After Hours with Her Ex

by Maureen Child

  “I don’t know,” Lacy said, though she knew that she would never forget that she’d been left behind. Shut out. Made to feel that she didn’t matter. She’d lived through that as a child and she’d trusted Sam when he promised he would never leave her—then he did, and that pain would never completely disappear.

  “I don’t think I can,” Kristi admitted. She set her wineglass on the table and stood up. Then she walked to a window and stared out at the lamplight streaming from Sam’s cabin. “I want to,” she said, sending a short glance over her shoulder at Lacy. “I really do. And Tony keeps telling me that I’m only hurting myself by hanging on to all of this anger...”

  Smiling, Lacy asked, “Gave him one of your books to read, did you?”

  A soft, sad chuckle shot from Kristi’s throat. “Yeah, guess I’m going to have to stop that.” She turned her back on the window and shrugged. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

  No, it shouldn’t.

  “You’ll just have to keep trying,” Lacy told her.

  “What about you?” her friend asked quietly. “Are you going to try?”

  “My situation’s different, Kristi. He’s your family.” Lacy stood up and cleared the coffee table of the cookies and wine. It had been a long day and clearly this girlfest was winding down into a pit of melancholy. She’d rather take a hot bath and go to bed. Straightening, she looked at the woman watching her. “He was my family, now he’s not. So it doesn’t really matter what I think of him.”

  Kristi gave her a sad smile. “Of course it matters. You matter, Lacy. I don’t want him to hurt you again.”

  Winking, Lacy deliberately brought up Kristi’s self-help advice. “He can only hurt me if I allow it. And trust me, I won’t.”

  * * *

  The party was a huge success. It was still early in the evening and Snow Vista was packed with locals and tourists who were enjoying the clear, cold weather and the hum of energy. The crowds were thick; music pumped into the air with a pounding beat that seemed to reverberate up from the ground. All around Sam, people were talking, laughing, dancing. The party was a success. So why the hell was he so on edge?

  Then he realized why.

  It had been two years since he’d been in a crowd this size. He’d avoided mobs of people like the plague. It was always Jack who’d enjoyed the adoring masses. Sam’s twin had fed off the admiration and applause. He’d loved being the center of attention, always making his ski runs faster, his jumps higher, his freestyle twists riskier.

  All to push the edges of an envelope that never had a chance to hold him. Jack was the adventurer, Sam thought, a half smile curving his mouth as he remembered. Even as kids, Jack would go off the beaten path, skiing between trees, jumping over rocks, and once he’d even gone over a cliff edge and landed himself in a thigh-high cast for eight weeks.

  Basically, Jack had loved the rush of speed. If he hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t have died in a fiery car wreck. So useless. Such a waste. And so like Jack to drive himself to his own limits and beyond. He hadn’t considered risks. Hadn’t worried about consequences. It was almost as if he’d come into his life hungry for every experience he could find. There was a time Sam had admired—envied—Jack’s ability to cruise through the world getting exactly what he wanted out of it.

  Jack had loved the publicity, the reporters, seeing himself on the glossy pages of magazines. Adulation had been his drug of choice.

  “Hell,” Sam muttered, “this party would have been a showcase for Jack. He’d have been right in the center of it all, holding court, laughing.” Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, Sam glanced at the black sky overhead. “Damned if I don’t miss you.”

  “Mr. Wyatt!”

  Sam’s head swiveled and he spotted a slim blonde woman with short hair clutching a microphone, headed right at him. Worse, there was a cameraman hot on her heels.

  A reporter.

  Everything in him tightened, like fists ready for battle. There was a time when Sam had handled the media like a pro. When he was skiing, competing, he was used to being in front of a camera and answering what always seemed like moronic questions. But then Jack died and the questions had changed and ever since, Sam had dodged as many reporters as he could.

  That wasn’t an option tonight, though, and he knew it. The End of Season party was big news around here, and as Lacy had pointed out, the more publicity they got, the better it was for Snow Vista’s bottom line.

  So he gritted his teeth, planted his feet wide apart in a fighting stance and waited.

  “Mr. Wyatt,” the woman said again as she got closer. She gave him a fabulous smile, then turned and looked at her cameraman. “Scott, just set up right here. We’ll get the party in the background for atmosphere.”

  She hadn’t even asked if he’d speak to her. Just assumed he would. The reporter was probably used to most people wanting to do anything to get on camera for a few minutes.

  When the light flashed on, Sam squinted briefly, then looked to the woman. Around him, the curious began to gather, with the occasional teenager making faces and waving to the camera.

  “I’m Megan Short reporting for Channel Five,” the woman said, her smile fake, her voice sharp and clipped. “I’d like to talk to you about this event, if you’ve got a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” he said with what he hoped was more enthusiasm than he felt.

  “Great.” She turned, faced the camera and, when the guy behind the lens gave her a signal, she started right in. “This is Megan Short and I’m reporting from Snow Vista resort where the annual End of Season party is under way.”

  Sam forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath. While he half listened to the reporter, he let his gaze slide over the raucous crowd. More gathered behind him, jostling to get on camera, but most were too busy partying to pay attention. The music still pounded, people were laughing, kids were ice-skating on the pond. The air was cold and the sky was clear. A perfect night really—but for the reporter.

  “In recent years, the party at Snow Vista just hasn’t been the same, some residents have claimed,” Megan was saying as she turned from the camera to look up at Sam. “But tonight, it looks like everything is as it should be. And I think that’s due to the return of local champion Sam Wyatt.” She turned, gave him another fatuous smile and continued, “What’s it like for you, Sam, to be back here where you and your twin, Jack, once ruled the slopes?”

  He sucked in a gulp of frosty air and pushed it forcefully into his lungs. Of course she would bring up Jack. Tragedy made for great TV, after all.

  “It’s good to be home.” He hoped she let it go at that, but he knew she wouldn’t.

  “Your brother’s tragic death two years ago left the entire state reeling,” she was saying, with a thread of insincere sympathy coloring the words. “We were all invested in the success of the Wyatt twins. How does it feel, Sam, to be here without Jack?”

  Under the building rage ran a slender thread of helpless frustration. Why did reporters always ask how does it feel? Could they really not guess? Or did they not care that they were digging into open wounds and dumping handfuls of salt into them? He had a feeling it was a little of both along with the hope of getting an emotional reaction out of their victims—and if there were tears, that was a bonus.

  Well she wouldn’t get what she wanted from him. He had plenty of experience dealing with those who sought to pry into feelings best left alone. His features shuttered as he locked away emotions and buried them deep.

  “Jack loved the End of Season party,” he said, keeping his voice even and steady, though the effort cost him. “So it’s good to be here, watching locals and visitors alike enjoy the festivities.”

  “I’m sure, but—”

  He cut her off and pretended not to see the flash of anger in her eyes. “Tom Summer’s band is great. If
you’ll swing your camera around, you’ll see we’ve got the kiddie pond open for ice-skating and there are more than two dozen food booths set up offering everything from pizza to Korean barbecue to funnel cakes.” He smiled into the camera and ignored the sputtering reporter beside him.

  “Yes,” she said, determined to steer him back on the course she’d chosen. “And yet, how much more special would it be for you to be here tonight if your twin hadn’t died so tragically? Is that loss still resonating within the Wyatt family?”

  He’d tried, Sam assured himself. He’d put on a good face, pushed the resort and made an effort to ignore the woman’s painful digging. But there was only so much a man could take. Damned if he’d let this woman feed off his family’s pain. He sent her a steely-eyed glare that had her backing up one small step. But the determination in her eyes didn’t dim.

  “No comment,” he said tightly even though he realized that a statement as simple as that one to a reporter was like waving a red flag at a bull.

  “The loss of a twin has to be difficult to deal with—”

  “Difficult?” Such a small, weak word to describe what Jack’s loss had done to him. To the family. “I think this interview is finished.”

  She was relentless. Obviously, she’d set a goal for herself and had no intention of walking away until she’d succeeded in her mission.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you,” she was saying, moving in closer so that she and Sam shared the same camera frame. “Competing with your twin, then becoming a bone-marrow donor during his battle with leukemia...”

  Sam kept breathing—that was all he could do. If he spoke now, it wouldn’t be pretty. It all rushed back at him. The stunning news that Jack had cancer. The treatments. Watching his strong, fit brother weaken under the stress of the chemo. And finally, Sam, donating his bone marrow in a last-ditch attempt to save the other half of himself.

  The transplant worked. And over the span of several weeks, Jack’s strength returned. His powerful will and resolve to reclaim his life drove him to recover, become the man he used to be.

  Just in time to die.

  “...helping him win that battle,” the reporter was saying, “defeat cancer only to die in an horrific car accident on his way to the airport to compete in the international ski trials.” She pushed the microphone up higher. “Tell us,” she urged, “in your own words, what it cost you and your family to survive such a personal tragedy.”

  His brain was buzzing. His heartbeat thundered in his own ears. His mouth was dry and once again, he clenched his hands into useless fists. Sam gritted his teeth because he knew, if he opened his mouth to speak, he was going to blast the woman for her feigned sympathy in the name of ratings.

  “Megan Short!” Lacy stepped up beside Sam, smiled at the reporter and said, “This is great! I’m Lacy Sills, manager of the resort. We’re so happy to have Channel Five at Snow Vista. I hope everyone in your audience will come on up to join the party! We’ve got free food, a skating rink for the kids, dancing to a live band and the best desserts in Utah. The evening’s young so come up and join us!”

  Undeterred, Megan shifted her attention to Lacy. “Thank you, Lacy, for that invitation. Maybe you could answer my question, though. Our viewers watched Sam and Jack Wyatt over the years, as the twins scooped up pretty much every available prize and award available for skiing. Now, since you were once married to Sam, maybe you could share with our viewers just how hard it is for you to deal not only with the ghost of Jack Wyatt, but with your own ex-husband.”

  For a split second, Sam had been torn when Lacy hurried up. Glad to see her, but irritated that she’d obviously believed he needed rescuing. What was most surprising, though, was that she would come to his aid in the first place. He’d been home nearly a week and she’d done everything she could to avoid him. Now she rushed in? Why?

  He looked at her, wearing a navy blue sweater, jeans and boots, her thick blond braid hanging over one shoulder. No one else would have noticed, but Sam could see what it cost Lacy to stand there and smile at the woman taunting her.

  Lacy’s chin lifted, her eyes flashed and Sam felt a swell of pride. When she met the reporter’s gaze, he remembered all of the times over the years when Lacy had stood her ground in spite of everything. Damn, she was something to see. Admiration and desire twisted together inside him.

  “I really can’t talk about Jack Wyatt other than to say we all miss him. Always will.” Face frozen into a tight smile, Lacy added, “Thanks so much for coming to the resort tonight and I hope all of your viewers will come up the mountain to enjoy the End of Season party! Now, if you’ll excuse us, Sam and I have a few things to take care of...”

  Not waiting for an assent, Lacy threaded her arm through Sam’s and tugged. He took the escape she offered. Leading her away from the crowds, Sam stalked around the peripheries of the noisy mob until they were far enough away from everyone that he felt he could draw an easy breath again. They stood in the shadows behind the main lodge. Here, the music was distanced and so were the shouts and conversations and laughter.

  If Lacy hadn’t shown up when she did, Sam thought he might have told that reporter exactly what he thought of her. And that wouldn’t have been good for him or the resort. “Thanks,” he said when he could unclench his teeth enough for words to sneak past.

  “No problem,” she assured him, and leaned against the building. “I’ve been dealing with Megan Short for the last two years. She’s relentless.”

  “Like a damn shark,” he muttered, shoving one hand through his hair, furious that he’d allowed the woman to get to him.

  “Please,” Lacy said on a snort of laughter. “She makes sharks look like fluffy kittens. Everyone she interviews on camera either ends up crying or screaming at her or threatening her.”

  “You handled her.”

  She shrugged.

  “What I’m wondering is why,” he said. “You could have left me swinging in the wind and didn’t. So...why?”

  Lacy pushed away from the wall. “I saw the look on your face. Another minute or two alone with her and you’d have ruined all the good publicity we’re getting.”

  “That’s it? For the good of the resort?”

  She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Why else, Sam?”

  “That’s what I want to know.” His gaze moved over her, sweeping up and down before settling finally on her eyes. “See, I think there’s more to it than that. I think you still feel something.”

  She snorted. “I feel plenty. Just not for you.”

  A grin curved his mouth as Sam watched her fiddle with the end of her braid. She’d always done that when she was skirting the truth. “You’re playing with your hair and we both know what that means.”

  Instantly, she stopped, tossed her braid behind her back and glared at him. “You know, here in the real world, when someone helps you out, you just say ‘thanks.’”

  “Already said thanks.”

  “Right. You did. You’re welcome.”

  She turned to go and he stopped her with one hand on her arm. “We’re not done.”

  Then he kissed her.

  Five

  Lacy should have pushed him away.

  Should have kicked him, stomped on his foot, something.

  Instead, she kissed him back.

  How could she not? Two years of hungering for him made her just crazy enough to want his arms around her again. To feel his mouth on hers. His breath on her cheek.

  For a heart-stopping moment, there was just the heat of him, holding her, tasting her. The erotic slide of his tongue against hers sent sparks of awareness dazzling through her body like tiny flames, awakening and dying and starting up again.

  She leaned into him, the sound of the party nothing more than a buzz in her ears. How could sh
e hear more, when her own heartbeat was crashing so loudly it drowned out everything else?

  The black leather jacket he wore felt cold and slick beneath her hands as she clung to his shoulders. Reaching up, she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his mouth to hers, reveling in the sensations rushing inside.

  He moved her backward until she was pressed against the back wall of the inn. The thick, cold logs sent chills down her spine even as the heat Sam engendered swamped them both. Years fell back, pain slipped away and all she was left with was the amazing sensations she’d only experienced with Sam. Anger fell beneath layers of passion and she knew it would be back, stronger than ever. Anger at him. At herself.

  But right at the moment, she didn’t care.

  It was crazy. A party attended by crowds of people was going on not a hundred yards from them. They were out in the open, where anyone could stumble across them. And yet, all she could think was, yes. More.

  His hands slid beneath the hem of her sweater to stroke across her abdomen and the chill of his touch warred with the heat—and lost. Lacy pushed herself into him, moving as close as she could and still it wasn’t enough to feed the raw need pulsing within.

  He tore his mouth from hers and they stared at each other, breaths coming fast and harsh, clouds of vapor pushing into the air between them. His gaze moved over her face. His eyes were shadowed in the dim light and still they seemed to shine a brilliant green.

  A moment later, raucous laughter and a girl’s flirty squeal shattered the spell holding them in a silent grip. Sam stepped back from her with a muttered curse just as a young couple ran around the side of the inn.

  They came to a sliding stop on the snowy path. “Oh hey, man. Sorry. We were just looking...um...”

  Clearly the young couple had been looking for the same privacy she and Sam were just enjoying.

  Sam stuffed both hands into his jeans pockets. “It’s fine. Enjoy the party.”