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I’ve spent time with Gemma. That’s not the part that’s got me on edge. No, it’s the fact that there’s a good chance there’s about to be a replay of the PDA from earlier. Anticipation for kissing the grumpy guy who still treats me like a kid is irrational. Yet there’s unmistakable adrenaline pumping at unusually high levels. My heart beats stronger and faster. The tips of my fingers are chilled. My lips tingle.
Fisher—no, Damian—raps his knuckles against the door. Carlos swings it open. The rope chain necklace around his neck glitters under the hallway lights.
“Gemma, your friend is here.” He glances down my body, covered in the tightly bound spa robe, then his scan travels over Damian.
Rafael and Gemma’s larger suite is more like a townhome. Stairs lead to an upstairs area. Sliding doors open onto a snowy deck. Steam rises from a circular sunken hot tub.
Gemma rounds the corner. She’s in a two-piece bathing suit and Gucci sandals. A solid gold collar-length necklace gleams, and her thick, black hair is swept up on top of her head.
“Come on in. What can I get you to drink?” Gemma asks.
Carlos, still standing by the door, asks, “Can I take your robes? Ivan will get your drinks.”
“Aren’t you guys leaving?” Gemma asks Carlos. There’s an attitude to her tone. It’s not hostile, but it’s clear she expects him to leave.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve got reservations at a place in the village. Gotta have reservations in this place.” His cocky grin comes across as relaxed and harmless. He lifts a hanger out of the side closet in the hallway and holds an arm out, waiting for me to de-robe.
I don’t really care to pass mine over to him, but I suspect he’s not leaving until he knows what I’ve got beneath the plush robe, and I also suspect his reasoning isn’t at all sexual.
I shrug out of the robe but make a show of holding my arms like I’m cold. The reaction isn’t complete show. It is chilly in their unit. The high ceilings probably make it harder to heat, and the snow outside the windows underscores this.
Gemma tugs at my wrist. “Come on. Let’s head out. The guys will bring us our drinks. What do you want?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Carlos…make us that champagne cocktail you fixed the other night?”
I follow Gemma. Like me, she’s wearing a thong bikini. Her curves are voluptuous, her bronzed skin smooth. Compared to her, I’m a rail-thin waif with skin as blinding as the snow.
On the deck, the frigid air burns and sucks the oxygen out of my lungs. I rush to the water’s edge, kicking off my hotel-provided slippers, and drop into the hot tub.
Gemma takes a little more time, setting her Gucci thongs off to the side, far enough away from the hot tub they won’t get splashed, then dashes to the steaming water, grinning as she slides in.
“Where’s Rafael?”
“Oh, he’s wrapping up a meeting. He’ll be back shortly. My muscles are so sore from today.”
“We were only out for a couple of hours.”
“Are you not sore?”
“A little.” My thighs are slightly sore. I work out religiously, but skiing uses a slightly different set of muscles.
She waves her hand and makes a dramatic noise of exasperation. “If you’re not sore, then you exercise too much. That’s why you’re skin and bones.”
She dips down in the water, letting it rise to her chin, and I mimic her. The heat over my shoulders feels divine.
Gemma glances to the den, and I follow her gaze. Rafael is back, and he’s with his buddies, standing in a circle talking. “Now, don’t you let Rafe push you. If you want to keep that top on, girl, you do it.”
I swirl the water with my arm. “I thought you said he had a strict rule. European style bathing. No tops.”
She raises eyebrows and grins. “That man loves swimming naked. But no pressure. Seriously. We just met you guys, and he understands you’re American.”
“What does that mean?”
She tilts her head back and laughs. “You do things differently.” She waves her hand around and looks to the ceiling, like she’s searching for the right word. “Uptight.”
“You were born in the US. You’re American, right?”
