by Lizzie Shane
Caitlyn groped for the water and the aspirin, grateful when her stomach didn’t roil too much. It was mostly her head that felt like it was packed with cotton and acid.
Shower. Clean clothes. Tidy up the evidence of last night. Get some food in her stomach. Then she’d be ready to stagger her way through today’s lessons. So long as everyone played very, very quietly. She didn’t think she could take fortissimo today.
An hour later she was back to almost completely human—with a solid half hour to spare before her first student arrived. The pounding in her head had even reduced to ignorable levels. Thinking back, she decided she must have had less to drink than she thought—probably as drunk on the idea of being able to finally spill the truth as anything else. She had a text from Mimi waiting—Don’t worry, even drunk I didn’t tell Ty. Taking it to the grave. XOXO.
Caitlyn felt a weight she hadn’t been conscious of lift, but another remained. She remembered almost all of their conversation. And what they’d agreed she needed to do.
Twenty-eight minutes before her first student. There was time.
Caitlyn dug out the MMP cell phone and dialed.
He answered on the second ring, but then, of course he would. He thought she’d be back in love with him after watching last night.
“Sweetheart! Are you counting the days until our little getaway? I know I am.”
The mid-season vacation they were supposed to take together. She’d completely forgotten it. He did sound excited. Which made her feel guilty for what she was about to say—and how completely emotionless she felt about saying it. Shouldn’t she at least be sad that she was about to end their relationship? She wasn’t sure she had ever loved him, but if he had truly loved her… if he still did…
She found herself hesitating, and blurting out, “My landlord is selling my place.”
“Oh.” It took him a moment to process that out of the blue declaration. Then, “That’s great, sweetheart! You can probably get out of your lease early—”
“Actually, I was thinking I might put in an offer. You haven’t seen Tuller Springs, Daniel. You don’t understand how the mountains get into your soul. I really love it here. It’s become my home.”
“Honey.” The endearment was low, patronizing. “We’ve talked about this.”
“Yes, but we never actually agreed. It’s not a lot of money. Even if we did end up together and wanted to be somewhere else, it would make a great vacation home. Our own little ski chalet.” Even as she heard the words leaving her mouth, she realized she was doing it again—bending what she wanted to fit around his plans. She didn’t want Tuller Springs only on vacations. But compromise is what relationships are founded on…
“Do you even ski?”
“No, but I’ve been thinking about learning.” An image of Will popped into her head, rugged and grinning as he raced down the mountain.
“Baby—sweetheart, I know this is a big change, but you need a clean break. The middle of nowhere Colorado? You’ll only ever be a piano teacher there.”
“That’s all I want to be, Daniel.” She let the edge into her voice, but he didn’t seem to hear it.
“But there’s so much more in you, baby. I see that. I see you.”
“No. You don’t. And I don’t think you ever have.” There was more in her—but it was bull rides and brownie bites and Daniel couldn’t see that. He never would. He wanted her up on that goddamn pedestal so high she couldn’t touch the world around her.
“Sweetheart…”
“I don’t want to marry you, Daniel. I don’t want any of it.”
“Caitlyn…”
She could hear him getting ready to evade, getting ready to sidestep the objections that might get in the way of his plans. “I’m breaking up with you, Daniel. Now. We’re done.”
“Caitlyn, baby, don’t be hasty.”
“I’m not being hasty, Daniel. I’m being me.”
She hung up, flooded by triumph, relief…and a guilt chaser.
He’d be fine. He hadn’t loved her, and even if he thought he had, he’d get over it. He may be bummed for a day or two, but he’d bounce back. Stronger than ever. He was Mister Perfect, after all. And it wasn’t her job to console him. She couldn’t make them both miserable for the rest of their lives just to spare him the hurt in this second.
She had to pursue her own happiness. Even if that made her a horrible, selfish person that all of America would hate.
Sometimes a girl just had to do something for her own happiness.
Caitlyn reached for her other phone, dialing the recently programmed number.
“Will? I want to take you up on that offer. I want to learn to ski.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Caitlyn went down—again—with a thump, a groan, and a puff of snow. Will skied to where she had landed in an awkward heap, his little flicker of concern easing when he heard her self-deprecating laugh.
“I think we’ve found another thing that I’m terrible at.”
“Everyone sucks at skiing their first time out. It’s a rite of passage.” He grabbed one of her flailing skis and helped her organize her limbs before she attempted to get vertical again. “You’re actually doing pretty well.” Bald faced lie. She had zero natural aptitude for the sport. “And look on the bright side, at least no one can see you falling on your face.”
They’d had to wait until she was done teaching for the day before he could take her out on the mountain and in the evenings the bunny hill was all but abandoned. A ridge shielded it from the rest of the resort and gave them as much privacy as they could hope for on a ski slope.
Her skis now side by side, he reached down, his gloved hands catching hers as he levered her up onto her skis again, bracing her when she would have gone sliding off.
“When do I get those pole things?” she asked, jerking her chin to where he had stabbed his poles into the snow at the base of the bunny hill.
“When you can stay on your feet without them. Right now they would just get in your way and you’d probably ending up stabbing yourself with one. Or worse, me.”
She shot him a disgruntled look—which would have been more effective if she hadn’t looked so adorable. Her cheeks were rosy above the top of her scarf, eyes bright—and just a little cranky.
“My legs don’t do what you want them to do,” she complained. “I had this great image of myself flying effortlessly down the slopes. Instead I’m here in a dorky helmet on my ass half the time.”
“You will fly effortlessly. Someday. In the mean time, you look fabulous in the dorky helmet and it’s a fabulous ass.” Even if it was hidden in the fluff of the hot pink snow pants.
She stuck out her tongue at him and he laughed.
“Come on. Try again.” He coaxed her into position. “And this time, try not to lean back so far. It doesn’t slow you down. It just takes away your control and throws you off balance.”
“To slow down, make a pizza wedge,” she muttered to herself.
“Exactly.”
He released her and she began an awkward glide down the smoothly groomed slope. “That’s better,” he called. “Now try a turn. Weight on your inside ski and just glide around, nice and smooth.”
She kept sliding down the slope—perfectly straight.
“Try a turn,” he yelled again, louder. She’d done them before, but this time she just kept coasting straight for the edge of the slope.
“I can’t!” she hollered.
“Make a wedge to slow down,” he shouted, skiing over until he was right below her on the hill, reaching up to catch her.
And somehow she managed to turn. Uphill. Out of his reach.
She slid right off the edge of the neatly groomed bunny hill, into the buffer of soft, deep powder designed to stop the beginners before they made it to the tree line. She wasn’t going particularly fast—though it probably felt fast to her—and as soon as her skis hit the deeper snow, they stopped—though her body kept moving forward, sending he
r tumbling into the snow bank with a shout. She landed with a spray of snow and a grunt.
Will cringed. “You okay?”
She twisted on the ground, tangled in her skis. “I have fatally wounded my pride.”
“Pride is overrated.” He reached down to gently rearrange her skis so she didn’t damage her knees trying to get up.
“Says the Ski God who makes it look so easy,” she grumbled.
“I’ve skied pretty much every day I could since I was four. It gives me a slight advantage.” He reached down to help her to her feet, but this time when she took his hands, she yanked and he tipped to thump into the snow beside her.
When he dusted the snow out of his eyes, he saw that she was grinning. “You hadn’t spent any time on your ass. Didn’t want it to think it wasn’t fabulous enough to visit the snow like mine.”
“Happy now?” He gently brushed the loose snow from her cheek, with one gloved thumb.
Her gaze went soft, shifting to rest on his mouth and everything in his body tightened. They’d come this close to a kiss before and she’d always pulled away. No reason this time should be any different. She still had over a month of the show left.
Her eyes would slide to the side, a blush would creep up her cheeks, and he’d be left aching. He couldn’t say she was a tease. He knew exactly what he was getting into with her, but the waiting wasn’t getting any easier.
“Can anyone see us?” she whispered, never looking away from him.
“Not unless they climbed up that ridge over there with a telephoto lens.” Will nodded toward the ridge, though he didn’t take his own eyes away from Caitlyn and her mouth.
“If they’re that dedicated,” she murmured, “they deserve the shot.”
She leaned toward him. Any second now. Her gaze would slide away first. But instead her lashes fell heavily to veil her eyes.
And…
Her lips were on his, soft as silk, sweet as honey, and more addictive than the rush of cutting the first tracks through fresh snow.
It was just a brush, a taste, a sweet little peck of a kiss. An invitation.
He took it from there. Deepening, coaxing, and she yielded to him with a soft sigh. They were both wrapped in too many layers of clothing. He’d never hated his gloves more, for keeping him from her skin. But God, the taste of her.
When he finally lifted his head, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes as lust-dazed as he felt.
“On second thought, I think I like skiing,” she murmured.
He chuckled, the sound a little hoarse. “I’m glad to hear it, but we should probably get up before we both freeze our fabulous asses off.” He shoved to his feet and took a moment to steady himself before reaching down and tugging her up. Even bundled up, she was light and he put his hands on her waist—ostensibly to help her balance, but mostly because he liked the feel of her, even through all the padding. “You ready for one more attempt? From the bottom of the bunny hill it’s a straight, gentle slope all the way down to the Lodge and after we return your rental gear you get the best part of your first day of skiing.”
“Oh? Better than making out with the hot instructor?”
“I was thinking warming up with hot cocoa and massaging the aches out of your muscles in front of a fire, but I could be persuaded to consider other forms of heating you up and rewarding you for all your work tonight.”
A tantalizing glint entered her dark blue eyes. “Which way to the Lodge?”
Caitlyn didn’t know what had come over her. Sure, she was done with Daniel—which still felt amazing—but she could still get sued for having a relationship, so what the hell was she doing making out with Will in the snow?
She couldn’t have felt less sexy during her first ski lesson. She’d looked like the Staypuff Marshmallow man, dunked in fluorescent food coloring and wearing a bike helmet, and she’d somehow managed to fall down every fifteen seconds—whether she was moving or standing still. It could have been an excruciating experience. By rights, perhaps it should have been. But the way he’d looked at her…
His eyes had tracked her, filled with affection and poorly banked heat, and she’d shivered—and not from the cold either—though snow seemed to have crept inside every article of clothing she was wearing and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to warm up all the way again. Though Will was welcome to help…
By the time she’d gotten the courage to tug him down on the snow beside her and plant one on him, she’d felt like her skin was two sizes too small for her body and she was going to burst right out of it if she couldn’t kiss him right that second. It had been perfect. So right she’d gotten chills. Though that might have been the snow.
But now, as she stood pouring hot water from the kettle over the instant cocoa powder in two mugs, watching Will arrange their damp winter wear over the drying rack he’d set up beside the potbelly stove, her nerves were back with a vengeance.
What did she know about seduction? A big fat nothing. That had been part of the appeal of going on the show—they would take care of all that for her, set up romantic scenarios that even she couldn’t screw up and coach her through them. Now she was on her own and Caitlyn had never known what to do with herself in sexy situations.
She stalled as long as she could, stirring the powder, making sure it was perfectly dissolved. Will stoked the fire he’d set in the stove. She could already feel the warmth of it dispelling the winter’s chill—but it did nothing to warm her frozen nerves.
“Caitlyn?”
She jolted out of her daze, catching Will watching her with a little crinkle of concern between his brows. “Cocoa’s ready!” she chirped, far too brightly—that wasn’t sexy, damn it. She picked up the mugs to carry them over to the sitting area.
Will accepted his mug and settled himself on one end of the couch, his free arm stretched along the back in silent invitation. Was she supposed to just plop herself next to him? Curl up against all that gorgeous masculinity and make herself at home?
Her stomach jumped with nerves and she slid onto the couch—as far as she could get from him while still being on the same piece of furniture. He didn’t react, simply sipped his cocoa and murmured something complimentary about the chocolate.
“Yeah, I spring for the good stuff with my cocoa,” she babbled, unable to keep that freakish cheeriness out of her voice. “No expense spared on chocolate in this house.”
She sounded like she was at a pep rally. If he made a move she’d probably start a freaking cheer in his honor and scare him senseless.
But he just sprawled in his corner of the couch, sipping cocoa, basking in the warmth of the fire, gazing up at the mountain and occasionally sending her a glance filled with warm affection… and something much hotter.
He sipped his cocoa, his gaze on her. “So…what made you decide to stop performing?”
Caitlyn jolted, glad she wasn’t taking a sip of her cocoa because she would have given herself third degree burns on her esophagus. Alarm bells blared in her head, her sensual panic instantly morphing into agitation of a different sort. Was Will just like Daniel and her mother, only wanting her to be his performing monkey?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Why do you ask?” she asked warily, hiding her face behind her mug.
Will shrugged. “You’re amazing. I was just curious why you stopped.”
Caitlyn’s heart plummeted. He was just like them—
“Did you hate it?”
Wait… Daniel had never asked if she hated it. He’d just assumed everything about her old life was magical and she must be repressing her desire to return to it, with him on her arm.
“Was it the attention and spectacle that got to you?” Will asked. “Because, if so, going on the reality show was a weird choice.”
He had a point… “No, it wasn’t that. Being a famous Classical musician isn’t like being Angelina Jolie. I can still go to the grocery store or the movies and no one knows who I am. It’s only when I go places like Lincoln Ce
nter in New York that people would ask me for my autograph—and that part was actually kind of nice. They were music lovers and we could share that, you know?”
“So it wasn’t the fame. The schedule?”
“I… it’s complicated.”
“Okay.” Just that. So simple.
He leaned back and sipped at his cocoa, gazing out the window, but she knew he wasn’t ignoring her. He was waiting, letting her decide if she wanted to tell him or change the subject. She knew he would accept either choice without batting an eye. Which, oddly, made her want to tell him more.
“I told you my childhood was… pretty dysfunctional. My parents had a contentious relationship. Honestly, I’m not sure why they ever got married. But the one thing they could agree on was my music. My gift, they called it. And so, when I was very small, I threw myself into it because I thought it would make things better between them. When my career took off as a child phenom, I became a sort of bargaining chip between them. They started fighting again and my mom started cheating again—not even bothering to be discreet anymore—and when they got divorced, it was a good thing, I know that now, but at the time all I saw was that my stupid career had torn us apart. I blamed my success for everything that was going wrong and for a while I hated the piano with a passion—but my parents insisted I keep performing. My career was too important to throw away because I was going through a phase. So I performed—hating every second of it.”
She paused, regrouping, and found Will watching her. Steady. Not judging. Just listening.
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen when they got divorced. I was pretty miserable for a couple years—what girl going through puberty doesn’t want to be on display every night, right? I played, but I would dream about accidentally breaking a finger just so I could stop.” She took moment to drink her cocoa, the chocolate deliciously soothing. “I was in San Francisco one day when I was fifteen, researching emancipation online so I could get away from my parents and stop performing. I was so ready to be done. And that night I had to play Rachmaninov. His Piano Concerto #3 in D Minor. It starts out all sad and aching and builds to this agitation and frenzy. Back and forth like that. Sad and wild. Then the finale starts with this driving angry explosion. All fire and passion, but it ends with the most gorgeous catharsis—almost triumphant—and as I played it all of that just poured out of me. I’d never played like that before. I was always technically brilliant—everyone said so—and I had a gift for musicality, but this was a depth of emotion in my music I’d never experienced before. I forgot about the audience and completely surrendered myself to it. When it was over the ovation went on for fifteen minutes. People were crying. I was crying. Hell, I’m pretty sure the conductor broke down at one point. It was an incredible experience. And I realized I’d been blaming the piano for everything I was mad at my parents about. I found my love of music again that night and it was my salvation.”
