by Cathryn Fox
“Ohmigod,” I cry out as strong arms tighten around my waist, practically squeezing the air from my lungs. “What do you...” My words die an abrupt death when he spins me around, going faster and faster until I’m dizzy and completely disoriented. My brain wobbles inside my head, and I briefly close my eyes as he laughs, his breath warming the side of my face.
“About time you got here,” he says.
What the hell?
When he finally stops twirling me, and my feet are on solid ground again, I slowly turn around, my breath catching in my throat when I come face-to-face with the hottest guy I’ve ever set eyes on.
“I...um...think...”
I struggle to find my words when he steps back, and blinks thick lashes over gorgeous blue eyes that could melt the panties right off my hips, despite the cold temperatures here in the Swiss Alps.
“You’re not—” he begins, his brow furrowing as he gives a hard shake of his head.
Shocked, intrigued...aroused—despite my spinning brain—I work to focus in on the six feet of pure testosterone standing before me. A wide smile splits his lips, showcasing perfect white teeth as he grabs a fistful of hair, and takes another measured step back to give me space. My gaze slides downward, lingering over broad shoulders that fill out his ski jacket nicely, to jeans that cradle his package to perfection. I study the curved outline of an impressive bulge. I’ve not been with many men, but my guess is this guy won the man lottery in more ways than one.
Stop staring at his crotch, already.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. My gaze jerks back to his as he holds his hands up, palms out, a nonverbal gesture that communicates his mistake. “I thought you were someone else.”
Still wobbly from the spin, I widen my feet to brace myself, and reach for something to hold on to before I face plant in the snow—in front of the hottest guy on the planet. I stumble a bit, and once again his arms are around me, invading my personal space and securing me to his firm body. Only this time we’re face-to-face. And oh, what an incredible face he has.
I lift my chin until we’re eye to eye. Damn I wish I was the someone he was looking for. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I say, surprised I can form a coherent thought as my lust-hazed mind struggles to work.
“Who says I’m disappointed?” he asks, his rich, low baritone curling through my body and arousing all my neglected girly parts. I take him in, my shaky gaze going from unruly dark hair that I want to run my fingers through, to a sculpted jaw covered in a light dusting of stubble—stubble that would leave burn marks on my naked body, if I ever found myself beneath him in bed.
And oh, how I want to.
His grin is back, doing the most ridiculous things to the needy juncture between my legs, when he says, “I’m Tate, by the way.”
Tate. The perfect name for the epitome of male perfection. As I think about that, wind gusts around us, blowing my hair across my face. I catch a few strands in my mouth. I sputter a bit, and swat at them with gloved fingers. How attractive must that look to him? Ugh.
He holds his hand up again and cocks his head. “Mind if I...”
Our gazes latch, hold, and the air around us charges with enough electricity to keep the gondolas running in a black out—for a month straight. I take a breath, work to keep it together, but everything about this man reminds me I’m a woman with needs, which shatters my ability to present composed.
“Please,” I say quietly. He pauses for a split second, like that one word means something entirely different, then he’s back in the moment, his rough fingertips brushing my cheek, lingering a second too long, before he pulls the strands free and tucks them into my hat.
Come on, knees. Keep it together. Just because six feet of sex-in-ski-jacket is touching you, doesn’t mean you have to weaken.
“I... I’m...”
Okay, Summer. You’re a Harvard educated physician. Find your words, already.
He angles his head, those astute blue eyes moving over my face, assessing me, as my body flushes. Heat curls through me and climbs up my neck. No doubt turning my cheeks a darker shade of pink. Will he think my flesh is wind-burnt, or will he realize it’s my body’s way of telling me it needs to get laid? Right now. By him.
I inhale, and little lightning bolts of electricity zing though my body when I catch his scent. Sun. Outdoors. One hundred percent hot male. Every bone in my body wants him. I honestly can’t ever remember reacting so strongly to the opposite sex before, but this guy, holy hell, he has me rethinking my stance on one-night stands. Or maybe one-week stands. Something tells me one night wouldn’t be enough to sample everything he has to offer. My mind races, the vision of him warming my currently chilled body beneath the sheets stirs the desire within me. I hadn’t planned to have a vacation fling when I arrived here two days ago, but now...
“Summer,” I say on a breathless whisper.
Tate frowns, and glances at the snow-covered hill. Then he turns back to me and gives me a look that suggests I’m a snow bunny with little going on upstairs. “Could have fooled me.”
“No,” I say. “That’s my name.” I don’t bother telling him my last name. While on vacation, I just want to be Summer, not Doctor Love. Ironic really, since Doctor Love can’t find love. But seriously, when guys find out I’m a doctor, it somehow intimidates them, scares them off. Just once in my life I want a guy to look at me as a woman—the way Tate is looking at me right now. Although there is something about him, something confident and powerful that says he wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone or anything. A fine shiver moves through my blood and settles deep in my core at that thought.
He takes my gloved hand in his bare one, and shakes it. “I know it’s probably a little late for a proper introduction,” he says, that sexy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth again.
I lift my chin. “You mean because of the groping?”
He laughs, and the sound awakens all my dormant parts. “I’m not sure I’d call it groping.”
“Then what would you call it?” I ask, surprised at my flirting. I was never very good at it.
He looks up to the left, like he’s thinking, then gives me a wink. “Maybe copping a feel?”
This time I laugh, but then I mentally kick myself for missing my chance to cop my own feel when he had his arms around me.
“I really am sorry.” He frowns. “I shouldn’t have touched you.” The sincerity edging his voice relaxes me.
“Don’t worry.” I give a wave of my hand to dismiss the incident. “I’m not going to report you.” Not only because it was an honest mistake, but because I damn well liked it.
He blows out a relieved breath. “Good. I need this job.” He lets go of my hand, and it falls to my side.
I glance at him again, admire his too longish hair, and athletic frame. “Ski instructor?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I would have thought...” My words fall off as I let my gaze travel the length of his long, hard body. What would it feel like to have all two hundred pounds of him on top of me, or better yet, beneath me?
“Would have thought what?” he asks, his voice snapping me back to the present. God, girl, get it together. You’re acting like a sex-starved idiot. While that description might be fitting after meeting Tate, I certainly don’t have to act it.
“You’re just so fit and athletic.” Head tilted, I hold my hand out, wave it down the length of him. “I mean you look like a professional. Not that I know what a professional skier looks like,” I say. “This is my first time on a slope.” I glance toward the bunny hill, catch sight off all the children conquering it. “Those kids are going to put me to shame. Honestly, I don’t even really like heights. Couldn’t even look out the window during the plane ride.”
Okay, Summer, stop rambling.
“You’ve never skied before?”
I shake my head. “You s
eem surprised.”
“It’s just that...” His eyes narrow as they move down my body, a slow inspection that sparks something low and needy in my stomach. “You’re so fit and—”
“You can’t tell that,” I blurt out, and glance at my puffy white coat and snow pants. “I look like a big marshmallow.”
He grins, takes a small step closer, his scent once again surrounding me as blue eyes lance mine. “I love marshmallows.”
Omg, he’s flirting with me, too.
“And I would have thought you were a ripper, given your top-of-the-line gear,” he says.
“Ripper?”
“Ski slang for an accomplished skier.” He nods toward my clothes. “You’re dressed like one.”
I frown at the skis, boots, poles and clothes I’m wearing. They were in the penthouse suite waiting for me when I arrived, compliments of my generous patient. “A friend bought them for me.”
“Nice friend.”
“Very nice,” I say, and glance around. “So where’s this friend you were looking for?” Before I can stop myself, my gaze goes to his left finger. He’s smiling when my eyes move back to his, totally aware I was checking on his marital status.
Subtle, Summer. Real subtle.
He glances around. “I guess she’s not here yet.” With a nod he gestures toward my friends, who are staring at us. “Looks like your friends are waiting for you.”
I let out a slow breath. “They may have to get used to waiting for me this week.”
He grins, then says, “Listen, I really am sorry about grabbing you. Why don’t I make it up to you?”
The needy girl in me perks up, ready to suggest all kinds of ways he can make it up to me.
“I work the bar at Diamond’s Peak.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Just across the road. Come on by tonight, let me hook you and your friends up with a drink. It’s the least I can do.”
The least.
I twist to see my two friends grinning. “I, ah, should probably go. My friends.”
He holds his hands up, like he’s ready to grab me again if I should fall.
Oh, how I want to fall.
“No more dizziness?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. The truth is, after being in his arms, being subjected to that sexy, panty-melting grin of his, I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again.
CHAPTER THREE
Tate
I GLANCE AROUND the busy bar, the thick scent of cigar and perfume clogging the air as I take in the sea of people milling about. Most are talking about the trails they skied today, or worrying about the storm that’s supposed to hit midweek. I’m hoping I’ll be out of here by then, back in Manhattan, no longer worrying about my grandfather getting taken advantage of by Summer Love.
I may have put this plan together quickly, but before following through with it, I tried calling Granddad to ask once more about Summer. Again, I didn’t get any straight answers from my grandfather, who has swung between acting like a moony teen and being purposefully evasive on this topic. This isn’t like him, and if I can’t rely on him for information, I need to get it myself.
Honestly, he’s always been a generous man, always loved younger women, but something about this whole situation just isn’t right, and I’m not so sure I can blame it entirely on his mental deterioration. I visited him last summer, before he got sick. Since getting pneumonia last month, he lost his sharpness but two days ago, when he dropped this bombshell on me, there were times when he seemed like his young self, quick with a response, his mind as bright and agile as I remembered.
Truthfully, when I was little, I thought he’d live forever, but I guess age and frailty catch up with all of us, eventually. Guilt niggles at me for up and leaving him, right after returning home. I fibbed and told him I had some urgent out-of-town business. I guess it wasn’t that much of a lie. He waved me off like he wanted me to go, telling me he was fine, that he had in-house care every day and didn’t need me fussing.
I reach into the fridge behind me and grab an imported beer, then glance at the door to the bar. I’ve been watching it for the last hour, but Summer has yet to arrive with her friends. Maybe she changed her mind and isn’t going to come. Disappointment takes up residency in my gut. Not because I want to see her again, to continue our flirting and easy banter from earlier, but because I need to get close to her, get her into my bed, prove she’s only after my Granddad for one thing. Not that I plan to carry through with the seduction. No, I just need to strip her bare and expose her for the con she really is.
I uncap a beer and slide it across the smooth mahogany bar top, before turning my attention to the next customer. As I take his order, I glance over his head to keep one eye on the door. I can definitely see what Granddad sees in Summer Love. She’s gorgeous, and has a sweet, almost innocent quality about her. It might be all an act, but dammit if that doesn’t bring out the protectiveness in a man—at least in the Carson men. Since Dad is okay with the arrangement, it sounds to me like he’s fallen for her charm, too.
I, of course, am not about to be lured in by her, not in a million years, but Jesus, when I put my arms around her, felt her soft body against mine, I almost got derailed and forgot why I’m really here. But when it comes to her, there’s a line I have no intention of crossing. Not even when she whispered the word yes, all sultry and seductive like—okay, it’s possible I imagined the sultry and seductive part. My mind drifts once again, envisioning that one word on her lips when I have her naked, beneath me in bed, my cock sliding in and out of her hot, sweet body.
Get your shit together, Tate.
You’re not here to sleep with the woman, you’re here to prove she’s not who your grandfather thinks she is. With that last thought pinging around inside my brain, and steering me back on track, I finish making a Manhattan, then glance at the door in time to see Summer enter. Her caramel hair is piled haphazardly on her head, and she’s dressed in tight jeans and a snug sweater that showcases one hell of a hot body.
My dick twitches.
I track their path to the back of the room—and I’m not the only one—to a coveted window table that just opened up. Once she and her friends are seated, I turn to Henry, the older gentleman who runs the place. The two of us go way back, to when I used to come here during my high school years. He’s much older now, a little rounder, with thinning hair. After explaining the situation to him when I arrived yesterday, he jumped at the chance to let me work the bar. Granddad was always good to Henry, was always a generous tipper, and gave Henry’s wife a damn good job managing one of the hotels. Most people around here would bend over backward for Granddad.
Would Summer bend over for me?
Shit. Don’t go there, dude.
“Hey, Henry, you want to take over the bar for a bit? I’ll take the floor.”
“Sure,” he says, and gives me an understanding nod.
I tug the cloth from my shoulder and slap it onto the counter, giving it a little scrub as I plot my next step with Summer. A drink is a great icebreaker, and since I promised her one, it gives me a reason to go to her and start up a conversation. If I could turn back time, I never would have grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. I shouldn’t have put my hands on her like that. It was a snap decision, a stupid one, because now, I can’t help but want my goddamn hands on her again. I clench down on my teeth, and whip up three strawberry daiquiris, taking a chance it’s their drink of choice, like most other snow bunnies, and set them on the tray. I wipe my hands on my apron and carry the drinks across the room.
“Hello, ladies,” I say, and all eyes turn to me. I hand Summer the first drink. “On the house, as promised.” She smiles up at me, and it messes with my equilibrium. My hands shake and the drinks on my tray wobble. I make a quick adjustment, and I’m abl
e to rebalance before making a damn fool of myself. I hand the other drink to her blonde friend, and catch the way the men at the table beside me are staring at the three ladies, most focusing on Summer. Not that I can blame them, she’s the hottest girl in the room.
Her friend accepts the drink, and takes a sip, then nibbles on the straw. I hand the third woman a drink, and her lips twist into a grin.
“A daiquiri for copping a feel,” she says, and leans a little toward me in a conspiratorial way. “What would you give her if...you know...” She holds both hands out, and cups them. “You got an actual, full-on feel.”
“Amber,” Summer says, and whacks her friend. The slap reverberates through me, settles into my balls.
“Ouch.” Amber pulls her hand back, and her other friend laughs. Summer’s face is as red as her drink when she glances up at me. Something inside me softens as dark lashes blink rapidly over big mortified eyes.
“It’s okay. I hear lots of comments working in a place like this,” I say, brushing it off to put Summer at ease.
Amber looks me over. She must like what she sees because she bobs her head and makes a lip-smacking sound. Does Summer like what she sees?
Jesus, Tate. It doesn’t matter. You’re not here to sleep with her.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?
“I bet you get lots of offers for lots of things,” Amber says, pointing a finger at me, and running it up and down.
I grin, and Summer clears her throat. “Tate, this is my friend Amber. Amber is obnoxious and doesn’t have any filters.” She points to her other friend, who is still nibbling on her straw. “This is Cara. She’s the nice one.”
“Hey,” Amber says. “I’m nice, too.” Without missing a beat, she turns to me. “So this friend you were looking for earlier. Was she your girlfriend?”
Summer opens her mouth, no doubt to yell at her friend again, but I hold my hand up to stop her. I turn to Summer. “No, just a friend.”