To Tell the Truth (3 page)

The waiter arrived with their check, enabling Andrea to evade his question. When she insisted on paying for her own meal, refusal darkened his lean features. Then with an arched black brow and a mocking curve to his mouth, Tell relented, accepting the money she handed him. When they rose from the table, his hand closed over her elbow.

"I'll walk you to the lodge," he stated.

"That isn't necessary," Andrea protested.

But one glance at the resolute line of his jaw told her that in this he wouldn't yield. She was beginning to learn that he was a man who knew what he wanted to do and did it. No one stood in his way unless he allowed it.

The night sky was still spitting snow, the tiny flakes making a light film on the sidewalk. The firm grip on her elbow had relaxed, but she could still feel the touch of his hand through her lined parka. Their silence seemed out of tune with the laughter and voices of the other skiers traversing the square.

"Were you very much in love with him?" The silence was shattered by his softly spoken question.

"Who?" Andrea stalled, glancing at Tell in false bewilderment. But the dark, knowing eyes weren't fooled.

"The man who's made you so afraid of becoming involved again," he answered calmly and confidently.

Stating straight ahead, Andrea neither admitted nor denied his observation. His perception was unnerving. She wished
now that she had never accepted his invitation to dine at his table.

"You must have been very much in love with him," he concluded from her silence. "Was he married?"

There was anger in the glance she darted upward to his face, a resentment that he should continue to probe a wound that was so obviously still painful. He met her look and returned it, letting Andrea see that he wouldn't be put off by her silence—he demanded a response.

"No, he wasn't married," she answered tightly. "We were engaged. A month before our wedding he decided he cared for someone else."

"When was this?"

A breeze swirled around the corner of a building, sending a light curl across her cheek. She pushed it from her face with impatient irritation.

"Three years ago," was her stilted response.

"That's about the time you told me you lost your father," Tell remarked thoughtfully. "And your mother several months before that. The pain didn't seem to stop, did it?"

Keeping her chin at a defiant angle, Andrea rejected any sympathy or pity from him. But there was none mirrored in his tanned face as he reached past her to open the lodge door.

"It happens that way sometimes," he said, shrugging philosophically. "Do you have the key to your room?"

"Yes." Andrea produced it from her leather purse as his hand again touched her elbow.

"You mentioned that you and your parents came to Squaw Valley quite often in the winter. You must have a lot of happy memories here," he commented.

She almost breathed her relief aloud at the change of subject. It was strange the way the tables had turned. At dinner she had set out to find out about this tall stranger. Instead he was the one who was finding out about her private life.

"Yes, many memories," she agreed.

At the door to her room, Tell Stafford took the key and unlocked the door, handing the key back to her after he had pushed the door open.

"I haven't thanked you for sharing my table with me. I enjoyed your company."

He offered his hand and Andrea again felt the firm warmth of his grip. There was a dark sparkle in his gaze. She couldn't be certain, but she thought it was from amusement at the vaguely tense smile she gave him in return.

"Yes, thank you, Tell," she said stiffly.

"I'll probably see you somewhere on the slopes tomorrow," was his casual goodbye.

Chapter Two

AT THE END of her second run down Bailey's Beach, Andrea recognized the carnelian-colored ski-suited man waiting on the bottom. Sun goggles concealed the direction of Tell Stafford's gaze but he raised a ski pole in greeting as she approached.

In a way, she hadn't expected him to seek her out today, not after the resentment she had shown him last night. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She wasn't interested in him or anyone as a romantic companion for her holiday. But there was a traitorous burst of warmth in her veins at the smile that flashed across the masculine mouth.

"Are you ready to leave the gentler slopes behind for something more demanding?" he challenged as she stopped beside him.

"What did you have in mind?" The breathy catch to her voice was caused by the high altitude, Andrea told herself.

"Are you up to KT-22?"

"I think so," she said, nodding.

"Let's go." Tell dug his poles into the snow and pushed off towards the chair-lift that would take them to the famous Olympic hill.

It was a test of mettle that required a complete recall of all her former skill to keep up with Tell's slicing skis. She had guessed that he was an expert skier, but she had expected him to consider the years since her last time on skis and choose a route accordingly. He spared neither himself nor her.

The exhilaration that accompanied the successful completion of the run was beyond anything Andrea had experienced. Her senses were vibrantly alive to everything around her. It was like awakening after a long, troubled sleep and finding a fresh new world. She didn't need a second invitation to return up the slopes.

By the end of the afternoon, Andrea was happily exhausted. She had taken a couple of tumbles and knew there would probably be bruises, as well as stiff muscles, making themselves felt by morning but she couldn't remember when she had felt so complete and whole.

"I'll give you an hour in the tub to soak out the soreness and another haft an hour to dress," Tell
stated with that smile that had added to the bewitching spell of the afternoon, "then I'll expect you in the lobby. No more time than that, because I'm starving."

"I'll be there," she promised gaily as they parted in the hallway, Andrea walking toward her room and Tell to his.

Not until she was lazing in a tubful of soothing bubbles did she realize that she had agreed to dine with him. Disobeying the warning voices that pleaded with her to stay away from him, she sighed contentedly. Except for that one moment last night, she had enjoyed his company.

She was beginning to feel alive again and it wasn't as frightening as she had thought. In fact, it was a wonderful feeling, she decided, picking up a handful of bubbles and blowing them into the air.

A lot of girls indulged in harmless flirtations. Why shouldn't she? Andrea argued silently. True, she hadn't come with that in mind, but where would she ever find a better holiday companion than Tell Stafford? He was good-looking, fun, maybe too worldly for her, but it would be exciting. She had lived on the fringe of life for three years. It was her turn to enjoy it.

In this faintly euphoric state where nothing could possibly go wrong, Andrea dressed for her date with Tell. A date…even that word brought a smile. She hadn't had a date in years. A glow of excitement radiated from within as she hurried to the lobby to meet Tell.

When his dark gaze ran admiringly over her slimly curvaceous figure, there was a surge of satisfaction in knowing how well the brown slacks and the matching gold and brown striped sweater suited her coloring. Minus the wariness that had held her distant the night before, Andrea found herself willingly following his lead. The lightest touch sent new fires of life through her system.

After eating at one of the more informal spots, Tell didn't take her back to the ledge. "Will your legs take a couple of hours of dancing, or are you too sore?" There was a glitter of laughter in his eyes as he looked down at her.

"I don't feel the least bit tired," Andrea admitted, "although I can't say how coordinated my legs will be. I can't remember how long it's been since I had as much exercise as I did this afternoon."

His arm slipped around her shoulders as he turned her into one of the lounges. "We probably should have called it a day earlier."

"I'm not complaining." She shook her head firmly and smiled. "I wouldn't have changed anything today. It was all magnificent."

"I thought it was, too." There was a promise of something else in his low, husky voice.

Somehow, Tell succeeded in finding an empty table in one corner of the crowded lounge. The possessive touch of his hands on her shoulders kept her firmly in front of him, making certain that they weren't accidentally separated in the jostling group of people. A bearded waiter in the perennial sweater and slacks was at their table within seconds.

"What'll you have?" the man asked with a faintly impatient look.

"A Coke," Andrea responded quickly.

"A Coke and what, lady?" the waiter asked, the line of his mouth
thinning out.

"A plain Coke. Nothing else," she explained.

With a raised eyebrow he turned to Tell. "And you?"

"Scotch and water." As the waiter departed, Tell let his lazy, contemplative gaze swing to Andrea. "You actually don't drink, do you?"

"I've heard that liquor is an acquired taste. I simply haven't acquired the taste." There was a defensive shrug to her shoulders. "And I'm not really interested in trying. I'd rather get high on a Sierra sunset."

"There's no need to be embarrassed about it," Tell said gently.

"I'm not…" Then Andrea smiled at herself and nodded ruefully at him. "I suppose I am self-conscious about it."

"And defensive." His mouth quirked mockingly.

"And defensive," she admitted with a laugh.

The fingers of one hand had been nervously twirling the ashtray in the center of the small round table. Tell leaned forward, stopping the action as he covered her hand with his.

"Then stop it," he commanded softly.

The warmth of his hand traveled up her arm and down her spine, melting the stiffness with which she had been holding herself. His dark eyes held her gaze. At the moment, the pull of his virile attraction was more heady than any drink could have been. Then the waiter arrived with their drinks and her hand was released as Tell sat back in his chair.

The disturbed cadence of her heart refused to return to normal. Andrea was glad of the few moments of silence that followed the arrival of their drinks. It was one thing to respond to his attention and quite another to be carried away by it.

"Hey, Tell, how are you?" The voice broke into the silence as a hand clasped Tell's shoulder in greeting.

There was a scrape of a chair leg and a tall, slender man was sitting himself down at their table. His face was bronzed to a teak shade by the winter sun and his hair was bleached a wheat gold.

"Hello, Chris." Tell's mouth curved upwards, a cynical hardness deepening the grooves in his cheeks. "Why don't you join us?" he mocked.

"You know me, Tell," the man returned, his blue gaze turning to Andrea, "I never wait for an invitation. I haven't seen you around before, have I, beautiful face?"

"You're getting slow, Chris. She arrived yesterday." The coolness in Tell's voice surprised Andrea and she returned the stranger's look warily, darting a questioning glance at Tell, "Andrea, this is Chris Christiansen, one of the ski instructors here. Andrea Grant," he introduced.

"Andrea," the man repeated her name. "That's a beautiful name, Andrea. It belongs to a beautiful woman. How about a dance?"

"She's with me," Tell said firmly before Andrea had a chance to answer.

There was a measured glance at Tell, then the admiring blue eyes were directed at Andrea. "Is that right?" Chris asked, letting his voice and eyes caress her.

"Yes, that's right," she replied evenly, completely unmoved by his attention, but a warmth radiated through her when Tell's dark gaze burned over her.

"Well—" there was a sighing shrug as Chris rose to his feet, still gazing down at her "—if you change your mind, beautiful face, and decide you want another teacher, I'm always around. See you, Tell."

As he disappeared into the crowd, Andrea's hand was taken in a vice-like grip and she was pulled to her feet as Tell rose. "Let's dance," he ordered, a tightness in his brief smile.

They were barely on the small dance floor before he turned her into his arms. There was little room to maneuver in the crowded area. Held closely against him, Andrea didn't object to the crush. She liked the hard circle of his arms and the broad shoulders on which to rest her head. But she didn't submit to that pleasure immediately.

Tilting her head back, she gazed at the uncompromising set of his mouth inches above her. "I didn't know you taught skiing," she murmured curiously.

"What?" Tell frowned.

"Chris said if I wanted another teacher…" Andrea started to explain.

A low chuckle came from his throat, tiny lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. "He was referring to love, not skiing, as the subject."

Andrea self-consciously bit her lower lip and stared at the blue cashmere pullover rather than at the face of its wearer. "I didn't understand."

"I'm glad." The arm around her waist tightened as he gently nuzzled the side of her dark blond hair. She didn't feel foolish any more for not catching the implication of the man's statement.