Something to Prove

“I can’t remember the last time I went up in one of those things. Honestly.” She shook her head. “They’ve been erased from all my memories, muscle and brain.”

“Then I’ll help you remember.” He guided her to the spot where skiers were supposed to stand, waiting for the chair that would bump beneath their backsides, scooping them onto their seats for the long, cold ride up the mountain.

“I don’t think so, Brody.” It had been so long since her body knew what to do here. And she was going up the lift with the master of his sport.

“You’re doing great.” Just as the automated chair brushed against the backs of her thighs, he lifted her effortlessly onto the bench seat. She hadn’t realized she was frozen, stammering, her mouth gaping open.

He murmured into her ear. “The pain will be worth it, Manda. You’ll see.”

His warm, sexy breath sent shivers up her spine. Why did he have to have this sweet side to him, too?

And why did she have to want to be with him so much? She’d talked herself into trying on the rental skis in the first place by convincing herself that it might prove useful with some mythical future article. After all, few people could say they’d skied with the great Brody Jones.

But she was fooling herself if she thought that was really why she’d followed him out here.

She blew out her breath as he settled the chairlift bar around them. Reaching across her waist, he gathered her poles, clasping them together with his. “Hang on,” he said. “It’s an old-style lift and it’s going to swing in the wind a bit.”

She nodded, her teeth chattering, and he tucked his free arm around her, holding her securely. Despite the danger, she felt protected, even as their chair swung and dipped in the air, as though they were riding a roller coaster.

To her surprise, sensations came flooding back to her from years past, bittersweet in their memories. Feelings and images she must have hidden deep.

Riding a lift like this one with her mom and sister as a child, Jeannie in the middle seat.

“I forgot how much I liked this part,” she blurted out. “Starting at the bottom of the hill with the whole journey ahead of us.”

“Yeah, it’s the anticipation of things to come,” he agreed.

Amanda drank in the view of the valley and the church-like quiet as they rose higher, their skis skimming along above the treetops. As far as she could see, the mountain and its snowy outcroppings never ended. The line ahead was long, with dozens of empty chairs in front of them and empty chairs behind. She heard Brody’s contented sigh, his deep intake of the clean, cold air that smelled of freshly fallen snow.

She’d missed afternoons like these. Buried beneath all the memories of the fights and humiliations with MacArthur, there had been earlier days when she’d felt happy on the slopes. A flash of her mom’s face shone clearly in her mind. She had worried she would forget what her mom looked like, but sitting on this old-style chairlift, in this old-style resort, how could she? Not while she was in the winter and the snow and the mountains, Mom’s favorite place.

Leaning into the warmth of Brody’s body, she gazed up at him. Without him, she never would have realized these things. He smiled down at her, too, with eyes as blue as the sky. There was no doubt in her mind that Mom would have liked him. Above all, he was kind.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He exhaled and his head lowered. It was the most natural thing in the world to meet him halfway.

His lips brushed hers, a light touch considering all his coiled power. Everything physical about him—his arm around her shoulders, his chest close to her chest, his muscular thigh nestled against hers on the bench—bled into her consciousness. Sighing, she parted her lips.

And that was it, the warmth burst into sparks. Brody gave a low groan. She opened her mouth and he kissed her deeply, his lips catching her upper lip while she gently sucked and drew him in. It felt so erotic and sensual kissing him that her head swam. All she could do was gasp. Her sexual feelings, so long stifled, were swamping her.

For months and months she’d been deliberately closing herself off, listening to Jeannie tell her how great it was with Massimo. For months and months she’d been fighting to establish herself in her chosen career by weekday, and advocating for her mother’s care by weekend.

Now it was her turn to enjoy some romance. She sighed and held Brody tighter, kissing him as if he was hers. And groaning, he kissed her back. Under the heavy parka, sweater, turtleneck and bra, her nipples came awake and peaked. Wriggling on the bench, she pulled off her glove to unzip her jacket, to settle herself closer to him.

“Manda—”

“Hmm?” Just as a wave was beginning to hit her, he broke away and raised the chairlift bar, then lifted her by the waist and glided with her down the short exit slope.

She felt breathless and dizzy, trying to orient herself, clinging to Brody. At the end of the path, he set her on solid ground.

Except it wasn’t solid ground. It was slippery, frozen snow. With her weak knees, her skis went out from under her. What a metaphor, she thought, but then Brody caught her and smoothly held her upright.

She inhaled a breath of cold mountain air and gazed up at him. His face was flushed.

“You kiss really, really well,” she said.

Humor was always good. Worked in every situation.

“I’m, ah, sorry about that.” He wiped his mouth. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Don’t ruin it. I’ve never been kissed so well.”

BRODY SHOOK HIS HEAD. Was he out of his mind? He hadn’t intended anything physical with Amanda, not at all. Maybe that was why his pulse raced as if he’d just finished a slalom run. And stupidly, all his body could think of was going back and doing it again.

Forget it. He swiveled and looked for the marker pointing to the Leopardo trail. Four trails originated at this lift, but he’d made a lousy decision because not only were the snow conditions icy and hard, but the Leopardo trail was too steep for a novice. He really would have to carry her to the ledge he’d wanted her to see, a loaded proposition given the way he’d already kissed her, but what choice did he have?

“Ah, Amanda, sometimes I ski with blind kids. I have them ski in front of me, and I hold their waists and guide them down the slope. Are you game to try that?”

“You do charity work?” she asked, that inquisitive reporter’s look wrinkling her nose.

“Don’t even go there,” he warned.

“Why? I’m interested in what you do.”

He glanced away so as not to get trapped by those probing hazel-green eyes of hers. “I have a foundation that works with kids—not just blind kids—but I don’t want to talk about it with a journalist.”

“Is that how you think of me?” She crossed her arms and frowned at him. “We just kissed, Brody.”

Yeah, no kidding. His body was screaming at him to take that one last step toward her and kiss her again, here in the snow at the top of the cold, darkening peak. Because he was burning so hot, he needed to cool down.

Two skiers came off the chairlift and turned toward them. “Hey, Brody,” one of them called. “Get a room!”

He muttered a curse. Which was a mistake. Because at the word, Amanda sucked in her breath and pointed her skis down the Leopardo trail. Planting her poles, she pushed off with a cry, tucking her body in a fair approximation of an alpine ski racer.

And damned if something about her form didn’t remind him of Jeannie Jensen. He’d seen the video—like thousands of people he’d watched the internet clip of Jeannie’s horrific, head-over-heels crash run last winter.

That’s why Amanda is afraid of skiing. Kicking himself, he followed her down the slope. He caught up to her within seconds, and the sight of her cute bottom in the tight black pants, wiggling from side to side, made his mouth drop open.

Yeah, she was hot, but it was her technique that shocked him. Somebody who knew their stuff had taught her to ski, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Maybe she wasn’t fast or aggressive—certainly not reckless like him—but she knew how to turn cleanly and plant her poles.

He was about to pass her so he could motion her to stop at the outcropping at the base of the hill, but when she saw what he’d brought her up here to see, she abruptly halted.

A MAGNIFICENT WINTER SUNSET spread orange and gold rays across the valleys of the Alps. Amanda stood on the ledge, her breath puffing in front of her, and thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful.

The scrape of skis against snow sounded behind her, and she knew without turning that it was Brody. She heard the clank of metal against plastic as he released his feet from his ski bindings, then the crunch of hard-packed snow as he stabbed the ends of the skis into the mountainside.

He stalked toward her and stepped between the backs of her skis. “What was that all about?” His voice was rough against her ear.

With a sigh she leaned back into his chest. “This is a beautiful sunset.”

“Someone taught you,” he insisted. “You have textbook technique.”

She nearly laughed. “You don’t know how ironic it is to hear you say that.”

And then, because she owed him an explanation, she did the difficult thing and told him the truth. “Okay, I’m just…upset because my mom would have loved it up here. That’s all.”

Brody’s cheek pressed against the side of her cap and his hands went to her waist. “Is she the one who taught you to ski?”

Her heart was going to break wide open if she wasn’t careful.

“Y-yes.” She bit the inside of her cheek and turned to him. “I told you, I’m a girl from the north country, and so was my…mom. Like you said, we all grow up learning to ski.” She faked a shrug.

“How long ago did you lose her?” he asked quietly.

She thought about deflecting him, but couldn’t. “Sh-she died two months ago.”

He pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek. “Manda, I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your fault. I’ve been putting it out of my mind, but being in the mountains, it was bound to come back.” She blinked quickly, forcing herself past the rawness of her grief. “What about you?” she said with a phony smile. “Do you often come up here just to visit the sunset?” She kept it as light and teasing as she could, because she didn’t want him to know how badly losing her mom had hurt. The wound was still too fresh, too raw, so she simply did her best to pretend it didn’t exist.

She laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll bet you bring a different woman with you up here every time you ski this resort, don’t you, Brody?”

But he just looked at her as if he understood the emotion she’d been fighting and didn’t judge her for it. “I’ve been training on this mountain for over ten years, Manda, and this is the first time I’ve brought anyone here.”

She might not have believed him if she hadn’t seen the flush creep into his cheeks. “Oh,” she murmured.

“You coming from home and all, I thought you were the right person to finally see it with.”

Her eyes felt moist and she realized it was because his motives were pure. He’d come up here not to make out with her on a chairlift, but because he liked her and wanted to spend time with her. She couldn’t remember the last time a guy had genuinely wanted to get to know her better, with no ulterior motives.

Who was she kidding? It had never happened. Going to a ski-country boarding school and then college, she’d found most guys who pursued her only did so because they wanted a chance to meet her famous ski-coach father. But Brody already knew her father, and he didn’t want a thing to do with him. Brody was up here because of her.

She pulled off her heavy ski glove and wiped at her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She just shook her head. Tomorrow in church with Jeannie would be one of the hardest mornings of her life, if she were honest with herself, but right now was perfect. “Nothing about this day is wrong,” she said softly. She held out her hand and he took it. “I like skiing with you.”

But the sun was sinking, and soon it would be too dark to ski. She wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. She felt comforted by his presence, and she didn’t want him to leave. She certainly didn’t want to go back to Jeannie’s party.

“Do you want to grab some dinner?” he asked, still holding her hand. “I can ask one of the guys on my team to pick up some sandwiches for us. If we take that trail—” he pointed with his chin toward the left fork “—there’s a place at the bottom where we can meet him. It’s a harder trail, but I know you’re capable.”

She made a small laugh. “I’ll never get over how ironic that sounds.”

“Will you stay?” With his free hand, he fumbled inside his jacket pocket for his phone.

“Yes, Brody. I’ll stay.”

CHAPTER FIVE

AMANDA LOVED THE TINY, QUIRKY Leopardo Hotel. One of the guys who worked for Brody met them there with a grocery bag filled with sandwiches, a bottle of wine, real cutlery and glasses for a mini-picnic in the room Brody rented. As he set it on a table in front of the already-burning fire, Amanda smelled fresh salami, cheeses and yeasty bread fresh from the oven.

“There’s a woman in the village we trust,” Brody explained, opening up his wallet and pulling out some cash. “She has a clean kitchen and makes great food the way we ask her to.”

Amanda’s stomach growled. She unzipped Jeannie’s ski jacket and then stepped out of the rental boots the way Brody had done.

“Sorry,” he said, turning from paying the young guy for the meal. “Amanda, this is Steve. He’s my ski tech. Steve, this is Amanda.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Amanda held out her hand, but Brody’s ski tech ducked his head, his shaggy blond hair covering his eyes, and mumbled something she couldn’t catch. He was out the door before Amanda could say anything more.

“Don’t mind him,” Brody said, “he’s shy.”

There must have been a lot of that going around, because she was suddenly feeling it too. She bit her lip as he pulled out a bottle of wine from the bag and immediately started uncorking it. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He passed her a glass of red wine—Barolo, according to the label. “Do you want to toast?”

She looked at the glass for a long time. The wine glittered in the firelight like rubies. “I really shouldn’t drink anything.” She could feel the flush in her face. What the heck, she might as well state the obvious. “Jeannie’s wedding is tomorrow morning, and then I’m flying home afterward.”

She gazed at him so he’d know. “To New York City.”

“I…YEAH.”

Brody got the message, loud and clear. There was no future to this…whatever they were doing. But was it bad that he only cared about now?

He tossed the corkscrew into the grocery bag. They should just eat dinner and then say goodbye. He could take her phone number and call her when he’d accomplished what he needed to.

But he didn’t want to eat or to say goodbye. Not yet. He didn’t want anything but for Amanda to stay a while longer.

He stabbed the metal poker at a burning log, licking with flames. The wisest thing to do was to end the day on a high note. Escort Amanda back to her hotel and get his head straight for tomorrow, which was packed with training sessions and meetings.

Amanda’s soft laugh sounded behind him. He glanced back to see her holding a condom box.

Whoa. The kid had packed condoms with their dinner? He shook his head. He needed to have a talk with Steve, pronto.

But she was laughing, her head tilted. “Magnums, huh?”

A roaring sounded in his ears. She wasn’t shooting down the idea. “I didn’t tell him to do that.”

“But he’s used to your habits, isn’t he?”

“No, I don’t have habits—he’s just a stupid kid who doesn’t understand that I don’t do this. Not for any reason.”

Maybe he was too vehement, because a look flickered across her face—like disappointment or sorrow.

What was happening here?

Touch her. If I don’t touch her, she’ll leave.

And he didn’t want her to leave.

In a moment he was beside her, pressing her to him and pulling off her woolen cap and resting his chin on her soft hair. He gathered it up and inhaled. Her shampoo smelled like summer raspberries. She was the summer to his winter, and it was killing him.

“Brody…” she breathed. And then her sunny gaze settled on his mouth, tempting him.

He exhaled and closed his eyes. He needed her to stay. With a guttural moan, he kissed her full on the mouth again, and as before, she made a small sound of need then opened her lips to him. His tongue swept inside, mingling with hers, kissing her like he’d never kissed another woman. She tasted so good, he didn’t care if tomorrow never came.

“Please,” she whispered, urging him on, and her slight hands were tugging at his waistband. It was so easy to slide his hands down from her silky hair and along the sides of her torso to the edge of her shirt, before pulling it over her breasts and up over her head. He dropped the shirt, heard it whisper to the floor.

Her bra was lace. Peach lace, and he could see even pinker skin beneath and a beaded, rosy nipple. A feeling of helplessness overtook him, as if he’d jumped into a pool so deep he couldn’t escape if he wanted to. “Yes,” she murmured, and he slid his thumb beneath the lace and stroked.

She felt so soft, so welcoming to him. He’d never wanted to be anywhere more. His mouth went to her breast. She gasped and pressed her hips against him, against the hardness in his jeans.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked in a low voice.

“Since the moment we first shook hands in the interview room.”

He smiled, his cheek catching against her fullness. During the interview he’d been distracted by the same thought. He lifted his head, smoothing back her hair and gazing into her eyes.

She nodded. And to let him know exactly what she wanted from him, no mistake, she reached under his cotton shirt, dragging it up and across his skin.

He sucked in his breath at the feel of her cool hands touching him—across his chest, his shoulders, down his arms. He had a scar there, from stitches when he’d been a teen and had face-planted at Whistler. Her fingers hesitated and then shook, as if he scared her.

He stood motionless. She could still back out if he wasn’t careful.

“Does this hurt?” she whispered.

“No,” he said honestly.

With a sigh she raised his arm and pressed kisses across his scar. He lost it and picked her up, carried her to the couch. Something seemed to drop away—the gate he’d been keeping closed, the control he’d been adopting for her sake. But she’d asked for it, and he was here, and yeah, maybe this was truly who he was.

He peeled away her bulky clothing—all of it, every last stitch—and he was glad for the crackling fire. “You, too,” she said, and he sat back, letting her undress him, helping her take off his jeans.

Her fingers rested on his erection tenting the cotton boxer briefs, and he hissed out a breath.

He was waiting for her to stop him. He didn’t want her to—he was ready for this—but if she was going to change her mind then he needed her to tell him so now, because he no longer could think of any reason he shouldn’t—

Her hand edged beneath his boxers and gently stroked him, skin to skin. It took all his concentration not to move. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow.

“Brody, it’s been so long for me,” she whispered, “you have no idea.”

Like hell he didn’t. It had been two years for him, too, living like a monk in his self-imposed new way of life. “Believe me, I know.”

And then he cupped her face in his hands. She’d shown him that what he’d done those two years was right. Just as what he was doing now was right. He wanted her to know that though he’d known her only a short time, in that short time he’d shared a deeper connection with her than he’d had with any other woman. And he wanted to complete that before she left. Because their time together was only temporary.

But their connection didn’t have to be.

She blinked and tilted her head to him, questioning. But he couldn’t tell her everything he’d been thinking, he could only show her what he meant. He was a physical guy; physical was what he did best. By making love to her, he would be holding on to the moment as long as he could. He pulled her onto his lap. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, Brody.”

“Good.”

And then he pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her, deeply, again and again, using her gasps and whispered pleadings as his course markers.

Her hands dropped from his shoulders to his waist, clutching him. And it was a pleasure to stroke her bare skin. To take his thumb and drag it through her beautiful curls. He caressed her, a rhythm she set with him by dragging her hips against his hand. Her skin was dewy and damp and she was smiling at him. It was more than a pleasure to glide his fingers inside her as her body pulsed and contracted around him.

“You’re killing me,” she whispered.

He drew back his hand.

“No, I mean, I want you to…do everything. I want to feel you inside me…”

The condom packet, he remembered. Cripes, the kid was smarter than he was. And then they were both fumbling for the box.

“Let me do this,” she said. He let her take the condom and sheath him with shaky, unpracticed fingers, but he didn’t interrupt to help her. It was more erotic to him than anything he could imagine.

When she was done, he took her hand and kicked open a door until he found the bed. It had a thick feather comforter, and he led her to it. She immediately pulled him to her, body to body, skin to skin. Her legs wrapped around the small of his back, and he almost lost it right there. He tasted the sweetness of her skin before he dragged himself to his elbows and cupped her cheeks. He kissed her, gently at first, and then more deeply.

“Brody, please, I can’t wait.” She arched her hips to him and without hesitation, he stroked inside her. It was as if he were made to fit her. She rose to meet his thrusts, gasping every time his body touched her where she wanted it most, and when his mouth caught her nipple and sucked it.

“I need this so bad,” she whispered.

He became intent on loving her, his aim to fill her up, to bring her somewhere with him, to keep her pleasured and content. He could barely take a breath before she was rocking into him, coaxing him higher, better, closer to fulfillment.

With a cry, she gripped his shoulders, shattered and came, a sweet release that went on and on. He caught her cries in his mouth and he came himself, muttering her name as her drove into her body, unable to stop, not for anybody or anything.

“Oh, Brody.”

He slumped in her arms, a roaring in his ears. He felt more rooted in his own body than he’d ever known. What’s going on? he dimly thought. Is it supposed to be like this?

And then her eyes met his, so shy and shining with happiness just to be with him, and he thought, Yeah. Yeah, it is.

She drew the sole of her beautiful foot up his leg to the small of his back, settling there. Maybe he’d found a little piece of heaven.

This, he would hold on to. This, he would make a place for.

HOURS LATER, AMANDA STRETCHED, her body throbbing. She and Brody lay tangled in the twisted sheets, the scents of their skin intermingled.

Never had she done anything so outrageously out of character as to have sex—and unbelievable sex, at that—with a man she’d only known for a day.

It must be Italy. Smiling to herself, she caressed her fingers over the broad, hard planes of Brody’s chest and biceps. He was built like a masterpiece. Thick muscles, masculine, lightly haired skin, a rugged jaw lined with a day’s growth of faint, prickly beard.