Suite Embrace (10 page)

B
unny Hill was crowded with what looked like a boy scout troop in snowsuits, accompanied by a scattering of middle-aged chaperones who were having no luck getting the boys to stop throwing snowballs and pay attention to Mark, who was standing with his back to them while demonstrating the correct way to hold their ski poles.

With her rented skis balanced on her shoulder, Skylar trudged up the slope feeling bulky and off balance. She was wearing Deena's microstretch long johns, three layers of clothing under her parka, heavy boots, insulated goggles, double-thick, waterproof gloves and a bright red knit cap. She felt like the abominable snowwoman and feared the sheer weight of her clothing was going to bury her beneath the freshly packed snow.

“I'd better not make a fool of myself,” she muttered crossly, feeling her earlier surge of confidence begin to wane.

After reaching the top of the hill, she stood to one side and watched as Mark patiently lined the boys up, checked their posture, and then sent them off on a downward run over the gentle slope. Now that she was closer, she realized that he had been speaking French with them. Very impressive, she thought as she watched the way Mark was interacting with the boys.

“Find your balance,” he called out after them, now in English. “Feel where your weight is centered and try to maintain it.” When two of the boys fell down, he quickly encouraged them to return to the top of the hill and try again. Both made successful runs on the second try and beamed their joy back at Mark.

“Great job all around!” Mark congratulated the group. “Now that you know how to get going and how to stop, I want you to practice with John. He's even tougher on students than I am,” Mark joked as the boys groaned and hooted playfully. “John will teach you how to control your speed, okay?” And then turning to Skylar, he waved her over. “Your turn. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be, I guess,” Skylar replied, moving with Mark to a less crowded section of the hill. “You were speaking French with those boys, I noticed.”

“Yeah,” he said. “They're immigrants from Haiti. A local resident, a big shot in the energy industry who lives in Woody Creek, is sponsoring them. The boys live in foster homes in Aurora and are spending the weekend here.”

“That's wonderful. I see why you love your job so much. They're having a ball!”

“Yeah, it's great to watch them getting their snow legs. Now, for
your
lesson,” Mark started, bending down in front of Skylar. “First, let's pull your ski trousers over the tops of your boots. Keeps snow from getting into your boots.” He gripped her ankle with one hand, gave the bottom of her ski pants a hard tug and created a snug fit between her boots and her pant legs.

“Oh, I see what you mean,” Skylar remarked, glancing down at him, steeling herself for his touch as he began to work on the other boot. Instantly, her mind went back to the night when she broke the bottle of schnapps and he had felt her legs for injuries and broken glass. His touch had stirred her then, in a curious mix of excitement and apprehension, as it did so now, hitting her with an intensity that made her heart beat race.

Finished, he stood up and took her skis from her, separated them and placed them across the top of the hill. “To keep you from skiing off before you're ready and landing in a heap at the bottom of the hill,” he casually remarked as he helped her into one ski, then the other. “Take your poles, place your hands through the straps from the underneath and then hold the straps below your hand when you grip the pole.”

Skylar did as he instructed.

“All set. I see you've got wraparound goggles, now,” he observed, and then paused. “I have to ask. How did the bronze aviators work out?”

Gritting her teeth, Skylar was tempted to lie. Why give him another reason to feel so damn superior, as if he knew everything and she was a ditz? But against her will, the words flew out, “They didn't work at all. I tossed them out the window that day. You were right. I should have gone with the wraps the first time around.”

“I tried to tell you…” he said, maneuvering into position beside Skylar.

Resisting the urge to snap back with a smart reply, she let his blunt remark pass, knowing he spoke the truth. If there was one trait about Mark that she could count on, it was his tendency to say exactly what was on his mind with little concern about how it sounded.
I wonder if that's because he grew up speaking a foreign language,
she calculated, groping for an explanation for his ability to simultaneously irritate and entrance her.

“First, we learn how to ‘walk' by alternatively sliding one ski ahead of the other,” he started, demonstrating the action. “Okay, you try it.”

She did, and managed to keep her balance as she set out to cross the top of the hill.

“Good job,” he called out, following along behind her. “Keep going until you feel comfortable, okay?”

She could feel his body close behind hers as she practiced her walking technique, and his nearness made her more nervous than her fear of falling down on the hard-packed snow.

After mastering the walk, she headed back to the spot where she'd started out, with Mark still close behind her.

“Doing fine,” he called out. “Now, point your skis sideways and stand there for a minute to get focused.”

This is hard work, she thought, clumsily shifting into position, feeling the strain in the calves of her legs.
Why am I punishing myself like this? I feel like hell and I've only been out here for fifteen minutes.
However, she knew she wasn't about to back out and let him call her a quitter. No, she was going to finish this lesson, and show him what she could do. Grateful for the short break, Skylar let her shoulders relax and sagged back on her heels for a moment.

“No, no! Stand up in your skis,” Mark suddenly shouted from behind, wrenching her back to the task at hand. “Put your weight forward slightly.”

Again, she complied.

“Good. Now, face your shoulders down the hill, while your skis are still sideways. Take small steps now, point your skis downhill and put weight on your poles. Bend your knees, and when I give the word, just lift your poles and off you go!”

Right, Skylar thought with a dry swallow, not sure she could do it. The awful fear of falling that had been with her since crashing into the courthouse basement flooded back and crowded her mind.
This is different. I'm in control
, she kept telling herself, desperate to follow through. She wet her lips, crouched down and set her sights on the bottom of the hill.

“Oh…one more thing,” Mark called up to Skylar. “Tuck in your lovely behind.”

Skylar's head snapped around and she shot him a look that could have frozen water, but then burst out laughing. “You certainly have the best view to determine if it's lovely or not,” she tossed over her shoulder as she lifted her ski poles and slid down the hill.

“That, I do,” he yelled out, whizzing up beside her.

 

After an hour and forty-five minutes on Bunny Hill, Mark took Skylar to the loading area to teach her how to properly catch the ski lift, a feat much more complicated than Skylar had ever imagined. Once they were aboard and their skis safely stowed, she turned to Mark, breathless with excitement. “That was pretty tricky!”

Mark nodded. “Safely getting on and off a ski lift is crucial. It all comes down to timing and positioning. We probably have more accidents at the lift loading area than on the slopes.”

“I see why,” Skylar commented, settling in to enjoy the view.

After a few minutes of silence, Mark suddenly turned to her. “You did okay,” he told her, grinning. “Well, more than okay. I wish all of my students were such fast learners. With practice, you could become a pretty good skier.”

“Thank you,” she smugly stated, assessing him from the corner of her eye. She was totally psyched about skiing, in awe of Mark's talent and having more fun than she'd dared to dream she would have on her first day of lessons. He had been patient, professional and encouraging during their time together and she was eager to continue. It was not as difficult or scary as she'd thought it would be, and now she understood that confidence and balance were keys to a successful run, and she had lots of both.

During their many practice runs, she'd seen the playful, humorous side of Mark and knew why so many of his female students wound up totally smitten with him. He had laughed at her many tumbles; tossed snowballs at her when she was down; and allowed her to grab onto his hands, clutch his legs, wrap her arms around his waist and press her body to his as she'd struggled to stay upright. The intimacy he'd brought to the experience was raw, sexy and real. He'd made her feel alive, energized and desirable: a lethal combination for Skylar, who could sense that Mark was slowly inching his way into her heart, edging her toward a slippery slope from which she might not want to return.

“Look over there! To the right,” Mark shouted, interrupting her thoughts. He leaned across her and pointed toward an opening in a stand of pines at the bottom of a snow-covered knoll. “That's the old Brookman Mill. There, beside the creek. It's the original sawmill that was built by homesteaders on this property. You know Deena and Jerome restored it? It actually works.”

“So I heard,” Skylar commented, zeroing in on the huge paddle wheel and the wood-shingle roof that was peeking out of the trees. “She told me all about it. I understand that it's a popular site for school field trips. A local historical landmark.”

“Yeah…have you been inside?” Mark asked.

“No, I haven't had time to make the trip.”

“Well, there's no time like the present. We'll hop off at the next stop and hike over. You'll love it. Authentic, but still working.” He paused, and then swept his arm in an arc and drew in a deep breath. “Isn't everything beautiful from up here?”

Skylar leaned forward to get a better view of the old mill. Her cheek brushed against Mark's. He jerked up in surprise. Their eyes met and held, allowing her to read the message in the depth of his gaze. He wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted him to. Something strange and wonderful was happening to them both. “Yes, everything is beautiful,” she answered in a whisper. “It's as beautiful up here as it is down there.”

When he kissed her, she returned his bold move without hesitation. Leaning back, she snuggled into the corner of the chairlift and drew him closer, pushing back his hood to see his face more clearly. It was lit with a glow of desire.

“I've wanted to do that all morning,” he told her, words thick with longing.

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Then, trust me, Skylar. Let me show you who I am, and how much fun we can have together. I want you to be with me. Always.”

“It's not that easy.”

“It can be,” he countered.

“You say that as if you've said it many times before, to many other women.”

Mark flinched. “I haven't,” he said. “I expect you've heard that I have a reputation as a flirt, but believe me, it's not true. I don't encourage my students. I do try to get them to relax and forget about their fears, to have fun on the snow, and perhaps they take my interest in them too seriously. But student-teacher crushes are an occupational hazard that come along with being a ski instructor.”

“Then, I guess I'm no different than your other students,” Skylar murmured, a flicker of a smile touching her lips. “Because I think I may have a crush on you, too.”

Mark stroked her cheek with the tip of his thumb, taking in her admission. “I'm glad,” he said. “Then you'll stick around long enough for me to find out if this crush is one that's gonna last?”

“Maybe,” Skylar murmured, taking time to assess Mark's features, as if seeking reassurance that she was making the right move.

“Just maybe?” he pressed.

“All right, yes. I do want to know you better, Mark. And for you to know me, too. But I don't want to go too fast.”

“I'd never hurt you, if that's what you're worried about. Never,” he breathed, easing his lips over hers again. His tongue pressed into the sweet hollow of her mouth, seeking, claiming, telling her without words how much he needed and wanted her, while every part of her body longed to feel him, taste him and hold him close until nothing separated them. While her fingers moved to the back of his neck, both of his hands caressed her cheeks, holding her captive, their lips locked together, an invisible cord binding them.

Their caress lasted until the lift lurched to a stop, forcing them to scramble to get their skis and jump off. They tumbled to the ground and lay there laughing in each other's arms as a gentle snow fell over them.

It wasn't until the lift had moved on that Skylar realized that Brookman Mill was quite a ways off and she was hardly prepared to ski her way to the bottom of the steep hill facing her. “Now what?” she asked Mark, glancing uneasily at the narrow trail that led to the mill.

“Just follow me,” he told her shouldering both pairs of skis. “I've made this trek a few times. Stay behind me and walk in my tracks.”