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“So, Roxy skis? I didn’t know they even made skis.”
“That’s because you’re one of those K2 Apache Outlaw kind of guys. All performance and image.”
“They’re great skis, and performance matters.”
The bartender returns and with a flourish places a steaming coffee cup in front of me that’s topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “A Summit Xpress. Chambord, vodka, Godiva liqueur, and espresso. Total liquid courage.”
He waits for me to try it.
I lift the cup, take a tiny sip, and wham! the liquor-soaked espresso hits me. It’s strong. And sweet. And strong. “Wow.”
The bartender, a fairly hot young guy, leans on the counter and smiles into my eyes. “Good, huh?”
“I think I’ll try one of those, too, but without the sprinkles,” Michael says. Then he turns to me and gives me a look that I don’t know how to decipher. “I’m dying to ask you questions I have no business asking.”
I arch a brow. “And you haven’t even had a drink yet.” I push my cup with the tips of my fingers. “This is strong, too.”
“How strong?”
“If I have a couple of these, I might actually like you.”
His cup arrives with its tower of whipped cream, and Michael knocks off half the whipped cream before taking a sip. He whistles. “That’s a stiff girlie drink.”
“Eyes watering?”
“No, but I’ve got more hair on my chest already.”
“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose.
He laughs, lifts his glass mug, and clinks it against mine. “It’s good to see you, Ms. America. How are you feeling now?”
I’m about a quarter of the way through my cocktail and beginning to feel nice and relaxed. “Good.”
Laughter lurks in his dark blue eyes. “You’re a lightweight, aren’t you?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” I rather like the rush of heat in my stomach and the warm, lazy weight in my limbs. It’s been a long time since I felt lazy and sexy, yet sitting here with Michael, I feel downright dangerous in a good way.
“Were you in love with him?” Michael asks bluntly.
“Who?”
“Trevor.”
“No.”
“How long were you together?”
“Six months.”
“That’s some serious time.”
“If you’re in high school.”
He laughs. I drink. And then drink again. I’m definitely feeling more relaxed now. “The thing is,” I add, “it was all long distance. We didn’t really see each other that much. We didn’t have that much in common.”
Two seats open up by the fireplace, and Michael gestures for me to snag them while he puts his credit card on the counter for the bartender. The chairs are big and sturdy, and I curl my legs up under me, the cup clasped in my hands to keep them warm. When Michael joins me, he stretches his legs out with a sigh. He’s like Johnny Cash, the man in black in his black North Face ski pants, shirt, and jacket, except he has blue eyes, not brown.
In the glow of the firelight, he looks hard and strong and alive, and I watch his face as he smiles at me. He’s confident and male and primal, and I feel my pulse quicken in response. He’s always been handsome, but I’ve never felt this intense physical attraction before.
I tell myself it’s the fire and the drink, but as I cross my legs, I’m aware of how my heart beats and my hands shake. I’m totally turned on right now, which makes no sense at all since we’ve never gotten along and I’ve spent years hating the sight of him.
“So why don’t we like each other again?” I ask, sipping from my cup.
He looks amused. “I like you. You don’t like me.”
“And why is that again?”
“I’m shallow, superficial, greedy, materialistic…” He pauses, thinks. “I think those are the big four.”
Heat rushes through me. Heat and desire and more. I’d like his hands on me, on my face, on my body, in my hair. “So if I’ve disliked you so much, why don’t you dislike me more?”
Grooves bracket his mouth. “I knew it was just a matter of time before you realized that you used anger and disdain to mask your true feelings.”
I’m feeling so very pleasantly tingly, and I lean toward him. “My true feelings?”
His lashes drop, partially concealing the blue sheen of his eyes. “You like me.” He leans forward so that we’re just a foot apart. “And you want me.”
My gaze meets his and holds. There’s more than laughter in his eyes. There’s heat. Fire. A shiver of feeling races down my back, and my fingers curl into fists as I respond to this crazy dizzying chemistry. “I’d never want you, Doc.” Yet my voice is as warm and husky as whiskey, summer, and sin.
The corner of his mouth lifts and his lashes lift. His eyes burn. He wants me.
In part of my mind, I know Trevor never once looked at me like this. Trevor never once made my brain and body ache at the same time. And my body does ache. My lower belly is tight and my skin tingles and every sense is so heightened that I feel a little mad.
But how many women has he looked at this way? How many women does he do this to?
He reaches out, touches the curve of my cheek with his thumb. “You’re very beautiful and very delusional.”
A shiver dances down my spine at his touch. The lines come to him so easily, don’t they? “You’re delusional if you think I’m enjoying this,” I say, voice suddenly very husky.
“Maybe I am. But I’ve never seen you smile this much before. I like you like this.”
I don’t know if it’s his words, the tone of his voice, or his expression, but I feel a yearning for this whole life I haven’t yet lived. A life of love and connection and emotion. A life where I’m cherished. Wanted.
Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him.
His lips are cool. His breath is warm. I put my hand against his jaw and feel the bone and shape of his face. It’s a strong jaw, rough with stubble, and he feels like a man. A man who would know how to love me properly. And even if it’s all misleading, for a moment I cave, giving in to the pleasure.
The kiss deepens, and emotion and sensation rock me hard. I haven’t felt anything like this in forever.
I drop my hand to his shirt and hold tight. I have to hold tight. I might never feel like this again.
And then from far away, I hear Christie’s voice. Yet I don’t pull away. It’s Michael who lifts his head, ending the kiss.
I look at him mutely. What the hell did I just do?
“Does this mean you like each other?” Christie asks, smiling smugly as she stands in front of us, hand on her hip.
I blush, mortified. Michael laughs.
“You were supposed to meet us for lunch,” she reminds me. “Everybody’s waiting.”
“Right.”
I get to my feet, legs tingling and boots heavy. Michael’s talking easily to Christie, but I can’t look at either of them. I feel like a kid caught making out under the bleachers.
What is his secret? How does he get me to kiss him? God, he’s dangerous.
While they talk I gather my jacket, goggles, and gloves and follow them to the cafeteria, where the rest of Christie’s family is waiting, although I’m far from steady on my feet. I’d like to think my dizziness is due to one potent cocktail, but my gut tells me it’s Michael’s kiss.
Lunch is loud and chaotic, which suits me just fine, as Melissa’s tears and Melanie’s hurt feelings keep the conversation bouncing all over the place.
I notice Christie looking at me every now and then, trying to figure out what the hell she saw in the bar.
I’d like to know what the hell happened.
I’ve never done that. Not in years. Don’t know why I did that today. Just threw myself at him. So wrong. So not me.
I tune back in to the conversation
at the mention of Africa. Simon’s asking Michael when he’s leaving for his Rx Smile mission in Zambia.
“Less than two weeks,” Michael answers.
“How long will you be gone this time?” Christie asks. “Your last mission was nearly a month.”
“Ten to fourteen days. The return date’s not set, as I might be heading to Cairo to speak at a medical conference. I’m very much looking forward to being back in Africa.”
My interest is piqued. “I didn’t know you volunteered with Rx Smile.”
“That’s how I met Simon,” Michael answers. “He was part of the first mission to La Paz, and that was what? Six or seven years ago?”
“Eight.” Christie nods at Melanie. “I was pregnant with that one and worried I’d go into labor while you were gone.”
“I’ve been thinking about going to Africa, too. There’s a woman in Kenya I’d love to interview. She’d be a wonderful story. I’ve sent an e-mail to her this past week trying to get in touch.”
Michael’s lips curve. “You should come to Zambia. Do a story on Rx Smile. I guarantee you’d be amazed, and touched.”
“Participating in Rx Smile in Bolivia was one of the best things I ever did,” Simon concurs, “but also the hardest. There you are, ready to help, and then you realize you’re not going to be able to help everyone. I found that frustrating. I was there. I wanted to do even more.”
I feel a surge of adrenaline even before Christie turns to me. “You should go to Zambia, Tia. Here’s your opportunity. You said you’ve taken the month of January off. Go when Michael’s there. He’ll introduce you around. Make sure you get the story you need.”
“It’s an interesting idea,” I say, my mind spinning. I’d love to do it. I’d absolutely love to go. Finally, the chance to travel somewhere, see something I haven’t seen, create something I’ve never done. “Who would I contact? What are the costs? Would they even let me film the mission?”
