Confessions of a Chalet Girl

Lorraine Wilson

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

For the Minxes of Romance, Jackie Ashenden, Charlotte Phillips and Heidi Rice - without your encouragement to keep writing this book wouldn't exist. Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

‘Get it off!’

Shouts and wolf whistles filled the packed bar. Embarrassment prickled at Holly Buchanan's skin. Chalet girl initiation huh? Why not just throw her to the lions and have done with it?

Swallowing hard, she scanned the crowd. Could she pull this off? They looked inebriated enough to have their designer wool scarves pulled over their eyes.

Bras of all colours and sizes dangled from the wooden beams of the bar's ceiling, resembling pastel-coloured Christmas decorations. 'The Wonderbar', the venue for her first night out in Verbier was, despite appearances, not a seedy strip joint but a favourite haunt of savvy seasonnaires. Not to mention the occasional billionaire.

She heard it grew pretty steamy in the small hours. Not that she was planning on sticking around to see. No way was she dancing on a table.

A throbbing tension headache pulsated against her temples.

What the frick am I doing here?

Enduring ritual humiliation in return for the ten free shots her team would get if she whipped off her bra was hardly her idea of a good night out.

‘Off, off, off.’

Her heart performed a neat back flip down to the soles of her boots.

Come on Holly, work it! You can do it.

‘Off, off, off.’

She took a deep breath and stepped forward. It wasn't as if she even wanted the blasted drinks but failure was not an option. Fitting in was going to be difficult. Her wavy auburn hair contrasted with the straight, identikit caramel locks of the other chalet girls and a glimpse in the mirror confirmed she was paler than an anemic ghost beside their healthy tans. She'd packed for winter, not clubbing, and her cheap cashmere sweater clashed with the other chalet girls' strappy, sparkly tops that defied the sub-zero temperatures outside.

‘Off, off, off,’ the chanting grew louder and more impatient.

I hate, hate, hate this…

She slid one hand up underneath her jumper, giving silent thanks to veteran chalet girl Sophie who'd warned her about the initiation. It’d given her time to come up with a miraculous idea. An idea that had to work because no way was she doing this for real.

‘Off … Off … Off…’

‘Okay, okay. Give me a sec.’ She hoped she sounded breezy, fun …

Fun.

If she heard that word once more she swore she'd walk out into the snow and pray for an avalanche.

‘It's a girl's prerogative to take her time,’ she said her line, attempting a false flirty smile while she pretended to be fiddling with her bra straps. Face burning with embarrassment, she pulled out the second bra she’d secreted inside the sweater before she left the chalet. A barman then snatched it out of her hands and hooked the strap over a nail on the beam. Raucous cheers were mixed with muttered complaints she hadn't flashed the crowd.

As if!

Sophie emerged from the scrum at the bar, her tanned face lit up with an enormous grin. She handed a shot glass to Holly. ‘A toast to you Holly. You're officially one of us.’

Holly smiled and took the glass, even though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stomach it. At least the ordeal was over. The alcohol burned her throat and comforting warmth spread through her chest as she gazed around the bar at the spectators she hadn’t dared to make eye contact with so far.

The bar was packed with seasonnaires - chalet girls and ski or snowboard instructors starting the winter season as they meant to continue. Holly wished for the umpteenth time, with a gut-churning wrench, that her flatmate Pippa were here. This job had been all her idea when last winter's dreary London drizzle had seemed unending. She'd chosen the resort because an online review had voted it ‘best resort for anyone looking to marry rich’. Pippa's eyes lit up as she read aloud to Holly tales of £5,000-a-pop cocktails and the celebs and royalty who graced the resort, landing at the nearby airfield in their private jets.

How ironic that Pippa had fallen in love with penniless mechanic Steve, fallen pregnant and moved him into their rented flat in Wimbledon, leaving Holly with the option of taking the Verbier job as planned or going back home. At this very moment her room in the flat was being converted into a nursery.

Going back home was not an option. Getting a peek into the world of the rich and famous seemed an enticing prospect, like stepping into the pages of a magazine. Not that she could spot anyone famous tonight. Although…

Her eyes came to an abrupt halt as they met the interested gaze of a man with broad, rugby player shoulders and the confident stance of someone completely at ease with himself. He stood head and shoulders above some of the young ski instructors at his side. He was easily handsome enough to be an actor but his dark hair was too mussed and his face too weathered for someone who cared overly about his looks.

Minor royalty perhaps? Or maybe a Russian oligarch? He certainly had the arrogance of one. He stared at her unashamedly, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. Looking up at the latest addition to the bras swinging from the beam overhead he raised an eyebrow.

‘Not yours,’ he mouthed, a crinkle of a smile stretching across a tanned face shadowed by evening stubble.

Oh really? Who did this smart-alec think he was? He might act like a prince but most likely he was just a ski-slob instructor looking to make her another notch on his ski pole.

Emboldened by adrenaline from her 'initiation' and the heady warmth radiating though her body from the Schnapps, she negotiated the crowded bar to get to him.

She couldn't let him mouth off about her not doing the initiation properly. What if they made her do it again? For real next time? She had to shut him up.

‘Hi, I'm Holly,’ she introduced herself coolly, mimicking his raised eyebrows. ‘Who are you?’

Perhaps the ice in her voice would cool his over-familiarity?

‘Scott.’ He surprised her by offering his hand to shake, an oddly formal gesture for his jeans and T-shirt, laid back vibe. Instinctively she took it, his warm hand engulfing hers, clasping it for slightly longer than necessary.

Nice hands.

Involuntarily she found her gaze lingering on his toned physique. Her frostiness hadn’t brought the temperature down one iota and her icy attitude lay in a puddle around her feet. A strange prickle tickled her skin, not embarrassment this time but something even more unwelcome - desire.

I'm supposed to be confronting him, not offering myself on a plate!

Hastily stealing her hand back, she vowed to resist his charm and chemistry, all six foot two inches of it.

Who was this man? Given he was fit and bronzed by sun and wind, he should have blended easily into the crowd. Yet something about the confident way he held himself and his effortless self-possession set him apart.

‘I guess this isn’t your first season in Verbier, Scott?’ She tried to keep her tone neutral, to ignore the buzz of anticipation building inside her. Her body registered the off the scale attraction, desire tugging at her mind for attention.

Could I? Maybe?

Everywhere in the crowd couples were discreetly, or not so discreetly, pairing off. This was too quick though. She couldn’t just hook up with the first gorgeous guy she met. She knew nothing about him.

I don’t do this kind of thing.

Scott stared at her with interested amusement, as though reading her mind. Her cheeks grew hot. She was aware, too aware of the warmth of his body temptingly close to her and the faintest hint of Armani Mania, her favourite aftershave. Time to make an exit. Armani Mania was worse than cocktails for appealing to her most primal instincts.

‘It's not exactly my first season, no,’ Scott answered her, still staring with naked curiosity. Like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle. The corners of his lips twitched with ill concealed humour.

Holly folded her arms over her chest; instinctively aware she'd made a faux pas. Heat spread from her cheeks to her neck. She hated looking stupid. Possibly as much as she loathed crowds of people watching her take her underwear off in public.

‘Hey!’ Sophie bumped into her back in the crush. She rested a hand on Holly's shoulder and whispered into her ear, her breath reeking of schnapps. ‘He's our boss you muppet! Lay off the seduction routine, he hates it, won't sleep with the staff…unfortunately.’

Was it Holly's imagination or had the chatter in the bar quietened at that very moment? It always seemed to when you didn't want someone to hear, it was one of those immutable laws like toast landing butter side down.

Scott's eyes gleamed, they really did look black. Although on closer inspection his irises contained flecks of dark brown, a deep cafe noir. His lips twitched again as he suppressed a smile. He'd heard every word.

‘I'm not, I wasn’t…’ she muttered, shooting a furious glance at Sophie who raised her eyebrows and disappeared back into the crowd.

Oh great. Fan-bloody-tastic!

‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.’ She bit back her surprise that he was the owner of Luxury Chalet Experiences. He was …different to how she'd imagined. Much more of an athlete than a suit.

‘It's okay. You can call me Scott.’ He grinned and Holly felt unwittingly caught up in his smile, like a fly in a spider's web. She bathed in the warmth of it, transfixed. Her gaze travelled over his long, muscled limbs. He must be really fit …

Stop this at once Holly!

Mentally she shook her head, hoping to break his spell.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ He gestured towards her glass.

‘I've already got one.’ She clutched the shot glass to her chest, trying to conceal the fact it was empty.

Why did people always try to force alcohol on you? She'd never get how losing control was equated with having a good time. Holly never got drunk. Mum had cured her of any desire to have one drink too many.

‘Ah yes, the Schnapps was your reward for the 'performance' you put on tonight. I didn't realise I paid my staff so little they had to strip to make an extra buck.’

Taken aback, she narrowed her eyes, seething and biting back the retort that après-ski activities had certainly not been specified in her job description.

Being leered at by a group of trust fund ski bums wasn’t her life’s ambition. She was here to see Switzerland, to learn to ski, to maybe have an adventure… She didn't know what sort of adventure but it certainly wouldn't involve getting legless in a bar adorned with girls' underwear.

She shrugged, wishing a witty retort would come to mind. She’d think of it later tonight no doubt but for now her mind was peculiarly absent, still ruminating on the long denim-clad legs and strong arms. Not to mention that gorgeous whiff of Armani Mania playing havoc with her senses.

Get real, Holly.

‘Just kidding.’ His mouth widened into another grin. ‘I don't mind my staff having fun, as long as their hangovers don't keep them from making the breakfasts first thing in the morning. And you were certainly playing to the audience.’

What was that supposed to mean? She crossed her arms over her chest. Fun! Huh. Now where was an avalanche when you needed one?

After a five am start this morning to get to Luton airport in time for her flight to Geneva she really could be doing without this. The familiar signs of growing drunkenness around her increased her discomfort.

Gorgeous or not she wanted out of here.

Oh to escape to bed and pull the duvet up over her head away from prying eyes. She wondered how he'd known it wasn’t her real bra. She glanced involuntarily up at the plain white bra dangling from the beam. Scott caught her eye and winked.

‘I think I'll go back to the chalet. I've got a call to make and I was planning on an early night.’ She spoke to the floorboards, heat flooding her cheeks. It would be a relief to get outside in the cold night air.

‘Good plan. You’ve a seven am start tomorrow morning to help get Chalet Repos ready for the new guests.’

She had to get out of here before she embarrassed herself even more.

‘I'll, err, make that call.’ She hurriedly fished her iPhone out of her jeans pocket. ‘I'm going to head off now, the signal here's rubbish.’

‘I'll come with you.’ He took her empty glass from her and placed it on a table. ‘I've got some paperwork to do. And we need to sort your ski-pass. Sorry I wasn't around earlier but driving back from Italy was hellish - the passes were shut because of this early snowfall so I had to drive the long way round. But Sophie looked after you, right?’

Disconcerted, Holly had no choice but to let him join her. She felt in the wrong, a sulky teenager being handled patiently by the teacher.

‘Yes, she was really helpful,’ she said, staring down at her boots while he pulled his jacket on. She should be summoning a party girl smile and exuding some of that ‘can-do’ attitude she'd performed so well at the agency interview back in London. Heck, she’d even convinced herself at the time!

She ignored Sophie's smirk as they left the bar together, their footsteps crunching into the crisp, compacted snow. A new layer of powdery snow had fallen since she’d arrived at the Wonderbar. The reflected moonlight sparkled like diamonds on the snow's surface.

It was quiet, positively serene. A polar opposite to the bar. She couldn't deny the resort was beautiful. Really she should make the most of it, stop being stroppy. She'd chosen to come here after all.

‘Who are you ringing?

In the silent, deserted street Scott's voice felt intimate. His breath evaporated on the freezing air. Holly looked down at the snow, flummoxed. ‘I have to ring a friend, my flatmate Pippa. She was supposed to be here with me but she…um got pregnant.’

Great Holly, way to make an impression!

‘You were happy to come on your own though?’

Hot, unexpected tears burned at the back of her eyes. She blinked them back, feeling the muscles in her neck tensing. She shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not? It’ll be an experience.’

‘You don’t mind being away from your family for Christmas and New Year?’

‘No,’ she said, ignoring the urge to tell him the truth about why she’d been so keen to come here. The idea of going home for Christmas was so unpalatable she’d have gone to a Siberian work camp if it had been the only option on offer.

‘You’re lucky your family don’t mind you being away.’ His jaw tightened, a shuttered look briefly obscuring his features.

She snorted. ‘They don’t mind, no. So you don’t have a choice?’

‘Nope, I’ve got to fly back to London, act as referee, make sure no one actually kills anyone.’ He sighed and kicked at the snow. ‘Frankly I’d rather stay here and work.’

‘It doesn’t sound much fun.’ She grimaced in sympathy but didn’t want to delve deeper. Confidences invited confidences and she couldn’t go there.

Her mother and her new partner would spend Christmas blind drunk. It might be all right for a while, until the rowing started. A shiver ran down her spine and she hugged her arms around her body, head pounding.

‘Here.’ Scott took his ski jacket off and put it over her shoulders.

The warmth enveloped her like a hug and tears threatened again. She blinked them back fiercely.

Don't be nice to me, just don't.

‘You need to be careful out here in the cold.’ Scott frowned. If he'd seen her glistening eyes he chose not to mention it. ‘The temperatures at night can be dangerously low. Barely a season goes by without a drunken tourist having to be fished out of the frozen river in the morning. The ice is treacherous. You girls need to take more care. Particularly if you’re drinking shots.’

You girls?

She glared at him. How dare he give her a lecture about alcohol? As if she hadn’t grown up with the consequences, had them thrust in her face every day…

Ok this was good. Being angry she could handle. So there were a few chemical reactions happening between them. The guy had good pheromones. So what? Nothing would happen.

You need to take more care.

She did nothing but bloody well take care. As soon as she was old enough she was cleaning up vomit, encouraging her mother to change, to wash her hair, to maintain the semblance of a normal home for all the prying eyes and snoops. Terror at the idea of being put into care meant she perfected the art of pretending everything was okay. Then the years trying to get her mother to AA meetings before the gut-wrenching conclusion she never would because she simply didn’t want to.

‘Right,’ she replied, voice tight and her throat aching with the words she wasn't saying. Her heart felt as cold and heavy as the patches of thick ice on the path. She didn't want his advice, didn't want his… Well, maybe she did want his jacket. It was bloody freezing after all.

‘Are you okay?’ The warmth in his tone and the absence of a mocking, teasing air made her almost think about confiding.

Almost.

‘I’m fine thanks, really pleased to be here.’ She smiled a tight smile. ‘Thanks for giving me the opportunity to work here.’

Fine, so she deserved the raised eyebrow she got for that, it sounded insincere even to her own ears. She met his gaze levelly, defiantly, flashing a ‘no entry’ sign as politely as she knew how.

It was a look she’d practiced and used to great effect with teachers prying into her home life when she was a child and she’d carried it on into adulthood. It had been a useful tool in her defence arsenal.

‘I’m thinking you don’t normally get to have much fun, Holly.’ The flirty edge was back in his voice and a spark danced in his eyes. Clearly she needed to practice her 'piss-off look'. Either that or he was immune. That was a scary thought.

‘Fun?’ She ground her teeth, immensely grateful they were almost at the chalet.

‘Yes, you know. That thing where you relax, let your guard down, lose control.’

‘I never lose control,’ she replied, pulling his jacket more tightly around her body.

The snow-covered porch of Chalet Repos was a welcome sight. She huddled in the doorway as he pulled out his keys to let them into the basement staff quarters.

‘That sounds like a challenge,’ he said. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that was dark and probing, seeing…what? Far too much, anyway.

She couldn't look away, the connection between them mesmerising her, accompanied by a tug of desire so visceral it took her breath away.

Flakes of snow fell, softly tickling her nose and resting on her eyelashes.

‘It's snowing again.’ She broke away first, stamping her boots on the doormat to dislodge the snow.

Scott laughed and turned the key in the lock. ‘Call that snow? Just you wait until we get the really heavy falls. Oh, I meant to ask you - whose was the bra you pretended to remove?’

The change of subject startled her. She stared at him, flushing again as something knowing and very, very sexy flashed in his dark eyes.

He held the door open and she slipped past him, the warmth of the chalet enveloped her as she stepped inside, senses tingling and skin super sensitised. His hand lightly brushed her arm when he took his jacket back. She started violently. Had he done that on purpose?

‘Err, what makes you so sure it wasn't mine?’ The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. Never ask a question you don't want the answer to.

Too late.

CHAPTER TWO

Scott couldn’t help but grin. Holly intrigued him. He knew he should maintain a professional distance but what the hell, it was fun playing with her. She was a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to rise to. On the surface she seemed to be acting a part, that line about being grateful for the opportunity had been falser than her little strip routine.

Usually he hated that kind of superficiality but her eyes had a depth and intelligence that blew him away. Intuition told him there was more to her than met the eye, although he had to admit what met the eye – the lush curves of her body and wavy auburn hair - was an absolute treat.

Clearly all was not well back home. Well he could certainly relate to that.

Generally the chalet girls the agency sent him were a hardy breed who partied like it was their vocation. They worked efficiently enough so they could get maximum time on the ski slopes and in the bars at night. Some were looking for flings, others looking for rings.

Holly didn't fit the Hooray Henrietta mould.

Nor did she fit the bra she’d so carefully tried to pass off as her own.

‘It was too small,’ he replied bluntly, trying not to laugh too openly, watching the deepening flush of her cheeks. She was so easy to tease. Making her blush was hardly a challenge. He liked it that Holly was sweet but also very, very sexy.

Holly crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him, but tellingly her pupils dilated into two black pools, vivid against irises of deep forest green. Her lips parted.

He knew the signs when a woman was attracted to him. But this felt different. More. Warmer, softer and far more meaningful.

He should lay off, take a step back.

She's staff, remember!

A glimpse of pink tongue between Holly's white teeth distracted him and he wondered how she would taste if he kissed her. This was all her fault for being so damned irresistible.

‘The bra was too plain as well. I’m guessing you’re a lacy bra kind of girl, and you go in for colour too.’

‘Oh.’ Her mouth opened and then abruptly closed again as she fixed her eyes on her boots. Her body might be speaking the language of desire but her troubled eyes said she was conflicted.

Scott regretfully decided it was time to back off. Time to act like an employer.

Remember what happened last time you broke the rules?

A nightmare he'd be mad to repeat.

‘Would you like a proper tour of the main chalet?’ he asked. ‘Now's the best time, the lull before the storm. Unless Sophie's already shown you?’

‘We didn't have time.’ Holly bit her lip, a tiny gesture that sent a volt of sexual energy coursing through his veins.

‘Okay, follow me.’ Scott strode off quickly before the close confines of the hallway led him to do something he shouldn't.

In the main open plan living area mellow flames still flickered in the fireplace. They cast a soft, amber haze over the room's leather sofas and faux fur throws.

‘Sheepskin, cow skin… Any other animals to declare?’ Holly grinned.

He liked that she was taking the mickey.

‘Actually I think the rug under that table over there is goatskin. I know, it's a bit of a cliché but it's what the guests expect. Chalet chic. Looks simple and rustic but costs the earth.’

‘I think it’s fab. And so lovely to have a real fire too.’ She walked towards the hearth, stretching out her hands.

He imagined Holly lying on the rug in front of the fire, her curves highlighted by the soft light.

Clearing his throat, he wrenched his eyes away. ‘Do you need to make your phone call or can it wait?’

‘It can wait.’

‘Follow me.’ He led her to the guest suites, striding ahead to make sure she didn't come too close. He wasn't sure how long his resolve might hold. The client accommodation reminded him of his earlier suspicion. He turned to face her.

‘You still haven’t answered my question. If it wasn’t yours, where did the bra come from?’

He couldn’t help himself. The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Like steak and chips when you were on a diet, teasing Holly was just too tempting.

‘Chalet Repos' lost property.’ Her confident stare radiated defiance.

‘So our guests pay for the luxury experience and you choose to drape their underwear in public for the whole of Verbier to see?’

‘But it's okay to let your staff face some initiation where they have to flash their underwear to the entire resort? I’m quite sure it contravenes some employment law or other.’

Checkmate.

‘Why do you want this job?’ Genuine curiosity prompted the question.

‘Why spend the winter temping in a London office and cramming yourself onto the tube when you can ski all day and hit the town at night?’

He'd heard this argument many times. Gut instinct said she was parroting what she’d heard someone else say. Holly wasn't a party animal. Was she going to give him a straight answer to any question he asked?

‘Right.’ He remained unconvinced. ‘Well, it's part of your job to make sure our guests have their every whim met. Whatever the guest wants, from fireworks to an off-piste expedition, we organise it. That's what we do; help them experience life to the max.’

Great, now he sounded like a cola commercial.

‘Err, when you say every whim…’

‘Every whim within reason that is,’ he replied, trying very hard to suppress all the whims he’d like Holly to satisfy. ‘Nothing dodgy obviously. Don’t worry. Come to me if you have any problems with … ahem, sexual harassment.’

‘Like people asking me questions about my underwear for example?’ She smiled sweetly.

This girl was trouble.

He grinned. ‘Yes…something like that. Right, I’d better dash and let you make that phone call. I’ve got a date with some paperwork. And another thing - do you mind if I leave your ski pass ‘til the morning? I expect you can’t wait to hit the slopes.’

‘Err, no that will be fine. Well, um, goodnight.’ Her eyes searched his for a few seconds before she averted her gaze. Was she looking for something? Hoping for something?

‘Goodnight.’ He turned away. Walking to his office was one of the strongest tests of self-control he’d ever known.

***

Holly paced the room clasping her iPhone. As it was more of a broom cupboard with bunk beds than a real bedroom this was difficult. She thought about the banter with Scott and smiled. She'd won that last point nicely. Although, what if he now thought she didn't want him to flirt?

Well then, that would be good because she didn't want him to. Did she?

She stared out of the window. The snow fell in thick, heavy flakes as large as her palm. The view of the valley with its snow-laden pine trees and picturesque chalets bathed in the moonlight soothed her.

She scrolled through her contacts list, maybe it was a bit late to ring. She’d text Pippa instead.

Hi Pips. Am in Verbier now at Chalet. Was forced to strip in bar tonight. All your frickin’ fault! Can’t believe you got me into this!!! Hope things are okay hun xx

A beep signalled a reply.

Hey! Fast work there grasshopper ;-) Landed a zillionaire yet? xx

Hmm, I met a rather interesting guy who kept going on about my underwear… Well, maybe she wouldn’t send that reply. Instead she typed:

Get real – I’ve got to be up at stupid o’clock to clean toilets, no time for zillionaires! Snow is lush though. Wish you were here H xx

Pippa’s reply appeared on her screen as she watched.

Put your big girl pants on and go get yourself a man ;-) P xx

Great, why did Pippa insist on assuming all Holly needed was a man? It did Holly's head in. She’d told her often enough she wasn't bothered. What she needed was to be as far away from home as possible and to be left alone. She looked around at the four bunks squeezed tightly into the cramped space.

Alone was something she was going to struggle to be.

***

‘Give us a snog love.’ One of the guests leered towards Holly, red-faced and with a paunch that bulged over his waistband, shirt buttons straining.

She reeled back from the alcohol fumes on his breath, almost gagging. The chimes of the church clock rang out the New Year, sounding sharp and clear on the alpine air.

Holly cursed the enforced jollity of New Year and drunken morons … sorry, 'paying guests', to whom she had to be polite and not knee in a sensitive area, no matter how provoked she was.

She’d slip away for a bit. The others could cover for her. If they took cigarette breaks then why shouldn’t she have a little nervous breakdown break? She raced down the steps.

The path to Chalet Repos’ terrace lay shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by flashes of fireworks. Most of the guests were up on the balcony or inside. The firework display would keep everyone busy for a while.

She inhaled the fresh air deeply, enjoying the relative peace so much that she didn't care about the cold. You'd think a ski resort in the Swiss Alps would have plenty of peace but no such luck. The small dormitory had proved as suffocating as she'd feared.

‘Who or what are you escaping from?’ A low male voice asked from the shadows.

She jumped up from her slouched position next to a pile of crates, muscles tensed. If anyone tried it on she was using her self-defence moves, guest or no guest.

‘Hey, it's okay, don't panic,’ he added, the kindness in the tone sounding familiar. Her fists unclenched and she peered at the man more closely, her eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light and recognising Scott.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness, appraising her with an intensity that made her shiver. Frying pans and fires came to mind.

‘Hello again.’ His mouth widened into a warm, confident smile.

‘Hello,’ she replied shyly, hoping the darkness partially obscured her thousand-watt smile reaction to seeing him again.

Avoiding tackling her confused emotions for him had been fairly easy since her first night, as he'd flown home to London for Christmas. She’d been up to her armpits with guests' children needing babysitting while their parents skied. Not that she minded being busy but her ski pass lay untouched in her rucksack and she never got round to organising a lesson.

‘What brings you down here?’

‘I don't want to be kissed.’ She blurted the words before her internal censor had time to react.

His handsome face creased with amusement. ‘I wasn't planning on kissing you, but now you mention it … ’

She could feel her face flaming, even in the freezing night air. Snowflakes stung on her overheated skin. She hated Scott's knack of making her blush like a teenager.

‘Come into my office, it's more comfortable than out here. Warmer too.’

‘Come into my parlour’ said the spider to the fly …

He took her hand, tugging her through the back door and she ignored her reservations, too intrigued to pull back. He exuded a no nonsense air of authority that was hard to resist and seemed infinitely more grown up than the lairy city boys staying at the chalet for New Year. Sure, he was older than them by a few years, maybe about thirty or late twenties, but she didn’t think it was just age that set him apart.

‘I meant I don't want to be kissed by one of the guests, they’ve had a bit too much to drink.’ It was a huge understatement. They'd been downing champagne at a staggering rate.

She stood awkwardly in his office, aware of her hand still resting in his, skin on skin. The odd sensation they were the only two sober people in the world at that moment made her skin prickle with anticipation.

‘But you would like to be kissed by me?’ He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb, a tiny movement but one that set her senses on fire.

Up close the manliness of him overwhelmed her. The attraction drawing her to Scott was so visceral it scared her. He was fit and rugged. His thick, dark hair flopped wherever it pleased and a hint of stubble shadowing his strong jawline. She imagined how that stubble would feel if he kissed her.

‘I … ’

Kiss me. Please kiss me!

It was no good. She couldn't say the words aloud. But the hot rush of desire was there nevertheless. She tried to remind herself she wasn’t here in Verbier for this. The terrifying sense he could see right through her to the Holly hardly anyone knew unnerved her. Fear fought attraction and she felt like the Pushmi-pullyu from Dr Doolittle, not knowing which way she wanted to run.

‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ She tried to steer the conversation into safer waters.

He shrugged, eyes briefly clouded and his features taking on a harder edge. ‘You know families.’

Indeed she did.

‘No murders then?’ She smiled, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Not yet, I managed to restrain myself.’ The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Hey, why do you think I came here for Christmas?’ she joked and then instantly regretted it. Kissing would be preferable to questions.

Infinitely more preferable. Was it too late to press the rewind button?

‘Running away from guests wanting to kiss you was the better option?’

Actually it was.

‘I'm not one of those chalet girls,’ she murmured, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding his quizzical stare. ‘You know, you must know what everyone gets up to?’

‘Unofficially yes, officially no.’ He regarded her with amused interest. ‘As long as everyone involved is over eighteen I don’t see I've any business stopping it if two people want to sleep together.’

Sleep together.

The phrase stuck in Holly’s mind and her cheeks burned again. Great, how did this guy have the ability to make her blush so easily? She hadn’t been like this since her first crush at sixteen.

‘So, what sort of chalet girl are you?’ He quirked a thick, dark eyebrow. Knowing amusement danced in his eyes and his thumb rhythmically stroked the inside of her palm. The movement started a gentle tingling that spread all over her body.

She had to say something, needed to make it clear bed hopping wasn’t her thing. The only one-night-stand she’d had, against her better judgement, left her feeling miserable, not liberated.

‘I know it’s not fashionable to admit it but I'm not interested in sleeping around.’ She tried to tug her hand away but he wouldn’t let go.

A steady humming of arousal tickled her skin, spreading up from the rhythmic circles Scott was tracing on her palm.

‘That’s okay Holly, I don’t want you to sleep around. I just want you to sleep with me.’

’‘Are you teasing me?’ she asked.

‘Oh, you'll know when I'm teasing you.’ He grinned.

She sensed he knew sex, knew it very well and knew how to make it good for her. Suddenly she wanted very much to be teased by him. Heck it was tempting but at the same time bloody scary too.

Turned on beyond the point of no return she couldn’t pull away.

‘I just want to sit away from the kiss danger zone up there. At least until after everyone's done that midnight, New Year kissing thing. I want to avoid leery, beery idiots and get to bed. Alone that is.’ She tried to look like she believed it, as though he wasn’t turning her on by what he was doing to her hand.

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