by Skye Jordan
“Varies.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you ever answer a question directly?”
“Sometimes.”
“Good God…” Noah rested his elbow on the window frame and rubbed his forehead, letting silence fill the car until a new question popped into his head. “How’d Drake get you away from Performance? Epic can’t be paying you that much. I’m not worth it.”
“Drake seems to think the sun rises and sets on you.” She turned her head and set a comically pensive look on him. “I’m not seeing it, but, whatever.”
“You haven’t had enough time to see it.”
“If you say so.”
“By the end of the week—”
“Oh no. There will be no end of the week. I’m leaving the minute this storm clears. Like tomorrow. I’ll dig my damn car out myself if I need to.”
“You’re really going to turn down my offer of a paid vacation?” He shook his head. “To quote something I heard earlier today—un-freaking-believable.”
She angled toward him, leaning against the door. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“No one turns down free money,” he insisted. “No one I’ve ever known has ever passed up an opportunity to get money or gifts out of me. No one has ever turned away from an opportunity to claim an association with me that would somehow bring them money or notoriety—not my family, not my friends, not my flings, and certainly not my business partners.”
And women never ran away from him either. They ran toward him.
He turned onto his street, pressed the remote to open the main gate, and drove past his house and on to the guesthouse.
“Yet here you have a contract to fall back on, plus my offer of letting you do your own thing while getting paid, and the opportunity to be able to say you rehabbed a gold medalist to compete in the X Games, yet you’re turning me down because we got off on the wrong foot? Un. Freaking. Believable.”
“Not everyone is a mooch,” she said, matching his frustration. “Not everyone wants something for nothing. Some of us have pride and work ethic and morals. I value talent and guts and strength. I admire people who give life their all, especially in the face of adversity. I worship the miracle of the human body. And people who carelessly—recklessly, in your case—toss the importance of physical vitality aside infuriate me. And I don’t give a rip who you are or how much money you have. I won’t take something for nothing, and I won’t accept less than one hundred and fifty percent commitment.”
With that, she slipped out of the car, slammed the door, and disappeared around the front of the house where it faced the lake.
“Jesus Christ. She’s…she’s…she’s…Gah!” He hammered the steering wheel with a fist, then climbed from the car, hoping the single-digit weather would cool him off. He opened the back door, dragged out her bags, and paused to take in the sight of Lake Tahoe stretched out before him, an expanse of navy blue surrounded by crisply blanketed white mountains.
Christ, she hadn’t even stopped bitching at him to appreciate the view or his massive, multimillion dollar home, or…anything. She was absolutely foreign to him.
He took an extra moment to appreciate the natural beauty twice as much to make up for her lack of interest. The sight calmed his buzzing nerves. And the break in his anger gave him perspective. She might be foreign in some ways, but a kindred spirit of sorts in others. He’d worked for everything he’d gotten out of life. He never accepted something for nothing. Always returned a favor. Believed in charity, paying it forward, and loyalty to good friends and good people. He just wasn’t all that used to meeting someone with the same convictions.
Maybe his expectations had dipped below an acceptable level.
And maybe he was acting like the spoiled celebrities he hated. She had every right to be pissed off after what he’d pulled this morning.
Of course there was also the reality that he was so pathetically hard up for a woman, he was making excuses so he could live with the idea of letting her hot quotient override her personality issues.
“Fucking women,” he muttered, starting toward the house, his boots squeaking as he compacted the fresh powder—which was when he realized his ankle wasn’t hurting anymore.
When he stepped onto the covered porch, he looked down at his foot and gingerly rolled his ankle to test out his pain level.
“Does it feel better?” Her voice drew his gaze up, where he found her standing at the railing, staring at the view instead of going inside the house to get warm.
“Yeah, actually. Better than I thought it would after only two Tylenol.”
He braced for her I-told-you-so, but she just nodded and offered a soft “Good. You can take them every four hours. My suggestion—though I don’t expect you to take it—would be to keep a steady dose in you for the next forty-eight hours, then try spacing them out to six hours and continue to cut back until you only need them once or twice a day. You don’t want to damage your liver. Well,” she added, “any more than you already have.”
Noah wasn’t touching that bait. “Door’s unlocked.”
“I know. I’m just…” She inhaled deeply, then let it out, her moist breath creating clouds around her head. “It’s so quiet. So incredibly…peaceful and perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a quiet so…” She paused, as if letting the silence slide in. “Complete.”
“God, you’re a complicated woman.” He shook his head and returned his gaze to the lake. “Be careful, it’s addictive.”
“I could see that. I think my blood pressure dropped ten points in two minutes.”
He let the moment of comfort between them linger. Relief slid into his muscles and flushed all the anger and frustration that had built up—over the hours, the days, the weeks, the months. It felt like forever since he’d been pain-free, since he’d glided down fresh powder…since he’d had a woman in his bed.
He turned his head to look at her. She looked absolutely serene, collected, and relaxed, mirroring his own comfort. Snowflakes had caught in her hair, and ice clung to her long dark lashes. The tip of her nose and her cheeks were rosy against her pale face. Absolutely…angelic. Charming. Downright beautiful.
Damn shame she had to be so prickly.
“You’re going to be a Popsicle if you don’t get warm and dry soon.” He started past her and entered the guesthouse.
Inside, Julia wandered around the space slowly, looking at everything as if appreciating an art piece. She ran her hand slowly over the granite breakfast bar and paused at the arched window overlooking the view she’d just seen from the porch.
“Breathtaking,” she murmured, then, “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been so…”—she glanced toward him, but her eyes fall away quickly—“bitchy. It’s been a rough few months for me. This situation just pushed me over the edge. I’ll try to rein it in.”
Noah’s lips curved with hope. Maybe he’d get her to stay after all. “This place is all yours until the Games if you want it. Consider it a sabbatical. We all need a break from life once in a while. We can negotiate some type of payment if you want to stay but don’t want to feel like you’re freeloading.”
He set her bags on the sofa and reached over to turn on a lamp. The switch clicked, but nothing happened. He walked to the other side of the sofa and tried another lamp. Nothing. “Hmmm, we may have a problem here.”
She turned, her face open and relaxed as she drifted out of the dreamy state the view created. “What?”
“Power.” He strode down the hallway to the master bedroom and tried that light. Then the bathroom light. “Shit.”
When he turned, he found her standing in the doorway, hand on the doorjamb. “Nothing?”
“Nope. Must be the storm. I’ll call PG&E from the main house.”
She squished up her face in an unhappy look, but then shrugged and turned down the hall. “Let me know what they say.”
“You can stay here if you want, but I can guarantee you’re going to freeze your tail off.” When she frown
ed over her shoulder, he put up both hands in surrender. “Just sayin’. No hot water, no heat, no lights. I’ll build you a fire, but it won’t be enough to keep you comfortable when the temp drops to three degrees tonight.”
“No hot water?”
“No pilot light means no gas flame, which means no hot water. Just come up to the house until I figure this out. You can shower and get warm there. Then, if you really feel like you can’t stand being within five thousand square feet of me, you can always escape to this ice cube. I’ll just come chip you out in the morning.”
She glanced at her bags and shifted on her feet. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue with you anymore.”
He swung her duffle over his shoulder and started for the door. “Hallelujah.”
They were both covered in another layer of snow by the time they entered the main house through the back door. Noah tossed his keys on the kitchen island as he walked in, then stopped, planted his hands on his hips, and gave a deep sigh at the chaos that greeted him. He was too tired to clean up the mess. Too tired to argue with Julia to get her to clean it up. So he glanced at the large manila envelope sitting on the island.
A Post-it note stuck on the front read:
McMillan’s office dropped off your latest test results with me.
Have Julia go over them with you.
— D.
“I would have straightened it up when I was done,” Julia said.
When he glanced back at her, she was frowning at the clutter. Noah shook his head. “Just stay out of this room, food fascist. Come on, I’ll show you the guest suite—waaaaaaay on the other side of the house from mine. Even on a different floor. Couldn’t get farther away from me if you tried.”
Down the hall, he stepped into the bedroom and moved aside so Julia could follow. It was big, with a four-poster bed, dresser, nightstands, and one puffy chair and ottoman facing the view, which was now covered by insulated curtains.
He tossed her bags on the bed and pulled the drapes back, exposing a huge, arched window framing the same stunning view shared by the guesthouse and his own bedroom.
Julia’s soft inhale made Noah smile as he looked out at the lake. No matter how often he saw it, the sight filled him with the same sense of peace he’d known the very first time his eyes had swept over the landscape.
“You’re not in San Francisco anymore, Dorothy,” he said, pulling the line from the Wizard of Oz.
Her mouth turned up. “That’s just…” she started, her voice filled with awe. “I have no words.”
“And here I didn’t believe in miracles.”
She rolled her eyes toward him. “Ha.”
“Bathroom is right through there,” he said, pointing to a wall behind her where an opening held a double marble vanity. “Shower and tub to the right, closet to the left. Everything you might need is in here somewhere.” He picked up a remote from a nightstand, pointed it at the whitewashed paneling on the wall across from the bed, and pressed a button. The paneling slid open to expose a giant-screen TV. “Entertainment.”
“Quite the bachelor pad.” She crossed her arms and faced him. “How about a home gym?”
“Sure. Opposite the theater off the kitchen.”
“Great.” She sat on the edge of the bed, unzipped her duffle, and pulled out a pair of running shoes. “Treadmill?”
“Of course.”
“Perfect.”
She tied her shoes and pushed to her feet. On her way out the door, she paused and grinned up at him. “You’re not going to ask me to look at those reports, are you?”
She was so close, he hadn’t understood a word she’d said. He was too busy looking at the gold flecks in her dark eyes, the trio of dark freckles along her jaw, the fullness of her lips… “Huh?”
“Never mind. I’ll look at them after I run this crazy day out of my system. You don’t even have to ask.”
Julia did run most of the stress from her body, though doubt and fear lingered, as well as one healthy dose of lust. She was starting to understand Drake’s comment about Noah’s charisma—because she hadn’t been able to get the man out of her mind during her run. Or while she’d showered. And now, in yoga pants and a thin, long-sleeved T-shirt, all her wayward thoughts about Noah’s hot body and smart mouth made her crave the sexual attention she’d forgone for quite some time.
Her stomach growled as she pulled on fresh socks, so she ventured out of her cocoon and went in search of food. Noah’s voice came from the big living room at the front of the house, where he paced the room while talking on the phone. She shot him a salute on her way past, and the gesture made him smile.
“What? Yeah, I’m here,” he said into the phone. “Go ahead and book it. Just pass the flight dates by Drake first, would you? He’s got my latest schedule.”
She glanced at the manila envelope, the contents—paper reports and two CDs—now lying on top. Admittedly, she was curious to see what the tests had shown. She wouldn’t stay and defraud Epic of their money, but she could consult Drake on the best plan of action for Noah. She understood the man’s stress. Understood how the pressure from deep pockets could sway a person to do things they wouldn’t do under normal conditions.
Right now, Noah was thinking with his wallet. If he were thinking with his heart, he’d take the time off required to heal fully before going back to the Games. But professional athletes didn’t often get those luxuries. They were driven from both inside and outside forces. And, too often, Julia could only stand by while their lives were slowly crushed in the vise. Once upon a time, she’d experienced it herself—certainly not something she wanted to live through again.
Pulling open the fridge, she scoured the measly contents.
“Catch you later,” Noah said into the phone as he came around behind her and disconnected from his call. She glanced over her shoulder as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter, his gaze sliding down her body and holding on her ass. “Don’t let me interrupt. There might be something cardboard-like on the bottom shelf waaaay in the back.”
“I’ll pass. It’s probably moldy cardboard.” She straightened and turned. “Where are you going?” When he gave her a confused look, she nodded to the phone he’d laid on the island.
“Oh. North Carolina. Just a charity thing. It’ll only be a couple of days and after the Games.”
“The charity funded by Treasure Hunt?”
“Yeah. Do you really eat only organic?”
“No.” She laughed the word. “I’d starve half the time. This country has a very inorganic food supply, and I’m too busy to stay strict. I’m a believer in moderation—as long as I’m not healing. If I’m under the weather or have an injury, then I’m strictly organic, no sugar, no alcohol. But when I’m healthy, I balance.”
“Are you healthy now?” he asked.
“Picture-perfect.”
His lips quirked on one side. “I’ll say.” He tipped his head toward another room off the kitchen, a smaller, cozier space that framed the gorgeous view of the lake, along with a fireplace that held a storybook fire in the hearth, and a sofa that looked as soft as a cloud, with a sleek blanket laid out as if waiting for someone. “Go relax. I’ll bring you something that’s sure to turn this day around.”
She gave him a dubious look, then wandered into the room, where the fire had the space perfectly toasty. “Any news on the storm?”
“Supposed to get eighteen inches overnight. God,” he said on an indrawn breath, his voice dripping with desire. “Gives me wood just thinking about it.”
Julia laughed. “I’ll bet.” But thinking about his wood was not where her mind should be. So she forced her thoughts back to ordinary subjects and remembered the weird setup in his gym, which she could only explain as a huge trampoline surrounded by workout mats. But the description didn’t do the complexity of the structure justice. “What’s that trampoline-like thing in your gym?”
“It’s a…well… I guess it’s a cool trampoline-like thing.”
She rolled her eyes. Glassware clinked in the kitchen, and she strolled to the window to soak in the view. Snowdrifts came in waves, clearing a glimpse of the lake here and there. “This is like a life-size snow globe.”
His laugh drifted in from the kitchen. “Riding in it is like living in the snow globe.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Boarding? Like I’d miss my leg if I lost it.”
A pang of guilt tightened her chest. Yes, she’d been honest—avascular necrosis was a very real danger with this type of injury, especially considering the condition of his leg and his history of spotty therapy. But the stress in her own life had caused at least half the problems they’d had today. She used to have the patience of Job with athletes. Now…
“I use the trampoline setup to practice my aerial moves.” His words were punctuated by a soft ding and followed by the spray of an aerosol can. A minute later, he came into the room with two big mugs topped with whipped cream, the small white triangles sprinkled with something dark—cinnamon, by the spicy scent drifting from the kitchen.
“I haven’t been able to use it since the accident, which is a serious bummer because it’s so much damn fun. Actually, I haven’t done much of anything fun since that accident.”
He offered her a mug.
“Mmmm.” She smiled in anticipation. “Thank you. Coffee or chocolate?”
“Chocolate.” He set his own mug on the coffee table. “And don’t even think about asking me what this scores on the glycemic index. Or if the chocolate came from liberated parts of Kenya.” He lifted the blanket. “Get over here.”
This was sweet. Really sweet. A warm spot burned near her heart, but it quickly faded. She wished someone in her life would do this kind of thing for her because they wanted to, not because they wanted something from her. She couldn’t seem to steer her life away from that ulterior motive, even after leaving the business.
“Stop looking so suspicious,” Noah said, “and sit down.”
Returning to the sofa, she sat in one corner and curled her feet underneath her. “I’m impressed you know what a glycemic index is.”
