Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1), Page 2

  “As much as I egg you on, dude, I gotta tell ya, life is complicated enough. One woman—the right woman—is more than enough for me. I have to wonder why on earth you’re so afraid of getting married,” Dave said.

  “Not afraid. Too smart to get caged.” Blake smiled. “Come on. Whaddaya say? One more ski trip before the season’s over?”

  “You know, there are people who can help you work through that mommy drama of yours.” Dave pulled out his cell phone scrolled through his contacts. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper, then shoved it into Blake’s pants' pocket. “I looked her up a few months ago. I didn’t see her, but I heard she’s great.”

  “Hooker?”

  “Therapist,” Dave said with a serious tone. “Okay, look, it has been a while since we've skied. Rusty has a game tomorrow, but how about a night run on Saturday?”

  Blake eyed Dave expectantly, waiting for him to say that he forgot he had plans with Sally, Rusty needed help studying, or it was family movie night at their house. He touched his pocket, wondering why Dave would have a therapist’s number, then dismissed the thought and moved on to planning their evening of skiing.

  “What?” Dave asked.

  “Hadn’t you better check with wifey first?” Blake asked.

  “Sally doesn’t care what I do. I mean, she cares, but it’s my choice.”

  Blake heard hesitation in Dave’s voice and raised his eyebrows.

  “I know you can’t understand this, Casanova, but I actually like spending time with my family. I like the mundane of knowing they’re there. I like coming home to the same woman every day, knowing what perfume she’ll have on, and yes, even knowing that Friday nights are family movie night and Sundays are our date night.” Dave sighed. “Look, Saturday night. I’ll make it happen.”

  Blake shook his head.

  “What’s that? Blood?” Dave pointed to Blake’s elbow.

  “What?” Blake looked at a smear of blood on his elbow. “Goddamnit.” He walked toward the bathroom to wash it off. Now the snarky woman had ruined his favorite Rossignol long-sleeve shirt. Sure, he had too many of the same type of shirt from every manufacturer around, but this shirt was the one his father had mailed him when they’d opened their ski shop, AcroSki. It was light gray, one size too small, and hugged him in all the right places. The perfect base layer. It was his lucky shirt, and now it was probably ruined.

  Dave was on his heels. “Blood? What’s up with that?”

  “I elbowed some woman by accident at the coffee shop. She got a bloody nose.” The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind, with the cutest mole he’d ever seen right above her luscious lips.

  “Is that why you’re in a shitty mood?” Dave asked.

  Blake stopped walking and turned to face Dave. “I’m not in a shitty mood. I’m just tired.”

  “If this isn’t a shitty mood, then you’re a virgin, too.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a tight line and walked away.

  The bathroom was bright and, thankfully, empty. Blake pulled at his shirtsleeve to inspect the damage. He’d never hit a woman before, not even by accident, and the one time he made a mistake, she bleeds all over his favorite shirt? Just his luck. He pulled his shirt over his head and rinsed the elbow area with cold water. The water turned pink from the runoff.

  The bathroom door swung open, the Men’s Room sign clear in big, bold, blue letters on the door.

  “Oops. Sorry,” the redhead said with a coy smile.

  Blake feigned a smile in return. He was in no mood for a quick bathroom romp. He’d done it before—bathroom, airplane, even on a ski lift. Hell, there was probably nothing he hadn’t done before, but he was not in the mood for it now.

  The woman shimmied over and put her hand on his bare back. “Want some help with that?” She leaned in close, brushed her breast against his bare chest.

  Blake steeled his stance. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  Red reached over and put her hands on top of his, moving it in a scrubbing motion just as he was. “I’m good with my hands. I can probably get that right out.”

  I’ll bet you are. Her hair smelled of roses, her shoulder and neck of Obsession perfume. Blake felt the familiar desire pulling him toward her. He leaned back. Behave, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.

  The woman turned and put her wet hands on Blake’s biceps, her lips an inch from his. “My girlfriend,” she said, running her wet index finger down his arm, “said you liked a little fun.”

  “Did she?” Blake had a hazy recollection of the other woman from the only non-touristy bar in town, Bar None. He cringed. Was the town really that small? Blake was torn between his growing erection and the anger he’d felt moments before she’d come into the bathroom.

  “Mm-hmm. I thought I might meet you after work and,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “help you release some stress. Drinks, my place?” She planted soft kisses down his neck.

  To any other man, this might have seemed unusual, but to Blake—who'd been intimate with too many women to count, in too many places to remember—this was an everyday occurrence. Something he normally thrived on. Today, all he wanted was to clean his damned shirt and forget the woman from earlier that morning.

  Her lips moved down his chest, circling his nipple.

  “You look stressed. Maybe this will help.” She ran her tongue down his stomach and back up again.

  Blake dropped his shirt into the sink and turned, pressing his groin into the woman’s hips. “Maybe it would.” Unable to withstand the sizzling heat of her lust, he gave in to the familiar release that he’d given in to over a hundred times before. He brought his lips to her neck, kissing and licking until she was moaning, grabbing his ass and pulling it toward her. His eyes lingered on the shirt. His favorite shirt. The shirt that was stained with that other woman’s blood. His erection faltered.

  Red reached for his crotch, massaging him through his jeans, and planted quick licks of her tongue on his neck and chest. The wetness lingered there, cool and sharp. She unbuttoned his jeans, the tip of his erection pressed against the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. She slid her hand inside the denim and cradled his balls through the soft cotton.

  Blake closed his eyes, submitting to the desire that swelled within him. Not good enough for you? Anger at the morning’s snub surged through him. I’ll show you how good I am. He grabbed Red by the back of her head and kissed her hard. She moaned with pleasure, her hand still working its magic. He lifted her up and onto the counter, forcefully reaching under her dress and pulling her thong to the side. He pushed his pants down, slipped on a condom, and wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled away from his grasp, looking down at his massive erection.

  “Oh yeah, she wasn’t lying,” she purred. She pulled him against her.

  With one hand, he grabbed her ass and lifted her forward, to the edge of the counter, the tip of his penis against her opening. She was wet, ready. With one thrust, he was inside of her. She gasped, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and sending his erection into overdrive. He pumped hard and fast. Her head fell back as she arched into him. He kissed her long neck, twisting out of her fingernails’ grasp and driving even deeper. The snarky woman’s voice invaded his thoughts. Are you done? Usually Blake waited for the woman to orgasm before finding his release. Today he had to escape his own thoughts. He thrust and pumped until he was on the verge of his own orgasm.

  Red panted, “Wait. Wait. Go slower.”

  Are you done? There was no waiting. Anger fed his need. He clung to her ample hips as he pulled her forward and pushed her back in perfect rhythm with each of his harsh thrusts, until finally, she squeezed and pulsated around him and he came hard and forcefully, gritting his teeth and grunting against her neck until he was spent.

  “Fun,” she said, out of breath.

  Blake opened his eyes to find his own reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His cheeks carried the pink of fresh desire and
his lips were smeared with her lipstick. His jeans hung around his knees, and the fifty-something-year-old woman he’d just banged was hanging on to him like he was hers. He didn’t even know her name. Fun? He was a thirty-four-year-old male slut—no better than those girls everyone teased in high school. Are you done? Her voice echoed in his head. Blake pulled out of Red, grabbed paper towels from the dispenser, and handed them to her. “Thanks,” he said, tossing his condom in the trash. Then he snagged his shirt, hiked up his pants, and escaped with his shame and self-loathing to the safety of his office.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday evening the moon cast a foggy glow over the mountaintop. The slopes looked like fluffy clouds that had fallen to the ground. Blake inhaled the icy, wet smell of the slopes. He loved night skiing, when the slopes were filled with more experienced skiers.

  “You ready, buddy?” Dave asked as he skied into place next to Blake. He stood six inches shorter but was every bit as thick and muscular as Blake. A light snow began to fall.

  “Yeah, I’m ready. Listen, I feel kind of guilty taking you away from your family.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yeah.” Blake smiled. “I don’t.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m glad you came. It’s been a month since we’ve hit the slopes.”

  “I know. You remind me every day.” Dave raised an eyebrow. “No worries, man. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Time goes quick. All this powder will be gone before we know it.”

  “You could’ve brought Rusty if you wanted,” Blake said.

  “Yeah, just what you need, a teenager hanging around. No way, man. This run is just for us. I need the break, too. Besides, Rusty has as much interest in skiing as I do in basketball. He’s a kid. He has the joy of picking and choosing his addictions.”

  They took the ski lift to the top of the second tallest trail. By the time they reached the peak, the snow was coming down hard. Adrenaline rushed through Blake as they stepped from the lift and skied to the crest. He and Dave wore similar Arc’teryx Stingray jackets and Völkl pants, compliments of their suppliers. Dave’s were royal blue, and Blake wore black and red. Free clothing was just one of the many perks of owning a ski shop.

  “I feel great tonight!” Dave said. The cold night's air was already turning his cheeks pink. He shielded his eyes from the falling snow with his gloved hand.

  “I feel great every night,” Blake said. “Damn, it’s really coming down. Let’s take the first one easy, warm up.”

  Dave’s cell phone rang.

  “You brought that damn thing with you? I love Sally, but come on.” Blake really did love Sally, and the times he’d gotten together with Dave’s family had always been enjoyable—barbeques, dinners out on the town, the fair every summer —but he would never want to be that accessible to anyone. He considered his ski time sacred.

  Dave took out his phone. “Wifey calls.” He held up one finger to Blake. “Hi, honey. Yeah, we made it. Yup, getting ready right now for our first run.” He paused, listening to Sally. “Put him on.” Dave turned his back, then spoke sternly into the phone. “Is what your mother said true? What the hell were you thinking?” Dave paced. “You listen to me. If I come home and—” He stopped walking. “Rusty? Hello? Hello!” He looked at his phone. “Damn it.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and, as he made his way through the thick curtain of snow that fell around them, Blake noticed him stabbing his poles into the ground and the fine lines forming around his pinched face.

  “Everything okay?” Blake asked.

  “Lost connection,” he snapped. “Goddamnit. You wouldn’t understand. Let’s just go.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” The last thing Blake wanted to do was listen to the details of an argument. He was itching to get onto the slopes.

  “I’m takin’ the back.” Dave’s breath came out in foggy huffs. He pulled his yellow goggles down over his eyes and turned away.

  “Whoa, the back? Dave, come on. You know how this goes. Warm up. Then, when you’re—” Blake watched Dave stomp, not ski, in the direction of the back side of the mountain. Visibility was already an issue. He pulled his goggles down over his eyes and opened his mouth to call to Dave, but he was nowhere in sight. “Meet you at the bottom,” he said to himself.

  Blake took the front side of the mountain slow and easy, relishing in the familiar whisking of the cold snow against his face. His knees knew just where and when to bend; his body took the turns with practiced memory. Reckless kids sped past him at racing speeds. He smiled. That’s how he had been at that age, indestructible. I still am, he thought to himself with pride. He picked up speed. The snow was coming down thick and fast.

  Blake wondered if he should have stopped Dave from skiing down the back of the mountain. It wasn’t as well lit as the front, and that side of the mountain had steep cliffs and a rough terrain interspersed with trees and enormous moguls. He thought of Sally at home with their son while Dave was here having fun, and the way Dave had reacted to the phone call. Marriage was a strange equation to Blake. No matter how he added it up, one plus one did not equate to a lifetime of happiness and excitement. He wondered if he’d ever be content with just one woman in his life, if he’d ever be able to sleep with just one woman—or if he’d ever want to.

  He slid into the clearing at the bottom of the hill and saw the rescue team suiting up. He had yet to ski at night without seeing an accident. The trails were filled with rookies who thought they could take a high bump and kids who knew no boundaries. There were five trails at the resort, and he’d skied them all. The back wasn’t even the toughest terrain. There was one higher, rougher trail, accessible only by the ski lift that had dropped them at the crest of the trail. It also went all the way to the top, to the crest of Little Hellion. Only experienced skiers were allowed to ski Little Hellion, and they wore special tags on their jackets. Blake looked down at his tag. He and Dave had passed the course requirements for taking on Little Hellion three years earlier. He remembered that afternoon fondly. He and Dave had ribbed each other about the other one failing to tackle the pre-Hellion trails, but they both surpassed the expected skill level. Hot-dog Dave even flipped over a few of the moguls, angering the instructors. Blake smiled at the memory. When it came to skiing, Dave had always been a show-off.

  The rescue team headed right while Blake skied to the left, toward the end of the back run, to meet Dave. One of the rescue team’s snowmobiles was pulling out, and Blake skied off to the side to let it pass.

  “Where’s the fall?” he hollered.

  “Little Hellion. Just closed the slope. Be careful out there.” The snowmobile zoomed away at full throttle.

  Blake knew that if the slope was closed, the accident was bad. He wondered who’d been dumb enough to ham it up on Little Hellion on a night like tonight.

  The fresh powder made the trek toward the back take longer than it should. When Blake finally arrived, a handful of skiers were sliding into the unpacked snow, sending thick sheets of snow careening into the air. Blake stood off to the side and waited for Dave.

  After fifteen minutes, he wondered if he’d missed Dave and if he’d already headed back up the lift for another run. As a twenty-something-year-old guy came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, Blake asked him if he’d seen Dave.

  “He’s about this tall.” Blake held up his hand to eye level. “Royal-blue jacket, great skier.”

  “Nope. Dude, it’s rough up there. I couldn’t see ten feet in front of me, but I didn’t see anyone stuck or hurt, if that’s what you mean. I did hear of an accident up on Little Hellion.”

  “Right, thanks.” Blake headed back toward the front of the mountain. When he reached the lift, he decided to wait a little longer. Dave had been upset. Maybe he just wanted to be alone for a while. Hell, he’d take one more quick trip down the mountain and then look for Dave. What could it hurt? Dave was a big boy.

  The ski lift bumped over each of the pole junctions. The skiers
below Blake became tiny specs amid a sea of white as he ascended the mountain. At the top, he skied off the lift and stood at the crest, admiring the magnificent view. Blake was five when he first began skiing with his father, and by the time he was seven, he was already catching air. As a teen, he’d joined a weekend ski team. The older kids hung out together before and after practice. They’d spent practically all day on Saturdays and Sundays on the slopes. What had started as a dare between friends—flip over the biggest mogul you can find—turned into a competition, then a passion, and later, into a full-blown obsession. From then on, Blake was hooked. He’d even taken private lessons and learned to acroski better than anyone he’d ever met, with the exception of Dave.

  They’d met as adults, on the slopes. Dave had just finished a big jump; he'd spun off of a cliff, landed perfectly, and zoomed the rest of the way down the slope. Blake had complimented him. Man, you sure hurled your carcass up there. Nice. Dave said thanks, but walked away and totally blew him off. So Blake took to the cliff. He wasn’t one to be ignored—or outdone. Dave acted like he wasn’t watching, but Blake knew better. To be an acroskier you had to be competitive. After Blake’s perfect, corked spin, Dave approached and offered to teach him how to straighten it out. It took a minute for Blake to realize that Dave was joking, and when he had, they’d become fast friends. Dave Tuft was a master. Truly gifted. He could catch more air, perform masterful flips, and twist in ways that Blake still couldn’t replicate. Dave knew it, too, and at times that confidence made him reckless. He’d broken his fair share of bones.

  A helicopter flew in low overhead. This can’t be good. Blake watched it descend toward the Little Hellion run. The snowmobile came down the mountain and pulled onto the crest where Blake stood.