Hot Summer Nights

by Jaci Burton

  “Uh, Chels, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Lacey asked pointedly.

  She’d rather not, but manners won over. “Lacey and Amy, this is Brody. We met last night when he caught me dangling off my balcony. Poor man.” She studied him as he reached out and shook her friends’ outstretched hands and smiled. He was so masculine, his jaw strong, his nose straight and narrow, his forehead high. But then he had the most deliciously luxurious eyelashes framing those deep blue eyes, and she suddenly wanted to run her lips over the abrasive stubble on his chin, then over the softness of his lashes. “And now, by a horrible twist of fate, he has to teach me how to ski. I think he must have pissed off karma in a bad way.”

  “I think it’s called a coincidence,” he told her. “Now sit down and put your boots on.”

  Bossy. Yeesh. She wondered if he’d be bossy in bed. She shifted uncomfortably as she sat down. It was hot inside and she was wearing too many layers. She had been guarding against the possibility of being cold, so she was wearing two layers of Under Armour, a turtleneck, two pairs of wool socks, and the ski pants and jacket. But she hadn’t anticipated hanging around inside, nor had she expected to encounter Brody, who with one smile could shoot her temperature up a good ten degrees.

  He was so damn distracting. So sexy. And he was supposed to be teaching her to ski. This had all the makings of a spinal injury.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Amy asked, suddenly showing solicitous concern.

  “I’m fine.” She sat on a bench and waved her friends off. They hadn’t exactly been worried about her until they’d seen her ski instructor. She called shenanigans.

  “By the way, I’m sorry I missed you at the bar last night,” she told Brody. “The maintenance man was determined to defrost my door one frozen flake at a time. I think I must have just missed you. But thanks for the drink.” She wanted to make it clear she had not blown him off.

  “You’re welcome. Maybe another time.”

  Was he serious or was that just him being polite? Fighting the urge to ask, Chelsea ignored Brody and stared at her boots. These were no rain boots, honey. There were all sorts of tabs and Velcro and snappy things. She tried to put her foot in and it got stuck halfway. She pushed a little harder. Nothing happened.

  “I don’t think these fit.”

  “Are they your size?”

  “Well, yeah, but my foot won’t go in.”

  Brody knelt on the ground in front of her and picked up the boot. “Don’t be delicate. This isn’t a glass slipper. Shove your foot on in.”

  This could have been romantic except he sounded impatient and she wanted to bean him with a ski pole for making her feel like an idiot. “I am! My ankle is going to break.”

  He used his other hand to grab her ankle. He pushed the boot and her foot simultaneously, and wouldn’t you know it, her foot suddenly popped into place. She tested it. Yep, it fit. “Huh. That’s weird.”

  Brody gave her a wry look. “Told you.”

  “Well, at least you’re understanding about it.” She looked down at her foot. “Now what?”

  In a flurry of activity he strapped her into her boot, then did the other one. It was like foot origami. She half expected to look down and see a couple of paper swans for feet. “So I guess you’ve done this before.”

  “A time or two.”

  “It’s intimidating, you know. This is like a cult of the Snow God. Everywhere I look there are weird compartments and equipment and a secret language. I feel totally out of my element.”

  “That’s hard for me to comprehend. I was skiing at two years old. But no worries, no one expects you to know everything, and by the time you’ve been out for just a couple of hours, you’ll be getting the hang of it.”

  “Your confidence in me is charming. I’m glad you’re a regular guy, instead of like some former pro skier turned instructor who resents that he missed the Olympic team by one inopportune fall ten years ago. Teaching me would be like the seventh circle of hell for a guy like that.” Not to mention wildly intimidating.

  Brody put his hand out to help her stand. “Oh, I don’t know. So far I’m not minding it all that much. But we haven’t hit the slope yet.”

  Say what? Chelsea looked up at Brody in horror as she stood, wobbling on her boots. “Are you saying that you were a skier who missed the Olympics by a fall and now instructs idiots like me? Or are you just saying that you instruct idiots like me?” Please let it be the latter. They were still holding hands, or at least she was still clutching him, afraid she was going to fall over as she rocked precariously in her boots. From a distance, this probably looked charming. From where she was standing, it was rapidly sliding into horror territory.

  “I was on the US alpine ski team for three years. I competed in the Super G and was set to go to Torino in 2006 when I fell and tore my knee up.” He winked. “So now I instruct idiots like you.”

  Oh, my God. “Excuse me while I shove this ginormous ski boot in my mouth. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound like it did.” Her mother had always told her that her sarcasm was going to bite her in the ass, and it had seriously just bitten. If she could stand independently she would rub its soreness.

  “It’s okay. I’m glad I can still ski.” Even if he couldn’t do the Black Diamonds anymore. Brody was glad he hadn’t been forced to completely give up his love. But poor Chelsea looked so stricken that he almost laughed.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t meant to be insulting, but he also suspected that on more than one occasion she had found herself in hot water as a result of her wit.

  Her look was chagrined, and she spoke around the goggles that had slid down over her mouth. “I may be beautiful, but I’m not very smart. Please forgive me.”

  Brody laughed. He could honestly say he hadn’t met anyone quite like her before, and he was intrigued by her. Attracted. If anyone else had made a joke about his injury, he probably would have spent the next hour feeling sorry for himself in that dark place he had frequently gone to after he’d realized his dreams were shattered. But maybe Tracey was right. Maybe he needed to get out more, spend less time brooding.

  “So what do you do for a living, Chelsea?”

  “I’m a nurse.”

  He imagined her patients loved when she blew into their room, a cheerful whirlwind of activity. It suited her. “Good. So you can patch yourself up when you fall.”

  Her face contorted into a grimace.

  “Kidding. I’m kidding. I’ve never had a student get injured. So let’s go.”

  Watching Chelsea walk was one of the funniest things he’d seen in a while. He’d seen three-year-olds with better balance in boots than her. She looked like she had weights on her feet, not ski boots. When her goggles fell again, Brody reached over and yanked them off her head. He tightened the strap and handed them back.

  She put them on and they stayed. “Oh, look at that. Much better. Thanks.”

  It was lightly snowing and bodies were moving in all directions, heading up the beginner hill, skiing down it, lining up for the gondola to take them to the top of the mountain where the most advanced skiers would blaze down the trail. Brody led her to the ski rack, where he collected his skis and dropped them onto the ground and snapped them into place.

  “Is that what those things are? I’ve been hauling my borrowed skis around this joint for no reason?” She looked put out.

  “Yep.” He took her skis out of her hand and dropped them to the ground.

  “Don’t you worry they’ll get stolen?”

  “No. Now stop stalling and step into your skis. Bend your knee and just click your boot into place.” He figured that Chelsea would talk her way out of two-thirds of the lesson if he let her.

  She attempted to follow his instructions, but somehow the ski just slid out from under her and fell back two feet. “Shit.”

  Brody retrieved it for her and held it while she struggled to snap it on, her arms flailing. He started to think she might pr
ove to be his greatest challenge yet. He actually loved teaching beginners to ski. Seeing the moment when they got it, when they understood why skiing was just freeing and amazing, was very rewarding to him. It was like convincing someone to try your favorite ice cream flavor and watching how their face lit up as they bit. But the woman in front of him might be a challenge, on more than one level.

  “Okay, you’re in.”

  “I feel trapped. Its claustrophobic.”

  “Claustrophobic?” He’d never heard anyone describe skis that way before.

  “Yeah, I can’t just take off. I’m stuck in these. So, like, if a killer was after me and I wanted to run, I couldn’t. I’m stuck.”

  “If a killer is after you—which seems a little unlikely on a Saturday on Whiteface with hundreds of people around—but if he is and you’re on skis, you can just ski away from him.” It seemed a bit obvious to him. “Skiing is faster than running anyway.”

  “Oh.” She made a face like she thought he was a know-it-all. “You just don’t get it. What if I need to go up to get away from him?”

  Brody was again amused. He wondered if she would talk in bed, or if she would just let him lick and touch every inch of her without a word. Would she cry out when she came? He suddenly really wanted to know. “So let’s walk up the hill. Just turn sideways and dig your ski in. Right, left, right, left, see, you’re walking. That’s how you go up.”

  “I’m walking.” Chelsea sounded out of breath already. “And why am I walking, exactly? There’s no way I could out-walk a killer at this speed.”

  “Let’s not worry about killers, okay? You just need to get familiar with the skis. The basics are walking and stopping. So we’re going to go up a few feet, then we’ll have you practice how to stop.”

  Chelsea wasn’t any better at stopping than she was walking. Brody kept saying, “Make your V,” like he had shown her and she kept not doing it.

  “I am!” she yelled as she slowly glided down the small incline, unable to stop, not making a V.

  Brody physically moved her skis together behind her. “Like this.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a lot of “oh” in their lessons, but while she had zero natural ability Brody had to admit she had stubbornness in spades. She dragged herself up the hill time after time on pure determination, not skill.

  “Okay, let’s go get on the lift.”

  Her face froze and she swiped at her hair. “Are you sure that’s wise? I could fall off the lift.”

  “I’ll have them slow it down for you. We’re just going up the beginners hill, no big deal. We can see the top from here.” He pointed with his pole. “Don’t worry, I’m going to be in front of you when we go down, and you’re going to hold on to me.”

  It was clear she was suspicious. It was also clear that she should have pulled her hair back and tucked it under her hat. Her blonde hair was soaked with fat, wet flakes of snow. He reached out and twirled it, then shoved it under her hat. He figured her thighs had been wrapped around his head, so touching her hair couldn’t be off-limits.

  But the contact jarred them both. He saw it in her eyes when she glanced up at him, startled, and in the way she licked her lips for no reason. He was close to her, too close, and he wanted to kiss her with a hot urgency. But he was at work and she was off-limits. At least for the next thirty minutes.

  “Come on. Just stand in front of the chair and then when it touches you, sit down. Leave your poles here.”

  “Why?” The thought seemed to panic her. “Don’t I need those?”

  “No, we’ll use mine.” Prying the poles out of her death grip, he urged her in front of the lift after indicating to the attendant he needed it slowed down.

  He managed to get her on with only one squawk from her, but she did clutch the side of the chair desperately. “Has anyone fallen off this thing?”

  “No.” He didn’t really know that for sure, but it seemed like the right answer to reassure her. “So where are you from?” Maybe if he distracted her, she wouldn’t be so nervous.

  “Albany. Where I spend all winter pretending it doesn’t exist. How about you?”

  “I was born and raised here. I went to Utah to train for a while, but I came back in ’06.” His plan had been to beat out the Austrians and Swiss and win gold, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Though, as he rested comfortably in the chair crawling up the side of the beginner’s hill, with Whiteface sprawled out in front of him, Vermont just over the other side of the mountain, he realized this was where he was meant to be. Maybe the thrill of winning and the rush of competition had been exhilarating, but he couldn’t imagine still being on the circuit at this point in his life. He was digging his roots deep in Lake Placid.

  “It was a cool place to grow up. I think I was actually conceived during the Olympics of 1980 when they were held right here in town. My mom was a speed skater, and she and my dad celebrated her accomplishments with sangria and no birth control. Not that they’ll admit to that, but it’s my personal theory.”

  She laughed. “So sort of like the blackout babies when all the electricity on the East Coast went out, you’re an Olympic offspring.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you have a husky?” she asked. “Everyone here seems to have a husky.”

  “German shepherd. They’re less whiny.” His dog, Mabel, was the only woman who slept in his bed these days, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t be too thrilled with any competition for her side of the bed.

  “I have a Newfoundland,” Chelsea told him. “Everyone said I was insane and maybe a little selfish, because I live in an apartment. But I couldn’t resist his sweet face and all that fuzzy wuzzy fur.”

  Her voice took on a tone that made him wish she were rubbing his jowls. If he had jowls. Which he didn’t.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Grape Ape. I just call him Ape. He’d love it here with all this snow.”

  Brody laughed. “Your dog’s name is Grape Ape?”

  “What’s your dog’s name?” she asked defensively. “Something boring like Sam, I bet.”

  “It’s Mabel.” Though he was tempted to screw with her and say it was Sam.

  “Mabel?” She looked surprised. “How vintage of you.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, this is kind of a vintage town.” Brody lifted the bar off their laps and into the air as they approached the drop. “Now just step out of the chair and move away when we slow down, okay?”

  She made a panicked sound, but managed to get herself off and away from the next incoming chair. He’d been a little worried she’d get clocked, but she did alright. Gutsy chick, that was for sure.

  Ten minutes later, he was reevaluating that statement. Chelsea was clinging to his pole like a baby monkey and pleading with him not to let go.

  And he knew that he was in trouble, because he thought it was the cutest damn thing he’d seen in years.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chelsea fought against the urge to close her eyes and begged Brody not to make her do it. “I’m going to die. I will hit a tree and die. If a Kennedy and Sonny Bono died while skiing—oh, and Liam Neeson’s wife—why would I survive? This is stupid. Pure stupidity.” She had just managed to get the hang of walking and stopping and gliding a couple of feet, and now he wanted to hurl her down the side of a mountain.

  Amy shot past her on her snowboard, totally at ease, recording Chelsea on her phone. Despite wearing thick gloves, she flipped her friend off. No one needed to see this moment. Ever. But then she regretted letting go of the pole when her ski started to move. It was the damndest thing. These effing skis kept moving.

  Brody had his pole up between his hands and was facing her. She was clutching his pole. The plan was for him to ski backward and for her to go forward, his pole keeping her steady. But that plan required her not freaking out, and so far she hadn’t managed it.

  The man was a picture of patience. He was still watching her calmly, and told her,
“It’s okay. I won’t let go. You’re in the middle of the hill and if you feel like you’re losing control, just make your V.”

  If she survived this, she was going to show him what he could do with her V. And it wasn’t going to involve snow.

  Resigned, she decided the sooner she did this, the sooner she could go sit by the fireplace. So she nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Brody pushed back and she started to move, immediately picking up speed. “Bend your knees. Lean forward. Bend your knees,” he said, looking perfectly in control.

  So not fair. She tried to follow all his instructions, and in a minute, they were down at the bottom. Thank God. It hadn’t been too bad.

  “Over to the lift. Let’s go again.”

  Did the onslaught never end? Chelsea wished she could check her phone, because as charming as Brody’s company was, she was getting a headache from the fierce concentration not breaking every bone in her body required. “Can’t we practice walking again?”

  “Nope. Back up.”

  Three times they went up, twice they came down. On the third run, Brody insisted she go it alone. Without poles, which supposedly gave her greater balance. Which clearly didn’t work, because Chelsea realized almost immediately she was going too fast and she started to panic. “Brody!”

  “Make your V! You’re doing fine.”

  But she was going so fast he was actually suddenly kicking his own movement into gear to catch up with her, and she tried to do the whole V thing, she swore to God, she did, but before she could even register what was happening, she had left the trail, skied over some brush and a boulder, and dropped to an unceremonious landing on her ass. Heaving in and out, she gauged how close she was to the copse of trees. Too close.

  Game over. She was out of here.

  “You okay?”

  “No. And the only thing that will fix it is me in the bar in the lodge. I want hot chocolate with marshmallows and a cookie.” Not to be a baby about it or anything.

  Brody helped her up. “You did great.”

  “I skied over a rock. How is that great?”