6
Cami told herself that she was fine, that she’d escaped from the experience in her office with Matt relatively unscathed. She told herself that all the way home, and all the way through her hot shower, and all the way through the next three hours in her bed, until her alarm went off at six A.M.
Just a torrid affair, like she’d always wondered about.
The after part had been a little rough, she could admit now—the coming-home-alone part. Matt had wanted her to go to his place, but she’d been unable to fathom repeating the whole mind-blowing experience and then walking away.
Once had been hard enough.
When her snooze alarm went off again, she got up and dressed. Christmas Eve. Most people wouldn’t be going into work, but she was going to. Dedication at its finest, she supposed.
And a telling way to hold at bay the memories from last night. Or the loneliness she knew would hit her any minute now. The Christmas loneliness. She could try to forget, she could try to pretend it didn’t exist, but it always came.
She entered her office and stopped short at the sight of her desk. The scene of her indiscretion, so to speak. Her momentary lapse in good judgment. Last night, she’d straightened it all up, she’d had to, but she didn’t need to see all her things on the floor to remember what Matt had done to her there.
Pulling out her chair, she sat down and tried not to look at the blotter, which now contained an imprint of her butt. She dug into work, feeling very mature for doing so, but by mid-afternoon, she gave up. She had to get out, or lose her mind, so she headed downtown, where she wandered the long row of art galleries and unique gift shops to find her last-minute family Christmas gifts. Determined to be chipper and in the spirit, she hit them all.
And found nothing for her picky parents or impossible-to-buy-for brother and sister.
All around her, the trees and streets were lit with seasonal lights. Each storefront had been decorated, and Christmas music and delicious scents surrounded her. So did people. Everywhere. Couples, families, friends . . . everyone talking and laughing and having a ball, all in the holiday spirit.
No one seemed to be alone.
Except her.
She ended up back at her car, arms empty. Damn it. Determined, she sat there waiting for the defroster to work, wracking her brain. Finally it came to her. Ski-lift tickets. Her parents would love the excuse to dust off their skis, and her siblings would think the present original and cool. Cami let out her first smile of the day, because she just might have hit upon the perfect gift and the perfect way to impress her impossible-to-impress family on Christmas morning.
Congratulating herself, she drove the seven miles out of town to Eagle Ski Resort. There she purchased the tickets, and had just put them in her purse when someone said in her ear, “Well, look at that. You tore yourself from work.”
The last time she’d heard that voice, he’d been standing between her sprawled thighs whispering wicked-sexy-nothings to her. Turning, she faced one Matt Tarino, dressed in black board pants and jacket, wearing a Santa hat and aviator reflector sunglasses, and holding his snowboard. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead, he looked fun-loving and carefree, not to mention incredibly sure of himself, and sexy as hell for it. Belatedly, she remembered his brother owned this place, so of course he’d be here. Or, maybe not so belatedly. Maybe she’d known—hoped—to see him. Disconcerting thought. As she stood there staring at him, wondering at the odd ping in her belly—and between her thighs—two women skied by and sprayed Matt with powder from their skis, laughing uproariously, flirting with their smiles and eyes.
Cami dusted herself off, surreptiously watching Matt as he waved back, turning down their offer to join them. Instead, he moved closer to Cami and brushed some powdery snow from her cheek. “So. What brings you here?”
Now that they’d had raw, wild, animal sex on her desk, he made her feel even more off balance than usual, and she was painfully hyperaware of his every move. Even her nipples were hard. It was ridiculous, and to counteract the phenomenon, she stopped looking at him. “I came by to purchase some lift tickets for my family for their Christmas gifts.”
“Nice gifts.”
Let’s hope they think so.
“Enjoying your Christmas Eve?”
“Sure.” Less than she would a cruise to the Bahamas, but more than, say, a root canal.
Matt shoved up his sunglasses to the front of his Santa hat. “You’re looking pretty uptight for someone who’s enjoying herself. Come join me for a few runs before the slopes close.”
She looked down at her long maroon skirt and sweater. “I couldn’t.”
“What’s your preference, skis or board?”
“Skis, but I’d planned on going back to the office to finish going through those computers—”
“I’ll help you after.”
“But I don’t—”
He tugged her close. She stared resolutely at his chest.
“Was last night so awful, you can’t even look me in the eyes?” he asked quietly.
Surprised, she lifted her head. “No. No,” she said again into his rueful and, damn it, hurt gaze. “It was . . . well, you know what it was. It was incredible.”
His eyes smoldered. “So let me show you another good time. On the slopes.”
She looked at him for a long moment, because she knew herself. She was falling, and falling for a man—especially him, the one man to make her feel things, the one man to get inside her and care about her—was dangerous. It gave him all the power he needed to hurt her. Scary, scary stuff.
On the other hand, it was only a few runs on a ski hill, something that was shockingly tempting . . . “Maybe for a little while.”
With a smile that melted her resolve and very nearly her precious control, he led her inside the small lodge. “My brother runs the show here,” he said, waving at yet another group of women who called his name from across the large room. “I just help out when I can. We’ll get you all set up.”
The next thing she knew, he had her in borrowed gear and on skis from the demo shop. And then out on the slopes.
Having a ball.
Truthfully, much of her fun came from just watching Matt. The man was sheer poetry in motion, all clean lines and easy aggression, with a wild abandon that aroused her just looking at him. Who’d have thought such a sharp-witted, politically driven man could move like that?
After last night, she should have known.
She wondered what he thought of last night, but they didn’t talk about it. They just took the slopes with an easy camaraderie and laughter and . . . fun, and by the time the lifts closed two hours later, she felt chilled to the bone but exhilarated. For a few hours, she’d been like the people she’d seen in town, not alone . . . happy.
“Thanks,” she said when she’d turned her equipment back in and he’d put his board in his locker. “I really needed that.”
Standing in the lodge, he stroked a strand of hair off her face and smiled. “You’re cold. I have a cure for that, too.”
“I think you’ve cured me enough.”
“Come on, Cami. What’s the worst that could happen?”
That he would offer to warm her up, maybe in his bed, and she might be just weak enough to let him. And then she might not want to ever leave.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She stared into his eyes. She’d seen them stormy and furious; she’d seen them soft and heated. They were somewhere in between now, filled with an honesty and affection that took her breath. Did she trust him? She knew she didn’t want to. “I wouldn’t follow you off a cliff, but at work . . . maybe I trust you there.”
He laughed. “A start, I suppose. What about personally? Do you trust me outside of work?”
Back to that jumping-off-a-cliff thing. “That’s more complicated.”
“Ah.” He nodded agreeably, then shook his head. “Why, exactly?”
“Well . . . you like women.”
“I believe that’s worked to your benefit.”
She blushed. “You like lots of women.”
“Yeah.” His smile faded. “I suppose that’s the rumor mill you’re referring to. You know, a lot of that is exaggerated.”
“How much of it?”
“What?”
“What percentage of all the women I’ve seen drooling over you is exaggerated?”
He paused. Considered carefully. Ran his tongue over his teeth.
“Thought so.” She searched her purse for her keys.
He reached for her hands to still them. “Should I judge you for your past?”
“No, but I haven’t slept with every single man in the free world.”
“Neither have I,” he said, and tried a grin. When she didn’t return it, he sighed. Rubbed his jaw. “Okay, listen. I’ve had a good time with life so far. I’ll admit that much. But I’m not afraid of commitment. Can you say the same?”
“Yes.” Maybe.
Probably.
Fine. Commitment made her nervous, a fact that was undoubtedly tied to her need to control every little issue. But she’d like to think she wouldn’t let that stand in the way of a real relationship.
“I really don’t see the problem here,” he said softly.
He wouldn’t. “We’re so fundamentally different.”
“You mean you being uptight, anal, and overly organized?”
She crossed her arms. “I would think people would love that about me.”
“Maybe I’ll love you in spite of it.”
She went utterly still. “What?”
“Not here,” he decided. “We’re not doing this here. Come on.”
He led her back through the lodge, across the icy parking lot, to the far side of the property where a couple of cabins faced the mountain vista. There was a driveway between them, and in it sat a truck and Matt’s Blazer.
“My brother’s,” he said, pointing to one cabin. “And mine,” he added, pointing to the other, opening the door, revealing a small but lovely living room accented all in wood. One wall was all windows, overlooking a white-capped peak, and another was filled with a stone fireplace. He had a Christmas tree in the corner, tall and beautifully simple, with white lights and red bows, but somehow it held more holiday spirit than anything she’d seen.
His couch looked like an old favorite, overstuffed and well used. A football lay on the floor, along with a pair of battered running shoes, a stack of newspapers toppled over, and a very neglected fern. Leaning against the far wall were several pairs of skis, two snowboards, and two pairs of boots. Warm and homey but definitely lived-in. Her fingers still itched to at least straighten the newspapers.
Or jump Matt.
“I’ll start a fire,” he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her in close to his big, warm body. “Come get comfortable.”
She couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
“I promise not to bite.” He rubbed his jaw to hers. “Unless you want me to.”
“You’ve lost your mind.” But she looked into his eyes and melted a little.
A lot.
It was official. He hadn’t lost his mind—she’d lost hers.