If Des wasn’t talking about his past issues, she had to be referring to her own. Had someone done something to her that she couldn’t forgive? Or had she, like him, done something unforgivable? It was more than likely the former. Des wasn’t reckless, nor was she selfish or inconsiderate. Watching her with staff and his family, whether at his parents’ home or when they were out at work functions, she was always the same—calm, cool, compassionate and sometimes funny.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it this time,” she said, and he directed his full attention to her again. He tried to shake off the memories that had crept to the surface. It was a beautiful afternoon on the slopes, and he was helping Des with her skiing.
The white pants, jacket and matching boots she’d changed into after the Make-Up and Mimosas workshop made her look like a sexy ski goddess. Whatever she wore looked great on her, and after years of being surrounded by beautiful women, he knew that meant something.
“You just want to keep your feet firmly planted, bend your knees a little and then...” He paused, watching her blink repeatedly as she tried to take in every word he was saying. Deciding it’d be much better if he showed her, he dragged his feet in his skis until he was standing right beside her. “Like this.” He demonstrated the way he wanted her to stand and waited while she mimicked him.
“I’ve skied before,” she said while adjusting the poles in her hands and trying to line her knees up with his. “It’s just been a while.”
“It’s just like sex. Once you’ve done it, you never forget how to do it.” The last words were exaggerated, but he chuckled, as he often did whenever he cracked a joke, because the people around him rarely appreciated his sense of humor. He was caught off guard when she leaned in to nudge him with her elbow and instead turned her leg and subsequently the ski.
He had seconds to reach out and grab her, then try to resituate them both before catastrophe struck. His attempts were a failure, and they tumbled over, falling onto the snow-covered ground with a thump. Both sets of skis clanked together as they rolled a couple times before stopping by a tree.
“Well, I guess my sex comment put some thoughts in your mind, huh? But if you wanted to have sex outside, I’d suggest it not be on the slopes. I don’t do too well in arctic temps.” She wiggled beneath him, but she wasn’t smiling when he stared down at her. In fact, her brow was furrowed, lips pursed in irritation. Sort of how he’d caught her looking a few times during the workshop.
“Hey, it’s okay. Everybody falls sometimes. I mean, it could be that I’m not that good of a ski instructor. But you don’t have to share that with anyone.” Still trying to keep things light, he watched her warily, waiting for the tension to melt away from her features and the stiffness from her movements.
“No. I’ll get it.” She pushed at him again. “Just let me up. I can do this.”
Maurice rolled off her and sat on the ground as he watched her get to her feet. He could’ve gotten up first and helped her, but instinct told him to let her be. When she was upright and he followed, she adjusted the sticks in her hands once more. He stood close enough to help if she fell, and just far enough away that she didn’t have to give him one of heryou’re workin’ my nerveslooks.
Adjusting her hood, she stared straight ahead. Determination was clear in the serious lines of her face as she bent her knees, planted the poles a short distance in front of her and pushed off. At first all he could do was watch, admiring her tenacity, before finally following her down the rest of the hill. She’d been doing fine until she tried to stop and swerved her body a little more than was required. When she toppled over this time, he wasn’t close enough to catch her.
She got up cursing.
Maurice moved in to help her. “Doesn’t have to be perfect every time, Des. You did good coming down.”
Once she was up on her feet, she pushed his arms away. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
There was no mistaking the anger that laced her tone nor the definite scowl she was giving him now. He was used to attitude—Riley gave it to him all the time. He knew independence and confidence were really important to both his sister and Des, especially in the workplace. But this was different. Des was always in control at work, and whenever she was angered, her responses still came calmly, laced with deadly accurate aim. He’d never seen her react to anything or anyone in this way.
“Are you okay?” Because this wasn’t just about being rusty at skiing.
She glanced away, then stabbed her poles into the snow and shook her head. “I apologize,” she said, returning her gaze to him.
He didn’t want her apology; he wanted to know what was going on with her. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help?”
“You can’t.”
“You won’t know until you trust me enough to tell me.”
Shock filled her gaze now, and he realized he’d just said the T word, which could sometimes carry as much weight as the L word.
“It’s not a big deal. And you’re right, neither is skiing perfectly. It’s not like I’m trying out for the Olympics.” Her lips curved in a tentative smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s just head back to the hotel. It’s getting cold.”
It had been freezing since they’d come out here an hour and a half ago, so he knew that wasn’t the only issue here. But he shouldn’t push. It was only fair that she have her secrets. After all, he had his.
On Saturday evening, Desta touched a hand to her stomach and closed her eyes as she stood at the door of her room. Just a few minutes more, some quiet time to get her thoughts in order, that was all she needed. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. Count down from twenty. Start again, this time from fifty.
She had to get Gordon out of her mind. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure why memories of him were popping up left and right during this trip. It had been a long time since she’d thought about him and what had happened between them, and it was irritating as hell to have it coming back now like a tidal wave. But she could do this. She could get over him, just like she’d done before. All she had to do was focus on Maurice and the reason they were here this weekend.
That was so much easier said than done. First because, for whatever reason, so many things Maurice was saying or doing were direct leads to specific memories about Gordon. Like the elevator. For the second time, Maurice had sent her a text telling her to meet him at the elevator. Gordon always gave her instructions: be dressed at seven; have dinner ready at six; call me as soon as you get in the house. So much so that after a while she’d started to feel as if he were a drill sergeant and she was a soldier he had to keep in line at all times.Demeaningdidn’t begin to describe how that made her feel, even now. And while she knew this wasn’t Maurice’s intent, it still opened the window to those damn memories.
Second, if she just set her mind to having sex with Maurice every second of every day they were at this resort, she’d also go crazy. There was a hunger when she was near him now, a sensation she hadn’t felt before, but that was definitely awakened now. A part of her had wanted him to tear her pants off and touch his mouth to her waiting core again, just like they’d mentioned during the Make-Up and Mimosas session this morning. Of course, she hadn’t wanted him to do it right there in front of everybody, but the thought of him going down on her again had her pulse increasing and her pussy pulsating. She could have him as much as she wanted this weekend, of that she was certain. It was more how or if they were going to keep this momentum going when their weekend was over.
At any rate, she couldn’t think about any of this anymore right now. She needed to get going so they wouldn’t be late for the PJs, Dinner and a Movie event. She was starved, and Maurice probably was, too. Finally opening her eyes, she took another steadying breath and left the room.
She stepped out into the hallway wearing a cappuccino silk pajama set. Staring down at the ensemble, she told herself for the hundredth time that choosing to wear the pants instead of the shorty-short-shorts that also came with this set was a smart idea. The top was long sleeved and had a belted waist instead of buttons, and on her feet were her favorite Ugg Cozette leopard-print slippers. She frowned and wiggled her toes because these were the slippers she wore when she was at home. She’d meant to order a pair of more sedate-looking slippers for the pajama party, but she’d had gotten busy at work and forgot. With a shrug, and because the clock was ticking, she continued down the hallway.
