Suite Embrace (23 page)

“No, it's Richard Nobel. I thought I was calling Mark Jorgen's suite.”

“Oh, hello, Richard. This is Skylar Webster. You are calling his suite, but Mark isn't here anymore.”

“Oh, really? Well, I'm surprised. Where is he?”

“You can reach him at the St. Regis Hotel. He's working there now.”

“Hmm, sorry he left Scenic Ridge. What happened?”

“I really can't say. You'd better talk to him.”

“I will. I'll give him a call over there.”

“Richard, how's the documentary coming?”

“Oh, my…Mark didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Skylar asked, moving to sit on the sofa, detecting a note of disappointment in Richard's voice.

“It's been canned,” Richard said, going on to fill Skylar in.

Skylar was hurt and shocked to learn that Virina had pulled her investors out after viewing the initial footage. The selfish snob! To think that she would ruin her son's chance to have a film made about his life just because she didn't want to share the spotlight with Scenic Ridge. What kind of a mother was she?

“Yeah, Virina left me hanging,” Richard continued. “I'm stuck with a half-finished film and a bunch of folks who are threatening to sue me. It's a real nightmare, Skylar. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

Slumping down on the sofa, Skylar listened as Richard continued to detail his problems, feeling sorry for him and sorry for Mark, too. He'd lost out on his chance to have his career documented for future generations of young ski enthusiasts. However, she was proud that Mark had stood up to his mother by insisting that Scenic Ridge be included in his story.

“So, the documentary can't get made unless you get financing?” she clarified.

“Yep, that's about it,” he replied.

“How much money are you talking?”

“A lot,” Richard replied. “More than you have, I'm sure,” he jokingly added.

“Don't be too sure, Richard. I have something in mind that might work in your favor. I'd like to explore some possibilities. Can you come up to Scenic Ridge so we can talk?”

“Are you serious? You think you can find the money to finish the film?”

“Yes, I think so. And yes, I'm very serious, Richard. How soon can you get here?”

“I'll be there tomorrow.”

“Good, e-mail your itinerary to me and I'll make sure there's a rental car reserved for you at the airport. And don't contact Mark, not yet. “

“You know, Skylar, Mark's mother put too many restrictions on me and I'm glad she's out of the picture. If you find the money and I push real hard, we might be able to complete the film by the end of next month.”

“Get ready to push,” Skylar told Richard. “And push hard. I'm just glad I got to you before you spoke to Mark.”

W
hen Goldie placed her final air-kiss on Bitsy Brown's cheek and closed the door behind the soft drink heiress, Mark realized that he was the last guest remaining in the suite. The party had been a nonstop swirl of overdressed women and well-heeled men who had come and gone throughout the evening, stopping only long enough to drop a famous name or two, take a few quick sips of champagne, and give everyone within listening distance a brief overview of their latest acquisition, trip abroad or social event.

Mark had found it all very boring, and had taken refuge at the bar with a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka and a bowl of Russian caviar while making only the most cursory attempts at interacting with the over-eager, socially connected women who were currently in town—alone and looking for companionship.

Virina had swept in with a race car driver from Miami on her arm, making a splashy entrance that got everyone's attention. She had vigorously worked the room in a stunning, silver Versace dress, making sure everyone knew that her son was now a part of the St. Regis family and that she was back into social circulation before dashing off to another party in the Paepcke suite at the Little Nell.

Mark had been relieved to see her go, and just as relieved to learn that she apparently had a new man in her life: a rich man whose face regularly appeared on the covers of all the sports magazines. Maybe now his mother would keep her nose out of his affairs and concentrate on her own.

“Thank God. Alone at last,” Goldie remarked with a roll of her eyes as she leaned onto the bar and slid both of her hands across the smooth, black granite. “I thought Bitsy would never shut up. I swear that woman talks like she's got a tape recorder stuck in her head, spewing out all that stuff about Muffin's divorce. How did she ever get access to all those details?”

Shaking his head, Mark tossed back another shot of vodka, feeling no pain. At last, he was numb, from his head to his feet, and the ache in his heart didn't burn so much. He didn't care if he ever felt anything again.

“Come on, let's sit on the sofa, by the fire. We haven't had any time to catch up,” Goldie urged, taking Mark by the hand.

He didn't resist when she led him to the sofa and pulled him down next to her. In fact, the soft cushions felt a whole lot better than the hard bar stool he'd been sitting on all evening, and Mark quickly settled down, flinging back his head and closing his eyes. Damn, it felt good to simply let go. He liked the feeling of floating, drifting, spinning off into a netherworld where he didn't have to think about anything. If only he could stay in such a state forever and never come back to the reality of his situation. What was there to look forward to anyway? Only a hell of a hangover and an empty hotel room.

Just as he was about to sink into that soft dark place that would take him away from his worries, he felt Goldie's lips cover his. Her tongue darted quickly between his lips and she began to explore his mouth with tiny soft jabs, while her hands massaged his thighs. He could feel her firm small breasts rubbing against his chest and her knees were pressing into his side.

Her aggressive move caught Mark by surprise, and he jerked back at first but then relaxed. Whatever she was doing didn't alarm him enough to push her away. He wasn't crazy and he certainly wasn't offended by Goldie's decision to act on feelings he had always suspected had been simmering in her for quite a while.

Their kiss deepened. Her hands strayed from his legs to his sudden erection and remained there, gently stroking, pleasantly teasing him until he knew he was going to burst.

Mark's fingers, seeming to move on their own, found their way to the buttons of Goldie's sweater and it took only seconds for him to free one breast, then the other. With a groan, he buried his face in the folds of her sweater and squeezed his eyes shut.

Goldie pressed her hands against the back of Mark's head, pinning him to her in an urgent clasp. Mark captured one hard nipple between his lips, inhaling as he savored it, almost tasting the saccharine sweetness of Goldie's expensive perfume.
Electric Orchid.
How could he forget?

Unexpectedly, her scent jolted him back to the day when he had struggled with Goldie during her first ski lesson. She'd smashed her glasses against a tree. Then, their trip to
Gorsuch
the next day, where he'd first met Skylar while she was trying on goggles.

Skylar.
Thinking about her initiated a sob that rose in Mark's throat and made him tense. He missed her with an intensity that was alarming, and he didn't want Goldie as a substitute for the woman he longed to be with tonight. Skylar. He might have walked out of her life, but he damn well couldn't get her out of his mind.

The admission snapped him back to reality. Lifting his head, he pushed away from Goldie and looked at her with bleary, sad eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, realizing that he was going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow. “Can't do this. Gotta go.” He stumbled to his feet, lurched to the door and without saying good-bye, he left.

W
hen Richard arrived at Scenic Ridge, Skylar put him in the Vista View suite, Virina's former cabin, and settled down with him to watch the first cut of the film. She absolutely loved what Richard had created. She loved the look of the piece, the music he had selected, the photos and early video of Mark's youthful beginnings, his rigorous training schedule, his career, his role as an instructor and his many achievements on the slopes.

She was just as impressed with Virina's skill at managing him, and got a better understanding of the depth of the bond between Mark and his mother. As a young woman, Virina had recognized her son's talent at an early age, and then had dedicated her time, her skill and a good portion of her life to making Mark an Olympian. And she had succeeded. Virina had every right to be proud of Mark and of herself, too, for playing such an important role in his eventual success.

The piece on Scenic Ridge was just as inspiring and informational, too. As Skylar listened to Deena talk about the difficulties she and Jerome had faced as they'd struggled to carve their dream out of an isolated mountaintop, her eyes filled with tears. She envied Deena, who had everything that Skylar longed for—a man who loved her, trusted her and had shared his dream with her—which had come true because they had worked together to make it happen.

“The film is very well done,” Skylar commented when it ended. “There doesn't seem to be a lot left to do.”

“Not much,” Richard agreed. “Needs titles, some graphic work and better scoring in places. And with a final professional edit to bring it in line with the station's on-air segments, it would be ready to go.”

“If everything went smoothly, when could it air?”

“Oh, a matter of weeks. Black Showcase is just waiting for me to deliver. The promotional package is ready to go, as long as Mark is still on board. He'll have to agree to get out on the road and push this to make it a success.”

“I'm sure he will, once he sees this. So, I think you can get busy and make it happen,” Skylar said, anxious to dig in.

“How? You know something you're not telling me? We need cash to get this done.”

Reaching into her purse, Skylar removed her checkbook and waved it in Richard's face. “It's all right here. Every penny you're gonna need to create a top rate film. I'm producing now.”

With a dubious squint, Richard tilted his head to one side. “You're producing? You've got to be kidding me. Okay, Skylar. Fill me in. What's this about?”

Richard was shocked when Skylar told him about her settlement and revealed that she was a very wealthy woman with money to invest. And he was pleased that she planned to put some of it in to his project. With no additional investors involved, he knew they would be able to move quickly.

“The fewer hands in the pot, the better,” he later told Skylar, “and I will definitely list you in the credits as producer of the
Mark Jorgen Story
.”

Over the next two days, Skylar and Richard spent many hours at Vista View hammering out details to finish the film. Once Skylar had contacted Mr. Ray at Tampa Commerce Bank and arranged for the transfer of the necessary funds, it was time for Richard to head back to New York to finalize the project.

“Will we need any additional releases from Mark?” Skylar wanted to know, aware that they couldn't pull this off without Mark's full cooperation.

“Not really,” Richard replied, snapping shut his briefcase. “His original contract gives me the right to produce the piece, no matter who finances it.” He draped a wool scarf around his neck and then slipped his arms into his coat. “However, I'm going to stop by the St. Regis and visit with Mark before I head to the airport. I need to make sure his commitment is firm and that he will still promote it once we get to that point. He's gotta be okay with the licensing deals I'm proposing, too.”

“Then you've talked to him?” Skylar asked, following Richard out to his rental car. She was excited for Mark, but anxious, too. What if he refused to be involved in the film because she had put up the money? She could lose her investment. She had committed a very large chunk of her money to this. What if it didn't sell? What if no one found it as interesting as she did? What if she was making a bad investment?

Mr. Ray's words of caution came back to her: Your money will last if you invest wisely. Well, she believed in Mark, and loved him so much. What better investment could there be?

“Yes, I spoke to him this morning. He was extremely relieved, and pleased, that I'd found a new financial backer,” Richard replied, shaking Skylar's hand.

“Did you tell him it was me?”

“No, not yet. But I will.”

“I hope it won't be a deal breaker,” Skylar told him, praying she was doing the right thing.

M
ark put the cap back on his gas tank, gave it a firm twist and then slipped the gas pump's nozzle back into place, eager to get going. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and his first free day since he'd started working at the St. Regis almost a month ago. No ski lessons today, no sitting around his hotel room between students, and no more dodging Goldie Lamar, who had given up on him and taken off for Reno with her cousin. Even Virina was happily involved with the race car driver who was busily escorting her around town, so she no longer hovered over Mark, asking if he was okay.

Of course, I'm okay,
he thought sarcastically.
I have a good job, I'm living in a beautiful hotel, surrounded by beautiful, fun-loving people. What more could I want?

Skylar, that's what,
he silently admitted, hating the surge of emptiness that hit him whenever he thought about her. All the late-night parties, hard drinking and pretty women in the world couldn't keep him from missing her.

When Mark awakened this morning, he had known what he wanted to do: go someplace far away from the smothering confines of the hotel, and away from the guests who were relentless in their requests to get free pointers from him on how to improve their technique on the powder. He was going to drive up to Glenwood Springs to spend a few hours at the hot springs pool, where he could be alone and think over his plan.

The ski season was winding down. The television premier of the
Mark Jorgen Story
was set to air on BES this Saturday night, and on Sunday he was leaving Aspen for New York to begin a round of media interviews. From there, who knew where things would go?

Mark had spoken to Richard last week to finalize this first leg of the promotional tour, and though he remained annoyed that Skylar had financed the film, he planned to use this opportunity to bolster the sport of skiing, change young people's lives and, hopefully, make enough money to establish his own ski school and pay Skylar back.

Finished pumping gas, he walked around to the front of his SUV and pulled back the windshield wipers, preparing to clean the windows. When he glanced over at the pump next to his, he saw a red Jeep pull up. His heart thudded under his jacket as he watched Skylar get out of her car, only a few feet away. He froze, one hand in midair as he stared at her, wondering if he dared approach her. The sun bounced off her shiny black locks and put a golden sheen on her smooth tan skin. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered and all he wanted to do was rush over, grab her and kiss those luscious lips.

When she reached for the gas pump, she looked up and saw him right away.

He nodded curtly, unable to speak.

She nodded back and lifted her jaw.

Mark returned to cleaning his windows, though he was paying absolutely no attention to what he was doing.

“You missed a spot,” Skylar called over to him, craning her neck around the gas pump that separated them.

His head snapped around and he glared over at her, and then mumbled, “Yeah. Thanks,” before swishing the plastic tool across the slippery glass.

“I'm looking forward to seeing Richard's film on TV Saturday,” Skylar said, her voice cool and calm.

“Right,” Mark tossed over his shoulder, trying to sound equally nonchalant, and then added, as if to clear the air of the unstated issue that hung between them, “I guess I ought to thank you for putting up the money.” Now, he turned to face her.

“No, not if you don't want to,” Skylar returned, continuing to fill her tank.

“Well, I'm pleased with the focus of the documentary and glad that Deena and Jerome's story was included.”

“You ought to drop by and see them. They're back, you know.”

“Won't have time. I'm leaving town on Sunday. Going to New York for media appearances.”

“Really? Well, I hope the tour's a success.” Skylar's tone was impersonal and dry.

“And I hope Scenic Ridge will benefit from the project,” Mark said.

“Me, too. That's why I put up the money.”

“Really? And not because you thought that financing my life story would make up for the lies you told?” Mark's tone was as hard as the glint in his eyes as he waited for her reaction.

“Oh, you've got to go
there,
huh?” Skylar propped a fist at her hip. “How disgusting. That thought never crossed my mind,” she sniped, scowling over at him.

“Don't worry. I plan to pay back every dime of your investment, Skylar, no matter how long it takes. I'll send you a check once a week.”

“You can send it to me in Tampa, then,” she told him, as lightly as if she were telling him the time.

“Oh? You're returning to Florida?”

“Yep, Deena has returned and I can't get out of here fast enough.” Skylar jammed the gas nozzle into its holder and punched the button for a receipt, watching Mark while she waited for the piece of paper to slide out. “I've really missed Florida. I can't wait to get home.”

“And back to your boyfriend, Lewis, I suppose?” Mark accused, suddenly wanting to lash out at Skylar and shatter that calm facade of hers, which he knew was as fake as her need to work as a concierge.

“Lewis? Hardly,” Skylar quipped. “But even if that were true, what difference would it make to you?”

“None,” Mark snapped, slamming the squeegee back into the pail of water. “You can do whatever you damn well please.”

“I know, and I will.” She snatched the receipt from the machine and then took a step toward Mark. “But for your information, I am not getting back with Lewis. I just want to get away from here. And from you!”

“From me? What did I ever do to you?”
Except love you,
he thought, a catch in his throat.

“What did you do? You manipulated me, bossed me around and treated me like a servant.”

“You've got to be kidding. I told you why I started asking you to do so much for me. I wanted to help you out
and
get your attention.”

“Oh? So, you're admitting that from day one you were already thinking about your own selfish needs, right? Everyone at Scenic Ridge, including myself, had been so fast to fulfill your demands. Keeping you happy was a priority and I think you enjoyed it.”

“Don't be ridiculous. And don't call me selfish. How selfish was it of you to keep me in the dark about who you really were?”

With a jerk of her neck, Skylar rolled her eyes at Mark. “Give me a break, you spoiled, chauvinistic jock. I was helping my sister out. I tried to overlook your pushy ways, but I guess I was blindsided by your suave, Afro-European charm. Now, I clearly see what kind of a man you are, and I'm glad to be going home.”

Mark opened his mouth to respond to her tirade, but she had already climbed inside her Jeep and started the engine. She sped off in a squeal of tires and a shower of frozen gravel, leaving him staring after her car until it turned a corner and entered a side street off the square.

How could she say such things to him? She was wrong. He had loved her, wanted a future with her, and had been ready to make a real commitment despite his mother's warnings. But Skylar had ruined everything by lying and hiding the truth from him.

Frustration spiraled into longing as their encounter hung in his mind. He ached to have her back in his life, back in his arms, back in his bed where they had come together in perfect union. He knew he would never reach such erotic heights with any other woman, and didn't want to try.

As much as Mark wanted to hate Skylar he knew he couldn't. His love for her burned as hard and deep as it had the first time they made love. It didn't really matter to him that she might not be able to have children. There were other ways to create a family, but finding a woman to love and trust was not that easy, and that was what mattered most.

Trust,
he thought with a slump of his shoulders.
It's the bottom line in any relationship and we're both at fault for botching that up. By financing my film, Skylar came through for me when she could have easily turned away. I ought to be grateful for what she did, not angry. She loves me enough to invest in my future, to trust me with her money. So why am I too bullheaded to admit what a good woman she really is?