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Electricity buzzes between us. The adrenaline coursing through my veins insists a rousing need has yet to be sated. But this is Sophia. Sullivan. My friend’s daughter. This is work. She’s taking a hot shower, but I need a cold one. I turn to leave.
“What you did back there was smart.”
I pause, my hand on the bathroom doorknob. “What do you mean?” I glance over my shoulder.
She fidgets and her cheeks blossom. Nerves? But then again, we’ve gone from hot to cold to steamy. The temperature changes alone could be responsible.
“It’s…” The tips of her auburn hair are soaked and cling to bare, tempting skin. “If he was doubting whether we were really a couple, he won’t be after that. You played it right.”
I played it right. I let those words filter through, open the door to let some of the steam out and press my back against the doorjamb, forcing my gaze to remain on her face, while I weigh her statement. The truth is, I essentially forgot where we were. If we’d stayed there, I can only hope I wouldn’t have actually slipped her suit to the side and finger fucked her, or worse, lifted her up and fucked her over the edge of the tub.
“It’s something about being with the two of them.” Her lips press together and her shoulders shrug. She’s blowing off what happened between us. That’s smart. I should follow her lead.
“He invited me to go heli-skiing with them. Tomorrow.”
She beams up at me, excitement clear. The girl wants to nail this assignment. If we each form contacts, that equals unequivocal success.
“That’s great. All day tomorrow?”
“It’ll take most of the day.” The doorjamb digs into my spine, and I shift, massaging the wound-up muscles. “We’ll fly up to a remote peak, ski down through untracked powder, and depending on how we’re feeling, hike back up said peak and drop again.”
She slips past me, shower still pouring, and I follow her into the den. “What’re you doing?”
She picks up the hotel phone and dials. “Yes, can you connect me to suite 914?”
She bounces on her toes. The movement flexes her ass cheeks. Goosebumps reappear. She’s in a wet suit and the temperature in the room is brisk.
“May I please speak to Gemma?” There’s a pause. “Sophia. From next door.” There’s another pause. Sophia glances back at me and giggles. She’s not a giggler, so I can only assume she’s playing along. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. But Damian just said he’s spending tomorrow with Rafael and the guys. Do you want to meet up again?” There’s another pause. “Great. Yeah. Here’s my cell. Text me and we’ll coordinate.” She rattles off her number, the number our team set her up with for her assumed identity.
She hangs up the phone and squeals as she turns around. “She’s going to text me tomorrow!”
“And you’ll have her number.” Her enthusiasm is contagious and despite this brewing mix of consternation and frustration, I grin. “Good work. Impressive.”
“Do you think so?”
I counter her skepticism with a firm, “Absolutely. Good work.” Before I do something stupid, like pull her barely clothed body back up against me, I escape to a cold shower.
CHAPTER15
SOPHIA
The patio offers a sweeping view of skiers and boarders making their way down Blackcomb. The lifts close at four, and the base area becomes more crowded by the minute as folks finish their last run of the day.
Gemma taps away on her phone, then slams it down.
“Something wrong?” She’s replaced her goggles with enormous sunglasses that cover so much of her face it’s difficult to get a read, but based on her clenched lips, she’s not happy.
“No word back. Rafe knows I worry when he goes out. You know what they’re doing, right?”
Slowly, I nod. I’m familiar with the idea of heli-skiing, but it’s something I haven’t actually done. My father took us on plenty of ski trips growing up, but a double diamond is about as savage as I’ve ever managed. But pretty much every ski resort bar in America plays heli-skiers on loop on at least one of the hanging television screens. It’s disconcerting the guys haven’t checked in, but I trust Fisher wouldn’t hurl himself out of the helicopter if he couldn’t get down in one piece. The guy stretches every single day, which strikes me as the action of a conscientious athlete, one who fervently wishes to avoid injury. He’s former Navy. From what I’ve seen, he can hang with my dad, Ryan, Trevor, or any of the former SEALs, Rangers, or other military elite hired by Arrow. He’s a badass.
“Rafael acts like if he has his buddies with him, he’s immortal. Damn fool is what he is.”
A woman with a toddler bundled in a light pink snowsuit veers near our table, apologizing profusely when her child’s boot flails out and kicks me in the shoulder.
“No worries,” I say as Gemma says, “Aren’t you just adorable?”
The toddler chews on her glove. She’s a cute one, with her blonde hair tied into twin pigtails and bright pink chapped cheeks. But the runny, crusty nose negates the cuteness factor by a few degrees. The mom is on a mission to meet up with another table, and she passes us quickly.
