by Zara Chase
Not everyone was pleased about his success, which was why Darcy found herself in the position of applying for a job she could have done with her eyes closed. A job that was beneath her. She quietly fumed when she considered her circumstances, but not for long. She needed to be on top of her game, at her most persuasive, in order to nail this assignment. Failure wasn’t an option. Darcy closed her eyes for an expressive moment, determined to keep her emotions in check, and do what she had to do. If she thought about what would happen if she failed to deliver, she would fall apart.
She had been told that she would be a shoo-in. Lang was desperate, and she was well qualified to help him out. Too well qualified, but she already had an explanation ready if that question came up. She dashed her tears aside, and psyched herself into a convincing and persuasive frame of mind. She checked her equipment for the final time, hoisted her camera bag over her shoulder and left the dingy, miniscule studio apartment she had rented in Medina Valley. She paid for the cable car and climbed aboard with a crop of skiers, all of whom were chattering nervously, worried about their first day on the slopes, complaining about the cold. Darcy tuned them out, and avoided looking at any of them for fear of being pulled into conversation with them.
At five minutes to ten, she pushed through the door of Phantom’s outer office, just as a gaggle of people came through it from the opposite direction. They were all dressed in parkas with the ski-school logo on their backs, distinguishing them as instructors. Presumably they were off to get their classes going. A couple of them checked her out, and sent her appreciative smiles. She pretended not to notice.
“Hi,” she said to the woman seated behind a minimalistic desk in the reception area. “I’m Darcy Sinclair. I have an appointment with Mr. Lang.”
The attractive receptionist, or whatever she was, gave Darcy a thorough once-over, too. “Take a seat,” she said, her expression remote, not especially friendly. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Darcy sat down and flipped through a brochure describing the services on offer from the ski-school—everything from organized games for kids right through to heli-skiing. Darcy was impressed. She pretended to be absorbed, but actually took surreptitious glances around the office, getting a feel for the place. The woman’s desk had a computer monitor on it, a phone, an open pad and a pen. No other paperwork in sight. Presumably all the school’s records were computerized. Darcy refrained from rolling her eyes. Her assignment was so not going to be easy.
The woman said something into her phone, and five minutes later she was told to go through to Mr. Lang’s office. Darcy tapped on the door, and walked through it when a voice told her to enter. The man seated behind a large desk looked up at her, smiling as he uncoiled his tall frame and rose elegantly to his feet. Darcy wasn’t sure if she managed to smile back. She suspected her face was frozen with shock, and she probably looked like a total dork. No one had warned her to expect a total hunk. Geez!
He easily topped six feet, had a shock of thick brown hair that spilled over his brow, a strong jaw covered with neat designer stubble, and there was even a cleft in his chin, for God’s sake. Images of her running her tongue down that cleft flooded her mind. Her reaction flooded her pussy. His rugged features were of movie star status, giving an impression of tough resourcefulness that had Darcy virtually drooling in appreciation. Tough guys really turned her on.
He watched her checking him out, amusement lighting his intelligent gray eyes. Presumably all women reacted to him the same way, which helped Darcy to refocus. She definitely had no plans to get personally involved with Ross—with any man. That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate long legs encased in tight-fitting jeans, shoulders a mile wide, or a physique that appeared to be made up of taut flesh over hard, unyielding muscle. She understood a little better now how he had managed to turn the ski-school around in such a short space of time. He was the type of guy who commanded respect and got things done. Somehow she could already tell he operated on a combination of persuasive, virile charm, determination, and sheer animal magnetism.
They should have warned me!
“Hey, Darcy, thanks for coming by. I’m Ross Lang.”
Darcy managed to pull herself out of her erotic fantasy, and took his outstretched hand. “Hi, thanks for seeing me, Mr. Lang.”
She felt a jolt as his long fingers clasped her palm in a firm grasp. He sent her a look that suggested he had felt it, too. His smile was pure sin as he took his sweet time returning her hand to her.
“It’s Ross. Let me take that parka. It’s kinda warm in here.” She unzipped her jacket, slipped her arms out of the sleeves, and he took it from her. He threw it over the back of a vacant chair, but his eyes lingered on her body, taking his turn to check her out. “Please have a seat. Did Fiona offer you coffee?”
“No, actually she didn’t.”
Ross smiled, as though he found that amusing. He resumed his seat behind his desk, pushed a button on his phone and Fiona answered him immediately.
“Coffee for Darcy, please,” he said. “And I could do with a refill.”
“Right away.”
“Okay, Darcy,” Ross said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one foot over his opposite thigh, giving her a close-up view of the worn denim around his crotch and one hell of a bulge enclosed behind his zipper. Shit, what was he packing in there? “Tell me why you want to work here.”
Chapter Two
Ross’s disgruntled mood evaporated the moment Darcy walked into his office. He sat up and took a keen interest in his would-be employee. She was probably five seven, with long, thick brunette hair barely contained in a curly ponytail. Her slender body was a little thinner than he would have liked, but she had curves in all the right places and they more than compensated for the lack of meat on her bones.
When she took her coat off—geez! He could see the outline of her nipples through that thin top. They were disproportionately large in comparison to the size of her neat little breasts. Ross couldn’t shake the thought of biting them, clamping them, doing just about every damned thing in his repertoire with them. She was as sensual as get-go—Ross was never wrong about these things—and he could just imagine her shedding her inhibitions in Hadleigh’s dungeon as she writhed beneath his hands and begged him for more of the same.
Shit, he had to stop thinking that way. She would see his cock straining against his zipper and run a mile. Ross figured men came on to her all the time, and the last thing he wanted to do was to frighten her off. He needed her to take this job. He didn’t care why she wanted it, or even if she was too good for it. He simply had to persuade her to stay.
Darcy had large eyes, an unusual shade of silver flecked with hazel, the irises a deeper shade of brown. They dominated her face, enhancing high cheekbones and pouty, sculpted lips that cried out to be kissed. Ms. Sinclair was a real babe. Fiona would have hated her on sight, with good reason as it happened, because Ross was already smitten.
She was definitely a player—or could be, given the right persuasion. Ross could always tell when a woman leaned in that direction, even if she didn’t know it herself. She was nervous, too, and Ross would give a lot to know why.
“My parents divorced recently,” she said in answer to Ross’s earlier question.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes well, these things happen. My mother is French. She’s returned to live in France and so I figured it would be good to be near her. She needs my support right now.”
“So why not get a job in France?”
She offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach her remarkable eyes. “There’s such a thing as being too close.”
She’s lying. “I see.”
Fiona came in with coffee for them both, and lingered, sending frequent glances Darcy’s way.
“Thanks, Fiona,” Ross said, and finally Fiona left them, closing the door behind her.
“Where did you learn to ski?”
“I’ve been skiing about as long as
I’ve been walking. We lived in England as a family but spent a month in France every winter.”
“And photography?”
“It’s all in my résumé.”
“Working for a film company is a hell of a lot more glamorous than what’s required here.” Ross leaned forward. “I’ve gotta tell you, Darcy, frankly I think you’re over-qualified for this job and will get bored within a week.” Why am I trying to frighten her off? “I’m sure you could do a lot better with your talents.”
“I know what’s required.”
“There’s not a lot to do in Nevella. It’s not a hip place like some of the French resorts.”
She fixed him with a probing look. “You’re here.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“No, I’m sorry.” But her gaze remained on his face. Shit, she was flirting with him. Why was she so desperate for the job? Ross had an uneasy feeling about her, but knew he wouldn’t turn her away. He needed her, in all respects.
“You know the salary. It’s minimum wage stuff.”
“Yes, but I can make extra by doing private projects. Film the classes in the mornings, offer my services to clients in the afternoons if they want me to follow them and record their activities, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but there are no guarantees. If you quit on me after a couple of weeks, I won’t be best pleased.”
“Let me show you some of my stuff so you know what I can do.”
Oh, darling, I know what I’d like for you to do! “Sure.”
She pulled an iPad from her bag and swiped through it until she found what she was looking for. Ross took a look at a video of a kids’ class she had taken somewhere—not skiing but in a playground. She’d got the light and angles exactly right, catching the expressions of rueful mischief on the children’s faces as they played some sort of complicated tag game. The little monsters looked like the innocent cherubs they almost certainly weren’t, and he couldn’t imagine a single parent not snatching up a copy. He certainly would have if it had been…he forced his thoughts back on track.
“You have great talent,” he said, genuinely impressed.
“Thank you. I try to be different.”
“If I offer you this job, you know it will mean editing your day’s footage and putting it up on the big screens in Hadleigh’s in time for happy hour?”
“Of course. I can manage that.”
“Have you got accommodations in Nevella?”
“Yes.”
She told him where it was, and Ross frowned. It was a pretty rundown apartment block—seasonal lets. Nevella was a safe place, almost no crime, but he still didn’t like the thought of her living in such squalor. He looked at her for some time, resting his elbow on his elevated knee, cupping his chin in his hand. She met his gaze, a kaleidoscope of emotions flitting through her eyes, mostly desperation. Why the hell was she so anxious to work here? Something was off about her, but Ross knew he would take her on, simply to have her in his life for as long as she was prepared to stick around. He didn’t think it would be for long.
“Okay, Darcy,” he said. “I’m happy to give you a trial.”
Her face lit up. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
He laughed. “No, but you might. I have a feeling our drunken clients will be all over you at Hadleigh’s. Hope you know how to look out for yourself.”
“You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Sure, I live there.”
“Well then.”
“Come on.” He picked up her parka and held it out for her, so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. Then he grabbed his own and put it on. “I’ll take you out on the snowmobile, show you where the different classes set off from, so you can get a feel for the place.”
“Thank you.” She grabbed her Camcorder from her bag. “Can I leave the rest of my stuff here for now?”
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll start work right away.”
“Oh no. You need to get a work permit sorted out first. Anyone works without one, and we get in deep shit.”
“Ah, I see.”
Ross opened the door and ushered her out of it ahead of him. “I’m taking Darcy out to show her the lay of the land,” he said to Fiona, who scowled in response. “She’ll be joining our team. Can you get the paperwork ready for when we get back, please?”
“Of course, Ross.”
“Darcy, this is Fiona, who runs this place. I’m just a figurehead.”
“Nice to meet you, Fiona,” Darcy said politely.
Fiona merely grunted as she searched her desk drawers for the papers she needed. Ross opened the outside door, letting a brief billow of frigid air into the office.
“Hope you’ve got plenty of layers on,” he said to Darcy as he led her to the snowmobile. “We’re going through a particularly cold spell right now.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She climbed on behind him, and even through the thickness of their layers of clothing, Ross could feel her breasts pressing into his back. She didn’t really need to sit quite so close, but he wasn’t complaining. He started the machine, twisted the throttle, and they sped off up the slopes. He stopped each time he reached one of Phantom’s classes, sometimes introducing her to the instructor. She shot a little footage on each occasion, as though she couldn’t help herself.
“Force of habit,” she said when he called her on it. “Don’t worry. This is free of charge. Just a little something to put up in the bar tonight.”
“You’re planning to join us tonight?”
“Sure, why not?”
They got back to the office and Fiona had the employment contract ready for Darcy to sign. She did so, folding her copy neatly and putting it in her bag.
“You’ll need to go down to the Govern this afternoon, take that with you and apply for your work permit. They’ll issue it on the spot and you’ll be good to go tomorrow. Do you have your own skis with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Right. Fiona will sort out a lift pass for you, and one of the school parkas. You can have all that ready for after lunch, Fiona?”
“Already on it.”
“Good. Come on, Darcy. I’ll buy you an early lunch, then you can go off and do what you need to do downtown.”
* * * *
They appeared to be ahead of the rush when they got to the cafeteria. Ross explained that most of the classes wouldn’t finish for another quarter of an hour. The food looked good and, to her mortification, Darcy’s stomach growled. Ross laughed.
“When did you last eat?” he asked.
“I guess I skipped breakfast.”
“Well don’t make a habit of it. You need fuel inside you in these cold conditions. Can’t have you passing out on us. Personally, I always have breakfast, and a big lunch. Saves cooking for myself later, or eating in Hadleigh’s restaurant.”
“Don’t you have someone to cook for you?”
“Aw, now, honey, are you asking me if I’m spoken for?”
Darcy felt herself blushing. “I got the impression Fiona’s already staked a claim.”
A flash of annoyance passed across Ross’s features. “You got the wrong impression. She works for me, and that makes her off limits.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Come on.” He handed her a tray and they walked along the buffet. “Most of the food here is surprisingly good. I can recommend the pasta.”
Ross had the courage of his convictions, and she followed his lead, taking a good-sized portion of spaghetti carbonara, and a soda. They took their meal to a table overlooking the slopes.
“You’re right,” she said, taking a mouthful. “It is good.”
Ross chatted to her about Medina Valley, about Hadleigh’s, and asked her occasional questions about her career. He didn’t, she noticed, veer away from the professional, at least not verbally, and didn’t ask her about her own love interests, which was unusual. Men who took an interest in her almost
always wanted to know what competition they faced. She would conclude he wasn’t interested, except she caught him looking at her frequently in a manner that was anything but professional. Besides, there were definite vibes between them. She would give a lot to know what he was thinking. If she was to do what she’d been sent here to do, she would need to get to know him better. A lot better. And he wasn’t making it easy for her.
The first of the skiers clumped into the cafeteria in their ski boots, and soon the place was crowded, the windows steamed, the noise level deafening.
“Now you understand why I like to get in here early,” Ross said, laughing.
“Absolutely I do.”
An instructor stopped by their table. Darcy had noticed him on the slopes. With his tall frame, and blond, blue-eyed good looks, he had been hard to miss. But he’d been busy with his class and Ross hadn’t introduced them.
“This is Wade Shannon,” Ross said. “Another American refugee. Wade, this is Darcy, our new videographer.”
Wade’s eyes lit up. “Hey, welcome to the mad house.” He shot Ross an appraising glance as he shook Darcy’s hand. “You seem to have cheered up, buddy.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I have. Anyway, I’ll leave you guys to your lunch. Nice meeting you, Darcy.”
“You, too.”
“Hope we’ll see you at Hadleigh’s tonight.”
“I look forward to it.”
“I’ll let my class know we have a new videographer,” Wade said. “They were asking.”
“Darcy has to get her work permit sorted this afternoon. She’ll start work tomorrow.”
“Fair enough.”
“How many of you Americans are there here in Nevella?” she asked when Wade had been swallowed up by the crowd.
“There are six of us at Hadleigh’s. Leo Hadleigh has the franchise for just about everything here in Medina and the rest of us help out in various capacities.”
“I see.” Darcy already knew all of that. “What makes you stay? I mean, like you said to me earlier, it’s a small place. Not much action.”
