Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Talk to me,” I murmured. “Please.”
“I will. But not now, okay?” His words were low against my ear. The warm breath from his cold lips tickled my skin.
I must have made some kind of noise of agreement because he murmured a thanks before releasing me.
Our eyes met, and… god. My lips were desperate for his. The hunger in my gut clawed at me to lean forward and take his mouth in mine, but his skin still held the pallor of real fear.
I yanked off my gloves and dropped them on the ground before taking his face in my hands and forcing Thatcher to meet my eyes. “Today,” I insisted. “You’ll tell me today.”
His eyes stayed hidden behind his sunglasses, but I could see the laugh lines quirk around the edges, like he enjoyed me being bossy and demanding. “Yes. Today. I promise.”
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, inhaling the familiar woodsmoke and sage scent that clung to his skin. Then I pulled away, pushed back from him, and picked up our gear before yanking on my gloves. “We’ll start on Spring Dipper,” I said, nodding toward an intermediate trail to our left. “There’s a small section of moguls near the end if you insist on a prowess contest. Otherwise, smooth sailing to the bottom.”
Thatcher’s steel gaze followed me as I moved away from him toward the top of the trail. The taste of his skin remained on my lips, and I tucked them together to keep it there as long as possible.
We pointed our skis down the run without saying a word. Unlike the last time I’d skied, back in Vermont, there was no crust of ice on top of the powder, and I relished the soft sounds of my skis cutting through it. The sun warmed my back as the winter air froze my face. My muscles loosened with every turn and filled my lungs to capacity before exhaling and allowing the stress to melt away.
Thatcher skied silently a few yards away, taking long, graceful turns down the wide slope. His muscular thighs looked amazing in the slim-fitting ski pants I’d bought him, and his shoulders looked even broader in the parka. At one point, I was so busy drooling over his form I nearly crashed into another skier to my left. After that, I forced myself to keep my eyes on the slope with only a few glances over to make sure he was still with me.
Thatcher’s silence lasted all the way to the bottom. With unspoken agreement, we’d stayed on the smooth trail instead of tackling the moguls. At the end of the run, we moved wordlessly to the ski lift line, and this time when we loaded, we ended up sitting much closer together. Thatcher transferred one of his ski poles to the other hand, removed his glove before shoving it in a pocket, and reached for my hand.
I wasn’t sure if this was to ensure my safety or express some kind of affection, but I wasn’t complaining either way. His hand was warm in mine, and his thumb stroked my skin softly.
“Brantleigh fell over a cliff when he was four.”
I turned to stare at him. His words made no sense. “He… he fell off a cliff? How? Where?” What I really meant was, how the hell did he survive?
“Hawaii. Our family Christmas vacation. It was one of the rare times Thalia and I had agreed on a place to go. We’d both wanted to have a quiet holiday, just the three of us. At least, I thought so. But when we arrived, it turned out she’d invited a bunch of her friends to stay at the same place. So, I spent my time with Brant. And it was fun.” He smiled out at the blinding snow like he was seeing some long-ago tropical scene imprinted there. “He was a ball of energy back then. Exploring in the surf, swimming in the pool, running along the beach, finding a ball and kicking it in the grass. And I… well, I secretly enjoyed the excuse to avoid Thalia and her friends. One day, the hotel concierge suggested a hike and said it was easy enough for Brant. It sounded like a great chance to tire out my little boy while getting to see a different part of the island.”
His hand had pulled mine into his lap so he could hold it between both of his. Both ski poles tangled by their tethers on his far side.
“On the trail, Brant raced back and forth ahead of me, babbling nonstop. He’d run ahead, then run back and grab my hand so I could come see whatever cool thing he found. And I told him, ‘Stay where I can see you, remember? Don’t get lost,’ but I wasn’t worried, really. The trail was easy. No more dangerous than the walking trails at the park.” He sucked in a breath. “Until you got to the waterfall.”