Easy on the Eyes (21 page)

Skiing should be the last thing on my mind. I should be working on story ideas and then primping properly for the awards by
getting a spray tan, a blowout, a manicure and pedicure. But all I’ve done for the past seven years is primp and work, and
doing something fun with Christie is hugely appealing.

“I’d love to,” I tell her. I haven’t skied yet this year, but I know where all my equipment is. I keep it together in the
garage, the skis and poles in the cabinet and my boots and clothes in a big Roxy duffel bag. “What time did you want to meet?”

“Soon. We’re almost ready to leave.” She hesitates. “But you need to know that Simon’s meeting Michael on the slopes. Michael
has a cabin at Big Bear and he’s already up there. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

My pulse does a little jump at the mention of Michael, something I find infinitely annoying. I don’t want to like him. I have
no interest in the man. There’s no reason for me to react like a girl in high school.

“It’s not a problem,” I answer calmly, glancing at my watch. “And if I leave in the next half hour, I could meet you at the
Dunkin’ Donuts around nine-thirty and we’d be on the slopes by eleven.”

“Perfect. See you there. Call me if you hit traffic.”

It’s a clear, sunny day and no traffic since it’s Saturday and all the college football games have ended for another year.
I like driving on days like today and with my music loud— no sad songs today, just good driving music, my favorite oldie mix
on my iPod of Supertramp, Abba, and Heart. It’s not the kind of music that you want to be caught listening to in public, but
in the privacy of my own car I sing as loud as I can and it feels so good.

I feel good.

Who knows what will happen at work, but I don’t have to think about work right now. For once I’m going to give it all up,
surrender to play. I’m going to hang out with Christie. Ski. And check out Michael’s action on the slopes.

Wonder if he’s any good. Hope he’s not one of those men who have all the great gear but can’t ski for anything.

The edges of my mouth lift.

I hit Redlands in just under an hour, giving me time to stop at the Starbucks next door to use the restroom and order a latte
to go.

My cell rings and it’s Christie outside, saying they’ve arrived. I dash out to meet them, and as Christie hugs me, Simon takes
the gear from my car and stows it in his. I climb into their SUV, hug each of the girls, and take my seat in the very back—
and we’re off, with a very motivated Simon at the wheel.

The girls are all enrolled in ski school, and while Christie takes them to their classes, I slip on my boots and carry my
skis to the base of East Mountain Xpress, the quad chairlift, where I’m supposed to meet Christie and Simon once the girls
are all checked in. Christie arrives ten minutes later, tells me that Simon’s already hooked up with Michael and they’ve headed
to the freestyle park, Westridge.

With two hours before the kids are returned to us, we take the East Mountain Xpress and spend forty-five minutes enjoying
a surprisingly uncrowded run down Miracle Mile. Christie’s boot is bugging her, though, and back at the base, she begs off
the next run to see if she can’t figure out why she’s getting a blister. I’d like to get in another run before the kids join
us and am heading for the chairlifts for Log Chute when I spot Michael all dressed in black ahead of me.

I slide into line behind him and poke him in the butt with the tip of my pole.

His head turns sharply, and then he spots me. I make a face at him. “Hello, Dr. Evil. How handsome you are in all black.”

His smile is rueful. “A Mike Myers fan?”

“I did like the Austin Powers movies.”

“Then you should know— Dr. Evil wore gray.”

“How do you know that?”

“How can you not?”

I make another face.

His dense black lashes drop. “Are you on your own? I thought you were skiing with Christie.”

“Her boot’s bugging her. I told her I’d take a run and then meet back up with her. Where’s Simon?”

“He’s at the top waiting for me. I had a call regarding one of my patients.”

“So you do actually work?” I tease.

“Just a little bit.”

We end up riding the chairlift to the summit and part ways at the top, as Michael likes the triple black diamond runs and
I’m more comfortable on the intermediate slopes. As he heads off, I take one of the cat tracks past View Haus for Miracle
Mile, which is my favorite run here at Snow Summit. I’m enjoying myself, executing smooth, flawless turns and feeling very
skilled, when I make a little turn and realize I’ve made the wrong turn.

I’m no longer on Miracle. I think I’m on Dicky’s, Dicky’s being one of the advanced terrains, and I hit a rough icy patch
and go sailing over a mogul and careen wildly toward the bowl. I’m beginning to panic as I slip and slide faster and faster.

I’m scared. This out-of-control feeling is something I don’t ever want to feel. It’s turbulence when you fly. It’s a car hurtling
too fast around a tight corner. It’s danger and imminent disaster.

And I don’t like disaster.

“You okay, Tia?” It’s Michael back at my elbow, and I dig my blades into the mountain as hard as I can to come to a complete
stop.

I turn to Michael, terrified and yet relieved. “I can’t do this,” I squeak. “I don’t have enough control— ”

“I’ve been watching you. You’re doing great.”

“I keep falling.”

“You’ve only fallen once. And you did great over that last mogul. You were flying.”

“
That
was a mistake! I didn’t even see it until it was too late.”

He grins. He knows it was. “I’ll ski you down.”

“Please.”

Michael skis in a graceful zigzag down the mountain, and I focus on his back and the smooth pattern of his skis as they cut
through the snow. Little by little, I relax and lean into the mountain when he does and crouch lower in my skis on turns,
and the tension and fear ease. We reach the bottom and he’s waiting for me, goggles off, a light in his dark blue eyes. “You
did it.”

“Thank you. That was not fun.”

“You’re a good skier, Tiana. You just need more confidence.”

I grimace, lift a hand off my pole, and show him how it’s trembling. “You think?”

“Let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

I don’t argue.

We leave our skis and poles outside and clomp upstairs to the bar, where we find two seats at the crowded wood counter.

Before I place an order, the twenty-something bartender looks at me and then does a swift double take. “You Tiana Tomlinson?”

I nod and the young bartender whistles. “You’re even hotter in real life. Drink’s on me.” And with a wink he turns to make
a special cocktail.

Michael looks at me. “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

I laugh a real laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

I grin. “Okay, I’m not.”

“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.