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“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He offers a smile, warm and secretive.
“How did you sleep?”
“Good. You?”
“Very good, thank you.”
In some super thin, black sweatpants that accentuate an impressive bulge, it’s all the proof I need that sleeping with him should be high on my list of priorities. Sadly, he stands on the other side of the island and my glimpse of the goods has gone. His chest is covered with a close-fitting matching shirt. It makes this the best breakfast view I’ve feasted on for a very long time. Maybe ever.
“Coffee? Tea? Juice?”
“All three.” He spins, looking at the spread of food on the dining table. “Are there eggs?”
“I’ll cook some now. How do you like them?”
“Soft boiled. Two please.”
“Coming right up.”
Breakfast goes quickly, Luca making sure I join him. It only reinforces how attentive he is, and has me wondering how good the sex will be. It’s a recurring thought I’ve had ever since he stood in front of me in just a towel, and especially since last night’s frank talk.
Despite Luca’s offer to use his bedroom, I change in my office. My ski pants are black, my jacket a bright blue. With temps around fourteen degrees today, I layer up. Having already secured our ski passes, we join the line for the cable car and discuss the routes we want to take.
His phone rings. After glancing at the screen, he tells me, “Give me a sec.” After hittingAccept,there’s a series of short sentences in an ultra-brief conversation. “Imani, good morning. No, it’s no trouble. It’s all good, I’ve taken care of it. Yes. Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret. You’re welcome. Bye.”
Hanging up, he offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I answer, curious about his job. He sounds high-up, important. Dependable and reliable.
I like it. I value it.
Inside the car, we find neighboring seats. I learn that Luca is an expert skier, preferring off-piste skiing to the usual groomed runs. And there was a time when I enjoyed being the dare-devil, desperate to be the first to mark the virgin powder. But those days are behind me now. I hope he doesn’t ask me to go off-piste today. For a start, I don’t have any trackers on me, but when I realize Luca isn’t carrying any necessary safety devices either, I relax.
The morning is a series of red and black runs, moguls, and steep declines, some that appear almost vertical until you round the jutting ledge and hurtle down the treacherous slope. We stop for lunch at a beautiful restaurant. It can only be accessed at the end of a long, narrow, spruce-lined red run, so it’s not overrun with guests, which I like. At this time of day, it’s a sun trap, so we grab a table outside and swap our ski goggles for sunnies.
“My treat,” Luca announces as we look at the menu.
“I’ll pay. I should be working.”
I feel his eyes on me, his body brimming with confidence and assuredness. “All the same. I’m buying.”
Once we’ve ordered, we sit back and enjoy the warmth of the sun. Seated side by side, our arms occasionally brush. That’s happened a lot today. Each time it’s like a match strike that doesn’t quite catch. But soon, tonight, it will. He’ll touch me and I’ll ignite. Watching him ski is a turn-on, because what’s not to like about sexy men who are at the height of their physical prowess?
“Can I ask why you left Wardorff-Messen?”
Finally, that question comes. It fills me with dread. “It was the second-best hotel in Aspen, and Chateau Balthazar wasn’t hiring.” They’re only a quarter of a mile apart, but Chateau B got dibs on the best location and has profited from that ever since, not least for its exceptionalness. Decorated to an obscenely high standard, and located in one of the most picturesque spots in the mountains, it will always claim the gold standard. And I don’t bother mentioning the non-compete clause in my contract. Even if Chateau Balthazar was hiring, I wasn’t able to put myself forward when the guillotine blade came for my neck. I needed to get out of Aspen for a while, and fast.
“Second best,” he echoes, a contagious grin taking over his face. I peep at him over my shades. Already, his skin is looking tan, his teeth a contrasting white. He drinks from his bottle of beer. “So, why’d you leave?”
Racked with indecision, I fidget in my seat. “If I tell you, do you promise not to put it in your articles about the hotel? Do you promise not to refer to it in the review or ratings? This is off the record.”
Luca’s jaw works, and his brow furrows. Taking off his glasses he pins me with a potent gaze and says, “I’m not sure what you mean, but I promise. This stays between you and me.”
Why I believe everything he tells me, I don’t know. I just feel like I can trust him. Implicitly. And his phone calls with Imani—whoever she is, reveal him to be a man of his word. “I was inappropriate.”
Luca’s gaze is stronger than the sun. A lone eyebrow arches with intrigue. “How?”
