Fire and Ice [Après-Ski 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Zara Chase

  “What are you hiding, Mr. Gower?” she asked, tapping her finger against his image.

  Shaking her head, Chelsea decided to do a little surfing to see what she could turn up on Leo Hadleigh. He and Jack appeared to be joined at the hip and if Jack was involved with the Dutchmen, she had to assume Leo was, too. She had heard all about Hadleigh’s bar the moment she set foot in Medina Village and knew Hadleigh had turned it from a losing operation into the hip place to hang out. He’d only managed it with the co-operation of the influential Padron family and Chelsea was curious about the nature of his partnership with them.

  Once again, she found nothing about Hadleigh online prior to his arrival in Nevella other than that he, too, was an extremely good looking man.

  “Must be something in the mountain air that breeds handsome men,” she said aloud, wondering if she was reluctant to believe them guilty of anything other than an extreme case of sex appeal simply because they were good looking. Appearances did sway people’s judgments but she hoped she wasn’t quite that shallow herself.

  Standing up, she stretched backwards, hands on the small of her back to unkink the knots that had formed there. She’d taken a tumble, not off-piste, but once she reached the relative safety of the black run. A case of relaxing her guard a little too soon and she would have the bruises tomorrow to prove it.

  There was nothing else for it, Chelsea decided. She would just have to take a trip to Hadleigh’s and carry on with her plan to get up close and personal with the delicious and mysterious Jack. As if that decision had ever been in doubt. A small smile flirted with her lips. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

  Chelsea hadn’t forgotten about her main suspects and what was at stake. The Dutchmen were staying in the same hotel as her and all efforts to shoot the breeze with them had met with not-so-polite rebuffs. She hadn’t seen them talking to anyone else either, so it wasn’t as though they knew who she was. It was lucky she’d overheard them talking to the receptionist about booking their heliskiing trip for that morning. It made her suspect she knew how they intended to get the stuff out of Nevella. One call to the school and the helpful lady who answered the phone told her they had a gap on the first of the morning’s runs. Just two guys booked on it, which was unusual apparently. It had to be her Dutchmen, so she signed up herself, prepared to be surprised to see them.

  But they acted as though they hadn’t seen her before, even though she had made sure their paths crossed in their hotel. They were too far up themselves to notice anything or anyone else. It was odd for skiers not to mingle and claim bragging rights about their exploits, especially if they’d done the ultimate—as they had that day. Suspicious behavior, but not enough to hang them with. They were booked in for the rest of the week. If they left before then, she would have to assume she’d got it wrong and they weren’t the thieving bastards she took them for. Which left Chelsea free to concentrate on Jack.

  Conscious of time getting on, she hit the shower, washed her hair, and took some time drying it so it tumbled down her back in disorderly waves that hopefully looked as though they fell that way naturally. What to wear for her charm campaign? First things first. She pulled on a lacy midnight-blue bra and matching thong. Sexy underwear gave her confidence and made her feel good about herself. She glanced in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. Her nipples were visible through the lace and would be through the red cashmere sweater she pulled on over it. Visible but not in-your-face obvious. Perfect. Tight black jeans encased her long legs and she pulled on knee-length flat leather boots, conscious of the icy sidewalks she would need to do battle with to get to the bar.

  Just a lick of mascara and lip gloss and she was as ready as she would ever be. Chelsea pulled on a thick coat and gloves but risked freezing her ears off rather than putting on a hat and spoiling her natural hair do. She hadn’t eaten, deliberately so, hoping Jack would offer to feed her. She knew the music would be deafening in the bar and needed to get him somewhere quieter so they could actually talk.

  She left the hotel, her breath snatched away by just how cold it had become since the sun went down. Hands thrust into pockets and head down, she walked swiftly towards Hadleigh’s, following the procession of other people going in the same direction. A wall of warmth and ear-splitting sound greeted her when she walked through the door and left her coat in the lobby. Nevella had little or no crime, give or take the odd thieving Dutchman, and there was no need for secure cloakrooms.

  The bar was a seething mass of revelers, already well into the booze. Chelsea waved to one or two people whom she recognized from her hotel, or from the ski slopes. The Dutchmen were nowhere in sight, but then she had already known they wouldn’t be. They had been sitting in the corner of the hotel dining room when she left, occupying a table as far away from the other diners as possible. Chelsea thought they were in danger of drawing attention to themselves by their unwillingness to socialize.

  She was tall enough to be able to see over quite a lot of heads, and Leo Hadleigh and Jack Gower were tall enough to be easily visible. She figured the guys with them must be the other Yanks who lived at Hadleigh’s. They were in occupation of a corner at one end of the curved bar but Chelsea didn’t like the idea of approaching them. They were already surrounded by a predominantly female crowd. She would much prefer for the first move to come from Jack.

  Pretending not to notice them, she moved towards the bar, which is when Jack raised a hand, sent her a pussy-tingling smile, and beckoned her over.

  “Hey, you made it,” Jack said when she sauntered over to join him.

  “Hi, Jack,” she replied, barely able to make herself heard over the noise, but conscious of several dirty looks being trained upon her by women who’d been hitting on Jack. “This is quite a crush.”

  “What can I say?” He spread his hands. “We’re popular.” I’ll just bet you are! “This is Leo Hadleigh, owner of this fine establishment.”

  She shook hands with Leo. His grip was firm, his hand cool, as he appraised her. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you. Get the lady a glass of vino, Jack. Where’re your manners?”

  “Already on it.”

  Jack caught the attention of one of the harried bartenders and had a glass of white wine placed in front of him in a matter of seconds. He handed it to her, leaving her to wonder how he knew that was her particular poison.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know Ward and Ross,” Jack yelled. “This is Tanya, Ward’s significant other. Darcy’s with Ross.”

  “You’re the photographer?”

  “Yeah,” Darcy replied. “You did well today. I got some great footage.”

  “Thanks. I was terrified, truth to tell, but you have to overcome fear in this life or you achieve nothing.”

  “Too right,” Darcy agreed, as though she spoke from experience.

  Jack introduced her to Rick, who ran the husky sleds, and his lady, Sabine. Tyrell, the chef, shook her hand and then excused himself to, as he put it, avert any kitchen crises that were bound to arise if he stayed away from his domain for too long.

  “How do you manage to talk in this place?” Chelsea asked.

  Jack chuckled. “Most people don’t have anything to say that’s worth hearing.”

  “Here you go.” Darcy tapped Chelsea’s shoulder. “See yourself.”

  The noise level dropped a degree or two as footage of their off-piste descent came onto the big screens. Chelsea was impressed with her own technique. She’d been skiing almost since she could walk but had never seen herself in action before. When the clip came to an end there was spontaneous applause.

  “If I’d known just how steep it was before I did it,” Chelsea told Jack, “I might have had a change of heart.”

  “Never look down.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re not drinking,” Jack pointed out.

  “I haven’t eaten yet.” Was she being too obvious? “If I drink on an empty stomach I tend to get a bit
silly.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with silly. You’re on vacation.” Jack’s sexy smile and his lazy, all-encompassing perusal of her body had her pussy leaking again. How did he do that? Geez, she really needed to get a grip! Handsome pilots, no matter how gorgeously put together, were a means to an end. Nothing more. Hold that thought.

  “Yeah, there is that.”

  “Anyway, there’s an easy enough solution to your dilemma. We’d best get some food inside you.” He took her hand and a tingling reaction vibrated through her as his long fingers closed around her palm. “Come on, it’s quieter in here.”

  Normally, Chelsea would have balked at any man’s automatic assumption that she would have dinner with him. It wouldn’t kill him to ask. Really, the man was obviously so used to having women falling all over him that it hadn’t occurred to him Chelsea might have other plans. But this is what she wanted and he was playing right into her hands so she bit back her rebuke. She put her half-finished drink on the bar and allowed herself to be led to a doorway at the back of the room. There was a numeric keypad and Chelsea tried to see what numbers Jack punched in to make it open. His broad shoulders hid her view, damn it. Intentionally?

  “Here we go.”

  He closed the door behind them and the noise from the bar was now just a dull background thump. They were in a large living room with a roaring log fire, low lighting, and a fully-stocked bar. It was tidy yet had a lived-in feel. Chelsea immediately felt at home.

  “Your private domain?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just call through to the kitchen and see what Ty can muster up for us. Anything you don’t eat?”

  “Offal.”

  Jack winked at her. “I think we can do better than that.”

  He picked up the phone, spoke a few words to, presumably, Tyrell and then gave her his full attention.

  “Food won’t be long.” He walked to the bar, examined the bottles of red wine and selected one. “You good with red?”

  “Hmm, sorry.” She blinked away the salacious thoughts that the sight of Jack’s muscular body sent storming through her head. “What did you ask me?”

  He grinned, like he knew what she’d been thinking. He probably did, the arrogant sod! “Red wine. We’re having steak, so I thought—”

  “Yes, fine thanks.”

  She really needed to stay alert. But this entire scenario was just a little too cozy and her host a lot too tempting for that to be humanly possible. Well, not possible for this human anyway, but, in her own defense, it had been a while since she last got laid. Chelsea believed in giving everything she had to all her assignments, but that had never included giving her body before. That would be asking too much. Except, this time, just perhaps she would make an exception. All in the cause of eliminating Jack from her enquiry, naturally.

  Was she insane! The nature of her thoughts had her sitting bolt upright, her expression probably reflecting her horror at her lack of professionalism. Fortunately Jack was busy with a corkscrew and wasn’t looking at her. He really was a suspect, she reminded herself. Even though she wasn’t convinced he was guilty of anything other than an excess of self-confidence and an overload of testosterone, she really would compromise the entire investigation if she let him fuck her. And that must be his intention. Why else would he go to the trouble of wining and dining her in such secluded surroundings?

  “Here you go,” he said, handing her a glass and taking the seat beside her on the sofa. “Bottoms up, as you Brits would say.”

  “Cheers,” she said, clinking glasses with him and taking an appreciative sip of the wine. Just like everything else she’d discovered about Jack so far, his taste in wine was superb. He said nothing but fixed her with a probing green gaze, as though trying to figure her out. The silence stretched taut and electric between them, interrupted only by the crackling of logs in the grate. It didn’t seem to bother him but made her nervous. That was odd. Chelsea usually made silences work to her advantage but Jack Gower had turned the tables on her. Did he know who she was and why she was there? Was he playing her at her own game?

  “Do all six of you make use of this lounge?” she asked, saying the first thing that popped into her head, just to ease the tension.

  “Yeah. Leo has the penthouse floor all to himself. The rest of us have two-roomed suites on the floor below. Well, all of us except Darcy and Ross. Darcy has a little girl so they have the apartment over the garage. There’s more room for them there.” The ghost of a smile played with his lips. “But yeah, this is our communal space. This is where we chill.”

  “It’s nice. Homely.”

  Tyrell came in and laid out food on a table in the corner. The smell caused Chelsea’s stomach to growl.

  “Enjoy,” Tyrell said, sending Chelsea a grin and Jack an approving nod.

  “Thanks, Ty,” Jack replied, placing a hand beneath Chelsea’s elbow to help her up and conduct her to the table. He flipped a switch and soft music—a hundred times removed from the loud rock that had almost blown her eardrums in the bar—flooded the room. How did he know that she liked country music? He couldn’t possibly know. It had to be a coincidence that they shared the same taste in music and wine, and extreme sports, and…hell, she had to stop thinking that way.

  The food was superb and Chelsea felt herself relaxing as Jack regaled her with amusing stories about his flying exploits.

  “Where did you learn to fly?” she asked.

  “In the US military. I joined up straight after graduating high school. I’d always wanted to fly but could never afford to pay for the tuition, so I let Uncle Sam foot the bill.”

  “Did you see action in war zones?”

  His expression closed down. “Some.”

  Ah, she’d struck a nerve. “Sorry, I guess that’s not something you want to talk about.”

  He shrugged but the intimate mood was broken and Chelsea strived for something to say that would get it back.

  “Why did you leave America for this comparative backwater?” she asked.

  His expression remained remote. “Why does anyone do anything? My time in the military was up, I wanted a change of direction, and my buddy Leo was here, looking for a pilot to get the heli-school off the ground.” He stretched his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up, giving Chelsea a brief, tantalizing glimpse of toned abs. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  She pushed her empty plate aside, surprised by just how much she’d eaten. “Thanks, that was great.”

  “Tell Tyrell. He’s a moody chef and thrives on flattery.”

  She tiled her head and shot him an appraising look. “And you don’t?”

  “Baby, if you wanna flatter me, be my guest.”

  The remote expression had left his eye and she had the outrageously flirtatious Jack back with her.

  “Your ego doesn’t need any help from me.”

  “Okay,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table and sending her one of those slow, sexy smiles of his. “Tell me about you. What brings you to our backwater, as you call it, and where did you learn to ski so well?”

  “Not much to tell,” she replied, shrugging. “I work for an insurance company as a personal assistant.” She crossed her fingers beneath the table. It was the partial truth. “Boring, ordinary, but it pays the bills.”

  “I doubt anything you do is ordinary.”

  “Why, thank you.” She bit her lower lip to prevent a grin escaping. “I think. Anyway, my parents were keen skiers. Dad was short-listed for the British Olympic team and Mum was a professional ice-skater.”

  “Was?”

  It was her turn to close down. “They died in a house fire in Aspen while on a skiing trip several years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He touched her hand, the sympathy in his eyes impossible to fake, and she warmed to him a little more. Chelsea was unsure why she’d told him about her parents. It still hurt to talk about it. Besides, she made a point of
never revealing much about her personal circumstances. But Jack was easy to talk to and confidences tended to breed confidences. Not that he would tell her if he was involved with the Dutchmen but still, she had to get beneath his defenses somehow.

  “Fire and ice,” he said softly, when she didn’t respond.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems ironic that your parents were somewhere like this. Cold enough to freeze the bollocks off a bull, and yet fire can still be devastatingly destructive.” He covered her hands with one of his large ones and left it there. “Shit happens, darlin’. It’s how we deal with it that counts.”

  She nodded. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

  “We all have skeletons.” He turned one of her hands over and traced patterns on her palm with the pad of his thumb. It send shivers of awareness spiraling through her, especially when she saw the intense, probing expression in his yes. “Anyway, let’s talk about something less depressing.”

  “All right. Were you serious about taking me for a ride in your helicopter?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He grinned. “For you, I’ll lay on the deluxe tour.”

  “Do you have a monopoly on helicopters in Nevella?”

  “No, they have a service in Darwin Valley. You know there are five valleys in Nevella, each run by a native family?” She nodded. “Right, well, Darwin is run by the Garcias.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “Why do you assume that?”

  “You frowned when you mentioned their name.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s fierce competition between the families and the Garcias don’t always fight fair.” Hmm, interesting, Chelsea thought. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make out of that but if the Garcias were less than particular, perhaps the Dutch would turn to their helicopter to provide the specific service they required. “Their chopper’s been out of service for a week, though, so we’re picking up the slack, which means we’re busier than usual.” He chuckled. “And I’ll just bet that pisses the Garcias off. They’re waiting for a part to come in from Toulouse. Judging from past experience, they’ll have to wait a week or two more.”