Ride Page 10

  “You need a hand?”

  Chase doesn’t wait for an answer. He extends his arm down toward me, and when I reach my own upward he wraps his strong fingers and broad palm about my wrist. I instinctively twist my hand to catch his. The layers of gloves and jacket aren’t enough to hide the solidity of his forearm. And his strength—it takes my breath away. One moment I’m flat on my ass and the next I’m being lifted as if I’m weightless, all of that muscle pulling me to my feet.

  To my feet, and into Chase.

  His face is so close. He hasn’t pulled up his goggles yet, so I can only see his mouth. His slightly-parted lips.

  We’re so close that I fit into the slight cup of his hips made by his wide boarding stance. We breathe in sync, and at the apex of our lungs’ openings our jackets whisper across each other.

  Time seems to have stopped. There’s only our linked hold.

  “That was great,” Chase says. It’s only an excuse to cover the way that he’s tugging his forearm from my grip and instead sliding it about my waist. He rests his huge hand at the small of my back, his extended fingertips threatening the band of my pants. His other hand tugs his goggles roughly up, as if he’s impatient to see me.

  I could get lost in the way that Chase looks at me. Something a little like wonder softens the line of his mouth. The stroke of his eyes over my face is exploratory, questioning. Learning every inch of my skin.

  “I like how you ride, Brooke,” he murmurs. Maybe he tries to hide it, the way the hand that isn’t clasping me to him rises to brush fresh-fallen snow from the shoulder of my jacket. The gesture is careful. Gentle.

  Ride. My stomach twists, a breathless space opening in my chest.

  Chase is waiting for something. Testing something out with a roll of his lips. His eyes tick between mine as if he can’t get enough of something he sees there.

  When he lets go of me and hops back, something in my chest aches.

  “We should get those photos for you.” He makes it sound so matter of fact. “Maybe we can get a few hours out together tomorrow?”

  It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s my dream come true.

  So why is the biggest thing I feel loss?

  12

  Alex is extremely excited to hear about the moment.

  “I’m not joking around.” She sighs like a Victorian romance heroine. “This is perfect.”

  I hum indecisively, kicking at a ridge of ice by the curb. This isn’t a call I wanted to take in the apartment with Hanne: I’ve saved it for a walk, roaming lazy circles around Laax’s central streets. Everything is crisply white and pure, the street lamps making golden halos of the steadily falling snow.

  “I dunno.”

  “You do like him. It’s always Chase’s abs this, Chase’s pecs that. C’mon, Brooke. His poster was on your wall for about a billion years. Admit it to yourself. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a man like that in your panties.”

  “Alex,” I castigate her. But there’s a little twinge of knowledge in my belly. Yes, I do want to … do stuff with Chase. That isn’t so wrong, right?

  “It’s just a bad idea,” I say finally. “And anyway, it’s not like he made a move.”

  Alex snorts. “Hun, you shot him down mercilessly the last two times. Of course he’s gun-shy around you. You might need to leap on him.”

  “I’m not leaping on anyone,” I protest. “I just …”

  Alex sighs, long-suffering. “Just let me know when you finally decide to let yourself out of that protective armor and experience the world.”

  “I am experiencing the world,” I protest.

  “I’m not sure you experience things through several inches of emotional Kevlar.” But Alex isn’t pushing it.

  I wonder if things will be weird the next day with Chase, but they aren’t. I’m glad to find that I can still act like a responsible human. We film in the morning, and then Chase and I skip lunch to go and get some photos up high on the mountain. He’s changed from his surliness of before. He’s not as gregarious as Hanne, or even chatty like JJ … but he works hard, and he works well. We get some good shots.

  There’s even a joke or two. “Does my ass look big in this?” he asks, as he poses at the top of a huge drop. “Make sure you get my good side,” another time.

  When we pack up to head back, I’m too flushed to protest when he takes my gear bag. He holds it with the same surprising delicacy he did the other night, reaching for it without hesitation before he carefully settles it onto his back.

  Hunter whistles when we come down together. “And they call it puppy lo-o-o-o-ove …”

  Chase flips him the bird.

  Hunter grins, scooching over to jostle my shoulder. “You trust him to carry the expensive shit, then? Such a gentleman, Chase. I didn’t expect it from you.”

  I don’t expect the silence. JJ is suddenly deeply fixated on picking packed snow from his bindings. Hanne looks like she’s holding back a comment.

  Chase puts my bag down—carefully—and then stalks off.

  “You’re a prick, you know that?” JJ despairs toward Hunter.

  Hunter looks genuinely confused. “What? I was only teasing them.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Hanne says, though she doesn’t sound entirely sure. “Anyway—the party will cheer him up.”

  JJ must see the question on my face.

  “We’re throwing a little shindig at our place,” he explains. “You should bring a bikini.”

  “Let’s hustle, Larson!”

  Hanne’s waiting by the door, downing the last of her pre-drink with unladylike gusto. She didn’t take long to get ready. I shouldn’t be surprised: she has the kind of natural beauty that looks better without any makeup, snow tanned and white toothed. Between the open sides of her jacket I can see her strappy top and, beneath it, the bikini she’s wearing ready for the boys’ outdoor jacuzzi.

  I worry at the straps of my own as I check myself in the mirror. Beneath my white T-shirt the bright pink of my bikini is faintly visible. I can remember Chase seeing it when we were at the airport. Now it feels unfamiliar against my skin, a reminder of those days filming the surfers in Santa Barbara. How was that less than two weeks ago? It feels like a different world.

  Nerves tingle in my tummy at the idea of being hardly dressed in front of the guys. It didn’t bother me at all on the beach. Somehow in a place where people are usually wrapped from head to toe in bulky snow gear it seems more … nude than usual.

  “You look great.” Hanne is clearly impatient. “Come on! They always drink the nice stuff first.”

  She’s obviously not allowing that to happen this time. We clink along in the back of the taxi with four bottles of champagne, Hanne giggling as she tries to stop them from rolling over the floor.

  I’ve heard a lot about the boys’ chalet—mostly involving Hunter and one leggy blonde after another—but I’ve never seen it before. The taxi drives us out of the village to where streets give way to the mountains. To either side of us passes one luxury residence after another, huge wood-framed houses that look like pictures on a Christmas card.

  None of them are as nice as the boys’. It’s the final chalet, far too large for only three men to be staying in. Out front is a luxury black SUV with tinted windows. Dozens of pairs of boots are thrown haphazard on the porch, all in monster sizes. From inside comes the heavy nn-tsa nn-tsa bass line of a song I can’t quite hear properly to recognize.

  I have a last minute flutter of panic. It’s stupid. What does it matter how I look? It’s just the guys.

  As Hanne pushes the front door open with her hip I reach up to test the flyaway curls of my hair. Do I kick off my sneakers? Do I not? I don’t have much time to worry. JJ is there, wearing an improbable apron and giving us a grin. In one hand he holds a cocktail muddler.

  “Ladies. Looking spectacular as ever. Jackets over there. I’d use the restroom upstairs. Some kid Hunter invited has already been sick in this one.”

  I ca
n’t find words. I can hardly even get my jacket off. The chalet is incredible. Around us winds a broad staircase climbing to the first-floor balcony above. Ahead everything is open: one huge room, all polished wood and glistening chrome light fixtures, the opposite wall floor-to-ceiling glass that opens out onto the deck. In one corner a stupidly large TV is showing music videos. All the furniture has been pushed to the corners, the space already filling up with dozens of guests.

  Between them I catch glimpses of steam rising from the jacuzzi outside, billowing thick against the freezing Laax air. I can see the back of Hunter’s head, his well-muscled arms spread along the edge of the tub. Opposite him is a girl I don’t recognize who seems to be topless.

  Hanne must have noticed the same thing. “You invited snowbunnies?” She doesn’t sound pleased.

  “Hunter invited everyone and her dog.” JJ’s already heading back to the corner-tucked table where he’s mixing drinks. “Hopefully everyone has had their shots.”

  Hanne rolls her eyes. “Perfect.”

  I try to look casual as I peek about for Chase. There’s no sign of him yet.

  “Put those away?” Hanne indicates my bottles with her chin. “I’ll just pop these open …”

  The first door I try leads into a home office. The second is a gym. Only on the third attempt do I have any luck.

  The kitchen is huge and absolutely stacked with food. I hold the fridge door open and lean into it, considering. It’s no surprise there’s so much to eat here—the boys must need a lot of calories to do those tricks all day as well as maintaining their body heat in the freezing temperatures. Not to mention that they’re always healing from some injury or another. It’s mostly healthy, too—I have to push past a metric shit ton of greens.

  I’m trying to work out where I can put the bottles of champagne when a large hand appears beside mine at the fridge door. Something solid pushes against my ass, light as an accident—but held too long.

  Someone.

  “Here.” Chase’s voice is a low rumble, warm against my ear. “Let me get that for you.”

  I’m frozen, my breath trapped in my lungs. Usually we’re separated by so many layers, but now I can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. All those rock-solid muscles feel so good cupped around my body. I’m tiny in the harbor of his chest.

  I force myself to swallow and slip out from his arms, relinquishing the bottles to his hands. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Chase doesn’t look to me. At least I get a good view. He crouches for the freezer, his low-ride jeans revealing the waistband of his Calvins. Beneath the dark fabric of his T-shirt the muscles of his back slide, supple and so inviting I want to reach out to touch them. His tattoo sleeve shifts with the movements of his thick forearm.

  I’ve only had two drinks, but already I’m staring.

  Once the freezer drawer is slammed shut, Chase straightens and turns to me. His eyes linger over my body, savoring the outline of my bikini beneath my T-shirt. Once his gaze meets mine his smile spreads, and this time it isn’t crooked at all.

  I want so much to reach forward and sweep away the flop of his unruly dark hair.

  “Easy,” he says, and it’s only half a tease.

  I should say something, but instead I’m falling into his eyes. They’re open, now. Like they are when we ride together, just us. All that blue is deep, and I’m hang-breath and trembling on the edge of a jump.

  It’s at that moment that Hanne grabs me from behind. “We’ve been calling for you! It’s time for drinks. What are you having? JJ’s Bellinis are okay …”

  I look back to Chase. I don’t want to admit to myself that it’s for an excuse not to go.

  Chase spreads an arm toward the door.

  “After you.”

  It’s easy to lose Chase in the wild party that quickly develops. JJ wasn’t lying when he said that Hunter invited snowbunnies, but to his credit he invited more than them. Half of Laax seems to be here—or at least half of the people in the appropriate age range. In one corner JJ is explaining beer pong to some rather nonplussed European guys. Outside some men and women I don’t know are clustered around a single shovel, trying to create a snow jump leading into the hot tub.

  I fall in line with Hanne for most of the time. We dance in the cleared space in the main room, and I always seem to have a new drink in my hand. Hanne tells me some of the story about JJ, though she’s a little tipsy for it to make sense entirely.

  “She left him last winter,” she confides, her arm around me sloppy and her nuzzle against me a puppy’s affection. “Really tore him up. Poor guy. Raquel and JJ—we thought that one was forever. Chase was going be the best man, of course. They were going to have tiny little snowboarding babies. And then—poof. And he’s not over it, you know? Hasn’t even kissed a girl since. I think it’s some sort of mental condition. It’s been almost a year. I mean, Raquel is great. I miss that girl. We all loved her. But JJ shouldn’t be single forever because she broke his heart. He broke his own heart. Whatever. Oh my god, is he naked?”

  Out the window I see a flash of someone’s bare behind streaking past before he dives headfirst into a snow drift.

  Hanne’s catch at my hand is suddenly insistent. “I think we should grab the jacuzzi while he’s out. Come on.”

  I envy how easy she is with stripping off right there. She shimmies out of her tight jeans before tugging her strappy top over her head. “Come on! I’m not waiting.”

  I’m slower as I hang my jeans over one of the chair stacks pushed into the corner. It feels weird doing this with so many people around, even if most of them have been in the tub already—the majority are in swimming shorts or bikinis, dripping over the floor when JJ isn’t shouting at them to use one of the towels.

  I hesitate even more once I see Chase.

  He sits in the insanely large tub, his arms spread in casual ownership of the space. An absolute sense of his right to be just where he is. Dominance, written in dense muscle and the dark masculine hair at his jaw and chest. His head is tilted back so he can laugh with the other guys, and at his throat I see the press of his Adam’s apple.

  There are girls standing around, too. Checking him out. Not that I care.

  When I step out onto the deck and gasp at the cold, it’s me Chase notices.

  His eyes devour me. Every inch of my skin. Every curve, every line. His look strokes like hands over my skin. Down over my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. Caressing every spot of my bare flesh.

  When he looks up, he half licks his lips before he catches himself.

  I don’t know whether I want to wrap my arms about myself—cover myself back up somehow—or throw myself at him. He’s a colleague, I remind myself. Don’t be an ass. At least some of the decision is made for me by the cold. With an involuntary hiss I hop in at one edge, carefully holding my drink up above the sloshing surface.

  In all the flurry my eyes are inextricably locked on where the water’s bubbles play over the firm lines of Chase’s chest. The swell of his pecs. The dip below to where his six pack begins, just peeking out of the water. There’s so much strength banded over his shoulders and biceps where his arms are winged out over the tub’s edge.

  Hanne has no compunctions about slipping in at his far side, seemingly careless of Chase’s arm behind her. “You take up so much space,” she complains affectionately. “Like a whale. Or a prizewinning pig.”

  Chase snorts. “That’s me. Ham Austin.” But he does extricate his arm from behind her head.

  He leaves the one on my side where it is.

  I lower myself down carefully. The water is amazingly hot after the chill bite of the winter air. I can’t help but sigh as I relax myself down into it, savoring the faintly chemical smell and the fizz of bubbles against my skin. Carefully I find a place for my legs that isn’t pushing against anyone else’s.

  Someone’s foot finds mine anyway. Neither Chase or Hanne look at me. They’ve already begun some
discussion about … something else. I have no idea what. My pulse sounds too loudly in my ears for me to make out their words.

  The foot under the water curls itself into a hook, running its toes over the back of my heel and easing up my calf.

  It’s about then that Chase’s fingers thread themselves lightly in my hair.

  Oh, god.

  I try to ignore the shivers running down my spine. His touch is electric. It awakens all the tiny hairs at my nape and sparks over my skin. I’m self-conscious of my nipples hardening beneath my bikini top. Suddenly it seems too skimpy. All that flesh on display.

  Not that Chase is looking at it. But Hanne is, I realize. Hanne’s seen Chase’s hand.

  She looks at it. She looks at me. Something hard to read pulls at the smile she wears. And then she keeps on talking.

  Chase’s foot keeps on playing with mine.

  Eventually I manage to make conversation. I try to ignore the twitches low in my tummy as Chase’s fingers find the sensitive skin at my nape and stroke slowly over it, half-cupping my neck. Instead I busy myself with my drink. Bit by bit the glow of the alcohol takes away my reserve, until this feels natural: that I am slowly relaxing under Chase’s arm, and his hand escapes from hiding at the back of my neck to drape instead over my far shoulder, playing idly with my bikini strap.

  Hanne doesn’t mention a thing.

  Can this be happening? Really happening? This is so stupid. I’m not going to fuck him. I’m going to work with him. What’s one night of meaningless fun—or several nights of amazing, mind-blowing fun—compared to getting the photos I need from him?

  I try to remind myself to think with the rational part of my brain. The part that isn’t wondering what it would be like to lick over all of his rigid lines. Lick over his—

  “Do you want to, Brooke?”

  I can feel myself blushing. What were they saying? But Chase doesn’t wait for an answer. Easy as if we do this all the time, he slides over to sit properly beside me. Under the water I feel the press of his muscular thigh against mine. The hairs over his legs tickle at my skin.