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  A girl is there with a camera and a beam. “Squeeze in!”

  I barely have time to get a smile ready. I’m too busy enjoying this. The feeling of Chase holding me, easy and sure. The feeling of being here.

  Flash, the camera goes. I’m not used to being on this side of it.

  Chase doesn’t leave, after. He just stays right where he is.

  Hanne’s eyebrow arches. “Should I leave you two alone?”

  Chase laughs low. He’s moving. Without thinking I reach out and grip at the muscular meat of his thigh.

  Everything about him makes me think of sex.

  Chase stutters in his movement, but he doesn’t look at me. His hand strokes open palmed over the line of my shoulders before he braces it at the edge of the tub.

  “No worries, I’m going. More drinks time.”

  I try not to look at him as he climbs out, but I can hardly manage it. All that water sheets off his glistening skin, droplets chasing the ridges and furrows of well-defined muscles. I’m eye level with his perfect six pack. The line of hair that teases down to where his shorts hang low on a perfect V of flesh. So close to showing his … and then I’m face level with that, too. The hinted bulge beneath his swim shorts.

  The big bulge.

  Once he’s gone I let out a slow breath.

  Hanne kicks me under the water. “What was that about?”

  I hope my cheeks aren’t too pink. “It was just a photo.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?” Hanne snorts before reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Come on. Let’s get more drinks.”

  13

  After a few more drinks I’m drunk enough not to care that I’m walking about in a bikini. With the heating on full and the wood fire blasting away, it’s plenty warm enough to stay that way. I play some beer pong with the boys. I chat with JJ.

  Chase is always busy. He’s mobbed wherever he goes by the boarders who want to be him and the bunnies who want to be with him. I guess it’s every guy’s dream, isn’t it? Having dozens of gorgeous women fawning over you wherever you go.

  It’s none of my business what Chase does with them, but I can’t help noticing that he doesn’t get involved. He just chats and then moves on. Each time he passes me his hand slides over the small of my back, his fingertips finding the dips at either side of my spine for the lightest of presses. When I stop to chat with Hunter over the chips and dip Chase comes to join us, standing a little too near for us to be only friends. Not quite holding—but claiming, all the same.

  As the party ebbs and flows we come together again and again, as if each moving away is only the beginning of drawing together.

  My eyes keep slipping toward the stairs. Chase’s room must be up there. I wonder what it’s like, the place that he’s alone.

  I should know how drunk I am when Hanne suggests a snow jump and I find myself saying yes.

  She herds me into the jacuzzi like an overexcited dog, all but nipping at my heels. “It’s gonna feel so good,” she enthuses as she dunks herself in the water, indicating for me to do the same. I’m more careful about it—I saw how long Hunter spent out here with the most recent girl he’s been chasing.

  “I’m going to regret this.” I down the rest of my rum and coke and set it to one side before curling my hands over the edge of the tub.

  “Ready?”

  Hanne’s not waiting for anything like a fair beginning. She’s already up over the lip of the tub and sprinting over the deck, clearing a tunnel through the people around us. “Geronimo!” She cackles as she tucks up for a bomb into the drift.

  I’m not afraid of a bit of cold, I tell myself as I run. It’ll feel great. I’m not scared of anything.

  It is really, really fucking cold.

  “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

  Hanne is panting with the freeze of it, her snow-speckled head sticking up out of the drift as she laughs endlessly. Even in her mirth she’s quicker than I am to get up, extending me a hand.

  “You’re not bad, for an American.”

  I can’t appreciate the affectionate tease. I need out.

  I skip awkwardly over the deck and, seeing that Hunter and his girl have reclaimed the tub, dive into the warmth of the chalet. It’s not warm enough. My clothes have somehow gone missing in the room, heaving as it is with bodies—dancing and dancing where somebody seems to have brought along an old Xbox and a copy of Dance Dance Revolution.

  JJ takes pity on me, looking over from his drunken rendition of Bad Romance. “Check out one of the rooms upstairs,” he shouts over. “Just grab something warm from a closet.”

  Normally I’d not be keen at the idea of going through someone else’s house. But I’m drunk and cold and single minded with it, dripping my way in a rush up the stairs. They curve about the main hallway, depositing me on the open balcony …

  … And Chase.

  I’ve almost bumped into him. The sway of my rebound makes me cling onto the handrail. A tiny sober part of my brain wonders why he’s up here alone. It also wonders why I’m almost naked in his house. But mostly my drunk brain has control of my mouth.

  “I need something warm.”

  There’s a dark intensity to Chase’s look that prickles over my skin. It’s replaced by the heat of his hand, cupping at my shoulder as he searches my face.

  A little of my drunkenness ebbs away, the solidity of his presence anchoring me to here. Now. With him so close in the darkened hallway. The pounding bass line below is nothing compared to the thud, thud, thud of my heart.

  There’s a delay before he says, “In here.”

  So this is Chase’s room. It’s not how I imagined seeing it for the first time. Chase holds the door open for me before allowing it to click shut after us. I know some of the rooms in these chalets are twins or bigger—some of them have bunk beds, designed more for kids than the lanky pro snowboarders who crush themselves into them when money is tight—but Chase has the master suite. Of course he does. He’s clearing millions of dollars a year. He could get this multi-bedroom chalet for just himself, if he wanted.

  It’s dark, the curtains open to reveal a balcony and the stars beyond, the only light coming from the open door of his en suite.

  I’m too drunk to hide how I check it all out as he goes over to his drawers, his back turned to me as he searches. Everything is so neat. His boots paired up in the corner. His maps stacked on the desk. Then again, he has very little stuff. Mostly it’s only his snow gear, stacked on a chair in one corner. There are no personal touches. I guess he’s only here for two weeks—but still, it seems so … empty.

  I allow my drunken footsteps to weave forward, finding the solid press of his bed against the side of my thigh to anchor myself.

  The sheets are ruffled from where he’s slept in them, one pillow tugged around as if he held it. Like he’d hold a woman. Like he’d hold—

  “Here.” Chase steps close. He’s found a T-shirt and a bulky sweater. The track pants laid over them are absolutely massive.

  When I take the bundle from him, our hands brush.

  “I’m going to drown in these.” It’s all I can manage to say. I’m here, dripping all over Chase’s bedroom, and in the dim half light he stares at all the nearly-naked curves of my body.

  “You’ll be warm.” He sounds so measured. So … reliable. I allow myself to relax into it, the warm glow of alcohol making me feel safer than I usually do.

  “I’ll just …” The en suite. I gesture toward it, but my turn becomes a hopeless sway and Chase is catching me. Tight against his chest, both of his arms holding me to him. With a soft thwump all those clothes hit the floor between us.

  Oh god, I want him.

  His breath strokes warm over my face. Concern ticks his eyes between mine, but there’s more than that in his look. Something else makes the clasp of his hands possessive, tiny strokes of his thumb moving over my bare skin.

  I can feel the tension in his body, all those twitches of dense-pack muscle as he fi
ghts with himself.

  “You should sleep here,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You’re drunk. I’ll take the spare room.”

  “Are you taking care of me, Chase Austin?” It’s easy to let my arms loop around him like I’ve wanted them to for so long. To feel the breadth of his muscled body, to squeeze at his strength. I want the words to sound playful. They come out instead like a real question.

  Maybe I imagine that Chase stiffens. His voice is so calm and steady. “Something like that.”

  The air between us crackles. I’ve never felt a want like this for another person before. It would be so easy, to rise up on my tiptoes and …

  Drunk thoughts always become actions.

  Chase’s lips are soft as his stubble is rough. Beneath the press of my own they’re motionless. His only response to my kiss is the twitch of his fingers, clenching into my skin. So tight it’s painful. A sound husks low in his throat, a masculine growl of desire that twitches between my legs.

  That noise isn’t safe at all.

  With the alcohol, all of my inhibitions are gone. All of the reasons are gone. So what if we work together? So what if this is a really, really bad idea? There’s only one thing I know for sure.

  “You should stay here, too. With me.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Chase murmurs. But his hand is skimming over my skin, his fingers playing at the lower hem of my bikini bottoms, his broad palm covering almost all of my ass.

  I let my tongue trace the edge of my lips. He follows the movement with a predator’s hungry gaze, and against my chest his breath is trapped.

  “I want you to,” I whisper.

  How many times can you taunt a wild thing before it leaps?

  All that brute strength grabs at me, crushing me to Chase’s chest with merciless force. I can’t escape. I don’t want to. There aren’t spaces for boundaries between us. There’s only the dominating claim of his kiss, the demand of his tongue in my mouth, and the grip of his fingers as he holds me to him.

  I’ve seen him flying before. Now I’m flying with him.

  It’s all too much. So much. So good. The heat of his mouth and the rough assertion of his hands. One twists in my hair, tilting my head to open my mouth for his. The other grips hungry at my ass before sliding around my ribs to cup my breast, its impatient thumb shoving beneath the flimsy fabric of my bikini to brush over my nipple.

  I’m too drunk to be embarrassed by the sound that I make. Need, soft-whimpered and desperately honest.

  Against my stomach I can feel him, hard and wanting.

  “Brooke.” My name is an animal growl on his lips. He clutches to me like he’s barely containing himself.

  I don’t want him to contain himself.

  I don’t want to be safe.

  I want to show him. I press my hands to the rock-hard muscle of his chest and force myself back. He lets me go. I couldn’t get away if he didn’t let me. But he does, though his hands paw after me, hungry for more holding and more heat.

  He looks at me like he wants to eat me.

  But I want to watch him. As we’re here, silent and heavy-breathing. As he licks the plump of his lip. As I reach behind me to tug at the knots of my bikini top and let it fall to the floor.

  “Fuck,” Chase breathes.

  I’ve never heard such liquid want before.

  Which is right about when in my drunken state I fall on my ass as I try to take off my bikini bottoms.

  At least I’ve always been able to laugh at myself. I managed to hit the bed, but I’m sprawled ungainly rather than sexily draped. I look up at him and giggle, tingling with alcohol and desire and the heady rush of doing what I want to do rather than what I should.

  Chase’s jaw is tight, his chest heaving. When he reaches for my ankles to toss my legs up onto the bed his hold lingers, his greedy fingers tracing fire over my calves.

  “You’re so drunk.” Those fingers skim higher, sending shivers over my skin.

  “I don’t care. I want you.”

  The air huffs from Chase’s lungs. He’s going to let himself go. All that muscle tightens as he dips, his arms braced beside me, his mouth curling low over mine.

  “Something wants me. It might be the liquor.”

  “I was drunk when I said no before, and you listened to that.”

  Chase’s laugh is strained tight. He’s so close, his eyes shaded and secret in the darkened room, all that dense muscle quivering with potential over me. A swipe of his tongue wets the line of his lips. He can’t stop looking at my own as he leans closer. As his breath warms my mouth. As his body hovers close over me, the air between us burning.

  And then he’s standing, a shuddering breath straining at the taut line of his shoulders. One hand rises to scrub roughly through his hair.

  “I don’t fuck drunk girls.”

  I manage to shuffle onto the prop of my elbows. Where do the words come from? It’s because he’s leaving. It’s because suddenly I’m cold and alone, and I know exactly what I want.

  All that I want.

  “Then stay. Just to sleep. Just stay here, with me.”

  I want him here beside me. Even if nothing happens. It’s so vulnerable a truth that it aches. I want us to be alone in the quiet, like we were on that ledge. Like we are when we ride together. When we’re perfect.

  Chase’s face is suddenly hard. The light from the en suite picks out the chiseled line of his jaw, tensed to a harsh angle. He’s stepping away, picking up the dropped clothes and putting them beside me.

  “I told you. I don’t do that.”

  I don’t date.

  I only realize I’ve grabbed his wrist when I’m holding it. My skin is so pale over the black ink of his own. All those stories written in a language I can’t read.

  I can’t understand what his eyes are saying. But the words come anyway. How could they not? When I can see how he wants me, and feel the shields he’s pulling up over himself.

  I know a thing or two about shields, after all.

  “Chase …”

  His pulse races beneath the sweep of my thumb. Beneath her name.

  Just a few black lines, and somehow they loom between us.

  I shouldn’t have said anything. Chase’s face is blank and hard, a muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw. But all the words are slipping from my drunken mouth, striking the wrong notes in the air.

  “Felicity. Did something … Did something happen, with her?”

  This time Chase’s touch truly hurts. He rips my fingers from his skin and jerks his arm away, and the look he gives me is horrible. He’s cupping her name with his other hand, sweeping it with his thumb like it’s precious. I can hardly notice. Not when Chase is snarling at me.

  “She has nothing to do with this.” He’s shaking with anger. Frustration snaps hot in his voice, and it’s not the delicious heat of before. It’s harsh and cruel, the words bitten vicious. “Is that what you want to know? If this is the name of some girl I fucked?”

  My mouth won’t work. I can feel it open, the air stale on my tongue. My fingers hurt where Chase grabbed at them.

  “Well, it’s not. And it’s none of your business.”

  I’m frozen, and Chase’s look is fire.

  “I’ve been honest with you, Brooke.” The words are so low I can hear the bass downstairs, an unnerving drumbeat beneath us. “You know what I can offer you.”

  Chase almost rips the door off its hinges as he yanks it open.

  “If you can’t handle not serious, that’s your problem.”

  It all comes crashing down, and I feel like an idiot. An idiot, and so alone.

  The door slams shut after him.

  14

  What have I done.

  I look at Chase’s room around me, bright in the morning light. I’ve woken up in his bed, alone and naked but for his T-shirt, and I cringe with embarrassment.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god.

  It takes me a long time to feel ready to face the world. My clothes ar
e somewhere downstairs, so I have to pull on Chase’s track pants. They’re absolutely huge on me, even when I’ve rolled up half the length of them. I pull the drawstring so tight that they bunch around my waist. In the mirror, my face looks exactly how I feel.

  An absolute disgrace.

  All I want to do is text Alex for moral support, but I realize with a sickening twist of my queasy stomach that my phone’s somewhere downstairs. Downstairs, where I’ll have to see everyone else.

  Hunter and JJ are on the couch in front of the TV. They don’t look much better than I do. No one’s at their best in the detritus of last night’s party. Hunter at least has a self-satisfied look on his face, sharing the plate of toast perched on his knee with the gorgeous bed-headed blonde who’s draped over him.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” he drawls toward me with a teasing grin. “You have a good time last night?” He lets his eyes linger over Chase’s clothes to make the implication clear.

  I stand there self-conscious, my arms crossed tight over my chest, and give them what I want to be a breezy smile but I know isn’t at all. “Oh, I conked out. That snow run seemed to make all the liquor hit me.”

  Am I imagining it, or is JJ’s delayed look toward me a little cool? He waves his toast toward a chair. “Your stuff’s there.”

  “Thanks.” I have a vision of grabbing it and making a quick escape. At least we aren’t scheduled to film today. I’ll have time to go back, recover, forget—

  “Is this yours?”

  Chase.

  I’m frozen. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he’s holding out my phone, but I couldn’t rip my gaze away from his face if I tried. How does he look so good? He can’t have drunk that much. His eyes are clear. His look jumps over mine too quickly, like he’s searching for something.

  I swallow as I take my phone from him. His fingers hold on a fraction too long.

  “You feeling okay?” His hand twitches as if he wants to do something with it, but instead he rearranges the movement to run his fingers through his hair.

  “Yeah.” My voice sounds as dry as it feels. “Thanks for your stuff. I’ll leave it on your bed.”