Suite Embrace

“Good, now gently slide your right ski ahead of your left,” Mark told his student before letting go. He stepped back to watch Goldie try, for the fifth time, to push off the hill and head down the beginners’ slope, praying she would be successful. She was a terrible student with no sense of balance, but she was also the mega-wealthy daughter of one of Colorado’s finest jewelers and had paid quite a premium for the deluxe ski package. He had to make sure she got her money’s worth.

He had been working with Goldie for two days without much progress at all, and was beginning to wonder if she had signed up for lessons only to spend time alone with him. That was not unusual, especially among the women he recruited while hanging out at the Ridge Rover bar in Woody Creek, where he often went to mix and mingle with the locals and guests from nearby resorts. His “impromptu” appearances always generated lots of excitement, leading to talk about his Olympic career, his worldwide travels and his methods of training. By the end of the evening, if he was lucky, he might have five or six new students lined up for classes at Scenic Ridge.

Now, with a jerk, Goldie moved one leg forward, hesitated and then let out an ice-shattering scream. Swaying unsteadily, she toppled to the left, clutched Mark, and collapsed against him, pulling them both to the ground.

“I can’t do this, Mark!” Goldie loudly complained. “I’ll never learn to ski!” She snatched off her goggles and hurled them across the snow where they shattered against a shaggy pine tree. Next, she yanked off her red knit cap and pressed her head hard to Mark’s chest, slumping dramatically against him. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a skier,” she groaned.

“Don’t give up so easily,” Mark encouraged, starting to push her away.

Quickly, Goldie leaned back and smiled up at him, shaking out her hair to release a cascade of tangled platinum curls that framed a startling, beautiful face. Her alabaster skin was flushed pink from the cold and her eyes were a cool aquamarine, now narrowed to half-mast in mock-anger. “And I wanted so much to have a successful lesson today. Maybe this whole ski vacation idea was not so great, huh? Maybe I ought to go home before I break something.”

Mark shrugged, and then sat in the snow to calmly listen while Goldie continued to whine about her clumsiness, her disappointment in herself and the cold weather. He knew she was putting on an act, and that she was picking up the tab for three deluxe ski packages for herself, her sister and her mother-in-law, dropping a bundle of cash for their one-week stay at Scenic Ridge. There was no way he was going to encourage her to cancel her plans and leave. After all, he was more than a ski instructor at Scenic Ridge: he was part of the team, and as such, he had to make sure that each guest was a satisfied customer, which sometimes took some doing.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll get there. It takes time,” he reassured Goldie, taking in the scent of her perfume, which he recognized right away—Electric Orchid—two-hundred-fifty dollars an ounce. He also recognized a bored, rich, spoiled young woman eager for an affair with her ski instructor when he saw one. How many women like her had he dealt with over the years? Too damn many to count.

“Come on. Let’s try again,” Mark urged as he began to untangle himself from Goldie’s clutch, convinced that she was much more interested in holding on to him than her two ski poles, which lay scattered in the snow a few feet away.

“No. Not now,” Goldie decided, snuggling deeper into her instructor’s arms, as if settling in for a chat. She zeroed in on Mark, adopting an expression that told him she was not going anywhere, anytime soon. She grabbed hold of the front of his jacket and pushed her face even closer to his. “Can’t we just sit here and talk?”

Holding his breath, and desperate to mask his growing irritation, Mark eased her fingers off the zipper of his jacket. “No, I don’t think so. It’s getting late and I’m already way behind schedule.” Somehow, he managed to stand and then help Goldie to her feet. Luckily her skis were still intact. “Okay. Assume the same position as before. Take your time.”

Goldie started to do as Mark asked, but then suddenly stopped and whirled around. “My goggles!” she shouted, pointing to the broken glasses at the base of the pine tree in the distance. “I can’t see a thing without them. I won’t do this without my wrap goggles. I’ll ruin my eyes.”

Mark shot Goldie a dagger of exasperation, fully aware that her designer goggles had cost at least three hundred dollars and he knew she would not settle for a generic pair that he could pull from his equipment bag. “You’re right,” he acquiesced, scanning the bright, white blanket of snow spread across the gentle slopes and glazing the tall mountainsides. “You need to protect your eyes. Let’s quit for today. We’ll start again tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”

“Thank God,” Goldie agreed. “But what will I do about goggles? Mine cost…”

“I know,” Mark interrupted. He certainly didn’t need her to tell him what high end ski accessories cost. He’d bought and worn only the best goggles, jackets, boots and sports clothing—purchased from the most fashion conscious retailers in the world—throughout his entire career. If there was one thing Mark Jorgen knew, besides how to ski, it was how to dress to impress on the slopes. “I’m going into Aspen in the morning to pick up a package at the post office,” he went on. “I’ll be happy to get you another pair while I’m in town. I know Gorsuch carries them and they’ll be compliments of Scenic Ridge. How’s that? We’ll try again tomorrow afternoon.”

“Fine with me,” Goldie decided, her annoyance quickly fading. “And if you’re going into town anyway, I’d love to tag along. There’s this gorgeous set of hand-carved….”

Mark tuned Goldie Lamar out as she rattled on and on about some trinket she had seen in a quaint shop on Cooper Avenue, knowing he would probably have to take her with him tomorrow. Anything to satisfy a big-spending guest.

After escorting Goldie back to the lift, Mark waved her off and finished his classes for the day. As pale shadows began to form on the snow-covered slopes, he shouldered his skis and hopped a lift to head back to his private lodgings at the foot of the mountain, jumping off as soon as the car swung close to the ground. The crunch of hard-packed snow crackled under his fur-lined boots.

Mark lived in the Snow King Suite, the largest of four cabins, situated far from the main lodge, among the tall Aspen trees. Though referred to as suites, the cabins were especially designed for special guests who required privacy, luxury and who were willing to pay a handsome sum for it. Each cabin/suite featured handcrafted furnishings, carefully selected accessories, peaked pine ceilings, wood-burning fireplaces, full kitchen facilities and an outdoor hot tub.

As the head of the ski school at Scenic Ridge, he knew he was being treated more like a guest than an employee, and understood why: his competitive days might be over, but his name still had drawing power among serious ski aficionados. Why shouldn’t Scenic Ridge benefit from their association with him if it could bring in more money for the resort and keep him on the slopes?

Drawing in a deep breath, Mark slowed his pace and filled his lungs with crisp mountain air, in no real hurry to get home. He loved to walk home when he had finished working for the day, when the silence of winter calmed him down and muted the lingering echoes of all the shouting, complaining and chatter that he had to endure on the mountaintop.

Coming to work at Scenic Ridge was one of the best decisions he had ever made and he was very appreciative of Deena’s efforts to make him feel at home. She had insisted he move into private quarters at the lodge, which she could have rented for a thousand dollars a week. All of his meals were covered in his contract, and though his finances were not nearly as flush as they used to be, he was able to live in comfort while maintaining the illusion of success that befitted an Olympian.

Mark looked around. In the fading light, Scenic Ridge resembled a perfect luminous pearl nestled in the most beautiful section of the Roaring Fork River Valley. It was quaint, yet luxurious. Far enough away from the glitz and shine of Aspen to maintain its rustic ambiance, yet near enough to get to Buttermilk, Snowmass and the fancy shops and restaurants within an hour’s drive. The resort was small, but not cramped. Isolated, yet accessible. Exactly where he wanted to be.

He shrugged, a cynical smile touching his lips as he realized how content he actually was. It had not always been like this. Only a few years ago, he would have balked at living so far from the celebrity-filled world he had moved in. Then, he would have been staying in the most lavish suite in the most expensive hotel in Aspen, eating personally prepared meals in the most posh of restaurants and being entertained by the most beautiful girls within a five mile radius.

For most of Mark’s adult life he had lived the high-life as a celebrated Olympian, as the most famous black skier in the world—a title that had both plagued him and made him proud. As a world class competitive skier throughout Europe and the U.S., he had spent much of life either training under the keen eye of his manager-mother, Virina, or partying with a nouveau riche crowd. Oh, the times he had had while traveling the world and making love to any woman who turned his head: black, brown or white. European, African, Asian or Hispanic. Tall or short. At the height of his career it had not mattered to him what country a woman came from as long as she was gorgeous, belonged to the exclusive world of money and social standing that he moved in, enjoyed partying and loved lots of good sex.

But now, things were very different. He moved more slowly, was less concerned with money and social status, and was aware of how little it took to make him happy. He viewed the future as a clear sheet of ice on which he hoped to carve a beautiful future with the right woman, and until he found her, he was going to steer clear of women like Goldie Lamar, who in his opinion were shallow, self-absorbed snobs.

He was thirty-eight years old and knew he wanted children, stability, a wife and a home—preferably a rustic pine-log cabin high on a hill with a ski slope at his back door. Yes, it was time to find the right woman to settle down with, one with values, charm, a real work ethic and one who would not flaunt money in his face. He’d had enough of those bored, rich types to last him a lifetime. He might have to put up with them on the slopes, but he didn’t have to share his private time with them. In his opinion, having too much money could do more harm than good.

Chapter 4

Gorsuch, Ltd. was crowded and buzzing with conversation as men, women and a scattering of children oohed and aahed over the glamorous items on display in the upscale resort shop. Nestled beneath the towering Aspen Mountains, the store was an explosion of exquisite leather, fur and suede outerwear; fashion forward clothing in a fantasy of designs by world famous designers; unique home décor items for the ultrabeautiful homes of discriminating shoppers; and of course, skiwear of the highest order.

Skylar felt overwhelmed by the choices and the prices of the items surrounding her. Cautiously, she checked out the price tag on a pair of alligator boots—$4,250, and the matching handbag was only a few hundred dollars less.

“Ouch,” she murmured, setting aside the unusual footwear. Even though she could have afforded them, she had no intention of spending that kind of money on a pair of boots. She had always been a conservative shopper, and her approach to shopping wasn’t about to catch up with her bank account. Going crazy now would certainly undermine her desire to keep her wealth a secret while she was in Aspen.

Moving on, she picked out two fluffy blue sweatshirts off a clearance rack, and even though they were on sale, they still cost four times what she would have paid for similar items in Tampa. Next, she selected matching sweatpants, a red sweater and two fleece vests from another rack, and with a flip of her wrist, added two pairs of thick socks and a flannel nightgown to the pile. Unsure about what else she might need, she glanced around, spotted a salesclerk and signaled for help.

“Shoes,” Skylar managed, jostling the bundle of clothing that filled her arms.

“What kind?” the young woman asked, eyes wide in interest.

“Boots. But not four-thousand dollar alligators,” Skylar laughed. “That’s a bit out of my league.”

“I hear you,” the clerk commented. “You need indoor or outdoor? Ski boots or dress boots? Fur lined or suede lined? Waterproof or stain resistant? We’ve got ’em all.”

“Maybe indoor and outdoor. Not too fancy,” Skylar started, not sure what else to say. “Guess I need everything. Or whatever you think a person moving here from Florida needs. I have no idea what I’m getting into…and I’m on a tight budget,” she decided to add. “I just want to be comfortable, okay?”

A huge grin spread over the salesgirl’s face. “Sure, I get it.” She extended a hand. “I’m Cindy. Let me take those things from you so we can get busy, Miss…”

“Skylar. Skylar Webster.”

“Okay, Skylar. Leave it all to me. I think I know exactly what you need. Plus, you came at the right time, too. We’re having our annual ‘Freeze-Out Sale,’ and quite a few items are reduced. I’ll be right back.” The clerk hurried away, placed the bundle of clothing inside a dressing room and returned within seconds, a pamphlet in her hand. “Here’s a list of the essentials, things you must have if you want to be both stylish and comfortable while vacationing in Aspen.”

Skylar glanced over the colorful pamphlet and sighed. “I’m not really vacationing, and I don’t ski. You see, I’m going to be working at Scenic Ridge.”

“Oh, yeah, the ski school, right? Great. What are you going to be doing?”

“I’m the new concierge.”

“All right. You go, girl. Beautiful place. I went up there once with a friend of mine a few years ago. The road is tricky, though. Real narrow in places. Be careful on your way up.”

“Really? Thanks for warning me.”

“So, you’re from Florida, huh?” Cindy went on as she walked Skylar across the store. “What made you come up here?”

Skylar paused, knowing she ought to be careful. Aspen was not a very big place. It wouldn’t take long for information about her to spread if she started telling too much, and she didn’t want to take any chances. All this clerk really needed was her dress size, her shoe size and her credit card. Why bother to get into why she left Tampa or how long she planned to stay? “I have relatives in the area, and just wanted to be near them,” she said, satisfied with her half-truth.

“You’ve come to the right place to get outfitted, then,” Cindy said, stopping near a section of the store that was brimming with turtlenecks, blouses, slacks and jackets in every color and style imaginable.

“Okay. I’m lost, Cindy. Tell me what I need,” Skylar commented, fingering a silky top as she set off to create her new wardrobe.

For the next hour, Skylar tried on a variety of slacks, tops, parkas, boots, sweaters, socks, gloves and hats. By the time she was completely outfitted she was exhausted, and her checking account was about to be a little thinner, though, with Cindy’s guidance, she had found some very good bargains. Among them were a hooded parka with a fluffy raccoon collar, several thermo-stretch ski pants with matching tops, over-the-boot pants with coordinated wool cardigans, suede gloves and a Daniel Boone-style coyote hat.

“Fabulous choices,” Cindy remarked as she finished ringing up Skylar’s purchases. “And you saved a bit, too. But…oh my gosh, we forgot one very important item. Sunglasses and goggles. Up here, they’re absolutely necessary. Gotta cover those eyes and keep those wrinkles away. And if you do decide to get out on the slopes, you don’t want to go snow-blind, do you?” Cindy giggled and inclined her head toward a wall at the back of the shop. “Why don’t you go pick out a pair of sunglasses while I package your purchases and finish up here? And if you give me your car keys, I’ll have one of the stock boys put everything in your car.”

Trusting Cindy’s advice once again, Skylar handed over the keys to the Jeep she had rented at the airport and told Cindy where she was parked. Doing as she was told, she walked toward the back of the store where a number of display stands with a variety of sunglasses and goggles filled a corner.

Skylar stopped at the first display and selected a pair of shades with brown, tortoiseshell frames, slipped them on and then shook her head. Not for her. They didn’t flatter her face at all. After several more try-ons, she moved over to the next rack to stand opposite a man and a woman who were discussing a pair of black wraparound goggles.

The man was wearing a red down jacket with the hood thrown back, exposing a mass of tawny-brown hair that almost touched his shoulders. Skylar found the sight intriguing, yet a bit unnerving. How could a man have such gorgeous hair? Skylar thought, curious to see more of him. She edged forward a few inches and cut her eyes in his direction, visually following him as he walked over to a full-length mirror and tried on the goggles. She observed that his hair had a definite wave to it and his skin was golden tan. Skylar was pretty sure he was African-American, or at least of African descent.

After adjusting his goggles a few times, the man turned around and looked over at Skylar, catching her watching him.

With a start, she gasped and glanced away, unsure of why she had reacted so strongly, but keenly aware that she had been struck by something magnetic and powerful radiating from the guy, who quickly returned to studying his image in the mirror.

Curious, she chanced another peek. He looked mature. Maybe late thirties, she thought. She was stunned that she was actually calculating this stranger’s age and checking out his left hand. Umm…no ring there. However, he did have a flashy sparkler on his little finger.

Either this brother is filthy rich or seriously into high-profile bling, she decided, certain that the stone flashing back at her was much too large to be real.

Moving to another rack of glasses, she acted as if she was trying to pick out another to try on as she fingered a wire-rimmed pair, trying to ignore the guy. But she couldn’t resist peering over at him once more, and this time she really scrutinized features not hidden by his wraparound goggles. He had a prickly stubble of light brown hair shading his jaw and a tiny gold earring in his left ear. His nose, softly sculpted and wide at the base settled nicely above a set of perfectly shaped, white teeth that peeked out from behind lips that were generously full and wickedly sensuous.

Very kissable lips, she thought, sighing inwardly while admonishing herself for even thinking such crazy thoughts. She had come to Aspen to clear her mind, help her sister out and get over Lewis’s betrayal, not check out the available brothers or get romantically involved with a new man. But what harm was there in looking? she asked herself, liking what she saw.

She guessed that the eyes hidden behind those dark glasses were probably hazel, or maybe golden-brown like tiger’s eyes, and wondered if the broad stretch of his shoulder line was natural or the result of the padding in his parka. His skin, a beautiful tannish golden brown that perfectly matched his hair, stood in definite contrast to the woman with him, who was pale, blonde and ski-pole thin.

The blonde looked over and squinted, not happy to catch Skylar watching her man. The two locked eyes for a moment before Skylar broke off and focused on the sunglasses, putting the oddly matched couple and her curiosity about the guy out of her thoughts.

After a few quick try-ons, Skylar decided on a pair of silver framed aviators with bronze lenses reduced from $199 to $59.99. Turning, she prepared to leave.

“I wouldn’t get those if I were you,” the man in the red jacket told Skylar.

“Excuse me?” Skylar said, startled by the stranger’s remark.

“Those won’t do the job on the slopes. You need something with better protection,” he admonished, as if talking to a child. “Inside the store, they look a lot darker than they are. Outside, they won’t cut much light.”

“Thanks, but I think they’ll do just fine,” Skylar replied, trying to sound pleasant, even though his remark had struck her as rather presumptuous. He might be good looking but he wasn’t cute enough to take orders from. What did he know about sunglasses that made him such an expert anyway? She liked the aviators and they were exactly what she wanted.

“Try on the black wraps. You’ll love them,” the man suggested nonchalantly.

With a drop of her shoulders, Skylar simply stared at him as if he were crazy. She was tired, hungry and more than ready to get out of the store. The glasses in her hand would do just fine. It was getting late and she still had to stop at the drugstore to pick up a few toiletries and then hit the gas station to top off the tank of her rented Jeep before setting off to Scenic Ridge. She shook her head, “No thanks. I’ve got to get going.” She started to walk away.

“Trust me. They won’t be what you want,” the man in the red parka called out after Skylar.

His bossy tone set her teeth on edge. She stopped in mid-stride and whirled around. Who the hell are you to tell me what to buy? But, blinking her eyes and sucking back a smart remark, she decided it might not be a good idea to go off on the guy in public. This was a classy place and she didn’t want to make a scene, but it was hard to keep from flaring up at him.

“I’m fine with these,” she managed in a tight voice, thinking that the guy had some kind of an accent that she couldn’t place. Not African. Not Hispanic. And not French. He must be from the islands…overly friendly. Or he didn’t know any better, she decided, willing to forgive his rude behavior. “I appreciate your interest,” she told him. “However, I prefer the ones I picked out.”

“You’ll be sorry,” he insisted as he reached for a pair of Manu wraps similar to those that both he and the blonde woman were wearing. He held them up and swung them back and forth in Skylar’s face. “These are a bit more expensive than the aviators, but if you can afford them, I’d go with these. Think of it as an investment in your eyes.”

His condescending tone hit a nerve in Skylar that sent a hot flash into her chest. “If I can afford them?” she tossed back, trying to keep her voice within some kind of a normal range. “That’s a rude thing to say. How dare you insinuate that I have to worry about money? Do I look like a sister who has money problems?” she asked, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from blurting out the secret she was determined to keep as long as she was in Aspen.

“No, no,” the man stuttered helplessly, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that at all.”

Skylar glared at him, unable to respond. She was wearing dark rinse jeans, a white cable knit sweater, a brown leather bomber jacket and brown ankle boots. Her jewelry was understated, but real gold, and she knew her hairstylist back in Tampa had hooked up her locks just fine before she left town. I might not look like a fashion diva, but I know I don’t look ghetto, either, she told herself. In her most flippant, sister-girl voice, she told the guy, “Look. You don’t even know me, so don’t get too personal, okay? I don’t need your help, and I surely don’t need your investment advice.”

The man threw up both hands and stepped back, smiling. “Hey. Sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to help you save money in the long run. I was just offering a tip from experience.”

“Leave her alone,” the blond woman now interjected, moving close and slipping her arm possessively through her companion’s. She graced Skylar with a smug, too-sweet smile, and clutched her apparent boyfriend’s jacket sleeve even harder. “If the lady wants to waste her money, let her. We have other things to do than worry about her. I told you I wanted to go over to Duval’s. Come on,” she said and gave the guy’s arm a hard tug.