She paused, and he knew what she was thinking.
Was he going with her? Did he still think she needed to be monitored?
He pulled her in closer. “I think we both know that you’ve got this.”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m always slammed with work at the end of the ski season. We’ve got management teams flying into Denver from all over the world. I need to be in Colorado for the next several weeks.”
She gave him a wry grin. “It looks like we’re going to have a man fast of our own.”
He chuckled at the reference to Elle’s cousin’s name for swearing off men which thankfully didn’t end with Abby kicking his brother to the curb.
He rubbed her shoulder. “Oh, hell no. There will be no fasting—man or otherwise. We’re utilizing video chat. A lot.”
She grinned. “That could be fun.”
The lift made it to the top. They got off, then skied to the top of the run.
He gazed out at the snow-covered peaks. “I haven’t done this in ages. Are you going to go easy on me?”
She gave him a sexy little smirk. “Never!” she answered, pushing off and flying down the steep incline.
His pulse kicked up, and muscle memory took over.
He straightened out his skis and leaned into the run, building speed like a freight train coming down the mountain. Despite the cold, warmth radiated through his body. His thoughts scattered like a mosaic, a mishmash of days on the slopes with his family overlapped with his time on ski patrol. His heartbeat thrummed in his chest as he followed behind Elle, tracing her elegant tracks.
She maneuvered her body and did a one-eighty, skiing backward like she was born to do it.
“Showoff!” he called.
“Let’s see what you’ve got!” she replied, flipping forward.
He checked the terrain and found a sweet spot to catch some air. He picked up speed, hit the bump, and shot up. Adrenaline surged through him as he extended his legs and arms like he used to as a kid and rocked a flying eagle jump.
“Woo-hoo! Bergen’s CEO has got his groove back,” Elle called, carving a quick turn in front of him.
He followed her lead, heart racing, breaths coming fast.
It wasn’t from exertion. It was her. The magic. The witchcraft.
Elle disappeared into the trees. He trailed behind but slowed when she came to a stop.
“Do you need some help?” she asked.
He looked past her and saw a little girl with her skis off, poles staked in the snow, and dried tears on her cheeks.
She shook her little pink helmet head and blinked back tears. “I can’t talk to you. My mom says I can only talk to people who work here. Like if we go to the supermarket and I get lost, I can ask the man who works in the deli or the cashier for help.”
Jasper unclipped his boots from the ski bindings then went to the girl. When he was on ski patrol, at least half his day was spent reuniting lost kids with their families.
“I work here,” he said, crouching down to meet her gaze.
She pursed her lips and gave him the once over. “You’re not wearing a ski patrol jacket.”
“You’re right. I’m not. My name is Jasper Bergen. I own this ski resort.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Prove it.”
He bit back a grin, unzipped his jacket, and handed her his ski pass.
The girl’s eyes went wide. “Are you the Bergen burger guy? I had a Bergen burger for dinner last night.”
He shared a glance with Elle then schooled his features. “I am. Did your Bergen burger have eight pickles? That’s the magic pickle number.”
The girl nodded. “Yes! I counted. There were eight.” Her face fell. “But my brother stole one when mommy and daddy weren’t looking, so I only got to eat seven of them. He’s the one who left me here. He was supposed to stay with me, but he went ahead, and I got scared skiing through the trees.”
“Are you hurt?” Elle asked.
The girl eyed her. “I can’t talk to you unless you work here, too.”
“I do! Did you see the people with the cameras on the mountain today?”
The girl nodded.
“I was working with them to make a commercial for Fell’s Peak.”
“Is your last name Bergen?”
“No, it’s not. My name is Eleanor Reynolds.”
The girl lit up. “My name is Eleanor MacCaffrey!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Eleanor MacCaffrey,” Elle said with a warm grin. “Would you like Jasper and me to ski with you and get you through the trees and back onto the run?”
“I’m supposed to find a ski patroller if I get lost.”
“There’s a patrol building not far from here. How about we take you there?” Jasper offered.
They helped Eleanor MacCaffrey with her skis and poles then worked their way through the trees. The little girl traced Elle’s tracks as he followed behind. It only took a few minutes to get back onto the open, winding run before they’d found the patrol station and Eleanor MacCaffrey’s relieved parents and apologetic brother.
He and Elle skied to the bottom of the run, carving S-curves and cruising down to join the rest of the skiers where the trails merged near the base of the mountain.
She lifted her goggles and stared at him.
“What?” he asked, clicking out of his skis.
“You! First, it was Bodhi and then Eleanor MacCaffrey. Who would have thought the stuffy suit Jasper Bergen was so good with kids?”
He grinned. “I guess I’m a sucker for an Eleanor.”
She took off her skis and balanced them on her shoulder. “You’re really okay with me visiting all the Bergen properties on my own?”
He inhaled a tight breath as the part of him used to total control bristled. He exhaled and cast the familiar feeling aside.
Old habits die hard.
He couldn’t expect a personality transplant overnight. She had Bergen Enterprises’ best interests at heart. He knew this.
He gathered her skis and carried them along with his. “You’ll be submitting your articles to us prior to publication.”
She nodded cautiously. “To the marketing and PR team. Do I need to cc you as well?”
His father’s words came back to him.
Great things happen when you push past your comfort zone.
He had this woman. This intelligent, feisty, passionate woman who cared for him. They’d shared their darkest secrets and their greatest regrets. If he couldn’t trust Elle, he couldn’t trust anyone.
He reached down and held her hand. “You don’t have to run anything by me. I trust you.”
Her gaze softened. “Thank you. I know it isn’t easy for you to give up control.” Then her expression grew playful. “Can you trust me with one more thing?”
“What?”
Jesus! In addition to handing Elle creative control, he’d smiled in his meeting this morning. And he’d fucking delegated. He’d just about hit his limit for relinquishing control.
They walked together hand in hand toward the Bergen townhouse when a man appeared at the door of his unit carrying a large cooler with Lucky’s written on the side.
“That’s for us,” Elle called to the man. “We can take it from here.”
He nodded, left the cooler on the porch, then headed back to his delivery truck.
Jasper frowned. “What’s this all about?”
“My favorite flavor of ice cream is chocolate super fudge. We never figured out your favorite flavor,” she said, a naughty bend to her words.
Jasper leaned their skis and poles against the side of the townhouse then lifted the cooler’s lid. “There have to be over twenty different pints of ice cream here. What are we going to do with all this?”
“Market research. I thought we’d have you taste each flavor.” She unzipped her ski jacket. “Off my naked body. A kind of ice cream feast before we parted ways tomorrow.”
His gut twisted at the thought of
being away from her, but this was one hell of a way to celebrate their last night together.
He schooled his features, reverting to his hollow bunny persona. “I get to choose the order and what part of your body I want to eat it off of.”
“Are we negotiating the ice cream taste test trial terms?” she asked, now popping the button on her ski pants to reveal the hint of lace panties.
He hardened his gaze. “No, I’m setting the terms. I want complete and total access to every part of you.”
Her gaze dropped below his belly. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Take it or leave it,” he growled, his body buzzing in anticipation. He’d forgotten how fun it was to go toe to toe with her, even if it was in jest.
She pulled down the zipper halfway on her base layer, and the hint of a matching black lace bra peeked out. “I have one little condition.”
“I may be inclined to entertain one condition.”
She gazed up at him through her lashes. “No Eleanor or Jasper. It’s Jemima Sex Kitten and Dean Largecox for the next twelve hours.”
Twelve hours!
His cock answered before his brain could even form a complete sentence. Just the mention of Jemima Sex Kitten had him ready to take her right there on the damn ice cream cooler.
“I can agree to those terms, Miss Sex Kitten.”
She smiled and held his gaze. “We better get started. I know you’re a very busy lumberjack.”
“How am I going to make it five weeks without you?” he asked.
She opened the door then gazed back over her shoulder. “We’ll just have to make enough memories tonight to sustain us.” She glanced down to where he sported a raging hard-on. “And I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for Dean Largecox or Jemima Sex Kitten.”
15
Elle
“Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry to wake you.”
Elle blinked open her eyes to see the smiling face of the private jet’s flight attendant. She sat up and ran her hand through her sleep-tangled hair. “Are we home? Did I sleep through the whole flight?”
“Not yet. I just wanted to let you know that there’s been a change to the flight plan.”
Elle nodded, still groggy. “Thank you. Is it going to be much longer?”
“Another hour at the most. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You fell asleep right after we left Switzerland. It’s been almost eight hours.”
Elle reached for her water bottle and took a long sip. She could have slept for eight more.
Damn, she was tired. In forty days, she’d traveled to three continents, five countries, and multiple Bergen resorts and properties. She’d written numerous articles, filmed spots, and if she had to get another spa treatment, she was going to cut somebody with a pair of cuticle scissors.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” the woman said. “You fell asleep so quickly. I wasn’t able to give you this.”
Elle knew what the flight attendant was talking about even before she produced the pint of Lucky’s chocolate super fudge ice cream. She left it along with a spoon, gave her a knowing grin, then headed to the front of the cabin.
Elle had flown with this crew a few times as she traversed the globe, and they’d become used to Bergen CEO’s requests for them to play salsa music over the intercom after take-off or stock the plane with actual hollow chocolate bunnies.
Jasper Bergen, her once rigid buttoned-up suit, had turned out to be quite the skilled long-distance romantic. From Denver, he orchestrated hotel rooms bursting with flowers and always had a pint of Lucky’s chocolate super fudge waiting for her on each flight.
But the teddy bears were her favorite.
At each new destination, she’d find a plush animal perched on her bed. The first was a black bear and two little stuffed cubs, and it only got sweeter from there. A salsa bear. A bear riding a snowmobile. A bear in a business suit—presumably him. A bear holding a book—presumably her. A ski bear. Lots of skiing bears.
But the last bear she received a few days ago threw her for a loop.
Decked in sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt, this bear was ready for the beach—a far cry from the ski runs and snow-capped peaks she’d come to know well over the last five weeks.
And then there was her favorite bear. Dressed in a red flannel, jeans, and suspenders—her lumberjack bear with the name Dean embroidered on its paw.
She glanced at Dean, wielding a tiny plush ax on the seat next to her. “We’re going home, Mr. Largecox, and then we’re going to hibernate. I know it’s spring, but this mama bear is planning on getting into bed and staying there.”
She glanced at the pint of chocolatey fudge bliss and her stomach twinged. “And I think I’m going to pass on the ice cream today,” she said, still talking to the stuffed animal.
He didn’t have much of an opinion.
“I could go for Jasper’s favorite ice cream,” she continued. Strange because she was a chocolate gal through and through. She smiled, remembering their last night in Fell’s Peak.
She’d never eaten so much ice cream or had so many earth-shattering orgasms. And the added bonus—the taste test worked! After sampling eleven different flavors on four different parts of her body, they’d succeeded in finding his favorite flavor.
Lucky’s Dulce de leche.
It seemed her Rocky Mountain boy liked his dancing and his ice cream with a Latin kick.
She bit her lip, remembering his touch, his tongue, his hard length.
It was no wonder Abby and Bren were going at it like rabbits after their man fast ended. She couldn’t wait to get back to Jasper. All she wanted to do was fall asleep in his arms.
Sweet sleep.
She plucked Dean from his chair and snuggled back into the plane seat that reclined into a bed.
“We’ll just rest our eyes for a few minutes, Dean,” she sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“Dean the lumberjack is one lucky bear.”
Elle shifted beneath the blanket.
Dreaming. She had to be dreaming. There was no way Jasper Bergen had materialized into the jet’s cabin when they were cruising at thirty thousand feet.
But there was no mistaking the warm hand cupping her cheek and then tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
She opened her eyes. “Jasper? How did you get on the plane?”
He grinned. “The stairs. The plane landed twenty minutes ago.”
She sat up. “It did?”
He nodded. “The crew said you were exhausted. I told them I’d sit with you until you woke up. I also had some ice cream.” He held up the empty pint of chocolate super fudge—his second favorite flavor. “We couldn’t let that go to waste.”
She reached up, threaded her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and guided his lips to hers.
He pressed whisper-soft kisses across her lips. “I missed you.”
She hummed with contentment. “I missed you, too.”
He pulled back and observed her carefully. “Are you hungry? The flight attendant said you didn’t eat a thing during the entire trip.”
She rubbed at a kink in her neck and yawned. “I may have caught a little bug somewhere between the French Alps and the Swiss Alps. You know, the jet-set life of the travel writer.”
He frowned. “Are you all right, Eleanor?”
She stood and waved him off. “I’m fine, but I could really go for some tacos from that food truck that’s always near The Dalton. It may be parked closer to Larimer Square. What time is it?”
“In Denver?” he asked.
“No, in Hong Kong! Yes, Denver! I’m plotting a food truck excursion, and then we’re going straight to bed.”
He stroked her cheek. “I’m completely on board with going straight to bed. But we’re not going to be able to visit your food truck—that is unless they deliver, and their delivery zone has a two-thousand-mile radius.”
“Why would they need that?”
“Because we’re not in Denv
er.”
“We’re not?” She whipped around and looked out the window, expecting snow-capped mountains and instead found slim arching trunks with lush, broad green leaves.
Palm trees.
“Nope, we’re not,” he answered with a sly grin.
She spun around. “The bear! The beach bear!”
“I wondered if you were going to figure that out, but it looks like the flight crew and your Sleeping Beauty nap kept it a surprise.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Where are we? The Cayman Islands? I know your family has a place there.”
“Not the Caymans. We’re in Miami.”
“Miami!” she exclaimed.
“When you’re in the resort business, you know others in the industry. We’ve got a penthouse overlooking the ocean in the heart of South Beach waiting for us.”
She gazed up at him. “I never pictured you in any place tropical.”
“Must be my icy demeanor?”
She shook her head then leaned in and kissed him. “Nope, like I said, nobody who can salsa like you can be a complete ice man.”
“Speaking of salsa,” he said, one hand on the small of her back while the other held her hand up in a dance position.
She cocked her head to the side, her eyes going wide. “Are we going salsa dancing in Miami?”
His grin said they were.
“You remembered I learned to salsa here.” She blinked back tears.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was not a sappy kind of gal. She was probably the only woman on the planet who didn’t get misty-eyed over The Notebook.
He pulled her in closer. “I remember everything.”
He led her off the plane to a sleek black Mercedes parked on the tarmac.
When it came down to it, she was a small-town girl from Maine who could rough it in the mountains sleeping under the stars or car camp her way through Utah. But on a day like today, when she’d just completed a whirlwind trip of long days on location and even longer nights knocking out articles, it was not bad to be dating a billionaire Bergen brother.
Man Feast (Bergen Brothers Book 2) Page 17
