons and she was the moron? “So why’d you get a cat if you didn’t like them?”

  He peeled off his jacket and took hers to hang on the coat hooks beside the door. “He’s a stray. I can’t get rid of the fleabag.”

  “Liar.” Not only was the cat clean, fat and happy, there was way too much affection in Sean’s voice to believe a word he said. “Spill.”

  He shrugged, and a splash of red stained his cheeks. “No biggie. I was on EMT duty and saw some idiot toss a kitten out of a car window. My partner and I stopped, patched him up and drove him to the vet.”

  “And?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I paid for his care and got stuck with him.”

  “Didn’t you get in trouble for having an animal in the ambulance?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He tossed a toy mouse across the floor and Norbert chased it, batting it around the room. “But it was worth it, I guess. He’s a cool little guy.”

  Norbert took his mouse up the stairs and she turned to Sean. “So, do I get a tour?”

  “What you see is what you get. The kitchen is over there.” He gestured to a modest, modern kitchen on the left. “The stairs lead to the loft, my bedroom. Bathroom is up there, too. Like I said, it’s not much…”

  “It’s great.” She glanced at the sparse furnishings, all neatly arranged. “And tidy.”

  Another blush crept into Sean’s cheeks, giving him a boyishly appealing look. How odd that he’d been so confident before, but now, on his own turf, he seemed less so.

  “I wanted to impress you. It’s normally a disaster. And the décor?” He paused and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I only bought the cabin because it came furnished. I suck at decorating.”

  She doubted he sucked at anything, but she let that one go. She sniffed the air, and her mouth watered at the hearty aroma of beef and onions. “Something smells wonderful.”

  “It’s just stew in a slow cooker. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab some wine.”

  While she waited for him, she wandered around the living room, admiring his various medals and trophies and plaques that sat on shelves and hung on walls next to the decorative antique snowshoes, skis and wildlife oil paintings. True-life adventure novels and videos labeled with various dates and worldwide locations filled the bookcase near the TV.

  “What are these?” she asked, when he returned with two glasses of red wine.

  He sat on the couch and threw his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. “Training videos, some competitions.” He shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”

  “Can I watch one?”

  “If you want.”

  As she sipped her wine, she ran her finger over the titles and stopped at one labeled “Swiss Alps Helo-hell”. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Go ahead. You’ll get a good chuckle.”

  He used the remote to turn on the TV and VCR, and after she inserted the video, she joined him on the couch, careful to keep a few inches between them. Sean hooked his arm around her waist, dragged her close and leaned back in a lazy, casual sprawl.

  “I won’t bite,” he murmured against her cheek.

  She rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. Unless I want you to. I’ve heard that line before.”

  “It’s no line. I wouldn’t ruin your skin with bite marks. Licks are another matter…”

  Robyn had to chomp down on a lustful moan. The man would be the death of any sane ideas she had to keep things tame.

  On the TV screen, static merged into blue sky. A helicopter swooped into the frame, sunlight glinting off its surface. It slowed until it stopped, hovering at the summit of a snow-capped mountain. The aircraft’s side door opened, and a man clad in a royal blue snowsuit and helmet leapt from the opening into the empty air.

  “Is that you?” Robyn asked, sounding as breathless as she suddenly felt.

  “Yup.”

  Sean hit the pristine snow in a puff of powder between two large boulders. Pointing his ski tips downward, he attacked the slope. And no question, attacked was the only way to describe what he did to the mountain.

  She had been a skier almost since birth, and she’d been good, had shown a lot of potential—until she gained weight and turned into a klutz. At least, she thought she’d been good and had potential. Until now, as she witnessed the magic of Sean’s freeskiing.

  Literally on the edge of her seat, she held her wine glass so tight she had to remind herself to loosen her grip else shatter the glass. The man sitting so casually next to her, his hand gently massaging her tense neck, was crazy. Absolutely insane.

  On the screen, he tore up the slope with relaxed grace and unwavering balance as he slammed left and zigged right, going airborne over jagged rocks. The spectacle was both breathtaking and terrifying. The power of his moves, the strength he must possess in his legs and torso…

  “I love that,” he said so softly, so intimately, that he could have been speaking of a lover. “Being alone out there. There was a camera crew, but they were at a distance. It’s so quiet, just me and the mountain. Nothing even comes close to that feeling.”

  A familiar ache tugged at her, the ache that came with a hole in one’s life. Had she ever been so passionate about anything? Had she ever known the fulfillment of doing something for which she’d gladly risk life and limb to succeed?

  Sean made a series of turns, and then he sailed off a vertical drop. She held her breath until he
landed safely.

  “Why the cameras?”

  He tipped his wine glass to his mouth and she watched the sexy way his throat muscles worked down a swallow. “Ski documentary.” He jerked his chin at the TV. “Here’s the good part.”

  Sean flew down the face, his aggressive turns and speed increasing along with her heart rate. Faster. Snow parted like waves beneath his skis. Faster. His poles barely skimmed the powder. Faster.

  Suddenly, he hit a patch of wind-scoured crust and his ski railed out. His body slammed into the mountain face. His skis exploded off his feet, and he tumbled down the slope in a sickening blur of flopping limbs.

  She heard a gasp, and when Sean’s hand squeezed her arm, she realized the sound had come from her. “It’s okay. I was fine. I chose a bad line and paid for it with a few bruises and sprains. And a nasty friction burn on my arm.” He twitched a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “It happens.”

  “You could have been killed!”

  “Nah, it was nothing. I’ve had worse.” He clicked off the video and switched the TV station to a pop music channel.

  “Great. You’ve had worse, and I’m still trying to catch my breath and I wasn’t even there.” She shook her head at the insanity. “Do you still do crazy stuff like that?”

  He waggled his eyebrows and flashed her a demented grin. “Every chance I get.”

  Despite the fact that Sean was clearly a loon, his intense dedication drew her. “Does anything scare you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He took a drink of wine. “Clowns.”

  She blinked. “Come again?”

  “Clowns,” he repeated, shifting so he faced her on the couch. “And corn fields. Corn fields are creepy. I could never live in Nebraska.”

  “You aren’t afraid to leap to your death from a helicopter, but clowns and corn fields scare you?”

  “Oh, damn, can you imagine clowns in a cornfield?” He shuddered.

  She couldn’t control the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. “You’re weird.”

  “So I’m brain damaged and weird?”

  There was laughter in his voice and affection in his eyes as he spoke. He was such a catch, and she began to wonder why she was fighting the attraction. She’d never enjoyed any man’s company as much, had never allowed herself to truly relax and laugh. She’d always been on her guard, just waiting for the guy to realize that beneath her diets and workouts she was a whale, and dump her. With Sean, she didn’t feel the need to be on her guard…probably because she didn’t plan to give him the chance to hurt her.

  “You are most definitely both.”

  On the television, a music video ended, and the familiar voice of the VJ caught her attention. She turned to see George Walker, a video jockey who had taken the music video scene by storm after a short but vibrant stint in radio.

  “GeeWiz,” she murmured.

  “Is the correct response golly gee?”

  Excited, she propped her forearms on her knees and leaned toward the TV. “That’s GeeWiz. We were friends in college.” She slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him sooner.”

  “Should I be thinking of him as my competition?” he asked in a teasing voice that, to her surprise, sounded a little jealous.

  Laughing, she shook her head. “We were just good friends. He dated cheerleaders and sorority flakes.” But though he hadn’t been interested in Robyn sexually, they’d been close, and he’d always been there for her, ever ready to hunt down and pummel anyone who hurt her.

  “You thinking about him for your auction?”

  “He’d draw a record crowd.”

  He gestured to the phone on the table behind the couch. “You can call him now, if you want.”

  “I’ve got his number at the hotel. I’ll call him when I get back.”

  “Then let’s eat.” Sean stood and offered a hand. “Want to join me in the kitchen? Dinner should be ready.”

  Filled with a renewed sense of hope because she knew George wouldn’t let her down, she went with Sean to the kitchen, where he took two round loaves of bread out of the oven. The smell was heavenly…and familiar. As he cut the tops off and scooped out the steaming, tender bread inside, she smiled.

  “That’s my favorite bread in the world.”

  “Rosemary cheddar loaves? They make great bowls for the stew. I cheat though. I buy them.”

  She’d probably made them. “At Hausfreunde. That’s what you were going to buy when I saw you there today.”

  “You caught me.” He placed the bread bowls on plates. “I love that place. Their chocolate strudels are the best. The owner always throws in an extra.” He gave her a wink. “Probably my wit and charm.”

  “Could be. My mom has always been a sucker for guys like you.”

  “Seriously? Your mom owns the bakery?”

  “Yep.”

  “That explains the flour on your face.” He cocked his head and studied her for a moment. “Yeah, I see it now. You have the same eyes, same color hair.” He winked again. “Your mom’s hot.”

  She socked him in the shoulder. “You’re twisted.”

  “And weird and brain damaged. Want to add anything else to the list?”

  “Sexy,” she blurted. Horrified, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Had she really said that? Yes, if the sly grin on his face was any clue. No more wine for Robyn.

  “There’s an adjective I’ll take.”

  He ladled thick, chunky stew into the bowls he’d created and then set the plates on the butcher-block table near the kitchen window. He placed their wine glasses next to the bowls and held out a chair for her. She sat, and he did the same.

  “Dig in.” He shot her a hungry look that had nothing to do with food. “And save room for dessert.”

  Chapter Six

  Sean watched Robyn eat, surprised and gratified that she wasn’t dainty about it. No requests for a salad with low-cal dressing, no complaints that the stew was fattening or that the bread was loaded with carbs. She dug in, making sexy little moans of pleasure.

  Now to get her to make sexy little moans of pleasure by other means.

  “Do you like chocolate?”

  She swallowed a bite of stew. “Are you kidding? Eating good chocolate is practically a religious experience.”

  “Excellent.” He pushed to his feet. “Because I bought a chocolate mint torte at your mom’s bakery.”

  “Oh, you are wicked.”

  He walked around behind her and leaned over, brushing away her hair from the nape of her neck. “You have no idea,” he murmured against the soft, fragrant skin there.

  She took a sharp intake of breath. “I think I’m beginning to get one.”

  A suggestive reply sat on his tongue, but he didn’t want to push too hard. Yet. Instead, he started a pot of coffee and placed slices of the rich torte onto two plates. When he set one in front of her, she slid what was left of her stew aside and picked up a fork. For a moment she stared at the dessert, fork hovering above, and then an impish smile turned up one corner of her mouth. Instead of cutting a bite, she slowly, almost lovingly, drew the tip of her finger through the icing.

  He got the impression that she didn’t often allow herself luxuries like rich desserts. That what he was witnessing was almost a secret ritual, and he watched, feeling like a voyeur but unable to look away, as she dabbed the icing onto her tongue, closing her eyes with a moan that made his mouth go dry.

  “Mmm. Tastes like childhood.”

  A sip of wine moistened his throat so he could speak. “Your parents have always had the bakery?”

  She opened her eyes, lit from within by happy memories. “For as long as I can remember. Dad backpacked through Germany during a summer break from law school, and he met my mom at her mother’s café. They married, had me and my brothers, moved here, and Mom started up the bakery.” She finally cut into the cake and took a bite. “You said you had sisters. Younger? Older?”

  “Younger. Shelley and Miranda. Twin terrors w
ho thought it was funny to listen in on my phone conversations and spray my clothes with girly perfume. I used to beg my parents to give them up for adoption.”

  Robyn put down her fork and braced her forearms on the table. “You don’t fool me, Mr. Trenton. You adore them.”

  He laughed. He did adore them. They were in med school right now, studying to be doctors. Both claimed he inspired their career choice, what with the amount of time they spent nursing him after bad spills on the slopes.

  “I suppose they’re okay. For sisters.”

  She gave him a teasing, light swat on the shoulder before picking up her fork again. “They are more than okay. I’ll bet you were the big, protective brother all their boyfriends hated.”

  “Sometimes, I guess.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t around all that much. They’re five years younger, and I was always gone for ski training and competitions.”

  “What about when there was no snow? What did you do in the summers?”

  “I cross-trained in other sports. Kept fit with soccer, cycling, tennis.”

  “Did you ever have a chance to just have fun?”

  There had been plenty of time for partying and women once he moved away from home, but while he’d been under his parents’ roof, his life had been dedicated to skiing. “Let’s just say that fun was in short supply at times. My dad made sure every spare minute was spent practicing or eating the right foods or thinking winning thoughts.”

  “Sounds like your parents were pretty supportive. What do they do for a living?”

  “My mom is a fourth grade teacher, and my dad coaches college football.”

  “I’ll bet they’re proud of you.”

  He gave a noncommittal nod. His doting mom would be proud of his ability to tie his own shoes. His dad, however, seemed to think he was a failure. No gold, no glory. And worse, no longer perfect, fatally flawed.

  Sean had spent years trying to win his father’s approval, and during the gold medal years, they’d grown closer. Now his dad could barely look at him.

  Though his old man’s approval wasn’t a priority in his life anymore, he still couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the sports-announcing position would chase the dull haze of disappointment from his father’s eyes.