by Hunter King
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Hunter King
The Flirt Club
Pearl
I’m pretty sure I’m more nervous than any of these other girls waiting with me. Brett Carnegie is my hero; if I were fifteen instead of twenty-five, I’d no doubt have posters of him all over my bedroom wall.
“Pearl, is that him?” Amy asks.
My head swivels to look. “No,” I reply, trying not to laugh. “Brett’s taller and more breathtaking.”
The guy Amy’s looking at is all of 5’10” and just average-handsome, while Brett is 6’2” and looks like a god. But Amy’s such a small thing herself everyone must look tall to her.
Winter, Hollis and Leia scan the lobby impatiently with Amy and me. The five of us are among the twenty winners of the Meet a Celebrity online contest. Our prize: an all-expense-paid weekend here at the Bachelor Mountain Lodge ski resort and some face time with the three-time Olympic gold medalist, downhill skier Brett Carnegie.
The same Brett Carnegie whose virtual posters pepper the walls of my mind.
So the five of us hit it off last night at the welcome party thrown by the Meet a Celebrity producers. Some of the contest winners were older women and others… well, just not my type. But I already love these four chicks, and we’re all excited about meeting the celebrity chosen for this event.
Of course, I can’t help but think my obsession with Brett is more genuine than theirs. I’m a downhill skier myself, good enough to be invited to the qualifying trials for the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea. A slightly missed gate and a tumble at sixty miles per hour on a practice run resulted in a badly sprained ankle and a heartbreaking end to my dream. I’m already preparing to make another attempt for the 2022 Olympics in Beijing, but I’ll be 27 at that point, so who knows?
My new friends, on the other hand, just want to meet a famous hot hunk. And who can blame them?
There’s a bustle in my peripheral vision as a small entourage enters the room, and twenty eager heads turn simultaneously to see the man of the hour. Brett seems to glide effortlessly across the room, and he’s intercepted by the show’s producers before he can get anywhere near us.
This is the photo op part of the weekend’s planned events, and I’ve already told myself to hold off on trying to make conversation with him. Tonight, however, is a dinner in the lodge’s upscale restaurant, and supposedly we’ll all get a chance to spend a few minutes with Brett. If I can’t find time to chat with him then, tomorrow we contest winners have a ski lesson with him.
Be patient, Pearl. You’ll get a chance to talk to your hero.
As I stare at Brett from fifty feet away, I realize that I myself am being stared at. Someone in his entourage is looking directly at me, and when our eyes meet, he smiles. Not just any smile, mind you, but a white-toothed, square-jawed, handsome-as-fuck-and-knows-it smile. He’s as tall as Brett; hell, he might even be an inch taller, with a broad chest and delicious shoulders that stretch his tight navy sweater.
I look away without returning his smile. I know his type and don’t want to give him even the slightest reason to think I want anything to do with him. One of these twenty women will end up in his bed tonight, then she’ll be forgotten by tomorrow morning—and that won’t be me.
If I’m going to toss out my No One-Night Stands rule, it’ll be for Brett Carnegie only.
Connor
I have no idea who this chick is, but I want her.
She’s fucking gorgeous: long wavy blonde hair and a lovely face. Not to mention the big, beautiful tits that initially got my attention. I immediately know that I need to make a play on her before anyone else—
Wait. She’s ogling Brett with puppy-dog eyes.
Of course, just like every other woman here.
Then she turns slightly and looks right at me. It’s just a split second, but that’s all it takes for my cock to twitch. I smile and she immediately turns away. Goddammit.
Calm down, Connor. Think this through.
Sure, she wants to meet Brett. She’s probably one of the Meet a Celebrity contest winners. That will give me a chance to bump into her several times today, since I’m hanging out with Brett. Then I can get to know her a little. After that, who knows?
“Okay, Brett’s time is precious, so let’s get started,” the production assistant says loudly. “Everyone line up, and when it’s your turn, step forward and we’ll take a few pics of you with him.”
The women quickly form a single-file line, their eager faces and wide eyes trained on the Olympic hero. It’s times like this that I wish I’d practiced more, and that it was me getting all the attention instead of my friend. We used to train together; now he’s a three-time gold medal winner while I’m just an anonymous businessman.
Trying not to be too obvious, I keep sneaking glances at the blonde. She’s not taking her eyes off Brett, so I get a chance to give her a thorough once-over. My first impression was right, she’s stunning. By far the most beautiful girl in the room. And that’s definitely an athlete’s body hiding under those clothes, which makes me like her even more.
She’s near the front of the line, and I watch Brett’s face as she steps up for her turn. He sees the same thing I see, and when he slips his arm around her waist, I get the sudden urge to punch him. I laugh at myself for such a stupid thought. She’s obviously smitten with Brett, but then again, who isn’t? Hell, I love the guy myself.
Then she’s done and an assistant leads her away. She looks stunned by this little whirlwind moment in her life.
Okay, enough creepy staring. Right now she’s only got Brett on her mind, but when I see her again later, I’ll strike up a conversation.
Pearl
I’m in the middle of my last double black diamond run of the afternoon when another skier who’s obviously got elite game passes me. Dressed in black pants, boots and helmet with a hard-to-miss red jacket that matches his skis, he’s easily the best skier on the slopes this afternoon.
Correction: He’s the best male skier on the slopes. He’s not as good as I am, though.
When he arrogantly looks back at me as he passes, I make it a point to catch him before we get to the bottom.
Remaining a comfortable distance behind him, I ski carefully as to lose any ground. Then when we get a couple hundred yards from the bottom, I let it rip and go flying past him just before the slope levels out. I look back at him until I know he sees me doing it, then I carve the snow in a graceful spraying arc before coming to a stop.
A second later he arrives a few feet from me.
“What was that all about?” he demands.
“You tell me, hotshot,” I taunt.
“Hey, if you’re looking for a real race, I’d be more than happy to give you one.” He removes his goggles and helmet and I’m only slightly surprised to see the same cocky handsome face from this morning at the photo shoot. Only now it looks even more arrogant, if that’s even possible.
My anger quickly rises. “You don’t want to mess with me. It won’t end well for you, and the embarrassment will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Definitely,” I reply.
“Well I think someone needs to teach you a lesson about slope manners,” he says.
“Me? ME? You’re the one who needs to learn manners, bud.” I glare at him from behind my mirrored goggles. “They�
�re closing the lift for the day, but I’d be happy to meet out here tomorrow morning and show you up all over again.”
His thick lips curl into the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen, and something inside me stirs involuntarily.
“I knew you’d chicken out,” he taunts.
What an asshole. “Hey, there’s no way I’m afraid of racing you. If you want a race, you’ve got one.”
“Comanche again?” The Comanche Run is the ultimate run at Bachelor Mountain, a double black that begins on Comanche Peak. One side of the peak is a blue square slope for intermediate skiers, while the Comanche Run on the other side is where only experts dare to tread.
“Unless you need something easier,” he sneers.
“Then we’d better hurry.” I begin skiing towards the lift before he can even get his helmet and goggles back on. He catches up just as I see the lift operator putting an orange traffic cone in one of the lift gondolas. That’s the signal to the liftie up top that the day is done and there will be no more skiers coming up.
“Shit,” I say. “Now we have no choice.”
“We can board a gondola when he’s not looking,” he says. “He won’t be expecting anyone at this point.”
“That’s just stupid.”
“Bawk!”
Did this asshole just make a chicken sound at me?
“Lead the way, dipshit,” I say.
He skis closer to the lift as I follow. He stops at a safe distance and turns to me as I arrive.
“Pretend like we’re talking,” he says. I see the lift operator looking in our direction.
“Pretending is as far as I want to go,” I reply snarkily.
We stand there, looking at each other’s goggles until the liftie turns to go inside the base station building, probably to make sure nobody’s still inside.
“Now!” the asshole says as he pushes off toward the lift.
I’m right behind him when he reaches a gondola just as it comes to a stop. He opens the door and steps aside as I unbind my skis and climb aboard. Then he shoves his skis in and gets in himself.
“Get down,” he says, putting a hand on my head and pushing me to the floor of the small cabin.
Our faces are just a couple of feet apart and I can see his eyes through his goggles. “Take your hand off my head,” I growl.
We wait, and soon enough there’s a jolt as the lift starts up again. Our gondola moves upward, away from the base station. “Stay down for another minute,” he says.
Another minute is about all I can stand to be on the floor with this dude. The seconds tick by, and I start to get annoyed when I realize I’m feeling a sense of excitement at lying down next to a man. Hey, it’s been a while, but still. I chalk it up to the fact that we’re breaking the rules, which can be exciting on its own.
“Okay, I think we’re good now,” he says, getting up and taking a seat. The little gondola seats six, three on each wooden bench on opposite sides of the car. As I rise, he offers me a hand, but I brush it aside and get into a seat across from him without help.
The asshole removes his goggles and helmet again. “I wonder what they’ll do if they catch us.”
I remove my own headgear and see his eyes widen.
“Hey, I know you,” he says. “You’re one of the contest winners.”
“And you work for Meet a Celebrity,” I respond dryly.
He laughs. “Hardly. I’m just hanging out with a friend for the weekend.” There’s a pregnant pause, then he offers a gloved hand and says, “I’m Connor.”
“Pearl,” I say, shaking that hand for less than a second.
“Old-fashioned name. You don’t strike me as an old-fashioned girl.”
“Anything but.”
“You’re a good skier.”
“Good?” I scoff.
“Excellent,” he amends his statement.
“Better than you.”
“Well, we’ll see about that soon enough.”
It won’t be long, because we’re about halfway up the eight-minute ride to the top. I have no idea whether we’ll be facing an irate liftie up there, or if the traffic cone also serves as a signal that the operators can make their own ski run back down to the lodge. If there’s no one there, we’ll just jump off when the car comes to a brief halt at the top.
Neither of us talk, or even look at each other, as the gondola ascends. We’re about two minutes from the top when the car begins to slow, then stops altogether.
The asshole looks me. “This is not good.”
“Are they shutting down?” I ask, suddenly agitated.
“I hope not. Maybe they had to stop for a minute.”
“And what if it’s not just for a minute?”
He doesn’t say a word, but looks out the glass side, angling his view toward the snow at least a hundred feet below us.
“Let’s wait and see,” he suggests.
Now I’m fuming. If I’m stuck in a ski lift gondola, this is the last guy I want to be stuck with. I cross my arms, look out the window and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It’s ten minutes later before either of us utters a word.
“I think we might be stuck,” the jerk says.
“Really? Ya think?”
“Hey, don’t blame me; I didn’t turn off the lift.”
“This was your idea!” I shout, getting angrier by the second.
“Pointing fingers isn’t going to help. We need to call someone.”
We both stare at each other.
“You didn’t bring your phone either?” he asks.
“I never ski with my phone. That would be stupid.”
“Yeah, same here,” he says.
He looks down outside the gondola again. “Too far to jump.”
What a tool. I roll my eyes, and of course he catches me doing it. “Do you have any brilliant ideas?” he demands.
“Isn’t there an emergency phone in here somewhere?” I look around the small gondola cabin and see no sign of one. “Apparently not. I guess we’ll have to scream for help.”
“We’re nowhere near the ski runs. There’s nobody down there at all.”
I look down and see he’s right. And the shadows are already becoming longer as the sun begins to set.
I look at him like he’s a moron, which he obviously is, and say, “The alternative is we do nothing, stay here all night, and freeze to death.”
A second later, we’ve lowered a window the six inches we can and both have our mouths in the colder outside air screaming our lungs out for help.
Connor
How the hell am I going to get out of this?
I mean, it’s bad enough being stuck on a gondola, but I have a feeling this beautiful ballbuster is going to make the time pass by much slower than it should. And to think, just this morning I was enamored with her.
My throat is raw from screaming for ten minutes straight, and it doesn’t appear that anyone heard us. On top of that, it’ll soon be getting dark out and I have no idea how cold it might get. It’s probably about twenty-eight degrees right now, and last night it got down to the high teens. How long can humans stay alive in weather like that? We’re both dressed to stay warm, and we’re protected from wind, but there’s no heater in this gondola cabin.
“Is there anything else we can do?” the ballbuster asks. She’s still pissed off, but she sounds a little scared now. Maybe I should go easy on her, considering it really is my fault we’re stuck here. And I was so looking forward to proving she’s no match for me on skis.
I shrug. “Surely someone saw us get in here. Or one of our friends will report us missing and they’ll begin a search.”
“You have friends?”
So much for going easy on her. If she’s going to be a bitch, why do I need to watch my manners?
“I have a pretty important friend back at the lodge. He’ll notice I’ve disappeared and will be worried. And the producers are going to wonder why you didn’t show up for t
onight’s big dinner and cocktail party.”
“Oh, shit.” She looks crestfallen.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Come on, what’s wrong?”
Her eyes measure me. It almost feels like I’m being given a visual test.
“I really wanted to meet Brett Carnegie,” she finally says.
“You met him this morning,” I say, “at the photo op.”
“I met him, but I didn’t meet him. We just said hello. I was hoping for a chance to talk to him.”
“Why? He may be famous, but he’s just a dude. Apart from his skiing, there’s nothing all that special about him.”
The daggers coming out of her eyes tells me I’ve gone too far.
“It’s important to me. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
She’s really bummed about missing her chance to share a few minutes with Brett. Instead, she’s stuck here with me.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Once we’re back at the lodge, I’ll arrange for you to meet him. Maybe have lunch or drinks with him tomorrow after he gives the ski lessons.”
Her smirk says she thinks I’m full of shit. “You’ll ‘arrange’ for me to meet Brett Carnegie?”
“Sure.”
“Just like that.”
“Brett and I are old friends. I’m hanging out with him here this weekend. Why do you think I was at the photo op? And don’t tell me you didn’t see me there because I saw you look right at me.”
“He’s your friend? Seriously?”
“Seriously. We’ve been friends since high school.”
“And you’ll introduce me to him?” She still sounds dubious.
“Of course,” I say. “Once we get off this thing.”
She sighs. “If we get off this thing.”
“Why do you want to talk to him so badly?” I ask.
