The cold wind whips past as I ski down the hill. White powder, blue skies, and the laughter of my friends echoing in my eardrums. My body feels strong, that insatiable itch for movement momentarily silenced by the stunning views and adrenaline pumping through my veins.
It feels incredible to push my body again.
It feels unbelievable to start my morning with Cohen’s kiss lingering on my lips.
The hours melt into each other as I find my groove on the slopes.
“You’re happy,” Faye says as we pull down the bar of the chairlift.
I smirk at her. “It’s new.”
“Yes and no,” she replies. “There’s history there.”
I shrug. “He used to see me as his kid sister.”
“Ages ago. Rai, you’ve always had a thing for Cohen.”
I widen my eyes at her, recalling the secret I confessed to Anna a million years ago. It was our first year at boarding school, before I was dating Brooks. I was homesick, and Cohen sent me a box of brownies during mid-term exams. “I only told Anna that.”
Faye giggles gleefully, pumping a fist in the air. “So, I’m right?!”
My mouth drops open. “You were bluffing?”
“It was an educated guess…based on the evidence before me.” She points at me. “So, there’s history.”
“Yes,” I agree, rolling my lips together. “There’s history.”
“And you’re happy?” This time, it’s asked as a question instead of said as a statement. Good ol’ Faye, always looking out.
“Yes, Faye. I’m happy.”
My friend squeals again, bumping her shoulder against mine. “I’m thrilled for you, Rai. He’s a good guy. And the fact that Avery isn’t flipping you shit? It means your family adores him, too.”
Avery. The mention of my brother causes guilt to coat my stomach. “Yep,” I reply, trying to cross my fingers inside my gloves as I lie to my friend. Still, I sidestep the biggest elephant at the ski resort.
Cohen and I are frauds.
Our relationship is fake.
Except…it isn’t.
“Let’s do this!” Faye cheers as our lift reaches the top of the next hill.
I follow her down the mountain, trying to lose myself in the run. In the moment.
But my thoughts keep turning back to Cohen.
Are we making a mistake?
Is this going to blow up in our faces?
Am I willing to shut it down now to avoid a future disaster?
No! The word rings in my head.
I feel heartsick at the idea, which means, I’m in too deep.
I should end things in order to protect myself. Not to mention Avery’s friendship with his best friend. Besides, I’m moving to Spain and all athletes know long-distance relationships rarely last.
I shouldn’t think of myself as the exception when the rule is clear.
Put the sport first. Everything else is secondary.
Gah! I sigh as I finish the run, annoyed with myself for being too distracted to appreciate it. For torturing myself with thoughts of Cohen and our confusing attachment.
Knowing I’ll spend the remainder of the morning lost in my thoughts, I lift a hand to Faye and head back to the ski chalet.
Since Cohen can’t risk his contract, he stayed behind. Right now, I want to see him. Speak with him.
Kiss him.
And that’s a problem.
Surprise crosses Cohen’s face when I enter the kitchen. “You’re back early.”
I don’t respond. Can’t form words. My throat is parched, my eyes dry from a sudden inability to blink.
Because Cohen Campbell is standing in the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, with only a pair of cream joggers draping oh-so-low on his hips. There’s a V. He has the goddamn V.
And he’s cooking.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Where’s your shirt?” I rasp.
He chuckles and turns toward me fully, dropping a spatula on the countertop. “Just finished working out.”
“Shirtless?” I gawk.
His abdomen is ridge after ridge. Like mountains.
His shoulders are broad and strong. Like bridges.
And don’t get me started on that V…
“Shirtless,” he confirms, tilting his head. “Like what you see?”
“Hmm,” I neither confirm nor deny.
Cohen’s smile widens. He’s amused and playful and so sexy, especially because the next words out of his mouth are, “You hungry?”
For what? my mind wonders.
“Uh-huh,” my mouth sputters.
“I made pancakes,” he clarifies.
Of course, he did.
“Blueberry and chocolate chip,” he continues, drizzling maple syrup on a short stack.
Then, he gestures toward the table. “Why don’t you get comfortable, and we’ll eat together.”
“’Kay,” I wheeze. Wheeze!
I hustle to our bedroom with Cohen’s chuckle following me. I don’t care how embarrassed I should be. Because I’m not embarrassed at all.
Instead, I change into a little green bikini, ahem, it’s mostly strings, and toss a charcoal-colored sweater on top.
I push the warnings from the slopes out of my mind.
Instead, I focus on Cohen, pancakes, and the big hot tub that beckons from the deck outside the large, sliding doors.
There are too many views to ogle.
Cohen’s seated at the table. Two plated stacks of pancakes, decorated with fruit, and drizzled with maple syrup, as well as mugs of coffee await.
I blush, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks for making me pancakes.”
“I’m glad you’re here to share them with,” he quips.
I sit across from him and dip my head as we cut into our pancakes.
“How was skiing?”
“Wonderful,” I admit, gushing as I tell him about the sweeping views.
He frowns slightly, his eyebrows bending and the subtlest crease dipping in between his magnetic eyes. “You didn’t have to come back on my account.”
“I didn’t,” I sigh.
He lifts a questioning brow.
“Well, not entirely,” I amend.
Cohen’s frown deepens and I squirm in my chair, pressing my thighs together. My gaze flickers to the hot tub.
“You don’t have to worry about—”
“I missed you,” I cut him off.
He pauses, his eyes regarding me curiously.
Shit.
“And I wanted to…” Again, I look out at the deck.
Cohen follows my gaze. His eyes snap back to mine. Disbelief washes over his expression and his grip on the fork tightens.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“We don’t have to—”
“How hungry are you?” he cuts me off.
I smile slowly and slip my sweater off my shoulder to show him the strap of my bathing suit. “I’m already wearing a bikini.”
Cohen nods once and then, he’s clamoring from his seat and rushing to our bedroom.
“Wait! Your pancakes are gonna get cold!” I call after him.
“Who gives a fuck?” is his muffled reply.
I laugh and eat a few bites.
I close my eyes and savor the taste. They’re good. Just like the man who made them.
When I open my eyes, Cohen’s standing before me in bright orange swim trunks decorated with bananas.
I snort, my hand clapping over my mouth.
He grins. “Knew you’d get a kick out of these.”
“Did you buy them?”
“What do you think?” he tosses back.
“Who’d you lose a bet to?” I giggle.
“Gage,” we say in unison, both releasing our nervous tension with laughter.
I point at his plate. “You sure you don’t want to eat?”
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “Not when something sweeter is on the menu.”
I groan at his lame joke.
His grin widens. “You love my humor.”
I stand from my chair and walk around the table, taking his outstretched hand. “Whatever you tell yourself, Cohen.”
“I tell myself a lot, champ.”
Before I can decipher the meaning behind his words, he’s pulling me toward the deck.
“Wait here,” he says as he rushes out into the freezing temperature to remove the cover, check the water, and start the jets. Then, he beckons for me to join him.
“Oh, God!” I exclaim, shivering in my string bikini. “It’s freezing!”
Cohen doesn’t reply and when I look up, I realize why.
“You check me out that hard, your eyes are gonna get stuck,” I joke.
“You’re cold,” he replies, his eyes on my chest. I snort. “Don’t worry,” he rumbles in my ear, lifting me up and carrying me—like a freaking feather—into the tub. “I’ll warm you up.”
It’s a lame joke but I don’t laugh because his hot mouth is trailing down my neck, peppering my skin with open-mouthed kisses, and I sigh in contentment.
As I drop my head back, my arms tighten around his neck. Cohen holds me closer, the foam from the bubbles enveloping us. My legs twist around him and as he moves, pressing me into the corner of the hot tub, his hardness brushes against my core.
“Already?” I whisper.
“Been ready, babe,” he replies, pulling back to look at me. “Been waiting.”
Then, his mouth is on mine.
There is no joking. No playful laughter. No banter.
There’s only this.
Me and Cohen and an endless winter wonderland.
There’s only us.