In From the Cold (8 page)

“What about her?”

“She means nothing. You know that, don’t you?”

I felt my lips curl into a grin. “Well, I should hope so. I credit you with better taste than that.”

He studied me, as if he didn’t quite believe me. I reached up my hand and pulled him down for another kiss. He pulled away only a few inches, still staring at me intently.

“You’re okay? You’re sure?”

“I’m okay.”

And for once, in a very long time, I knew to my bones that it was true.

Drake had to go out that night since he’d given up a whole day to be with us, so I entertained the girls, reading books, playing with Meow and Ontidi and Duplo blocks, and then gave them a long bubble bath complete with sinking ships. I suffered no jealousy at the thought of him with those women now, surprised by my pity for him. I knew he’d rather be with us. But when I went to bed, I gazed idly at the snow-bright mountains, thinking about Drake. My mind reeled in a hundred directions. One interlude did not a relationship make, and for now, I wanted to enjoy my feelings. I was finally alive again.

The next day dawned clear and cold, and the girls were up again with the birds. They were excited and distracted, because everyone was invited to Snow King for skiing, and the girls were going to spend the afternoon at the toddler’s ski “camp”. I tried to calm them as best I could, but by the time the driver showed up, I couldn’t wait to hand them over. This would be my first free time since I had arrived, and as much as I loved the girls, I needed a break.

Drake had left earlier for an informal meeting, so we hadn’t talked again after yesterday, but I felt calmer and happier, a voice inside me whispering “What if?” I was hopeful for the first time in years. I knew I shouldn’t keep letting my thoughts sail in his direction, but after yesterday, that seemed an impossible goal.

Soon after lunch, we drove to the resort. The mountains were huge, much higher and steeper than anything back east, and I felt more than a little overwhelmed. I was not a big downhill skier anyway, although I’d loved sledding as a kid. The camp was part of the day care center, near the main lodge, so after I had enrolled the girls and left them squealing in delight at riding a sled train, I was at loose ends with five hours to myself.

I thought I’d check out the main lodge first, so crunched my way over. I was halfway there when I felt a rush of cold air and heard skis scrape on snow beside me.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I turned smiling, thinking to see Drake, but this was a stranger—albeit a very tall, blond, handsome one. I looked around, bewildered, sure he must be talking to someone else.

“No, I mean you.” He chuckled, his eyes a startling blue, a smug grin on his face. “Did you think I made a mistake?”

A trick question. If I said yes, I’d sound insecure; if I said no, I’d sound vain. Either way, he made me feel left-footed, and I didn’t appreciate the feeling. I decided I really didn’t care either way and kept walking.

“Come on. Don’t you know a pick-up line when you hear it?” He swished beside me as I lumbered along in my Sorels. “I thought I was pretty obvious—must be losing my touch.”

“Oh, you were obvious all right.” I kept walking, my eyes straight ahead. “I thought I was too.”

“Ouch. A hit, a palpable hit.” He slapped his hand to his chest. I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

“Still, when one sees such beauty, it’s worth a try. Let me buy you a drink.”

“No, thank you.”

“A cocoa?”

“No, thank you.”

“A diamond?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” I stopped and turned to him. “Go. Ski.” I pointed to the highest mountain run. “Preferably up there—on the other side.”

He loomed over me, his grin splitting his face. He really was extraordinarily handsome, Jim’s kind of handsome, the kind that made me want to run for the hills. There was something about him that seemed too practiced, too calculating—frankly, too creepy.

“I can ski any time. It’s not every day I meet a woman as lovely as you.”

I had finally reached the door of the lodge—and my limit—and turned to my pursuer.

“As far as I’m concerned, you
haven’t
met me.”

I shut the door in his face. The idiot was probably still grinning on the other side.

Did lines like that really work? I guessed if you were in the market for only good looks some might go for him, but I pitied the girl who fell for that slimeball.

I looked around me and quickly forgot about him. The room was breathtaking. A huge vaulted ceiling soared above me, with beautiful wood and stone and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the outdoors part of the interior decoration. It felt like a cathedral dedicated to the mountains. There was a huge stone fireplace, big enough for five people to stand in comfortably, and a restaurant open to the commons area. Some boutiques ranged against another wall, and skiers of all kinds milled about. I walked over to the bar area and ordered a cocoa, thinking a seat by the fire would be a great place to people watch.

“Hi,” a deep male voice whispered in my ear.

“Oh for the love of—” I whipped around, ready to let Mr. Ski-Slime have it, but it was Drake. My face must have registered my surprise.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Expecting someone else?” He raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder, then back at me.

I shook my head. “No, my mistake.” I glanced over at the crowd by the fireplace, all of them fashionable and sophisticated, oozing money and ease. “So, is this the party?”

“Uh hunh. Would you like to join us?”

I tried to gauge his expression. Did he really want me to or was he just being polite? Did
I
want to? I looked up and a man in the crowd winked at me, another slimeball on the make. I grimaced.

“Honestly, no.”

“Then may I join you?” His blue eyes sparkled against the frame of his black knit cap, and the slight stubble on his cheeks made my hands twitch to rub it. Somehow, I managed to keep my hands clasped around my mug.

“Won’t you miss your chance to schmooze or whatever you business types call it?”

“I’ve been schmoozing all week, and all this morning. I’d love a break, and they won’t miss me.” His dimple was back. I
really
liked that dimple. “Please? I promise you won’t have to tie my boots or wipe my nose or anything.” He turned on his lopsided grin.

Between that grin and his dimple, how could I refuse?

“I don’t know. It’s my first free afternoon, and I’m not sure you’re completely trained yet.” I looked him up and down as if I were debating, then crossed my arms and leaned toward him. “If I say it’s time to go, we go. Deal?”

“Deal.” He held out his hand, palm up, then grinned at me. “We don’t have to spit in our palms before we shake, do we?” He started to spit.

“Eww. Stop that.” I smacked him on the shoulder. “See. You’re already misbehaving.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He nodded toward the window, where the mountain loomed. “So were you going to ski?”

“That thing?” I shivered. “No way. I can barely handle the baby slope at the Homestead and most of that on my butt. I’m not that crazy.”

“What about cross country? Would you like that?”

“Do they have trails for that too?”

He nodded.

“And I don’t have to go up or come down that monster?”

He nodded again, a broad smile lighting his face.

“Then sure, I’m game.”

We walked over to the equipment room, got outfitted, and I soon found myself following Drake down a pristine forest path. Our skis shushed through the snow, and we maintained a quiet, even pace. It was lovely.

Neither of us said much. Once we saw a moose up the path, but it had moved on by the time we got there. A snowshoe hare darted by, and I was intrigued by its white coat, long ears and tail. The fir trees, the sun on the snow, the spectacular mountains, the crisp air, all braced me and made me feel even more alive. Reborn. Joyful.

Drake plowed the path ahead, his skis gliding through the snow, his powerful legs and arms swinging in rhythm, graceful, almost dancing. His blue parka and red scarf were fixed in my sights, and I took mental snapshots of him to savor later. I knew there weren’t many more days to make memories—the house party was halfway over—and while I couldn’t risk my heart again, I’d decided to let myself enjoy my time with him. Or at least, I planned to try.

He was not good looking in the same way as Jim, or model perfect like Mr. Ski-Slime, but there was something about Drake. He was confident, yes, and attractive, but in a healthy, open, out-of-doors way, and very masculine. It was hard to imagine him stuck behind a desk right now, as he thrust his powerful legs through the snow. A Patagonia model maybe, but not a CEO.

“I’ll race you to the cabin!” He pointed to a small cabin three hundred yards ahead, a boyish grin on his face.

“No fair. Your legs are too long.”

“I’ll give you a head start.”

“I don’t trust you. You’ll cheat.”

His eyes clouded. “I
never
cheat.”

“Oh, all right. You must like to lose then.” I brushed past him and swished up the trail. “Say when.”

“When!” he yelled, superfast, and he was practically past me before I’d dug in my first pole. He held back until we were within fifty yards or so, but was well before me at the cabin and hardly out of breath.

“Never cheat, hunh?” I panted.

“Well, almost never. And I
did
give you a head start and said ‘When’.”

“Semantics.”

He grinned, and I felt that tug in my stomach again. He stepped up on the porch, his skis still on.

“Wanna go in?”

“What is this place?” I looked around. The cabin looked like a Christmas card, all natural wood that glowed like honey, with a huge wreath on the door and drifts of clean snow against its sides. It was cozy, idyllic.

“A rest cabin. You can get a hot drink, warm up, use the facilities, take shelter if you need to. Come see.”

“Sure. A break sounds good.”

We took off our boots and skis and left them on the porch, stepping inside in our sock feet. The cabin was charming. A small Jøtul gas stove sat in one corner, a small kitchenette in the other. There was a tan leather loveseat and an oak rocking chair with a Navajo rug before the stove, and a restroom over to the right.

Drake started the stove and within a minute, the room was noticeably warmer.

I walked over to the kitchen area, peeling off my gloves, hat and parka as I went, and threw them on the sofa. The cupboards were high, so I looked around for something to stand on.

“Oh good, a stool. Being short sucks.” I pulled it over, climbed up and started delving through the shelves. “What would you like? They have tea, cocoa and Keurig coffees.”

“Tea sounds good.” His voice was much closer. I whirled around and almost toppled, startled to see him so close and at eye level. His hands grabbed my waist to steady me—and stayed there.

“I don’t know why you complain about being short. You look just right to me.” His voice grew softer, rougher, his eyes focused on my lips. He leaned in closer, and I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself.

His eyes held mine, but he didn’t move. They were steady and assured, and waited for me. Waited for permission.

And I was ready—to move on, to risk life again. He made me feel powerful—confident and in control. My knees shook, and I shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. It was desire. I wanted him. And I wanted him now.

His arms tightened around me, but he still waited. I pulled off his cap and ran my fingers through his silky curls. His eyes searched mine and when I grinned, I saw a flash of relief answer in his. Then I claimed his mouth with mine, but I felt possessed.

The fears, the longing, the pent-up frustration poured through me like floodwaters through a broken dam. I threw myself at his head, rough, demanding. My tongue pushed through his lips, conquering his mouth, and he gave it right back, his hunger as strong as mine. This was no dance of tongues; this was a fistfight, a take-no-prisoners tangle. We stroked and licked, tasted and sucked, explored and slid over every nook, seeking every sensation. I forgot to breathe and pulled away gasping, only to lurch back harder, pulling his warm sweet mouth to mine. I wanted everything, everywhere, all at once. It was shocking, arousing, exhilarating, exciting. And he was totally with me.

I felt myself lifted straight onto the counter and heard him kick the stool out of the way. One hand rifled my hair, the other digging under my sweater, then my shirt. He groaned and settled closer between my thighs, pulling me to the counter edge, and I could feel his swollen desire there between my legs. I pulled off his sweater and shirt, craving no barriers, burning for his skin, frantic to touch him, to feel him. His hands were caressing my mound through my tights, and I could feel my wetness on my panties. He pulled off my sweater, my shirt, my bra, and groaned again as he pulled my nipple into his mouth and suckled, hard, his tongue stroking and twirling. My insides turned to molten lava, and I rasped myself against the hot bulge in his ski tights. He turned to my other breast and worshipped it, his arm holding me tight around the waist, pulling me into his urgent mouth. I arched my back to bring him nearer, my body aching, squirming with need. I had to have him. Had to.

“Claire…Claire,” I heard him moan, and I whimpered with need.

I pulled down his tights, and I heard his breath hitch. His erection was glorious—long and wide, hot and hard. My hand slid down his gorgeous shaft, my fingers taking his drops of come and swirling it around his cock’s throbbing head. He moaned and I thrilled to his jerking at my touch. He took my mouth in another assault, stroking, conquering with his lips, thrusting with his tongue. He pulled off my tights and panties in a rush, cupped my bottom firmly, then slid one finger into my dripping sheath. He shivered and his cock leapt in my hand.

“Oh dear God, baby, you’re so ready,” he murmured, taking my lips again, his finger plunging, adding another, thrusting, plunging, rubbing my clit. I was on fire.

“Are you clean, Drake?” I gasped.