by Alexa Martin
Pleasure flows through me at his words. His excitement is almost tangible in the car, and it makes not flooring it into town a struggle. But Buena is my place, and the last thing I want to do is get a speeding ticket to start our weekend and piss off the police.
Buena Vista—pronounced “Boo-na,” not “Bway-na,” which always confuses me and has caused me to lose countless hours of productivity wondering why that is—is one of my favorite places in all of Colorado. Most Coloradans wouldn’t understand. Hell, my dad doesn’t understand; he has a condo in Aspen that he rents out most of the year. But Buena Vista feels like a secret. A tiny little town with one bar and only a few more restaurants, it’s not the typical go-to for a relaxing weekend away. Which is exactly why it’s the perfect place for me and Maxwell.
I turn into town, driving the three blocks through their downtown until the business turns residential and our Airbnb comes into view.
Now, I don’t like to toot my own horn or . . . who am I kidding? I love it! The house that I found for our weekend is the cutest house that I have ever seen. The Blue Tower, as they have it listed, is the house of my childhood dreams, and when I saw it, it didn’t matter how much it cost or that it was much too large for only two people, I needed it.
“This looks like a storybook,” Maxwell says with his face pushed against the window, and he’s not wrong.
See, the Blue Tower is exactly that. A little blue house with a tower. They had pictures from the summer that sold me right away, but as I double-park on the cobblestone street and see the snow-dusted roof and garland-draped front porch, I know I would sell my soul to never have to leave. It’s still daytime, so the lights aren’t on, but I can still see the Christmas lights framing every window in the house . . . and it has a lot of them. Behind the house, Midland Hill looks so close that I’m sure I’ll be able to touch it from the balcony.
Not much is better in reality than in pictures. And this weekend, I get to spend my time with two of them: the Blue Tower and Maxwell Lewis.
“Do you have the key? Or how does this work?” Maxwell snaps me out of my head.
“I’m not sure, hold on.” I grab my phone and open up the email with the instructions. “The key is on top of the light by the front door.”
“All right, well, why don’t you let us in and I’ll grab the bags?” he suggests, and since I overpacked and my suitcase is stupid heavy, I agree.
“Sounds like a plan, Captain.” I mock salute, snatching my purse off the floor behind my seat and tossing my phone inside.
As soon as my door is open, the frigid mountain air socks me in the gut. But unlike at the food drive, it’s rejuvenating. There’s a freshness to the mountain air. A freedom that’s impossible to find in the city. It snowed yesterday, but unlike the snow that’s plowed by HERS, the small piles against the sidewalk are still white.
I climb up the freshly shoveled and carefully salted stairs to the front porch. The key is exactly where they said it would be. Actually, it’s not well hidden at all, and if that’s not a testament to how safe this little town is, I don’t know what is.
I put the key into the lock, and a sudden bout of nerves causes my stomach to sink. Maxwell and I have spent a lot of time together, but this is the first time we’ve spent this long together without a break or our friends around us. What if we realize we don’t work? What if what is supposed to be a romantic weekend turns out to be the end of us? How long can I even last in a relationship before I feel the need to move on? Maybe once the chase is all the way over, I’ll get bored and leave.
“What did you pack?” Maxwell grunts behind me, his presence the pressure I needed to open the door. “We’re only staying two nights, right? Or did I not pack enough?”
“I’m a girl,” I say as an explanation.
“I’m well aware of that.” He drops my duffel bag and small—fine!—average-sized suitcase on the tiled entryway. “But did I get the dates wrong?”
“No.” I shrug a shoulder. “I just pack heavy.”
I’ve always done this. It used to drive my dad crazy because I would always pack a minimum of three stuffed backpacks to sleepovers when I was a kid. And because I brought so much stuff, a significant amount of things I didn’t even know why I was bringing, it was inevitable that I’d forget something and he’d have to go on a retrieval mission, which usually meant he’d be stuck in my friend’s kitchen with their parents for a solid two hours while we “looked” for the lost item. Now, with the help of my well-meaning Lady Mustang friends, it has reached a new level of insanity. I have all of my makeup . . . which I doubt I’ll even wear . . . more hair products than I even know what to do with, and so, so many shoes.
“Good, I started to get a little worried. It didn’t look like there were many shopping options in town.” He leans in and drops a quick kiss onto my mouth, which causes my knees to go a little weak, and I sag into the wall behind me. “I’m gonna grab the rest, I’ll be right back.”
“’Kay.” I push off the wall, closing the door behind him so we don’t let too much cold air inside.
I move from the entryway and go deeper into the house. Even though the house is flooded with natural light from the abundance of windows, I still flick on all the lights as I go. Where the outside is flawless, the inside is a little dated. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still beautiful, but I can’t help but slip into a daydream where this is my house and I imagine all the changes I would make. The wood-burning stove would definitely stay, but the floors would be gone. I picture the window treatments I would hang to frame this perfect view and the comfy couch I’d put in the living room. I see me and Maxwell getting our Chip and Jo on as we gutted the kitchen.
“How’d you find this place?” Maxwell walks over to me, slowly unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. Something this normal is not meant to be sexual at all, but he looks so damn sexy that I have to pinch my arm to force myself to focus.
“I come up here every year and I always see this place. I was pretending I wasn’t the boss at work the other day and looking at Airbnb. When I saw it was available, I couldn’t pass up my opportunity to stay here.”
This story is only half-true.
I was bored and wasting time on the Internet. But I wasn’t at work since it was Christmas.
Maxwell spent the day with TK, Poppy, and Ace. I know this not only because I was invited, but also because Ace got an iPhone—something TK now owes Poppy for—and Ace spent the entire day flooding my phone with selfies and videos. It was almost cute enough to thaw my frozen heart.
Almost.
“Thank you for bringing me along.” He tosses his scarf and jacket onto the recliner in the corner, and his bare feet pad across the tile until he reaches me. He brings his face in so close that I just know he’s going to kiss me again. My eyes flutter shut in anticipation and my lips part. “What are we doing today?” he asks instead of kissing me.
“Ummm . . .” I blink a few times, trying to get myself together and remember the answer, because we really do have an itinerary. What can I say? I love planning vacations. I glance at the clock and realize it’s later than I thought. “Shoot! Go get changed! Warm clothes and snow boots.”
Hopefully having him dressed in layers will lower my need to jump his bones all the time. But I seriously doubt it.
Thirty-four
“Hi! I’m Brynn, we’re here!” I slam my door shut and run to the bearded man standing outside a nondescript log cabin that I totally would’ve missed if not for my handy navigation. “So sorry we’re late, the roads were worse than I expected.”
And also, Maxwell got carsick from all the twisting and turning up the mountain roads, but I figure that’s a detail he’ll want to keep between us.
“Not a problem,” he says, his gruff voice exactly what I was hoping for from the mountain man. “During this season, we actually put you on the schedule for thirty
minutes after the time you booked for that reason.” His eyes glance over my shoulder, and his posture changes instantly. “Holy crap! You’re Maxwell Lewis!”
Figures.
I had hoped he would go unnoticed in the small mountain town, but the Mustangs are an integral part of Colorado culture.
“I am, but please, call me Max,” Maxwell says, his voice a little weaker than normal as he extends a hand to greet our tour guide. “Nice to meet you . . . Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Cary,” he says, introducing himself to Maxwell even though I’m the one who set up the freaking tour. “Sorry, man, we’ve never had a Mustangs player up here before. I’m a little starstruck. But lucky for you guys, the dogs don’t watch football.” Cary laughs at his own joke.
“Dogs?” Maxwell’s eyes widen and he looks at me with a mix of excitement and fear plastered across his perfect face.
“Dogsledding!” I yell, jumping up and down, little bursts of snow exploding beneath my feet. As much as I love surprising people, I suck at keeping secrets. It’s why I do most of my shopping last minute, because there’s no way I can wait an entire month before giving someone their gift.
“Seriously?” I see apprehension cross his face, and he’s probably thinking about how well he didn’t handle the car ride and imagining that same thing . . . but with dogs. Even I have to admit that sounds terrible.
“I’ve never done it before, but I’ve heard great things.” I move closer so I can talk to him without Cary being all the way in our business. “I think the cool air will stop you from feeling sick like in the car, but if you do, I’m sure they’ll know how to handle it.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods his head anyways. “All right, Cary,” he says. “Show us these dogs.”
“Let’s do it.” Cary turns on a booted heel and starts power walking up a narrow path that someone did the very minimum to shovel. Not that I can blame them, shoveling is freaking hard.
The sounds of dogs barking are audible long before the sled and team of ten dogs come into view, but when we see them, I think even Maxwell’s reservations are forgotten. Ten dogs, all different colors, lose their minds when they see us. Their tails are wagging like crazy, as if we’re doing them a favor by letting them pull us around the mountain. The sled behind them is surprisingly small and vaguely reminds me of a shopping cart that’s been chopped down with its sides covered in fabric.
“So, Max, I’m going to have you climb in here first, and once you’re comfortable, we’ll get Brynn right in front of you,” Cary instructs, putting his fandom aside to get us all set.
Maxwell grabs the glasses we picked up at a gas station on the way up here and settles them on his face. It’s true that everyone looks hotter in sunglasses, but it’s extra true in Maxwell’s case. I spend more time than I’ll ever admit trying to find a pair of sunglasses that don’t screw up the dimensions of my face, and this jerk just snatches a pair off the rack and looks like a freaking sunglasses model. Aside from famine and war, this might be the most unfair thing in the entire world.
“Are you all good?” Cary asks Maxwell and breaks my sunglasses trance.
“All good.” Maxwell pats his thighs. “Climb on in, Boss.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname to hide the thrill I get at the thought of sitting in Maxwell’s lap for the next hour and a half. But when I sit down and feel him already hardening against my ass, I realize I’m not the only one excited by the thought.
“Sorry.” He lifts the edge of my beanie and whispers into my ear. “Your ass looks fucking fantastic in those pants.”
I wiggle my butt, giggling at his harsh intake of breath.
“All right, you two.” Cary takes his place at the back of the sled. “Ready to go?”
“So ready!” Giddiness creeps into my voice. Maxwell’s grip tightens on my hips.
“Then let’s go.”
The ride starts slower than I anticipated. Which, to be fair, I had no idea what to expect. Besides watching Balto as a kid, I have zero knowledge about dogsleds. I did read a few Yelp reviews and made sure Cary treats the dogs well, but that’s it.
But I think I love this pace, and it definitely sets Maxwell at ease. I relax back onto his chest as we pass by all the snow-covered pines until they become a little more sparse . . . then a little more . . . and then they’re gone and we have an uninterrupted view of mountains around . . . and below us.
“Holy shit.” I pull off my sunglasses and look around. Unlike when I get to the top of a ski lift, it’s easy to tell that people don’t come up here and the ones who do don’t do it often. Other than the lines from the sled and Cary’s shoes, the snow is undisturbed. It’s like the sky dumped glitter around us. I can’t stop squinting from the glare of the sun and the bright white snow, but no amount of wrinkles could stop me from looking.
There are some moments you know you’ll never have again and this is one of those. And I’ll be damned if I don’t do my best to commit every single bit of it to memory. The smell of unpolluted air, Maxwell’s warm breath against my freezing skin, the sound of the wind cracking against the snow. It’s perfect.
“This isn’t usually part of the tour, but I figured if Max is really going to represent Colorado, he needs to see exactly what that means,” Cary says.
Finally, the perks of dating a Mustangs player start rolling in.
“Point taken, man,” Maxwell says, his eyes still roaming over the mountaintop. “This is incredible.”
“Hey, Cary.” I climb onto my knees and turn around in the sled . . . which is much more difficult than I originally guessed. “Can you turn around for a bit?”
“That I can.” He winks.
Normally, this would embarrass me. But not this time. I mean, I can almost guarantee my cheeks are hot pink from the cold. Also, we’re practically on top of the freaking world and it’s romantic as fuck. There’s no way we’re leaving this without a kiss. No way. No how.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Maxwell says before I have the chance to talk.
“Thank you for being someone I can experience this with.” I feel my eyes begin to tear up so I lean in to kiss him before they fall. Nothing distracts from crying like Maxwell’s mouth on mine.
I pull my head away when the dogs start to grow impatient. Maxwell drops his hands to my ass and squeezes. “Let’s get this show on the road, Cary.”
“You got it!” Cary does something with the giant leash system anchoring all the dogs together while I turn back around. “And hold on, this is the fun part,” he warns us, but takes off before I can prepare.
The dogs start sprinting down the mountain. Snow from their paws whips around our heads, and I let loose a high-pitched scream. It’s like being on a roller coaster and not knowing if there are brakes.
Which is basically how I’ve felt since the moment Maxwell walked into my life.
Thirty-five
I wish I could say things got real sexy when we got back to the Blue Tower after dogsledding. But that would be a lie.
What started out as a perk of Maxwell’s fame turned into a downside real fast as what I was told was an hour-and-a-half sled ride turned into a four-hour tour. It was like the mountain version of Gilligan’s Island. Add to that the one-hour return trip to our house, and by the time we got back, we both barely made it to the bed before we were asleep.
I roll over and reach for Maxwell, but I’m met with cool, empty sheets.
I sit up too fast. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping it will stop the windows of the tower from spinning around me. I open them slowly and let out a deep, contented breath. From this spot in the bed, I literally have a panoramic view of the mountains that surround Buena Vista. If it weren’t for the sound of a running shower, I’d probably lie back down and never move.
But if there’s one view that could beat this, it’s of a naked an
d wet Maxwell Lewis.
I don’t have a plan as I inch closer to the open bathroom door, but as soon as I see Maxwell’s soap-covered body through the fogged-up glass, one comes to mind.
I slip out of the satin nightie I had enough mind to put on last night—I normally sleep in old T-shirts I’ve hoarded from high school, but in an overwhelming victory, Vonnie, Poppy, Avi, Jac, and even Paisley forced me to leave my field hockey shirt behind. The steam from the shower has warmed the bathroom as I pad across the tiles and open the shower door.
Maxwell startles but is quickly placated as he takes in my naked body.
“Good morning,” I say over the gentle sound of running water.
Maxwell pulls me into him, turning our bodies so I’m positioned beneath the water. “It is now.” His hands run up and down my bare back, causing me to shiver despite the warm water. “You could spoil a man. It would be real easy to get used to my days starting this way.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I drop my hands between our bodies and stroke his hard, wet length as hot water streams down on my head.
“Fuck no,” he hisses out between clenched teeth. He leans in, touching his forehead to mine, and braces both hands on the tile behind me. “Not at all.”
As I speed up the pace, he begins to pump into my hands. His eyes are closed, but mine are wide open and taking in the wonder of watching this strong, amazing, beautiful man fall apart in my hands. My hips start to move and my thighs press together. I need him inside of me.
Now.
“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”
He stills in my hands, and his eyes fly open.
“I mean, if you want.” I try to backpedal. “I can go grab a condom real fast.” I drop my hands to my sides and try to slide under his arm to leave, but his hand on my arm stops me.
“I’m clean too. We get tested before every season and I’ve never not used a condom.” His eyes bore into me, heating me up more than the steam floating around us. “I’m okay with no condom if you are.”
