Whatever image Isla had of a ski chalet, it sure wasn't this. With the way Seduction operated, she assumed it would be more than a one-room log cabin, but this was extraordinary; an elaborate, multi-tiered stone and cedar-beamed luxury home, perched on the side of the mountain in the middle of nowhere. Tucked among the evergreens, it was a pretty safe bet that it had been designed specifically for this secluded part of Aspen she'd never seen before.
As Eve had instructed, the front door was unlocked; inside the opulence continued. On the ground floor, just off the foyer, was an equipment room. Every imaginable piece of gear for outdoor activities was neatly organized and displayed; skis, snowboards, snowshoes, backpacks, fishing poles and tackle, as well as a full range of safety gear and clothing.
The next floor up housed a games room complete with pool table and jukebox. Another level was dedicated to a home theatre, and still another had a spa and hot tub.
Incredible though all this was, it was the top floor that took Isla's breath away. With a peaked ceiling and natural wood walls, it was like being in the most elaborate tree house ever conceived. Twelve-foot picture windows allowed a panoramic view of the mountains and pale blue winter sky. The executive kitchen opened to a living room filled with oversized white furniture. On the wall opposite the kitchen was a double-sided fireplace that backed on to the master bedroom. The space was plush and inviting and after the long flight, Isla was tempted to simply lie down and sleep. As she unpacked her suitcase, the whole Sleeping Beauty scene ran through her mind. Having Marlowe wake her up with a kiss seemed like a pretty romantic start to the weekend until she realized that as tired as she was, he'd likely find her snoring. Or drooling. Then it didn't seem like such a great idea. So instead, she opted for a soak in the hot tub. Since a bathing suit hadn't exactly been on her list of things to bring to a ski vacation, she'd have to enjoy the water au naturel.
Eve had already messaged to say that Marlowe's flight had been delayed, so she'd still have plenty of time to freshen up before his arrival. As she undressed, it struck her, not for the first time, how odd it was that she wanted to look her best for him. She shook her head, in a bemused sort of way, at the special blend of confidence and insecurity peculiar to women over forty. On the one hand, she'd finally learned to love her body and see her wrinkles as smile lines. On the other hand, she knew that no matter how much she exercised, gravity was not her friend. When it came to having sex with a man she barely knew, she chose to pay extra attention to things like lighting, hair and make-up.
For now, though, she was alone. She hauled her hair up in a messy bun, wrapped herself in a thick white cotton towel from the ensuite and made her way down to the hot tub. It was housed in a glass and cedar gazebo, and could have easily held a dozen people. The deck area had heated granite flooring and was lined with crisp white linen chairs. A display rack offered a wide assortment of reading material from which Isla selected a People magazine. On the far end of the tub was a wet bar that could be accessed from either the deck or the water.
Magazine in hand, she tossed her towel on a chair and stepped into the water. It was divine. After seven hours in airplanes, Isla found the warm bubbles soothing and revitalizing. It was, in her opinion, a perfectly civilized way to vacation. If this didn't get her mind off the likes of Warren Best and Marian Leo, nothing would.
She took her time flipping through the pages, catching up on all the latest entertainment news. Half of the starlets she'd never even heard of, but then, that's what happened when a person worked seventy hours a week. After a while, she laid her reading aside, slid deeper into the tub and rested her head against the edge. She closed her eyes and, determined to leave her worries behind, let her mind wander to Marlowe and the adventures they'd have that weekend.
How long she stayed like that was difficult to say, but given the thirst she'd worked up, it was likely quite a while. She slid over to the bar and silently applauded the person who’d designed it to be accessible from within the tub. Of course, there were several types of drinks to choose from in a variety of beautifully designed bottles. Reaching for spring water, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror affixed to the inside of the cabinet door.
"Good Lord!" The hot steam had created red blotches over her face, and her eyes looked like two piss-holes in the snow. The mascara ran down her cheeks, the eyeliner had smudged and the eyeshadow had cracked. Instead of a trendy bun sitting pertly on top of her head, her hair was nothing but a frizzy mess. It was the '80s all over again.
"Grace?"
She froze when she heard his voice. A bead of black mascara water ran down her cheek. "Uh, hi," she said, keeping her back to him. Using napkins from the bar, she tried to discreetly wipe her face. "I wasn't expecting you until later. Eve said your flight was delayed."
"It was. By fifteen minutes."
"She said three hours."
"She was wrong."
Fuckity fuck.
She tilted the mirror just enough to see him start toward her. In seconds he was looking down at her.
"Not a word," she warned.
To his credit, he said nothing. But he grinned. Isla went back to cleaning her face while Marlowe busied himself at the bar. Before she knew it, he'd produced champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. Eve really did think of everything. Then, he undressed and slid into the hot tub beside her, taking the tissues and ever so gently removing what was left of the make-up. As he worked, a little smile played on his lips.
"Shut up," she said with a pout.
"I didn't say anything."
"I can hear you thinking."
His smile gave way to a full on laugh. "Is that right? Well then, what am I thinking?"
"You're wondering what the hell happened to my hair."
"Your hair looks perfect," he said and planted a tender kiss on her lips.
"A perfect mess."
He tossed the napkins aside. "I was going to mess it up anyway," he said with a shrug. "But that's not what I was thinking."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"I was thinking how lucky I am to be spending a weekend with such an extraordinary woman."
"Oh, you're smooth." Isla unclipped her hair and dipped her head back in the water. Sometimes the answer to a little humidity was more humidity.
"I've been looking forward to this trip, Grace. I want to get to know you better."
"In a biblical sense?" she asked with a wink.
"That too," he said. There was a definite twinkle in his eye. "But I was talking about you, as a person." He handed her a glass of champagne.
"What would you like to know?"
"Well, what do you do for a living?"
She took a sip of her drink and let the bubbles tickle her throat while she thought. There was a fine line between telling him enough and telling him too much. "I'm a partner in an engineering and architectural firm."
"Impressive."
"And what about you? What do you do?" she asked, biting into an enormous strawberry.
"Not what I want to do," he said, as much to his glass as to her. "I'd planned to be a writer."
"What happened?"
Two lines appeared between his eyebrows. "Life," he said at last. "The need for a steady paycheque."
Isla nodded in understanding. "Never too late though, is it? I mean, if writing is what you love to do . . ."
"I guess not." A hint of sadness appeared in his eyes. "What made you choose engineering?"
"I kind of fell into it. A friend of my family owned the firm and I used to work there during the summers. Turned out, I had a knack for the business and he told me that if I studied engineering, there'd be a job waiting for me when I graduated. So, here I am."
"Sounds like a great job."
"It's a steady paycheque," she said with a sardonic smile.
"But you must like it," he said, offering her another strawberry. "I mean, you're a partner."
Isla ran a thumb over the wrinkles in her fingertips. She'd honestly never thought about it before. "Let's not talk about work."
"Fair enough," he agreed. "Before your friend made the offer, was there something else you'd wanted to study?"
"I thought about photography for a while."
"Ah yes, you mentioned you like to take pictures of buildings." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, smiling just enough to show his glorious dimples. "It's all making sense now."
She was tired of talking. Tired of thinking. She laid an index finger over his lips and he kissed it. Then, he kissed her neck. Small, tender pecks starting just below her ear. Thoughts of work began to vanish from her mind and she lifted her chin to encourage him further. She needed this; the attention and the distraction.
Laying their glasses aside, she turned to face him. He had the softest eyes and the way he looked at her triggered something deep in her core. It disengaged her mind and freed her to move purely on instinct. Knowing what she wanted, she straddled him, hovering for just a moment before feeling his hands at her waist guiding her gently down. As he slipped inside, she slowed her descent, savouring every delicious second. The water cocooned them, licking her skin and heightening her senses. He filled her so completely that even the smallest hip roll sent ripples of pleasure through her.
Slowly, soundlessly, they moved together in a rhythm that was hypnotic. When he began to massage her lower back, she groaned and pushed him deeper. Wanting more, Isla thrust faster, taking what she needed. Finally, she surrendered and let the feeling consume her and drive the last trace of tension from her body.
Isla woke early the next morning. Marlowe was snuggled into her back with his arm wrapped around her. It was warm and cozy, and to her surprise, completely natural. They were both buck naked and somehow that felt right too. Or maybe it was just appropriate . . . shedding clothes as easily as identities. She rubbed her eyes. It was far too early to analyze anything, and in all honesty, it didn't matter. She'd slept soundly and the worries that had plagued her the day before felt a million miles away. Such was the magic of the game.
The only thing that could make this more perfect was coffee. She'd noticed an espresso machine on the kitchen counter, and knowing Eve, the cupboards would be well stocked. She slipped out of bed, threw on a shirt and padded into the kitchen. She found a bag of coffee and set about making a cup of cappuccino. There was a meditative quality to the ritual of it all. Grinding and packing the beans, steaming the milk and warming the mug. She created a little artwork in the foam; a stack of five hearts, each one a slightly larger than the one above. Such a simple trick but somehow it made the coffee more enjoyable.
She took a sip and sighed. Maybe it was the tranquility of the place and the view of a pale blue morning sky, but it was, without a doubt, the best cup she'd ever made.
From the bedroom she heard soft stirrings and knew that Marlowe was waking up. Within minutes he'd joined her. He was shirtless, wearing only navy pyjama pants with a light plaid design. His hair was tousled and a mix of grey and brown whiskers covered his face. This was Marlowe raw — no fancy clothes or romantic lighting. He was perfectly imperfect.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said and gave her a quick kiss, his stubble prickling her chin in the process. How normal this all seemed. Like they were a regular couple going through a well-rehearsed routine.
"Good morning, handsome." She resisted the urge to run her fingers over his chest. Surely some restraint was healthy.
"That coffee smells absolutely delicious. Is there any left?"
Isla shook her head. "No, but I can make you some." She set down her mug and began to clean the espresso machine. "They're single farm beans."
"Is that good?" asked Marlowe, reading the label on the coffee bag.
"Very."
There was a brief pause in the conversation when Isla turned on the grinder.
"Grade: double A," he murmured.
"Means it's a larger bean, and larger beans tend to be riper." She nodded her head toward the cupboard. "Can you grab me a mug, please?"
He did as she asked, then leaned against the counter and watched her work. "Ok, smarty pants,” he said glancing back to the label. “It says here the altitude is 5,000 feet. What does altitude have to do with it?"
With the coffee underway, Isla started to steam and foam the milk. "The higher the altitude, the more fruit flavour the coffee has. Sometimes it even has floral notes."
"Floral notes?" He folded his arms across his chest. "You're making this up," he said.
"Nope, I swear."
"I drink a lot of coffee but I've never tasted floral notes before."
"You're not drinking the right stuff then," she said and gave him a little wink. Marlowe was an intelligent guy, but in this case she had the upper hand and it felt good. When the coffee had finished brewing she held the cup in one hand and the milk in the other, then she turned toward him so he could see what she was doing. If he thought her knowledge of beans was impressive, he'd love the foam design. Hearts were definitely the wrong choice. Whatever this game was it had little, if anything, to do with the heart. That realization made her hesitate before pouring. It wasn't sadness she felt. Not really. It was loneliness.
"Hey," he said in a tone so gentle she could have cried. "Are you ok?" He'd sensed the shift in her mood and had cared enough to ask. Joe would have been oblivious.
"Yeah, I'm ok," she said and pushed her thoughts and feelings aside, at least for the moment. "Watch this." She lifted the milk high and mixed it with the espresso. Then, when she was ready to create, lowered it and let the foam rise to the top. In seconds, she'd created a beautiful tulip.
"Whoa," said Marlowe. A broad grin spread across his face. "I'm impressed."
She held out the edges of her t-shirt and gave a little curtsey. "Thank you."
"You sure are serious about your coffee."
"Taste it and you'll understand why."
Marlowe took a sip, closing his eyes to savour it. A look of pure bliss came over his face.
"Good, isn't it?" she asked.
"'Good' doesn't begin to describe it. It's fantastic."
"And to think, there are still people drinking instant." She gave a little shudder at the thought and Marlowe laughed. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing at all," he said, but the grin on his face said otherwise. "I've got to learn how to do this. Ryan would love it." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he stiffened.
"Who's Ryan?" She took a sip of coffee and waited for him to respond, but he didn't speak. A look of panic started to creep over his face. "It's ok," she said. "I won't tell Eve if you won't. Besides, they can't send us here for a weekend and expect us to not share anything at all about our lives. Good Lord, what are we supposed to talk about for two days!"
His shoulders began to relax, but as he spoke he kept his eyes on his coffee. "Ryan is my son. He'll be off to college in the fall — or backpacking. He hasn't decided."
"I bet he's a terrific kid."
The discomfort in his face changed to pride. "He is. Kind of quiet, and really bright — he's an honours student. A real gentle soul."
"Like his dad then."
At last he looked up from his mug. "How about you. Any kids?"
Isla shook her head. "I'd always assumed I'd have a family. You know, the two point five kids, the house in the burbs, a dog — golden retriever maybe, or a shaggy rescue dog — but it just never seemed to be the right time." The loneliness that had surfaced earlier returned. Determined not to have it ruin her day, she changed the subject. "Anyway, are we going to lounge around half naked all day or will we go out?"
He grinned. "Half naked works for me."
In the end, they did leave the chalet and spent the afternoon enjoying the fresh air and solitude. It was such a welcome break from the pollution and chaos of the city that Isla wished the trip could last a week. They'd chosen to go snowshoeing along a nearby path that circled a lake, and stopped several times to rest and talk.
It was safe conversation; observations on the surroundings and wildlife, sharing places they'd like to visit someday, and a friendly debate about whether the science in The Martian could actually work. In fact, she hadn't actually read the book and had only gone to see the movie because Matt Damon was in it. However, she figured that wasn't something she should tell the would-be author walking ahead of her.
When they'd returned, Marlowe had poured her a glass of red wine and told her to relax while he fixed supper. Watching him work in the kitchen was incredible. The man was clearly in his element.
"What are you making?" she asked.
Marlowe tossed a dishcloth over his shoulder. "Steak au poivre with a brandy sauce reduction, and a green salad with a honey-balsamic vinaigrette."
"That's very fancy. Are you sure we have everything for that?"
"We should. I gave Eve the list of everything I'd need."
"Wait a minute. You planned all this?"
He seasoned the steaks with sea salt and cracked peppercorns. "Sure did."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little light went on. "And the strawberries and champagne in the hot tub room — that was you too?"
"Yup," he said, and poured oil into the frying pan.
"Mr. Marlowe," she said with a grin, "I like your moves." As she turned to sit on the bar stool, her wine glass knocked against the island and shattered. Shards of broken glass dug into her hand and she cried out in pain.
He was with her in an instant. "Let me see," he said.
She shut her eyes in humiliation. It was a stupid, careless accident. "I'm fine," she lied and tried to pull her hand away.
"You're not fine." He plucked out a large triangle of glass and Isla blanched. The sight of blood, especially her own, was more than she could handle. He examined her hand with such care that for a moment, she forgot about the pain and instead marvelled at this incredible man before her. Intelligent and witty, tender and kind, he was a constant source of surprise. He was hers, and yet not hers at all.
The oil on the stove started to smoke. "I'm ok now," she said. "You keep an eye on that."
He wrapped the dishcloth around her hand and went to the stove. "I'm not sure I got it all. Do you want to run into the bathroom and take a look? I'll clean up here."
Relieved, she escaped into the ensuite and stuck her hand under the tap. The flowing water mesmerized her and made her mind wander. Marlowe was a simply remarkable man and she knew so few of those. But then, she didn't really know him either — that person in the kitchen was no more Marlowe than she was Grace. The rules of the game meant that he would always be an enigma and in eight months, he'd disappear from her life forever. In the stillness of the moment she wondered why they couldn't reveal their identities. He didn't seem like a stalker or crazy person.
His name. That's all she wanted to know. Just a name that she could hold on to.
And with that thought, her eyes fell on his suitcase and the luggage tag hanging from the handle. Seduction had provided them with tags that hid their ID cards entirely. Very clever of Eve, actually — it meant there was no chance of her seeing his real name accidentally.
She really shouldn't look; she had agreed to the rules of the game after all. But if she did, how would anyone know? It wasn't as though there were hidden cameras in the room. If she was quick, Marlowe wouldn't catch her and she certainly had no intention of telling him.
Isla listened to the noises from the kitchen — it sounded like he was still cleaning broken glass. Her breathing shallowed as she imagined pulling out the card. Just knowing his name wouldn't reveal his identity, not really. He could be Bill Smith or something equally common and there must be hundreds, no, thousands, of men called that. Still, there was an undeniable sense that knowing his name crossed some sort of line.
She turned off the tap and wrapped her hand in a towel. The suitcase was on the opposite side of the room from the door. Isla crept over to it and took a long hard look at the tag, wondering whether it was possible to access the ID card one-handed. She gave it a try but failed.
If she was going to do this, she'd need both hands. Letting the towel drop to the floor, she picked up the tag and used the fingers of her injured hand to fish out the card. It was plastic, laminated maybe, and it stuck to the inside of the tag. This would normally be such an easy task but the movement caused her cut to start bleeding again, and she felt a little woozy. She pressed the towel against the cut and waited for it to stop, then made a third attempt. Pinching the card between her fingers she shimmied it back and forth, slowly edging it toward the opening.
It was a blue card. The edge of a gold design, possibly a logo, was just visible. She pulled it a little further and saw the name Colin.
"Grace?" Marlowe called from outside the bedroom. There was no time to stuff the card back in the tag. Isla grabbed the towel and stepped away from the suitcase just as he entered. "How's your hand?" he asked.
"It's, uhm . . . fine."
"Are you sure?" His brow furrowed in concern. "You look a little funny."
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. He stared at her for a second or two and she wondered whether from his position, he could see the bag tag. It was best to distract him. "Could you help me bandage it?"
He followed her into the ensuite and while he applied antibacterial gel and gauze, she tried to imagine him as a Colin. It was a good name. Classic yet understated. Just like him.
Marlowe tore off some tape and fixed the bandage in place. "You'll live," he grinned. "Now, let's eat. I'm starving."
Isla flopped on the sofa, stuffed from the meal and a little tipsy from the wine. If she'd been at home, she'd have unbuttoned her jeans. No, if she were home, she'd be in flannel pyjamas and fuzzy socks.
"What would you like to do now?" asked Marlowe, tossing an arm over the back of the sofa in a carefree sort of way. He was so utterly relaxed and comfortable that she just sat for a moment, drinking him in. There was something about him, some quality that she couldn't quite put her finger on, that attracted her. The secrecy of their relationship was fun, there was no denying that. The dimples were definitely a selling point too. But there was something about Marlowe himself that completely turned her on.
She reached for his hand. It was softer than Joe's but just as strong. Sexier, in fact, with its wide palm and long fingers. Despite the ambiance, Marian popped into her mind. She blamed the wine for weakening her resolve to blot out the whole business for the weekend, but now that she'd begun to think about it, she couldn't seem to stop.
"Penny for your thoughts." Marlowe's voice brought her back to the moment.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Yeah, afraid so. Everything ok?"
"Honestly, I don't know." There was no way she could look him in the eye. He'd done so much to make this time special and yet her mind had flipped over to work.
"Is anyone in physical danger?" he asked.
"No." At least, she didn't think so.
He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face toward him. "Is there anything you can do about it right now?"
"This minute you mean?"
"Yeah, right now."
She had to admit there wasn't. In fact, there might not be anything she could do about it at all.
"Ok then, take your mind off it."
"It's not that simple," she said, pulling away from him. "I can't just turn my brain off." Although in truth, that's exactly what she wanted to do. "There are fifty things going through my head at any one time. If it's not work, it's something else — like all those dirty dishes over there waiting to be done."
Marlowe looked over his shoulder at the mess in the kitchen and chuckled. "I can take your mind off that," he said. "And I can make you stop thinking about work and about anything else that bothers you."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're that confident, are you?"
"Uh-huh."
"You have some kind of super power I don't know about?"
A shy smile crossed his face. "Maybe."
"All right, Spiderman, let's see what you've got."
"Spiderman's a boy," he said. He stood up, took her hand and helped her to her feet.
"Who are you then?"
"Batman, remember?"
Isla thought back to their first rendezvous when Marlowe had played the Batman theme in honour of their masks. "Yes, of course. Silly me." As she watched him rearrange the sofa pillows, she ran a hand over his behind. This man knew how to fill out a pair of jeans. "What's so great about Batman anyway?" she asked. "He's just a regular guy."
"Exactly. A regular guy with toys and as I recall, you like toys." He gave her a little wink and she knew she was blushing.
"You, ah . . ." She took a sip of her wine before continuing. "You have any?"
"Toys?" Marlowe shook his head. "I don't need any," he whispered. "Not tonight anyway."
She grinned a silly, adolescent smile from ear to ear, and lay back on the sofa. "How about Superman?"
"Superman never did this to Lois Lane." He hovered over her, letting nothing but his lips touch her. He kissed her forehead, then her chin. "Relax," he whispered.
With a sigh, she let herself sink further into the cushions. Her eyelids were already heavy from the food, fresh air and wine, so she gladly gave in. He trailed his fingers down the side of her face all the way to her clavicle. She smiled in anticipation of him going lower, but instead he merely traced the neckline of her blouse to the top of her cleavage and stopped again.
"You're teasing me," she said.
"Mmmhmm." His voice was soft and velvety.
A glorious warmth started to grow between her legs. "You could be Thor . . ."
"Thor, eh?" He began unbuttoning her blouse. "There's a joke in there somewhere about nailing you with my hammer." Her laugh was deep and throaty. When he leaned down to kiss her abdomen, she ran her hands through his hair. His soft, thick curls were just long enough to wrap around her finger. "No touching," he said.
"But you have great hair."
"Flatterer." He flushed a little. Modesty suited him; it made him sexier somehow. "Now, lie back and enjoy."
"If you insist," she said, tucking her hands behind her head. For several quiet moments, neither of them spoke. Marlowe trailed his fingers over her skin, the slightest feathery touch that both excited and calmed her. Her attention focused on the swelling in her breasts and between her legs. By the time he unbuckled her belt, she'd forgotten their conversation entirely.
"Which superhero would you be?" he asked. His words were barely above a whisper and for a moment, she was confused.
"Wonder Woman," she said at last.
He'd undone the button and was pulling down her zipper when he spoke again. "Why Wonder Woman?" With one fluid motion, he pulled off her jeans and hooked a finger under the edge of her panties, touching her ever so gently.
"God," she breathed.
"Why Wonder Woman?" he asked again. He was speaking so softly now she could hardly hear him.
"Mmm . . . jewellery," she murmured.
"What kind of jewellery?"
She felt her underwear slip over her ankles. "What?"
"What kind of jewellery?" Isla heard what she thought was amusement in his voice.
"Bracelets." There was something else she was going to say, but when he kissed below her belly button, she forgot what it was.
"Anything else?" His breath was warm against her skin.
There was something else, she knew, but what?
Marlowe's kisses wandered lower. "What about the tiara?" he asked.
"Right . . ." she said, and let her legs fall open. "The tiara . . ."
"And the lasso."
"Hmm?" She could no longer follow him.
He stroked her ever so softly, responding to the movement of her hips. "I wonder what she does with the lasso."
"God . . . Marlowe." Her body was on fire. "Shut up."
He grabbed a few cushions and placed them under her hips. Letting her arms drop back over her head, she surrendered to him. There was no way to distinguish his movements. One sensation blended with another, inside and outside, until behind her eyelids, colours began to appear. Deep purple mixed with burgundy and blue, like watercolours mixing together. In the centre, a tiny dot of light emerged and grew larger as he worked. It took her breath away and made her moan uncontrollably. Hypnotized, she longed for it to consume her. It bloomed so slowly she thought it would drive her mad. Then, all at once, it exploded, filled her core and shot through her limbs. Isla lay there trembling, watching the light slowly fade behind her eyes. She felt weightless and unable to move.
Within minutes, Marlowe had wrapped a warm blanket around her. He lay beside her with an arm around her and kissed her forehead. As she was drifting off to sleep, she felt him stir. He got up, went to the kitchen and started the dishes.