Suite Embrace (7 page)

M
ark's enthusiastic “thank you” made Skylar blush. With a demure nod of her head, she accepted his praise, pleased with herself for passing another one of his childish, and obvious, tests.
Who did he think he was fooling?
she mused, feeling a ripple of amusement.

“This is miraculous! In one day? I can't believe you found it,” he gushed as he took the package from her and lifted the small box high.

“I have my sources,” Skylar teased in a pride-filled voice, mentally scoring another point in their unspoken competition.

“Do you have time to come in for a cup of coffee? Hot chocolate? Wine?” Mark offered, cradling the package under one arm.

She shrugged, noncommittal.

“Please?” He stepped aside to let her in, as if she had already accepted his invitation.

Masking a smile, Skylar pressed her lips together and pretended to consider Mark's offer while her heart thudded under her parka. She looked him up and down, her gaze flitting quickly over his figure. He was dressed in a gorgeous gray and white snowflake sweater, gray corduroy slacks and soft black suede loafers. His longish hair was pulled back and tucked behind his ears and he was wearing a thin silver chain around his neck. In Skylar's opinion, he looked like one of those male models in
GQ
magazine—manly, yet stylish, powerful, but not overbearing and fully aware of how handsome he was.

“Uh…I don't know,” she hesitated, deliberately taking her time in responding, enjoying the look of disappointment that flashed over Mark's features. “Deena said she might need me to help out on the front desk later.”

“You have your pager, don't you?” Mark rushed to ask.

Skylar nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Fine. Then she can page you if she needs you.”

“Right. I guess so,” Skylar managed, now stepping inside. She pulled off her gloves and began to unzip her parka. “Coffee, then. And I can only stay for a minute. Just to warm up a bit before I head back,” she added, thinking,
What harm can there be in a friendly cup of coffee with a coworker?

She settled down on the same sofa where she had lain semiconscious only a week before while Mark went into the kitchen and returned with two cups of piping hot espresso. He sat on a low ottoman to the right of the sofa, angled so he could focus on her.

With his back to the glittering fire, he seemed to blend into the glowing, intimate setting and everything took on a surreal effect. Skylar forced her shoulders down a notch and tried to relax.

“So, how are you liking Scenic Ridge?” Mark began. He shifted closer, as if to let Skylar know that he planned to be fully engaged in their conversation.

Edging back slightly, Skylar put a little more space between them and offered Mark an awkward smile, trying to appear at ease. However, she was definitely nervous and unsure of what to say now that she was finally alone with Mark again. She had rehearsed this moment many times, and now, here she was. He was close enough to touch, to smell, and his deep green eyes were just as amazing as she recalled. Tightening her jaw, she reminded herself that she had to hold it all together and keep him from knowing just how rattled she was.

“Fine,” she managed, forcing strength into her voice. “Just super. It's a beautiful place and everyone has been so helpful and nice.”

“Yeah, your sister, Deena, and her husband run a first-class place. The staff is great, and rumor has it that you're the perfect replacement for Jean-Paul.”

“I hope so,” she replied, in a more confident tone, settling in for a real conversation. Obviously he was interested in talking to her, and she sure wanted to know more about him, so his invitation to come in for coffee had provided the perfect opportunity for her to get all the information she could. “From what I understand, no one really misses Jean-Paul,” Skylar added with a short laugh. “I've heard a lot of wild stories about his very eccentric ways. I'm surprised Deena and Jerome put up with him so long.”

“Apparently, he took extra-special care of the guests and they loved him, even though he gave the rest of the staff a hard time,” Mark said. “He and I got along okay, but I have to admit that I didn't call on him to help me out with anything…not once.”

“Is that so?” Skylar coyly commented.
And this is my fourth request for a special delivery to your suite in little more than a week.

“Yeah,” Mark commented, missing her reaction. “I'm pretty self-sufficient.” He raised his chin, as if thinking back. “Jean-Paul did have a certain flair that added charm and drama to everything he did; however, at times I think he took himself, and his job, much too seriously. He was beginning to come off as pretentious.”

“Well, I take my job as concierge seriously, too,” Skylar quickly interjected, narrowing her eyes. “Do you consider me pretentious?”

“No, of course not,” Mark hurried to say. He studied Skylar, a half-smile tilting his lips. “If anything, you're the most unpretentious woman I've met in a long time, and I find it very…attractive.”

With a quick nod, Skylar accepted his compliment. “Thank you, Mark. I consider myself a working girl who wants to do a good job. After all, my sister is my boss. She's placed her trust in me and I can't let her down.”

“Very commendable,” Mark said, and then went on to ask, “What other resorts did you work at before you came here?”

His question hit Skylar like an unexpected snowball to the back of the head, and she momentarily froze. “Oh,” she uttered, looking up, her mind spinning with possible answers. Should she fabricate some stuff, avoid the question with a rambling answer, or tell the truth? After a beat, she decided to give him as little information as possible without really lying. “I've worked in a few hotels, mainly in Florida, but this is my first job at a ski resort.”

“So you don't ski?”

“No,” Skylar confessed rather sheepishly. “But, let me clarify that. I'm damn good at skiing on water, but not on snow.” She laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

Pressing a finger to his lips, Mark assessed her with a nod. “Well, we'll have to do something about that. I'd love to give you a few lessons. No way can you work at a place like this and not get out on the slopes. The thrill of gliding downhill, the beautiful scenery. You'll love it.”

“I dunno,” Skylar began, thinking of how much she wanted to reveal. “You see, I was in an elevator accident some time ago and I'm not real keen about gliding downward on anything.”

“An elevator accident? Really? Were you hurt?”

“A few broken bones and some very bad bruises,” Skylar replied, downplaying the extent of her injuries and not ready to get into a conversation about all of the pain, both physically and emotionally, that she suffered as a result of the disaster.

“That must have been terrible,” Mark said, his words laced with genuine sympathy.

“It was. Believe me, it took months of therapy and a lot of mental determination to get inside an elevator again. So, skiing? I don't think so.”

“Well, I wish you'd try. But I understand why you'd be afraid,” Mark replied. “I promise to go slow, on the baby hill. Let me give you just one lesson. After that, I guarantee, you'll be hooked.”

While considering Mark's request, Skylar's mind slipped back to that awful sensation of falling that had been with her since the elevator accident. The thudding crash. The darkness. The pain. No way could she face sliding down an icy, snow-covered hill with two narrow pieces of fiberglass strapped to her feet no matter how competent an instructor Mark might be. However, the expression of anticipation on his face tugged at her, so she told him, “I'll think about it, okay?”

“It's a deal. I'm going to hold you to that,” he vowed, and then asked, “So, was it because of your accident, that you decided to leave Florida?”

“In a way, yes. After I recovered from my injuries, I was out of a job. So, when Deena called and told me about her opening here at Scenic Ridge, I grabbed it. Needed a change.”

“You sure got it. Aspen isn't like Florida, is it?” Mark commented with a grin that showcased a single dimple in his right cheek.

God, he has the nerve to have dimples, too?
Skylar realized, her stomach lurching in a too-pleasurable way. How had she missed that delicious feature? She sat up straighter and pulled back her shoulders before speaking. “Really a huge difference, you're right. It's so cold up here, but not that unpleasant. Very strange to be outside when the sun is shining and there's a ton of snow on the ground. When I'm in the sun, I'm not cold at all. Something to get used to,” she finished, pressing the rim of her cup to her lips as she averted her eyes to the red-gold fire, desperate to avoid Mark's intense green gaze. It seemed to cut into her soul and thread its way to every part of her body, creating a tingling sensation that was making her far too warm.

“You grew up in Tampa and lived in Florida all of your life?” Mark continued.

“Um, hum,” she murmured, regaining her composure, going on to tell him about her work as a paralegal and that when her widowed mother left Tampa to live with an aunt in New York, Skylar was the only member of her family still residing there.

“Did you ever think about moving to New York, too? To be close to your mom?”

“Oh, no. I'd lived in Tampa all my life. I never dreamed I'd ever leave…but here I am in Colorado. The first time I've lived any place other than Florida. Can't believe I'm actually here. But this is only temporary. Deena is still looking for a permanent replacement for Jean-Paul,” she said, deciding to change the subject. “I understand that you lived in Europe for a long time,” she began, inching cautiously into his background.

“Right,” Mark replied. “I was born in California, where my father lived, but I don't have any contact with his family. My mother's from Norway, so I have relatives in Oslo. But I've spent most of my life on mountainsides in Switzerland, Germany, Spain and Italy.”

“Sounds like you've led a glamorous life,” Skylar commented, not certain she envied such a nomadic way of living. She preferred things to be stable, familiar and predictable. To her, change was unnerving. “Skiing professionally must have been demanding. Did you train all the time?”

“No, not all the time. I got to meet a lot of interesting people and the competitions were the best.”

“Right. What is it like being famous?” Skylar asked, and was surprised to see a frown come over Mark's face, as if she'd touched on a topic he found distasteful.

“Famous? Yeah, I guess I was, at one time.” His voice was flat and without much spirit. He set down his coffee cup and pulled the ottoman so close to Skylar that one of his knees pressed lightly against hers. “But, you know something?” he asked, eyes wide.

“What?” she breathed, fully aware that their legs were touching, but not about to move.

“I haven't said this to too many people…but at the height of my career, when I guess you could have called me famous, I wasn't that happy. There was so much pressure to please so many people. Training all the time. Traveling from city to city, never making real friends, just hanging out with people who drifted in and out of my life. It seemed as if I was always taking orders from my mother, or a sponsor or someone who controlled my every move. I'm happy it's behind me. I'm thirty-eight years old now and perfectly content to be out of the spotlight and out from under the pressure of skiing to win medals and money…and my mother's approval.”

Skylar blinked at him, taken aback by this candid confession. “Gee…really? I'm surprised to hear you say that.”

“You know what would make me happy?”

“What?”

“To simply ski for pleasure and share the sport with those who thought they'd never be able to enjoy it. For too many years, I dealt with power-hungry types who were more concerned with making money or flaunting their wealth, than what I wanted.”

“That's why you decided to teach?” Skylar asked.

“Partly. I like deciding what I want to do without running it past agents and managers and handlers and sponsors. I like living far away from my mother, too.”

Skylar simply stared at Mark and did not respond, thinking that she wished her mother still lived nearby.

“Don't get me wrong,” Mark hurried to say. “I love my mother, but I need my space. Sometimes she makes it hard for me to be around her. Likes to smother me, if you know what I mean.” He was breathing hard when he finished, as if he had not been able to stop the torrent of words that spilled out so quickly.

His passionate outburst took Skylar by surprise, and she was embarrassed that he would say such things to her, yet at the same time, pleased that he felt comfortable enough to speak his mind. “Well, it sounds as if Scenic Ridge is the perfect place for you,” she lamely added, trying to fill the uneasy lull in the conversation.

“Yeah. I look forward to working with the kids. Most of them have never seen snow or even seen a person ski, except on television. We get young people from all over the U.S., Mexico, South America and the Caribbean who are thrilled to strap on a pair of skis. A lot of the black ski clubs give scholarships for underprivileged kids to have access to lessons and experience the powder. Makes for very gratifying work. I feel as if I'm finally doing something worthwhile with my life. Up to now, I sometimes think I've been selfish with my talent…too focused on winning another competition, another golden trophy, another dose of my mother's approval. It was never enough. Now I know what's been missing.”