On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) (11 page)

Part
Two: Dig

“Keep close to Nature’s heart…and break clear away, once in a
while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods.
 
Wash your spirit clean.”
-John Muir

Chapter Eleven

After putting off calling her
mother, Baskia went to town for a signal. The next day she and Wes were going
to dinner, near Dartmouth, so she prepared to divert any criticism Anne started
up with by assuring her, she was thinking about college and would be sure to
pay her mother’s alma mater a visit while in Hanover. Thankfully, Anne’s phone
went straight to voicemail and Baskia left a message.

While cruising through the small
town, Wes was never far from her thoughts. He was different from all the guys
she’d known: modest, hardworking, humble, and polite. Like Trace, he was
something of a mystery, but if knives and guns protected Trace’s secrets, Wes
simply kept his close to his heart. But that was something he clearly kept well
hidden. She wasn’t sure she’d be the girl to find it.

That night, as she tucked into
bed, she finally pulled out the romance novel with the guy that looked like
Trace on the cover. She ran her finger over the image, finding herself yearning
for him and despising him in equal measure. Several chapters in, a cool breeze
whispered through the window, sending the curtain down on sleep.

^^^

Baskia pulled on her sneakers and
a thin, zip-up jacket. She was as far from figuring out what she wanted as she
was from the sidewalks in New York. But she’d started to enjoy, and almost
require like food or water or sleep, the long hikes on the trails around the
cabin. The forecast predicted sheets of rain the next day, so she headed
outside, planning to be back in time to get ready for the date across the
border in New Hampshire.

She laughed at the idea that
she’d come down in the world, leaving the luxuries of Manhattan for a simple
life in the woods. Her agent had been in touch with a series of shows in
December, just in time for the holidays. The hikes did double duty of keeping
her in top form and by the time the cabin was out of view, she’d usually left
all her thoughts behind and found her mind in a state of quiet stillness.

The sun was low in the sky when
she returned to the cabin. She uncorked a bottle of wine to let it rest while
she showered. She had the awareness that being with Wes was a slightly awkward
affair, prompting her to want to mellow the vibe with alcohol. Then she argued
that a cocktail or glass of champagne was part of the customary party-prep
routine she and London adopted while living with models in hotels across the
world. She told herself it did not indicate she was returning to her old ways.
She’d left her problems in Manhattan. The vodka, last time, and wine that
waited for her in the kitchen helped casually fill the vacancies in
conversation. It dulled her self-consciousness, and it made the whole guy-girl
thing easier. She hoped not to endure any more of Wes’s uncomfortable pauses
like the first time they went out.

When she opened the glass door
enclosing the shower, the steam billowed and puffed; she could hardly see
across the bathroom. Before she could find the plush, oversized bath towel, the
door burst open.

“What are you doing here?” she
gasped, standing naked. Water puddled around her feet.

“Not happy to see me?” Trace
said, handing her a glass of wine and reaching toward her waist.

She sunk back. “Did Will send you
back up here? If he did—”

“What are you going to do, thank
him?”

“Don’t be so cocky. It’s not
flattering.”

“I disagree. I think you like
it.” He took a slow sip of wine as if trying to discern bitterness or teasing.
He didn’t look as tired as he did the first time they’d met, but then again, it
wasn’t the middle of the night. His windblown hair hung around his wild smile.
“It’s hot in here,” he said, taking off his jacket to reveal his broad
shoulders and the sculpted chest beneath his t-shirt.

Baskia reached for her towel, but
he held it away from her.

“You think you can just come up
here, have a good time, leave, and—” she said, swiping for the towel.

“That’s exactly what I think I
can do.” He tilted his head, a stray lock of hair breezing across his cheek.

She wanted him so bad. Instead,
she chugged the wine in one sip and then grabbed her towel. He watched her
leave before following her to the bedroom. She slammed the door in his face.

Baskia sat on the bed, the wine
mellowing her. She put on the off-the-shoulder sweater and skinnies that she’d
selected for her date with a respectable young man to a quaint, little college
town. The clock indicated there was under an hour before Wes was due to arrive.
Stuffing the battle between anger and desire deep down, she returned to the
bathroom to demurely braid her blond hair around her head in a cool updo she’d
seen online and apply makeup. Trace was in the shower.

“You know, I could kick you out.
Right now. Naked. In the cold.”

“Or you could come back in here
with me. It’s warm, steamy.” His laugh checkered her mood red with desire and
black with irritation.

She gritted her teeth and then
took a sip of the glass of wine he’d abandoned on the vanity. She ran her brush
through her long hair. As she applied foundation, Trace opened the shower door.
Her pulse quickened. She’d seen many guys, both on set and off, but no one
compared to the perfection of Tracey Wolfe. She pressed her lips firmly
together.

“Like what you see?” he asked,
wrapping his towel around his waist.

She swallowed hard and applied
her mascara, steadying her hand against her cheekbone. He brushed her thigh
when he leaned in to retrieve his glass of wine. Then he rested against the
vanity watching her with a hunger she couldn’t help but want to fill. She
wouldn’t give in. She smoothed moisturizer over her hands and added a pair of
earrings.

“So, are you going out? Hot
date?” He followed her out of the bathroom.

“I met someone, and he’s picking
me up in a half hour, if you must know.”

Still in his towel, Trace
refilled their wine. As she took the glass from her lips, he stood close to
her. His eyes, steadily on hers, asked a silent question. Against her better
judgment, she answered by stepping closer. Her breath caught as the space
between them closed. He caressed her jawline with both hands. Then his lips
were on hers, kissing her like he meant it, like the world around them stopped
and the only thing that would make it spin again was their mouths and tongues
pressing together. The kiss electrified every inch of her body that pressed
against his bare skin.

He took the glass from her hand
and hoisted her on the kitchen counter, his towel falling away. If he was
hungry for her, it was nothing to the craving that filled her when he pulled
off her top. His hands ran over her thighs, and they both breathed heavily.

“I want you,” Trace said unable
to take his eyes from her lips, even between kisses as he nibbled on her lip
and nipped her chin. He ran his hand down her back and then pulled her forward
on the counter as her legs wrapped around him. She wanted the moment to stretch
into forever, and yet couldn’t help but want more, more, more. Their bodies
moved together fluidly, madly. He gripped her hips, ready to slide her even closer,
when the doorbell rang. Baskia didn’t want to stop, she wanted him more than
anything, but he froze, as solid as granite. 

“Your date is here.” He pulled
his towel back on.

“Hang on a minute,” Baskia
called, catching her breath. She cleared her throat, wondering why, after the
long absence, her date suddenly mattered to Trace. Was Wes competition? A
challenge to get in her pants first, faster? Why did she give in? Was she
crazy? Confused and irritated, Baskia searched for her underwear and bra.

“What the hell?” she hissed,
doubly annoyed as she pulled on a boot, hopping as she searched for the other.
“You wanted it as much as I did.”

“It went too—never mind.” Trace
slouched on the couch, pulling the romance novel, which Baskia had yet to
return, from the top of her reading pile.

She opened the door. “Hey, Wes,”
she said not wanting to leave him outside, but afraid of him seeing Trace
there. Unable to leave without the other boot, the blustery air bit her toes as
Wes shuffled over the threshold.

Slowly, Trace turned his head.
“Hi,” he said from the couch, shirtless and toweled, looking more interested in
the book than the newcomer’s arrival.

Wes startled. “Oh, hi. I didn’t
know you had company.”

“That’s not Baskia’s bike in the
driveway,” Trace growled. 

Baskia found her boot—resisted
kicking Trace with it—blotted her lipstick, and made toward the door.

“Good read,” Trace said, his lips
teasing her with a smirk. She wanted to kiss them, slap them, or both. “Don’t
stay out too late,” he called as they exited.

Despite her attempt to make
conversation, the cab of the pickup was quiet except for the hum of the engine
and Baskia’s fidgeting until they reached the bottom of the hill. Her thoughts
still swam with wine and dangerously close to Trace’s lips every time she tried
not to think of him in his towel back at the cabin.

“So, unexpected house guest,
huh?” Wes asked.

“You could say that. Do you ever
get those?” She wondered if he knew, if he sensed the tension and the lust
crackling between her and Trace.

“Nope.”

“He’s my brother’s friend.” She
didn’t know what else to say. “I’m starved.”

“There’s a great pub in Hanover,
also an Italian restaurant.”

“Is there a sushi place? I
haven’t had sushi in like, well, since summer.” Food being neutral territory,
Baskia launched into descriptions of all her favorite sushi spots in the City
and then progressed to her go-tos for the dish worldwide.

Settled into a cozy table, Wes
exhaustively perused the menu as if he studied for an exam or read
hieroglyphics.

Baskia glanced at the drinks on
offer. “Have you ever had saké?”

He shook his head.

“You should really try it. Will
you order one for me?”

Wes looked perplexed, but then
said, “I’ll order you anything you want, but tell me, what should
I
order?”

“Wait a minute; you’ve never
eaten sushi before? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Sushi-virgin,” he replied,
turning the same color as the wrapper of the chopsticks resting on the table
between them.

“Oh, I said I was going to pay
you back for helping me, and this is going to blow your mind, possibly more
than the cheesy fries.”

While they tiptoed through small
talk, Trace’s image filled Baskia’s thoughts and made her stomach jitter with
excitement. When Wes cleared his throat, she tried to ignore the comparison
with Trace’s lips and the way they made her feel and focus on being with him.

“Tell the server you want two
glasses of saké and the Royal Dragon Sushi Boat. This is going to be epic.”

When the two ceramic glasses
appeared, Baskia sipped hers, enjoying the smooth beverage.

Wes lifted it to his lips and
then put it down with a clatter. “Is this alcohol?”

“Yeah, it’s just rice wine,” she
said, shrugging.

“I told you that I don’t drink,
and I have to drive.” His mouth formed a hard line, but his eyes softened like
something sad hid behind them.

“I’m sorry. I forgot. Don’t worry
you’ll love the sushi. I guess I’ll just have to drink yours,” Baskia said with
a nervous laugh. After a few more sips, the liquid glow of the saké dulled the
awkwardness.

Baskia chirped more about food.
She quietly reflected that among models, where they often talked about food
instead of eating it, she’d never covered so much ground about tapas, crepes,
and canapés as she had with him. It proved to be a safe and familiar subject.
Discussing anything more personal seemed unwelcome. Trace’s hungry expression
crowded her mind.

The wooden boat arrived, artfully
arranged with colorful sushi. Baskia went on to identify rolls, maki, inari,
and sashimi. Wes appeared enthusiastic, but after a few tastes, he pushed his
plate aside. His eyes said he was somewhere else entirely.

She tried to pull him back from
what looked like a ponderous edge. “So you said you studied architecture.”

“Yeah. I went to Notre Dame for
three years, scholarship.”

“You didn’t finish?”

“Not yet.” Wes’s end of the
conversation went cold.

“Well, I still don’t know what I
want to study…” Her momentum was lost. The saké made her tongue thick. 

“Want to take a walk?” he asked
after she’d paid the bill.

The heeled boots she wore were not
choice footwear for taking an evening stroll, but she consented, hoping to
salvage the date.

“My mom went to Dartmouth,” she
said, as they set foot on the austere campus.

“Mine too.” Once again, the
shadow of sadness burdened his features. “We should probably head back. You
have company and all.”

“Oh, he’s fine.” The truth was
that she wanted the date to end; she’d never experienced such a failure with a
guy before. Was he not into her? Was there someone else? Had he heard her
moaning when he’d arrived at the cabin? She wanted to see it through if only to
uncover, even the minutest amount of chemistry, to remind herself that she was
still desirable.