Hot Summer Nights

by Jaci Burton

  “I got locked out of my room so I figured this was my only option.” She darted a glance at him. “But I misjudged the distance. Can you catch me?”

  Of course he could catch her. She was petite and dangling in midair and he’d be a complete a-hole if he didn’t rescue her. But he wasn’t sure he trusted her not to freak out and drop with flying elbows and feet and knock out his front teeth.

  “Why don’t you try to sit on my shoulders first?” He moved in behind her. Even stretched out like she was, she didn’t appear tall, and her tight stretchy pants indicated she was in shape. Nicely in shape, if that heart-shaped ass was any indication.

  Brody cleared his throat, suddenly aware that he had just suggested she wrap her legs around him. And that he had avoided relationships and sex as avidly as the Black Diamond trails. But he maintained this was still the most logical way to get her down despite the unexpected direction his thoughts had just taken.

  “What do you mean?” This was punctuated by a tiny shriek as she almost lost her grip.

  Brody reached out, not willing to watch her plummet to the ground and break a bone. “I’m touching your legs, so don’t freak out. Or kick me.” He ducked his head between those same legs and stood up, so that he took the slack and relieved her arms. She wound up seated on his shoulders, still clinging to the decking of the balcony. “Better?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Holy crap, I thought I was going to fall and split my skull open. Or freeze to the railing.” Her thighs clenched his head, giving him earmuffs of sorts. “Would it be weird if I said I’m grateful your head is so warm? Even my cooter is numb.”

  Brody almost dropped her. An erection sprang to life at the thought of warming up her so-called cooter. He could definitely think of a better head to handle that particular project than the one that housed his brains. Or lack thereof, given that he was getting horny and he hadn’t even seen her face yet. But there was something about her voice. Her ass. Her warming cooter.

  Damn, he needed to get her on the ground. “Okay, let go of the balcony. I’ve got you.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Positive.”

  She let go, not tentatively, but both hands simultaneously, throwing them up in the air like she was on a roller coaster. Brody wanted to laugh, except she had thrown him off-balance, and he spread his feet quickly apart so they didn’t both go down. His knee didn’t act up often, but he’d really hate for this to be the moment it crapped out on him.

  “I’m going to bend down and you can just walk off my shoulders.” He did it as carefully as he could but she still sort of tumbled off the front of him, sliding on the ice, her arms flailing.

  Brody stood back up and reached out to steady her. She turned and swiped her hair out of her eyes. Oh, man, Brody didn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified, but she was gorgeous. Like eat your fucking heart out, boys kind of beautiful. Everything on her was…perky. From her breasts to her smile, to her hair to her eyes. She radiated beauty and a healthy appreciation of the ridiculousness of the situation.

  “That was a close one. I cannot believe I didn’t break anything. Or pee my pants.” She winked at him. “Bet you’re glad about the last one.”

  No, golden showers had never been an interest of his. But he could think of a whole lot of other things he would clearly enjoy doing with her. “This could have all gone horribly wrong. You could still be hanging there if I hadn’t decided to come outside. But all’s well that ends well.”

  “Good point, Pa. You got some chewing tobacco to go with that?”

  The words might have sounded harsh, except she was smiling. Smiling the kind of smile that made Brody’s pants too tight. She was flirting with him. Ten seconds out of a potentially disastrous fall and she was moving on. He respected the hell out of that. “No, I quit. Ma and Doc Jones say it’s no good for me. But I think its horse puckey.” He could play, too.

  She laughed, her breath puffing out in a vaporous cloud in the cold air. “But disaster hasn’t totally been averted, since I strongly suspect my sock is freezing to the ground as we speak.”

  Geez, he’d forgotten she was only wearing one shoe. Brody stripped off his jacket and handed it to her. “It’s nice and warm. Like my head. Put it on.”

  She did, looking like she was considering a comment or two, her mouth turned up in a smirk. Before she could respond, Brody bent over and picked her up at the waist, lifting her straight up in the air. Her worries proved accurate because her sock stayed on the ice, its wet heat clearly refreezing at contact. She made a sharp sound, a shiver rushing through her.

  Without bothering to explain his actions, figuring they were obvious, Brody headed for the back door of the hotel.

  “Thank you,” she said. “This would suck a lot harder if you weren’t around.”

  For some reason, he felt ridiculously pleased by that odd compliment. He was glad he’d been around, too. “You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”

  “I dub you Sir Liftsalot.”

  He laughed as he pulled open the door and heat rushed over them. “I’m no knight in shining armor. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “Shh. Don’t ruin my fantasy. You’ve saved me with your muscled haunches, and now you should gaze at my flowing golden locks for ten seconds before a fire-breathing beast sends us running again.”

  Brody fought a grin. She wasn’t exactly like any other woman he’d ever met, and he found her sense of humor very amusing. “Well, there is a husky behind you, does that count?”

  “Yeah, that’ll do.” She slid down the length of him, his waterproof jacket swallowing her. “Though I don’t really feel like running. With one shoe on. I’d much rather go to the bar and get a hot toddy. Care to join me? My treat in thanks for your chivalry.”

  He’d love to. Except that his sister Tracey was probably still in the bar. Did he risk it? Besides, this woman was in snow-soaked yoga pants and one sock. He thought fast and with his libido. “Why don’t you go to the front desk and get a new key, then go up and put some warmer and drier clothes on? I’ll order your drink for you.”

  “Oooh. You’ll be waiting in the bar for me with a hot drink? You are my hero.” She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated way.

  Brody snorted. “Overkill. I no longer believe your sincerity.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I’m off. My foot feels like cracked glass, and while I’m in no danger of hypothermia, I pretty much want to marry a wool sock right now.”

  “How did you end up locked out anyway?”

  “Well, I opened the door for fresh air and went outside. Then I closed the door. Then I tried to open the door, only it was stuck on the track and it only opened a grand total of two inches. And even sideways I am more than two inches. Clearly. So I was stuck.”

  “And you decided to jump down off a two-story balcony?” he asked, amazed that she had seen that as her first solution.

  “Well, what else was I going to do? Freeze to death?”

  She had him there. “Call for help?”

  “I did. And you rescued me. All’s well that ends well.” She smirked.

  What he had on his hands was a smartass. He liked it. “I can’t argue with that. Okay, see you in a few minutes.”

  He moved with her to the elevator, then suddenly realized he was missing an important piece of information. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  The elevator doors opened. She got on and turned to face him. “Chelsea.”

  “I’m Brody. Nice to meet you, Chelsea.” It was very nice. He felt the stirrings of a deep sexual attraction. Hell, it was a goddamn whirlpool of chemistry swirling between them.

  It just might be time to dive back into the dating pool.

  Or at least get his feet wet.

  * * *

  Sometimes it paid to be a dumbass.

  As the elevator doors closed on the burning hunk of mountain man in front of her, Chelsea collapsed against the wa
ll with a fair amount of feminine swoon. Holy crap, the man was hot. What were the odds of her being discovered by a hot guy? One in a million, surely. It most likely should have been an old dude who couldn’t sleep or was out walking the shih tzu one last time for the night. A family man who was checking to make sure his teenagers were truly playing hockey and not playing hide the stick on the lake. A hefty maintenance man prepared to fire up the Zamboni.

  Not super hottie single guy with a strong jaw attractively covered by a devil-may-care smattering of facial hair. At least she assumed he was single. There was no ring on his finger—she’d checked—and he was waiting in the bar for her. That said single. If not, then he was a douche bag and she was going to be highly disappointed. But that was negative thinking and she didn’t subscribe to that. She was just going to spend a minute reveling in the fact that this crapfest of a night had turned around.

  When the elevator dinged on her floor, she remembered one little fact. She didn’t have a room key. Crud. Pressing down, she rested her bare foot on the other one, trying to warm it up. She wondered if she had time to take a thirty-second shower to warm herself up. Probably not. She wasn’t sure how much patience Brody had. Then again, if he was impatient, he would probably be lousy in bed, and that would be no fun.

  Not that she was intending to sleep with him. Not tonight, anyway.

  Reminding herself not to overcomplicate things, she explained what had happened to the front desk clerk, who promptly put on a mask of grave concern.

  “Oh, no, well, let me send up a maintenance staff member to fix the door for you.”

  “It’s not a big deal. They can take a look at it tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s no problem at all. I’m sure the room will be really cold if we don’t address it promptly. It’s eighteen degrees outside.”

  Chelsea didn’t disbelieve that. Her ass was still defrosting. But she was still going to protest, only the clerk was already on the phone.

  “Here’s Mike. He’ll go straight up with you.” She gestured behind Chelsea.

  Turning, she spotted Mike, the maintenance man. He clearly moved at the speed of sound. “Thanks,” she said, not really feeling thankful at all.

  She really wasn’t feeling gratitude twenty minutes later when Mike was busily thawing her doorjamb with a hair dryer. “Happens all the time,” he told her. “French doors would be better.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chelsea had changed in the bathroom, door firmly locked, and she was eyeing the back of Mike’s head, pondering how well she could trust him in her room alone with her panties. He seemed legit, but her iPad and her cell phone charger were on the desk, along with a five-dollar bill she’d flung there when she’d been digging in her purse for ChapStick. If she went over and gathered it all up, she’d look like she thought he was a thief. If she left it and headed downstairs, he could be a thief. It was a dilemma, and the whole time she calculated the cost of her belongings, she was thinking about how freaking cute Brody was and how strong he had been. He hadn’t dropped her. He hadn’t even been breathing hard when he’d set her on the ground.

  She didn’t want to miss out on that.

  What she really wanted to do was sop him up with a biscuit like a rich creamy gravy. Finger-lickin’ good.

  That was a surge of heat and moisture in her panties. Yes, indeed. Trying not to pace in her jeans, her feet in very cute argyle rain boots, Chelsea was about to say the hell with it, scoop up her iPad, and run downstairs, when Mike triumphantly showed her the door could open and close just fine, thank you very much.

  “Wonderful. Thank you.”

  “I don’t recommend opening it again though. Just in case.”

  “Safety first,” she told him. “Got it.”

  “Have a good night, then.”

  “I’ll head down with you. I’m meeting a friend for a drink.” A Mr. Sexy-Pants friend.

  Only when Chelsea got to the bar and looked around, there was no Brody. She glanced at her phone. It had been more than thirty minutes since she’d parted ways with him. Damn. “Have you seen a tall guy with a bit of five-o’clock shadow?” she asked the bartender.

  “Yeah, he left like five minutes ago. Are you Chelsea?” The bartender was a smiling woman in her fifties.

  “Yes.” Maybe he had left his phone number. Hopefully.

  “This is for you. He said he had to run.”

  A Bailey’s Irish coffee was placed in front of her.

  That was not a phone number. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

  “Oh, he paid for it.”

  Which meant she might as well drink it.

  Since it was going to be the only thing warming her up that night.

  * * *

  Brody glanced at his phone for the tenth time. Chelsea was either doing weird stuff like emergency flatironing her hair, or she wasn’t going to show. It had been half an hour and he’d already sucked down a beer in record time. Flagging the bartender, he made arrangements for Chelsea’s drink, just in case she showed, because it was time for him to leave. He had spotted his sister wearing a bathing suit and clearly on her way to the hotel pool.

  He was busted.

  “Brody?” She waved enthusiastically.

  “Hey.” He thanked the bartender and headed Tracey off before she charged into the bar in nothing but a bikini, her towel loosely tied around her waist. “Isn’t the pool closed by now?”

  “A guy I went to high school with, his dad owns this resort. They gave me permission to do laps after-hours.”

  “Cool.” Tracey was a hometown girl made good, poised to compete on the ski team in the next winter Olympics. They would be happy to accommodate her. It didn’t hurt that Tracey was sweet and what most men would consider gorgeous. Brody just thought of her as a kid. He couldn’t help it. There were eight years between them.

  “I thought you left like a million years ago.”

  “I forgot my credit card at the bar,” he lied, making that the second time in one night he’d been full of shit with his sister.

  “Oh, bummer. See you tomorrow, right?”

  “Yep.” Tracey was planning to ski Whiteface Mountain and Brody was working there. “Good night.”

  With one last glance back, hoping to see a small blonde with a grin pop up behind Tracey, he stepped through the automatic doors and out to his truck.

  It was a rather deflating end to an unexpectedly interesting night.

  Chances were he’d never see Chelsea again.

  Now if only his dick would deflate as quickly as his hopes. Otherwise he was going to find himself spending the rest of his Friday night spanking the monkey. Which was not exactly where he’d pictured himself at thirty-two years old.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I can’t believe you got yourself locked out of your room,” Lacey said.

  “Are you kidding? This is Chelsea we’re talking about,” Amy added.

  Chelsea was fortunately too concerned with figuring out how to carry ski boots, ski poles, and skis, all while preventing her goggles from falling down onto her lips, to be offended. “Last chance for you both to buy life insurance on me.”

  “It’s just lucky that someone heard you yelling for help.”

  “Why, yes, it was.” Chelsea dropped a ski pole. A glove fell after it. There was too much equipment for skiing. She felt like a swaddled newborn in the pants and jacket she’d borrowed from Amy, who was something of a jock. If she could get away with crying like a baby, she would, but she doubted her friends would have much sympathy. But damn it, she was uncomfortable, and walking through the ski center, she felt like she’d been ushered into an alien world. With big goggles and even bigger boots on, everyone tromped around, inexplicably looking like they were enjoying themselves.

  “It’s too bad he wasn’t cute, because that totally sounds like something that would happen to you. I’d get a troll rescuing me and you’d get the hottie.”

  Chelsea had no idea where Lacey would get an idea like that, and she found herse
lf unwilling to admit that was exactly what had happened. Or that she’d screwed up her shot at a little Lake Placid sexy time. Somewhere, in a dark room that smelled like cheese, her ex Eric was laughing at her.

  Picking up her pole and glove, Chelsea nodded. “Yeah, it’s too bad. Now will someone show me how to put these boots on so I can experience the joy and exhilaration of flinging myself down a hill on tiny sticks?”

  “We’re almost to the ski school station. Just hold your horses. We’ll drop you with your instructor and she can show you how to put the boots on.”

  “I hope she has an endless well of patience, cuz she’s a gonna need it.” Chelsea shoved her goggles back up. They promptly fell down again.

  “Chelsea Carruthers,” Lacey told the desk clerk. “She has a beginner lesson at nine.”

  “Great. Your instructor is right here.” The older woman gestured to her right. A tall man was bent over, snapping his boots closed.

  Chelsea’s view was partially blocked as she shoved the goggles up for the ten millionth time. “Thanks.”

  The instructor started to stand. Oh, hell no, it could not be…

  “Hi, I’m Brody Durbin.” His eyes landed on her as he stood to his full height. “Chelsea?”

  “Yep, it’s the one and only,” she said, her heart suddenly starting to pound from more than fear of snow down her pants and the ski lift. Fate had planted Brody in her path again. How kind of Fate. She’d have to send it a fruit basket.

  “Of course it’s you. I’d recognize those flowing golden locks anywhere.”

  She officially came in her ski pants. He’d remembered her absurdity. He was continuing it. Be still her sarcastic heart. “Are you and your muscled haunches going to teach me how to ski?”

  He was struggling not to grin, she could see it. The desk clerk was eyeing them curiously. She didn’t have to turn to know that her friends were doing the same. “In a manner of speaking,” he told her. “But you’re going to have to put your boots on first.”