Suite Embrace
Anita Bunkley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Crawford, my hero.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 1

Skylar Webster counted the zeros on the pale blue check for the tenth time, reluctant to hand the valuable piece of paper over to the man sitting across from her at the conference table. She had never seen a check for four million dollars before, and certainly never one with her name on it!

On her way to Tampa Commerce Bank this morning, to finalize her investment portfolio and deposit the money into her bank account, she had stopped at a nearby copy center to make a copy of the check for her records, and to prove to anyone who might not believe her story, that she had once possessed such a sum.

Now, the numbers shifted and blurred before her eyes, making her feel slightly dizzy and she wasn’t sure if this sudden sense of euphoria was from the two aspirin she had taken earlier or the four cups of coffee she had drunk. Or maybe she was just overly excited that at last, her claim against Dorchester Elevators was settled and she could get on with her life.

It had been nearly a year since the accident, although it seemed like yesterday to Skylar, a paralegal who had been in and out of the Hillsborough County Courthouse thousands of times without ever thinking twice about stepping into its aging, temperamental elevators. For eight years, she had worked with many of the court-appointed lawyers and knew the building and its staff very well. In fact the courthouse had been like a second home to her, where she sometimes spent ten to twelve hours a day.

But her comfort level changed drastically on a cool December morning when she delivered a routine envelope of documents to Judge Flores on the tenth floor. After dropping off the package, she had chatted briefly with the judge’s secretary and then entered the tenth floor elevator, expecting to head back into the courtroom. But she never made it back to work that day. As soon as the double doors slid closed, the car had rattled and jerked a few times and then spiraled downward, crashing to the basement floor, taking Skylar and six other terrified passengers to the bottom of the shaft.

One man had been killed, a teenage girl’s legs had been so badly broken that she would never walk again, and the other passengers had suffered serious cuts and bruises, emerging shaken, but alive. Skylar, who had escaped with a shattered elbow and a fractured pelvis, knew she should feel relieved that both of her injuries had healed without complications—unless being unable to carry a child to term could be called a complication.

Now, after eleven months of sheer hell, the accident remained a nagging blur that she struggled to keep out of her mind, one that caused migraine headaches that her doctor insisted were a result of stress, and not from any of her injuries.

“Okay, Mr. Ray, where do I sign?” Skylar asked, coming back to the moment as she accepted a pen from her financial consultant.

“At the top. On the back, Skylar,” Mr. Ray replied, watching as she turned the check over and wrote her name in a flowing script across the top part of the check.

Sitting back, Skylar let her body go limp, sighing aloud, as if expelling a tiresome burden from her soul. “So, I’m all set?”

“You sure are,” Mr. Ray replied in a satisfied tone. “Your after-tax settlement of three and a half million dollars is now safely invested in a diversified portfolio that will keep you financially healthy for a long time to come. Your condo is paid for, as is your car. You have no outstanding credit card debt, and you have seventy-five thousand dollars in your personal checking account.”

Leaning forward over the table, Skylar pressed out her lower lip, narrowed her smoky black eyes at Mr. Ray and propped a fist under her softly rounded chin. “So, I can hit the mall and shop till I drop when I leave here, huh?” she joked, eager to shake off the unsettling seriousness of the meeting. Ever since the accident it seemed as if she had had nothing but one serious, angst-filled discussion after another with a stream of doctors, therapists, lawyers, insurance representatives and bankers. Finally, the negotiations were over. She could believe that the money was hers. She had actually received a mind-blowing settlement from Dorchester for all of her pain and suffering.

“Well,” Mr. Ray stated, studying Skylar over the top of his small rectangular glasses. “Yes…you can go shopping, but you do need to be prudent in your long-term spending. You’re only thirty-five years old, Skylar, and you’re going to be around for a lot of years. A settlement of several million dollars doesn’t last as long as most people think. The money will grow if you let it, but not if you spend as if there’s no limit…or make risky investments. I know you’re a practical young lady, but even sensible people can lose sight of what’s important when they come into the kind of money you now have.”

“I know. I was just joking, really,” Skylar tossed back, giving the too-somber banker a hint of a smile as he paper clipped the check to the top of a manila folder and pocketed his Mont Blanc pen.

“I’ll be right back with your deposit slip,” he said, before stepping out of the room.

Skylar sat back in her chair, thinking about the banker’s comment. Risky investments? Nothing to worry about there. That’s not my style at all. Unless I count Lewis Monroe.

With a silent groan, she let her thoughts slip to Lewis, the man in whom she had invested three years of her life, an investment that had brought her absolutely no return. In fact, she’d been left with a hole in her heart so large she was certain it would never heal. Just thinking about him brought on a surge of pain. Their final argument still made her wince whenever she let it into her head. How long had he been sleeping with that flashy, weave-wearing model before she found out? The entire time that Skylar had been in the hospital? Even before? He had never had the guts to tell her.

Memories of Lewis’s devastating betrayal pushed stinging, hot tears into Skylar’s eyes. How could he have treated their relationship in such an off-handed manner after making her believe that they had been in a committed, exclusive relationship? She had known they were headed to the altar and had begun to mentally prepare the wedding. But he had trashed all of that with his cheating, low-life self. And he’d even had the nerve to act insulted when she refused to forgive him and give him fifty-thousand dollars to expand Thredz, his urban menswear shop.

What a jerk, she thought. Lewis Monroe will never get his hands on a dime of my money no matter how many times he apologizes or begs for my forgiveness. He was history, and she was damn glad to be rid of him. From now on she planned to focus on one thing, herself, and not the pain and humiliation of the past.

When Mr. Ray returned and handed Skylar her deposit slip, he extended his hand and wished her luck, clearly ready to move on to his next client.

“Thanks, Mr. Ray,” Skylar told him, shouldering her new Coach purse as she prepared to leave. “I’m really glad my mother recommended you. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

Mr. Ray leveled a fatherly expression on Skylar, causing the age lines in his dark brown face to soften. He raised his bushy eyebrows, which were heavily sprinkled with gray and focused on Skylar for a long moment. “You’re level-headed, just like your father was. I’m sure you’re going to make the right choices and have a long, happy, love-filled life.” He shook her hand and added, before leaving, “Next time you speak to your mother, give her my regards.”

“I will,” Skylar promised, thinking that her father, who had been cautious about everything he did, and especially how he spent his money, would have been proud of the way she was handling things.

Herbert Webster had worked as an accountant for a chain of convenience stores for twenty years before dropping dead of a heart attack at his desk at the age of forty-two. He’d preached his belief to Skylar and her sister, Deena, many times: avoiding risky situations would keep them grounded, safe and in control of their lives. Taking unnecessary chances was foolish. Stick with what you know—that had been his motto, and Skylar had taken it to heart at a very early age.

After Mr. Ray walked away, Skylar stared down at the packet of papers in her hands, relieved that her money was safe. She hoped Mr. Ray’s prediction about her having a long, love-filled life would come true, but somehow doubted it would. Her messy break-up with Lewis had undermined her confidence in the romance department—and the realization unnerved Skylar. She had never before felt so unsure about her future as far as men were concerned.

Knowing she had to get going, Skylar left the conference room, exiting through the glass doors that led to the elevator, and walked right into an open car. Taking a deep breath, she pushed Lobby and told herself that nothing was going to happen. After all, what were the odds of experiencing two elevator crashes in a lifetime? she wondered, glancing at the mirrored wall, pleased with her reflection.

Clear tea-colored skin. Shiny black hair that was twisted into springy locks that cupped her face. Prominent cheek bones and a softly defined jaw. Smoky black eyes that stared back at her, though she felt as if she were looking at a stranger who was fifteen pounds thinner than this time last year. And she was wearing a muted aqua pants suit trimmed in black leather that had cost three hundred-fifty-five dollars…more than she had ever spent on a piece of clothing in her life. It felt weird to realize that from now on, she could buy anything she wanted.

A happy love-filled life? So far, things sure don’t seem to be going that way. I suffer from migraines. I can’t have children. The man I thought I would marry one day cheated on me and then had the nerve to ask me for a loan. And now that I’m rich, Tanya and Loretta, my two best girlfriends no longer call or invite me to hang out with them. What good is cash in the bank when my life feels so empty?

Chapter 2

“Deena, it’s all so strange. Suddenly being rich,” Skylar confessed to her sister over the phone. At one time she and Deena had been content to talk to each other on the phone a few times a year and send e-mails back and forth now and then, but since Skylar’s hospitalization last year, the two had grown very close, chatting almost daily.

As soon as Deena learned about her sister’s accident she had flown in from Colorado and stayed with Skylar until she had been out of danger and able to manage on her own. Now, she was back in Colorado and back to managing the ski school that she and her husband ran.

“Yesterday, I met with Mr. Ray and settled everything with the bank,” Skylar went on. “My money is properly invested and my checking account is flush. And Mr. Ray was so nice. He really helped me figure out what I needed to do.”

“And what are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have to worry about holding down a job?” Deena asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know it feels damn good not to have to jump out of bed and hit the freeway in the morning.”

“Nothing stopping you from going to law school then,” Deena prompted. “You put it off after college because you had to get a job and support yourself, but why not do it now? Seems like the perfect time to go for it.”

Skylar let the phone remain silent for a long pause. After graduating from the University of Tampa with a degree in business economics, she had wanted to go on to law school, but hadn’t had the funds. After she was hired as a paralegal with the county court system, she became comfortable with her position and accustomed to a regular pay check. Even though she had the money and the time to study law full-time now, did she really want to take on such a demanding academic challenge?

Finally, she told Deena, “I do want to study law, but something like that takes time and planning. Maybe down the road, I’ll go for it, but not right now. For the first time in my life I have no one to answer to, so I ought to be in heaven, but I’m feeling kind of at loose ends. Too…free?” She thought about her remark and then asked, “Does that sound strange?”

“No, I’m not surprised,” Deena replied. “Who wouldn’t feel lost after all you’ve been through? Weeks in the hospital. Then months at that rehab place. A crazy legal battle with Dorchester. And then all that mess with Lewis.” When Skylar didn’t say anything, Deena went on. “Please tell me it’s over with him, Skylar. You can’t even think about taking him back.”

“I know, I know,” Skylar murmured into the phone. “It’s over. Don’t worry.”

“But I do. You hung on to him way too long to begin with. He never was right for you. I’m just sorry that it ended with you getting hurt.”

“We had some good times,” Skylar defended, while knowing her sister spoke the truth. Now that the relationship was over, Skylar could look back and see that she and Lewis had never been really compatible. In the beginning, he had been attentive, charming, great in bed. But as the months passed, they had settled in to a routine that was satisfying and safe. She had known what to expect from him, and it had been easier to hold on to the man she was with than strike out to find someone new. Stick with what you know, her father had always told her, and now she guessed that was what she had done for most of the important decisions in her life.

“Skylar, you got dumped by a man you loved and trusted. While you were in the hospital, too! No way can he ever justify that.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Skylar tossed back, imagining that Deena was leaning into the phone, eyes wide with anger as she lectured her baby sister.

Deena wasn’t finished. “Lewis has a way of charming people to get what he wants. He’s fine, he’s intelligent and he’s slick. I know how much you wanted the relationship to work out, but I’m glad you found out what kind of man he was before you said, ‘I do.’ So, don’t even talk to him. Don’t give him an opportunity to work your emotions.”

“All right, Deena! I hear you. Give me some credit, okay?” Skylar suddenly snapped, now irritated as hell that her big sister dared lecture her on men. What does Deena know about the dating scene in 2005 and how hard it is to find a good man? Skylar silently fumed. Deena had married her high school sweetheart at nineteen and moved with him to Colorado. She had no earthly idea of what a single, black, thirty-five-year-old female faces every day while trying to find love, Skylar thought.

“No need to get snippy,” Deena tossed back. “I worry about you, that’s all. With Mom now living in Brooklyn with Aunt Clara, you don’t have any family nearby.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Skylar wanted to know. It wasn’t as if she had ever consulted her mom about her love life when she lived across town in Tampa.

“Well, for starters, you’re a very rich woman now, and your settlement was publicized in the paper. Men prey on women like you, so it’s important to stay close to people you can trust.”

“I assure you, I have enough sense to stay away from financial predators, con artists and low-life types. Including Lewis Monroe.”

“I’m sure you do, Skylar. Sorry for the lecture,” Deena meekly offered. “Just feeling a bit overanxious.”

Skylar paused before saying anything else, struck by the timbre of worry that had crept into her sister’s usually perky voice. Something more than Skylar’s love life was on Deena’s mind.

Deena and her husband, Jerome Simpson, owned Scenic Ridge, a private lodge and ski school nestled in an unincorporated area of the Roaring Fork Valley, northwest of Aspen, Colorado. The nearest town was Woody Creek, and it was linked to Deena and Jerome’s property by a narrow winding road that ran high into the mountains, which no one traveled unless they were going to Scenic Ridge. With ski season in full swing, it was no surprise that Deena sounded as if she were under pressure. She had a staff of twenty to manage while dealing with demanding guests whom she treated like royalty. “Overanxious?” Skylar repeated. “What’s going on, Deena? Problems at the lodge?”

“Yeah, but more so with Jerome,” Deena slowly volunteered. “It’s his father.”

“Mr. Simpson is kind of up in years by now, isn’t he?”

“Eighty-two.”

“And he still lives in Oregon?” Skylar clarified, recalling having met her brother-in-law’s father only one time—at Deena and Jerome’s wedding twenty-one years ago.

“Right, and he’s set to undergo surgery for prostate cancer day after tomorrow. Jerome’s an only child and he has to be with his dad. I want him to go, but the timing is awful. While Jerome is away, everything he usually takes care of will fall on me for God only knows how long.”

“You’ll have to run the ski school in Jerome’s place?” Skylar asked, aware that Deena was only an average skier, but hell on the slopes when it came to snowboarding.

“Oh, no. We hired a guy last fall…Mark Jorgen, you ever heard of him?”

“No, should I recognize the name?”

“He’s a former Olympic gold medalist. He’s our new ski school director and head instructor. He’s great. Especially with the younger skiers and he’s really boosted our bookings, too. But the biggest problem is that Jean-Paul, our long-time, trustworthy guest relations manager…or concierge, as he preferred to call himself, quit yesterday. Lured away by a Hyatt Regency in Utah. I need a new concierge now.”

“That’s a bummer. Call an employment agency.”

“Not so easy. I’ve tried. No one I approve of is remotely interested. I’ve got to find someone I can absolutely trust. Not just some stranger to come in and play the role. You know?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I was thinking. Skylar…”

“What?” Skylar interrupted, suspicious of the ingratiating tone her sister was now using.

“I was hoping that you might consider coming up to Scenic Ridge to help me out. Just until I can hire someone else?”

“Me? A concierge? I don’t think so, Deena. I’m a paralegal, remember? Guest relations are not remotely related to my chosen field of work, and I know zilch about the Aspen area. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Think about it, Skylar. Please. You’ve worked in hotels before.”

“Front desk duties while I was in college.”

“So? You can do it. I’ve got to have someone I can absolutely trust,” Deena pressed the issue. “Information on local entertainment, attractions, restaurants and transportation is prepackaged and ready to hand out to anyone who wants it. Not being from this area won’t be an issue. What I need is a personal link to the hotel. You know…a discreet person to take care of sticky issues and unusual requests.”

Skylar flinched. “Do you get a lot of those?”

“Well, you never know what can come up when people are on vacation and out of their usual element. My motto is ‘Give the guests whatever they want.’ It’ll be easy, trust me. You’ll be out of Tampa and away from Lewis. He may have been fine as hell, but he was also a dog. Trust me, Skylar, you can do better.”

“Girl, you know I hate cold weather and I don’t even ski,” Skylar said. “It’s January and it’s seventy-nine degrees here in Tampa today. I’m very happy right here, thank you very much. I’d rather spend my days at the beach than freeze my ass off in a lodge in the mountains…even though I know your place is as gorgeous as any five star hotel. However, I don’t think it’s where I ought to be.”

“Skylar. Help me out. We haven’t spent any real time together in years. When I was there after your accident, you were too sick for us to do anything together. I’d like to have you here with me for a nice long visit.”

“Visit? Sounds like work to me!”

“Okay, but you know what I mean,” Deena pressed her case. “You always said you enjoyed working front desk duties while you were in college.”

“It was a motel near the campus and I got to meet a lot of guys who came there to party.”

“Well, for your information, Aspen is going to be the site for this year’s Black Winter Sports Reunion. Starts at the end of the month. There’ll be brothers…and sisters from ski clubs all over the country here for the fun—ice skaters, snowboarders and skiers. I’m already booked solid for the entire ten days.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Skylar’s arched brows slowly began to settle lower above her smoky black eyes as she mulled Deena’s comment. The Black Winter Sports Reunion was going to be in Aspen? While confined to her bed, she’d been flipping through cable channels one day and had come across last year’s reunion, filmed at Steamboat Springs, on Black Entertainment Showcase. She had been impressed with the crowd and knew what kind of people were about to descend on the area. Fine, well-toned brothers who were about something. Fashion conscious sisters who looked good on and off the slopes. Solid professionals who enjoyed the finer things of life. The change might be exactly what she needed in order to move on.

I’ve played it safe for so long. Why not take a risk on this? Might be just what I need to take my mind off my troubles and get Lewis out of my system. Plus, I can help Deena out and maybe have a little fun, too, she told herself, looking forward to being around people who knew nothing about her past or her wealth. “Okay, Deena. Only for you and Jerome. I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“Just name it.”

“Absolutely no one knows that I’m newly rich,” Skylar requested.

“You know, I think that’s a very good idea,” Deena agreed. “Attractive, single women with money can be magnets for shady men looking for meal tickets and scam artists on the hunt. They’ve been known to hang around places like Aspen. And you’ll fit in better with the staff if they think you’re simply my sister, in need of a job. Your secret will be safe with me,” Deena promised. “Now go pack your bags and get on a plane.”

“Pack what? I don’t exactly have the kind of clothes I’m gonna need up there.”

“No problem. You can go shopping when you get here. The salespeople in town are friendly and will be very happy to help you pick out everything you need.”

And I’m gonna need all the help I can get, Skylar thought, hoping this unexpected adventure would not turn into an absolute disaster.

Chapter 3

“Okay. Let’s try this again. Find your balance. Stand still and concentrate,” Mark Jorgen patiently instructed as he gently placed one gloved hand on Goldie Lamar’s left shoulder.

“I’m trying, really I am,” Goldie whined in exasperation. She sucked in a loud breath and lifted her chin. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“You’re doing fine. Stand tall in your boots until the pressure from the tongue of the boot feels equally distributed from shin to calf. Most of your weight should be felt between the heel and the arch of the foot.”

With a shrug, Goldie pulled back her shoulders, pressed her bright red lips together in a hard pucker and stared out across the snow-covered slope. “All right. All right. I think I feel it.”

“Good, now gently slide your right ski ahead of your left,” Mark told his student before letting go. He stepped back to watch Goldie try, for the fifth time, to push off the hill and head down the beginners’ slope, praying she would be successful. She was a terrible student with no sense of balance, but she was also the mega-wealthy daughter of one of Colorado’s finest jewelers and had paid quite a premium for the deluxe ski package. He had to make sure she got her money’s worth.

He had been working with Goldie for two days without much progress at all, and was beginning to wonder if she had signed up for lessons only to spend time alone with him. That was not unusual, especially among the women he recruited while hanging out at the Ridge Rover bar in Woody Creek, where he often went to mix and mingle with the locals and guests from nearby resorts. His “impromptu” appearances always generated lots of excitement, leading to talk about his Olympic career, his worldwide travels and his methods of training. By the end of the evening, if he was lucky, he might have five or six new students lined up for classes at Scenic Ridge.

Now, with a jerk, Goldie moved one leg forward, hesitated and then let out an ice-shattering scream. Swaying unsteadily, she toppled to the left, clutched Mark, and collapsed against him, pulling them both to the ground.

“I can’t do this, Mark!” Goldie loudly complained. “I’ll never learn to ski!” She snatched off her goggles and hurled them across the snow where they shattered against a shaggy pine tree. Next, she yanked off her red knit cap and pressed her head hard to Mark’s chest, slumping dramatically against him. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a skier,” she groaned.

“Don’t give up so easily,” Mark encouraged, starting to push her away.

Quickly, Goldie leaned back and smiled up at him, shaking out her hair to release a cascade of tangled platinum curls that framed a startling, beautiful face. Her alabaster skin was flushed pink from the cold and her eyes were a cool aquamarine, now narrowed to half-mast in mock-anger. “And I wanted so much to have a successful lesson today. Maybe this whole ski vacation idea was not so great, huh? Maybe I ought to go home before I break something.”

Mark shrugged, and then sat in the snow to calmly listen while Goldie continued to whine about her clumsiness, her disappointment in herself and the cold weather. He knew she was putting on an act, and that she was picking up the tab for three deluxe ski packages for herself, her sister and her mother-in-law, dropping a bundle of cash for their one-week stay at Scenic Ridge. There was no way he was going to encourage her to cancel her plans and leave. After all, he was more than a ski instructor at Scenic Ridge: he was part of the team, and as such, he had to make sure that each guest was a satisfied customer, which sometimes took some doing.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll get there. It takes time,” he reassured Goldie, taking in the scent of her perfume, which he recognized right away—Electric Orchid—two-hundred-fifty dollars an ounce. He also recognized a bored, rich, spoiled young woman eager for an affair with her ski instructor when he saw one. How many women like her had he dealt with over the years? Too damn many to count.

“Come on. Let’s try again,” Mark urged as he began to untangle himself from Goldie’s clutch, convinced that she was much more interested in holding on to him than her two ski poles, which lay scattered in the snow a few feet away.

“No. Not now,” Goldie decided, snuggling deeper into her instructor’s arms, as if settling in for a chat. She zeroed in on Mark, adopting an expression that told him she was not going anywhere, anytime soon. She grabbed hold of the front of his jacket and pushed her face even closer to his. “Can’t we just sit here and talk?”

Holding his breath, and desperate to mask his growing irritation, Mark eased her fingers off the zipper of his jacket. “No, I don’t think so. It’s getting late and I’m already way behind schedule.” Somehow, he managed to stand and then help Goldie to her feet. Luckily her skis were still intact. “Okay. Assume the same position as before. Take your time.”

Goldie started to do as Mark asked, but then suddenly stopped and whirled around. “My goggles!” she shouted, pointing to the broken glasses at the base of the pine tree in the distance. “I can’t see a thing without them. I won’t do this without my wrap goggles. I’ll ruin my eyes.”

Mark shot Goldie a dagger of exasperation, fully aware that her designer goggles had cost at least three hundred dollars and he knew she would not settle for a generic pair that he could pull from his equipment bag. “You’re right,” he acquiesced, scanning the bright, white blanket of snow spread across the gentle slopes and glazing the tall mountainsides. “You need to protect your eyes. Let’s quit for today. We’ll start again tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”

“Thank God,” Goldie agreed. “But what will I do about goggles? Mine cost…”

“I know,” Mark interrupted. He certainly didn’t need her to tell him what high end ski accessories cost. He’d bought and worn only the best goggles, jackets, boots and sports clothing—purchased from the most fashion conscious retailers in the world—throughout his entire career. If there was one thing Mark Jorgen knew, besides how to ski, it was how to dress to impress on the slopes. “I’m going into Aspen in the morning to pick up a package at the post office,” he went on. “I’ll be happy to get you another pair while I’m in town. I know Gorsuch carries them and they’ll be compliments of Scenic Ridge. How’s that? We’ll try again tomorrow afternoon.”

“Fine with me,” Goldie decided, her annoyance quickly fading. “And if you’re going into town anyway, I’d love to tag along. There’s this gorgeous set of hand-carved….”

Mark tuned Goldie Lamar out as she rattled on and on about some trinket she had seen in a quaint shop on Cooper Avenue, knowing he would probably have to take her with him tomorrow. Anything to satisfy a big-spending guest.

After escorting Goldie back to the lift, Mark waved her off and finished his classes for the day. As pale shadows began to form on the snow-covered slopes, he shouldered his skis and hopped a lift to head back to his private lodgings at the foot of the mountain, jumping off as soon as the car swung close to the ground. The crunch of hard-packed snow crackled under his fur-lined boots.

Mark lived in the Snow King Suite, the largest of four cabins, situated far from the main lodge, among the tall Aspen trees. Though referred to as suites, the cabins were especially designed for special guests who required privacy, luxury and who were willing to pay a handsome sum for it. Each cabin/suite featured handcrafted furnishings, carefully selected accessories, peaked pine ceilings, wood-burning fireplaces, full kitchen facilities and an outdoor hot tub.

As the head of the ski school at Scenic Ridge, he knew he was being treated more like a guest than an employee, and understood why: his competitive days might be over, but his name still had drawing power among serious ski aficionados. Why shouldn’t Scenic Ridge benefit from their association with him if it could bring in more money for the resort and keep him on the slopes?

Drawing in a deep breath, Mark slowed his pace and filled his lungs with crisp mountain air, in no real hurry to get home. He loved to walk home when he had finished working for the day, when the silence of winter calmed him down and muted the lingering echoes of all the shouting, complaining and chatter that he had to endure on the mountaintop.

Coming to work at Scenic Ridge was one of the best decisions he had ever made and he was very appreciative of Deena’s efforts to make him feel at home. She had insisted he move into private quarters at the lodge, which she could have rented for a thousand dollars a week. All of his meals were covered in his contract, and though his finances were not nearly as flush as they used to be, he was able to live in comfort while maintaining the illusion of success that befitted an Olympian.

Mark looked around. In the fading light, Scenic Ridge resembled a perfect luminous pearl nestled in the most beautiful section of the Roaring Fork River Valley. It was quaint, yet luxurious. Far enough away from the glitz and shine of Aspen to maintain its rustic ambiance, yet near enough to get to Buttermilk, Snowmass and the fancy shops and restaurants within an hour’s drive. The resort was small, but not cramped. Isolated, yet accessible. Exactly where he wanted to be.

He shrugged, a cynical smile touching his lips as he realized how content he actually was. It had not always been like this. Only a few years ago, he would have balked at living so far from the celebrity-filled world he had moved in. Then, he would have been staying in the most lavish suite in the most expensive hotel in Aspen, eating personally prepared meals in the most posh of restaurants and being entertained by the most beautiful girls within a five mile radius.

For most of Mark’s adult life he had lived the high-life as a celebrated Olympian, as the most famous black skier in the world—a title that had both plagued him and made him proud. As a world class competitive skier throughout Europe and the U.S., he had spent much of life either training under the keen eye of his manager-mother, Virina, or partying with a nouveau riche crowd. Oh, the times he had had while traveling the world and making love to any woman who turned his head: black, brown or white. European, African, Asian or Hispanic. Tall or short. At the height of his career it had not mattered to him what country a woman came from as long as she was gorgeous, belonged to the exclusive world of money and social standing that he moved in, enjoyed partying and loved lots of good sex.

But now, things were very different. He moved more slowly, was less concerned with money and social status, and was aware of how little it took to make him happy. He viewed the future as a clear sheet of ice on which he hoped to carve a beautiful future with the right woman, and until he found her, he was going to steer clear of women like Goldie Lamar, who in his opinion were shallow, self-absorbed snobs.

He was thirty-eight years old and knew he wanted children, stability, a wife and a home—preferably a rustic pine-log cabin high on a hill with a ski slope at his back door. Yes, it was time to find the right woman to settle down with, one with values, charm, a real work ethic and one who would not flaunt money in his face. He’d had enough of those bored, rich types to last him a lifetime. He might have to put up with them on the slopes, but he didn’t have to share his private time with them. In his opinion, having too much money could do more harm than good.

Chapter 4

Gorsuch, Ltd. was crowded and buzzing with conversation as men, women and a scattering of children oohed and aahed over the glamorous items on display in the upscale resort shop. Nestled beneath the towering Aspen Mountains, the store was an explosion of exquisite leather, fur and suede outerwear; fashion forward clothing in a fantasy of designs by world famous designers; unique home décor items for the ultrabeautiful homes of discriminating shoppers; and of course, skiwear of the highest order.

Skylar felt overwhelmed by the choices and the prices of the items surrounding her. Cautiously, she checked out the price tag on a pair of alligator boots—$4,250, and the matching handbag was only a few hundred dollars less.

“Ouch,” she murmured, setting aside the unusual footwear. Even though she could have afforded them, she had no intention of spending that kind of money on a pair of boots. She had always been a conservative shopper, and her approach to shopping wasn’t about to catch up with her bank account. Going crazy now would certainly undermine her desire to keep her wealth a secret while she was in Aspen.

Moving on, she picked out two fluffy blue sweatshirts off a clearance rack, and even though they were on sale, they still cost four times what she would have paid for similar items in Tampa. Next, she selected matching sweatpants, a red sweater and two fleece vests from another rack, and with a flip of her wrist, added two pairs of thick socks and a flannel nightgown to the pile. Unsure about what else she might need, she glanced around, spotted a salesclerk and signaled for help.

“Shoes,” Skylar managed, jostling the bundle of clothing that filled her arms.

“What kind?” the young woman asked, eyes wide in interest.

“Boots. But not four-thousand dollar alligators,” Skylar laughed. “That’s a bit out of my league.”

“I hear you,” the clerk commented. “You need indoor or outdoor? Ski boots or dress boots? Fur lined or suede lined? Waterproof or stain resistant? We’ve got ’em all.”

“Maybe indoor and outdoor. Not too fancy,” Skylar started, not sure what else to say. “Guess I need everything. Or whatever you think a person moving here from Florida needs. I have no idea what I’m getting into…and I’m on a tight budget,” she decided to add. “I just want to be comfortable, okay?”

A huge grin spread over the salesgirl’s face. “Sure, I get it.” She extended a hand. “I’m Cindy. Let me take those things from you so we can get busy, Miss…”

“Skylar. Skylar Webster.”

“Okay, Skylar. Leave it all to me. I think I know exactly what you need. Plus, you came at the right time, too. We’re having our annual ‘Freeze-Out Sale,’ and quite a few items are reduced. I’ll be right back.” The clerk hurried away, placed the bundle of clothing inside a dressing room and returned within seconds, a pamphlet in her hand. “Here’s a list of the essentials, things you must have if you want to be both stylish and comfortable while vacationing in Aspen.”

Skylar glanced over the colorful pamphlet and sighed. “I’m not really vacationing, and I don’t ski. You see, I’m going to be working at Scenic Ridge.”

“Oh, yeah, the ski school, right? Great. What are you going to be doing?”

“I’m the new concierge.”

“All right. You go, girl. Beautiful place. I went up there once with a friend of mine a few years ago. The road is tricky, though. Real narrow in places. Be careful on your way up.”

“Really? Thanks for warning me.”

“So, you’re from Florida, huh?” Cindy went on as she walked Skylar across the store. “What made you come up here?”

Skylar paused, knowing she ought to be careful. Aspen was not a very big place. It wouldn’t take long for information about her to spread if she started telling too much, and she didn’t want to take any chances. All this clerk really needed was her dress size, her shoe size and her credit card. Why bother to get into why she left Tampa or how long she planned to stay? “I have relatives in the area, and just wanted to be near them,” she said, satisfied with her half-truth.

“You’ve come to the right place to get outfitted, then,” Cindy said, stopping near a section of the store that was brimming with turtlenecks, blouses, slacks and jackets in every color and style imaginable.

“Okay. I’m lost, Cindy. Tell me what I need,” Skylar commented, fingering a silky top as she set off to create her new wardrobe.

For the next hour, Skylar tried on a variety of slacks, tops, parkas, boots, sweaters, socks, gloves and hats. By the time she was completely outfitted she was exhausted, and her checking account was about to be a little thinner, though, with Cindy’s guidance, she had found some very good bargains. Among them were a hooded parka with a fluffy raccoon collar, several thermo-stretch ski pants with matching tops, over-the-boot pants with coordinated wool cardigans, suede gloves and a Daniel Boone-style coyote hat.

“Fabulous choices,” Cindy remarked as she finished ringing up Skylar’s purchases. “And you saved a bit, too. But…oh my gosh, we forgot one very important item. Sunglasses and goggles. Up here, they’re absolutely necessary. Gotta cover those eyes and keep those wrinkles away. And if you do decide to get out on the slopes, you don’t want to go snow-blind, do you?” Cindy giggled and inclined her head toward a wall at the back of the shop. “Why don’t you go pick out a pair of sunglasses while I package your purchases and finish up here? And if you give me your car keys, I’ll have one of the stock boys put everything in your car.”

Trusting Cindy’s advice once again, Skylar handed over the keys to the Jeep she had rented at the airport and told Cindy where she was parked. Doing as she was told, she walked toward the back of the store where a number of display stands with a variety of sunglasses and goggles filled a corner.

Skylar stopped at the first display and selected a pair of shades with brown, tortoiseshell frames, slipped them on and then shook her head. Not for her. They didn’t flatter her face at all. After several more try-ons, she moved over to the next rack to stand opposite a man and a woman who were discussing a pair of black wraparound goggles.

The man was wearing a red down jacket with the hood thrown back, exposing a mass of tawny-brown hair that almost touched his shoulders. Skylar found the sight intriguing, yet a bit unnerving. How could a man have such gorgeous hair? Skylar thought, curious to see more of him. She edged forward a few inches and cut her eyes in his direction, visually following him as he walked over to a full-length mirror and tried on the goggles. She observed that his hair had a definite wave to it and his skin was golden tan. Skylar was pretty sure he was African-American, or at least of African descent.

After adjusting his goggles a few times, the man turned around and looked over at Skylar, catching her watching him.

With a start, she gasped and glanced away, unsure of why she had reacted so strongly, but keenly aware that she had been struck by something magnetic and powerful radiating from the guy, who quickly returned to studying his image in the mirror.

Curious, she chanced another peek. He looked mature. Maybe late thirties, she thought. She was stunned that she was actually calculating this stranger’s age and checking out his left hand. Umm…no ring there. However, he did have a flashy sparkler on his little finger.

Either this brother is filthy rich or seriously into high-profile bling, she decided, certain that the stone flashing back at her was much too large to be real.

Moving to another rack of glasses, she acted as if she was trying to pick out another to try on as she fingered a wire-rimmed pair, trying to ignore the guy. But she couldn’t resist peering over at him once more, and this time she really scrutinized features not hidden by his wraparound goggles. He had a prickly stubble of light brown hair shading his jaw and a tiny gold earring in his left ear. His nose, softly sculpted and wide at the base settled nicely above a set of perfectly shaped, white teeth that peeked out from behind lips that were generously full and wickedly sensuous.

Very kissable lips, she thought, sighing inwardly while admonishing herself for even thinking such crazy thoughts. She had come to Aspen to clear her mind, help her sister out and get over Lewis’s betrayal, not check out the available brothers or get romantically involved with a new man. But what harm was there in looking? she asked herself, liking what she saw.

She guessed that the eyes hidden behind those dark glasses were probably hazel, or maybe golden-brown like tiger’s eyes, and wondered if the broad stretch of his shoulder line was natural or the result of the padding in his parka. His skin, a beautiful tannish golden brown that perfectly matched his hair, stood in definite contrast to the woman with him, who was pale, blonde and ski-pole thin.

The blonde looked over and squinted, not happy to catch Skylar watching her man. The two locked eyes for a moment before Skylar broke off and focused on the sunglasses, putting the oddly matched couple and her curiosity about the guy out of her thoughts.

After a few quick try-ons, Skylar decided on a pair of silver framed aviators with bronze lenses reduced from $199 to $59.99. Turning, she prepared to leave.

“I wouldn’t get those if I were you,” the man in the red jacket told Skylar.

“Excuse me?” Skylar said, startled by the stranger’s remark.

“Those won’t do the job on the slopes. You need something with better protection,” he admonished, as if talking to a child. “Inside the store, they look a lot darker than they are. Outside, they won’t cut much light.”

“Thanks, but I think they’ll do just fine,” Skylar replied, trying to sound pleasant, even though his remark had struck her as rather presumptuous. He might be good looking but he wasn’t cute enough to take orders from. What did he know about sunglasses that made him such an expert anyway? She liked the aviators and they were exactly what she wanted.

“Try on the black wraps. You’ll love them,” the man suggested nonchalantly.

With a drop of her shoulders, Skylar simply stared at him as if he were crazy. She was tired, hungry and more than ready to get out of the store. The glasses in her hand would do just fine. It was getting late and she still had to stop at the drugstore to pick up a few toiletries and then hit the gas station to top off the tank of her rented Jeep before setting off to Scenic Ridge. She shook her head, “No thanks. I’ve got to get going.” She started to walk away.

“Trust me. They won’t be what you want,” the man in the red parka called out after Skylar.

His bossy tone set her teeth on edge. She stopped in mid-stride and whirled around. Who the hell are you to tell me what to buy? But, blinking her eyes and sucking back a smart remark, she decided it might not be a good idea to go off on the guy in public. This was a classy place and she didn’t want to make a scene, but it was hard to keep from flaring up at him.

“I’m fine with these,” she managed in a tight voice, thinking that the guy had some kind of an accent that she couldn’t place. Not African. Not Hispanic. And not French. He must be from the islands…overly friendly. Or he didn’t know any better, she decided, willing to forgive his rude behavior. “I appreciate your interest,” she told him. “However, I prefer the ones I picked out.”

“You’ll be sorry,” he insisted as he reached for a pair of Manu wraps similar to those that both he and the blonde woman were wearing. He held them up and swung them back and forth in Skylar’s face. “These are a bit more expensive than the aviators, but if you can afford them, I’d go with these. Think of it as an investment in your eyes.”

His condescending tone hit a nerve in Skylar that sent a hot flash into her chest. “If I can afford them?” she tossed back, trying to keep her voice within some kind of a normal range. “That’s a rude thing to say. How dare you insinuate that I have to worry about money? Do I look like a sister who has money problems?” she asked, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from blurting out the secret she was determined to keep as long as she was in Aspen.

“No, no,” the man stuttered helplessly, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that at all.”

Skylar glared at him, unable to respond. She was wearing dark rinse jeans, a white cable knit sweater, a brown leather bomber jacket and brown ankle boots. Her jewelry was understated, but real gold, and she knew her hairstylist back in Tampa had hooked up her locks just fine before she left town. I might not look like a fashion diva, but I know I don’t look ghetto, either, she told herself. In her most flippant, sister-girl voice, she told the guy, “Look. You don’t even know me, so don’t get too personal, okay? I don’t need your help, and I surely don’t need your investment advice.”

The man threw up both hands and stepped back, smiling. “Hey. Sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to help you save money in the long run. I was just offering a tip from experience.”

“Leave her alone,” the blond woman now interjected, moving close and slipping her arm possessively through her companion’s. She graced Skylar with a smug, too-sweet smile, and clutched her apparent boyfriend’s jacket sleeve even harder. “If the lady wants to waste her money, let her. We have other things to do than worry about her. I told you I wanted to go over to Duval’s. Come on,” she said and gave the guy’s arm a hard tug.

Infuriated by the man’s intrusion, the woman’s catty remark and her fake smile, Skylar was tempted to snatch a handful of curly blonde hair from the woman’s head. But instead, she rolled her eyes at the nosy couple and spun around. If they’re the kind of people I’ll have to deal with up here, then this temporary gig is going to be hell. Deena owes me big-time.

Mark watched the woman with the aviators push through the glass door and disappear, wondering who she was and where she was staying. Though his face appeared calm, his heart was pounding a steady drum beat inside his chest and he couldn’t understand why. The woman was attractive in a refreshingly wholesome way that he rarely saw among the stressed-out, wealthy, high-strung types that usually frequented Gorsuch’s. Beautiful, flawless brown skin. Not too tall, but not too short, either. Well dressed, but not flamboyantly attired in trendy, overpriced clothing. She was a fresh vision in this spend-crazy, out-to-impress kind of town.

A real natural beauty!

While waiting for the clerk to ring up the sale, he glanced out the front window and saw the woman in the bronze aviators drive off in a bright red Jeep. Mark smiled. She’d be easy to find. All he had to do was pass out a bunch of twenty dollar bills to the doormen at every hotel in town and sooner or later he’d get a call informing him who she was and where she was staying. The thought of tracking down the beautiful stranger created a warm glow of anticipation that spread throughout Mark’s body and made him want to thank Goldie for smashing her goggles against a pine tree yesterday and forcing him into town.

Chapter 5

Deena Simpson walked out onto the balcony of her five-room apartment on the fourth floor of the main lodge at Scenic Ridge, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Shading her eyes with one hand, she focused on the narrow winding road that led up from Woody Creek, watching for Skylar’s Jeep. The only drivers who would be on the road that curved and twisted as it rose into the mountains were those bound for Scenic Ridge, as it dead-ended at the two stone posts that flanked the front gates of the resort.

“Where are you now?” she spoke into the phone, getting a bit anxious. Skylar had called her from the airport when she arrived in Aspen to tell Deena that she was going to stop in town to pick up a few things, but would be right along. That had been three hours ago. Deena guessed that her suddenly rich sister had decided to do some major retail damage in town. And she deserves to, Deena thought, elated that the Dorchester settlement had been so generous, freeing Skylar from any financial worries for the rest of her life—if she managed her money well.

It was amazing to think that Skylar was a rich woman now, and could buy whatever she wanted. When she and Deena were children, their hard-working parents had earned just enough money to cover life’s necessities, with little left over to indulge their children. They had been ultraconservative in their spending and cautious about everything they did, refusing to take risks or try anything new that might upset their carefully balanced lives. Deena often thought that her parents’ approach to life was what had made her run off to Colorado and marry Jerome. His plan to build a ski school in Aspen country was bold, risky and exciting. Now, her life in the mountains was very far removed from her childhood upbringing, and Deena never regretted setting off on this grand adventure with her husband.

“Have you passed the covered bridge yet?” she asked. “You have? Good, then you’re on the right road. Just stay on it and keep driving uphill, even when it narrows down to a single lane and you think you’re going to drive off the edge. Trust me, you won’t. See you in a bit.”

Deena snapped off the phone and leaned against the rough pine railing that surrounded the spacious wraparound balcony.

As she waited for Skylar, she surveyed the spectacular wintry landscape spread out across the two hundred acres that she and Jerome had turned into a working ski school and vacation resort over the past twenty years. As newlyweds and avid skiers, they had purchased the remote parcel of land at the upper end of the Roaring Fork Valley from Jerome’s father for a fraction of its market value. The land, part of a land grant settlement originally deeded to Jerome’s great-great-grandfather, had remained wild and undeveloped for over fifty years.

Jerome and Deena threw themselves into the project with a great deal of enthusiasm, risking everything they owned to create the small, intimate teaching resort. It had been a struggle to turn a profit, but now it was beginning to draw ski enthusiasts and students from across the country as well as from some of the more popular resorts in the Aspen area.

The main lodge of Scenic Ridge was a four-story replica of a classic Swiss mountain chalet, but with all the conveniences of a modern hotel. Years ago, when she and Jerome were designing the main lodge they decided to turn the east-facing end of the fourth floor into their private five-room apartment, decorated in a sleek modern style, while the guest suite at the other end of the hall had a definite Western flair.

Each of the other fifty-two guest rooms was exquisitely decorated in an Old World European manner with touches of the silver mining days of the Victorian West tossed in.

In addition to the main lodge, five private cabins that represented the ultimate in modern convenience and rustic charm were strategically placed around the property, booked by those who were willing to pay a premium price for the privacy and independence such accommodations provided.

As African-Americans living in an area of the country where less than two percent of the population was nonwhite, Deena and Jerome had quickly realized that the only way to attract more folks like themselves to the slopes was to build a resort that was affordable, comfortable and focused on teaching people how to ski. Deena and Jerome decided to take on the task of teaching beginners what they needed to know to take up skiing as a recreational sport and send a message to everyone of any class or race that all were welcome and would feel at home while learning how to safely hit the powder and have a good time.

By optimizing the available terrain on their property, Deena and Jerome served the needs of beginning skiers, ice-skaters and snowboarders, creating a niche resort that differed from the larger ski areas.

It did not take long for news about Scenic Ridge to spread as visitors told others about the program and returned year after year. For African-American skiers, it soon became known as one of the most unique novice programs in the country. Jerome had further enhanced the resort’s reputation and expanded its customer base among minorities by hiring Mark Jorgen as their ski instructor. Mark was a great draw and he guaranteed that he could teach students to ski confidently on green circle trails within three days or they would get their money back. So far, no refunds had been made.

Today, there was absolutely no breeze stirring the cool January air, and the warmth of the sunlight on Deena’s pecan-brown face felt calming and most reassuring. She pushed back a few strands of black hair that had sprung from the loosely gathered ponytail she had managed to pull together this morning and sighed. She had hit the ground running as soon as the buzz of her alarm clock sounded at 5:00 a.m., and though it was just a little past noon, she felt as if she had already put in a full day’s work.

Yesterday, she had stood in the same spot where she was now waiting for Skylar and watched Jerome drive away, her heart filled with dread. By now he was in Oregon and probably at the hospital waiting for his father to go into surgery. Deena missed him terribly and was worried about how she was going to manage the place in his absence, especially since Jean-Paul was no longer on staff.

Losing Jean-Paul to a Hyatt Regency had been disappointing. She and Jerome had always depended on their long-time concierge to handle the messy, unexpected situations that came with running a ski resort. Now, they’d only have Skylar.

Today was starting off rocky. The grocery delivery had come up short—missing twenty-five pounds of baby back ribs and the case of a hard-to-locate Norwegian liquor Deena had counted on having tonight. And with all of that to deal with, she’d had to pacify Goldie Lamar’s very demanding party, and she was sick to death of all of them.

The road suddenly narrowed down to less than a full lane, making Skylar very nervous. Though the road’s surface was covered with a mixture of gravel and hard-packed snow, it provided good traction. Still she worried that the Jeep was going to spin out of control and crash down the mountainside at any moment. The sun was directly overhead, bathing the snow-covered hills with blinding light that made it nearly impossible to see.

“Dammit!” Skylar cursed aloud, ripping off her sunglasses, which she tossed out the window. The guy in the store had been right! The bronze aviators were useless. They didn’t block the glare and even made things worse by casting an amber sheen over everything. Squinting bare-eyed into the windshield and praying that Deena’s instructions were right, Skylar pressed on, clutching the steering wheel as she inched her way up the mountainside.

When Deena’s cell phone rang again, she answered quickly, certain it was Skylar asking for more directions. However, it wasn’t her sister. It was Burt from the liquor store in town.

“What do you mean, you can’t find it?” she groaned.

“There’s not a case of Linie Aquavit in the entire valley. At least not that I can get my hands on right away. The St. Regis has four cases, but they’re not willing to part with them.”

“But you said getting Linie Aquavit wouldn’t be a problem,” Deena reminded her beverage vendor.

“Yes, I know,” Burt admitted. “Guess I was a bit overconfident. However, I do have Vikingfjord Vodka in stock and I can send up a case right away.”

“No. That won’t do,” Deena shot back. “This is a very special client and he specifically requested Linie Aquavit. So, please keep trying to locate it, okay? Even if you can only find one bottle.”

“Will do,” Burt agreed. “I’ll get back to you later today.”

Clicking off, Deena sagged against the railing, feeling deflated, while praying that Burt would be able to come through with the specialty drink as he’d promised. However, in case he couldn’t, she had better let her client know that his request might not be fulfilled today.

Just as she was about to place the call, she saw Skylar’s red Jeep turn into the entry and start up the road leading to the main lodge. Shoving her phone into the pocket of her jeans, Deena hurried to the outside staircase and headed down to greet her new concierge. “Let Skylar deal with the missing Norwegian liquor,” she muttered to herself, sending up a prayer of thanks that help had finally arrived.

After Skylar dropped her bags in the efficient studio apartment where she would live during her stay at the lodge, she and Deena set off on a tour of the resort, during which she met all of the staff. Everyone greeted her with an enthusiastic welcome, making Skylar feel less nervous about her decision to set off on this spontaneous adventure. However, when Deena suggested that they ride out in a snowmobile to explore the rest of the property, Skylar had to decline.

“All of a sudden, I feel so tired, Deena. Lightheaded and dizzy,” Skylar complained, drawing in a deep breath as she and Deena crossed the attractive lounge area. A fire blazed in the massive stone fireplace where some of the guests had gathered to chat and sip drinks, while others sat on high bar stools facing windows that showcased the picture perfect peaks surrounding the resort.

“Think I’ll go lie down for a while,” Skylar said.

“Good idea. It’s the altitude,” Deena offered, pausing at the foot of the winding staircase that led to the mezzanine on the second floor where someone was playing the piano. She placed one hand on the banister and scrutinized Skylar with concern. “It might take a few days for you to get fully acclimated to the thin air up here, but it’ll pass.”

Skylar shook her head and blew air through her lips. “Whew! This is not good. My head aches, my stomach is doing flips and I feel as if my skull is stuffed with cotton balls.”

Deena nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, mountain sickness. Strikes quite a few of our guests. It’s caused by a sudden lack of oxygen after moving too quickly into a higher elevation. Your body hasn’t adjusted to having less oxygen.”

“Right…and my body’s sure tellin’ me I’m not in Tampa anymore! What’s it gonna take to pull out of this?”

“Drink lots of water and stay away from alcohol. Go ahead and lie down for a while. I’ll give you a buzz at dinnertime.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Skylar replied, moving swiftly toward the elevator, desperate to lie down.

Chapter 6

A soft tapping sound at her door awakened Skylar from a restless, semiconscious half-sleep. Tossing off the soft, wool throw she had wrapped around her body when she fell across her rustic, four-poster bed, she struggled to sit up. The room was light, so she knew it was still daytime. Unable to sleep, she had gotten enough rest to feel a lot better. Her head no longer ached, but her stomach lurched with each step she took, and after pausing to run a hand over her tangled hair, she pulled open the door.

It was not Deena standing there holding the tray with a tea caddy on it, as she had hoped, but a woman dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt.

“Ah, hello. Miss Webster…hope I didn’t wake you,” she started. “I’m…”

Skylar nodded in recognition, her mind beginning to clear. How could she forget the tall, big-boned girl with light brown skin, frizzy dyed-red hair and a heavy dose of brown freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. “You’re Kathy. Food and Beverage supervisor, right?”

Kathy beamed. “Yes. You remembered! My husband, John, is the assistant director of the ski school and I’m your backup concierge, don’t forget.”

“Right. Kathy, you’ll have to excuse me. I know I look a mess. I had to lie down for a few, my system is really jacked up.”

Kathy nodded sympathetically. “Altitude sickness?”

“Yep.”

“Too bad, honey. But it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“I sure hope so,” Skylar commented, rubbing her stomach. “So, Kathy. What can I do for you?”

“I need your help. I wish I didn’t have to bother you, but I have a big party to tend to and there’s no one else to go and…”

“No, no. Come in,” Skylar invited, stepping back to let the nervous girl inside. “And I hope that’s a pot of hot tea you’ve got there.”

“It is. Thought you might need something to help calm your stomach.”

“Thanks. Just needed a little downtime to adjust. What can I do to help?”

“You have a car right?”

“Yes, a rental.”

“Good. I need you to pick up an important delivery in Crested Village. It’s a small town about fifteen miles from here. It’s not a bad drive and if you leave now, you ought to get back before dark. I hate to ask you to do this on your first day here, but the delivery is a custom order for the head of our ski school and he’s been waiting for it for a week.”

“For Mark Jorgen?” Skylar asked.

“Right. We’ve had a heck of a time tracking down this particular kind of liquor. Called Linie Aquavit—a type of schnapps that comes from Norway. According to Mark it’s placed in oak barrels and sent on Norwegian vessels back and forth across the equator to enhance the flavor,” she finished with a grimace. “Terribly expensive stuff.”

“Sounds like it must be very special stuff, too, huh?” Skylar remarked, surprised that Deena would go to so much trouble for the resort’s ski instructor. After all, it wasn’t as if Mark Jorgen was a major player on the sports scene anymore or even a movie star! He was an employee, just like she was. “Is he that particular about everything?” she wanted to know, thinking ahead about her involvement with him.

Tilting her head to the side, Kathy considered Skylar’s question, obviously not about to answer too quickly. “Let’s just say that he, and his mother, are accustomed to having the best of everything.”

“His mother works here, too?”

“Oh no, but she’s arriving later this month for an extended visit. Deena has already filled me in on her tastes, and Linie Aquavit is her favorite drink, so Mark wants to have it on hand.”

“How nice of him,” Skylar murmured, curious to meet this Olympic gold medalist who was so devoted to his mom.

“Anyway,” Kathy went on, “the Lainpour shop in Crested Village will only hold the liquor for us until seven o’clock tonight. So, you’ve got to hurry. And after you pick it up, can you deliver it directly to Mark in the Snow King Suite?”

“And where’s the Snow King Suite?” Skylar wanted to know. Deena had mentioned that there were several private cabins on the grounds for special guests, but Skylar never would have guessed that the ski school director would be living in one.

Kathy went to the window, pulled back the sheer curtains and pointed to what looked like a mini-lodge set high on a knoll in the distance. “Over there. When you return, use the service road that runs behind the main lodge to get to the Snow King Suite. Think you can manage that?”

Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, Skylar nodded. “Sure. Now all I need are really good directions and a cup of hot tea before I leave.”

“Oh, that’s no problem! I brought you both,” Kathy told Skylar, making a rapid exit.

Within half an hour, Skylar was in her Jeep and driving higher into the mountains, headed east with the late afternoon sunlight at her back. Kathy’s map was easy to read and Skylar had no trouble finding Lainpour, a tiny shop on the main street of Crested Village. However, when she told the shopkeeper that she was there to pick up the case of Linie Aquavit, he told her that she had to go to his warehouse, ten miles down another winding road to get it.

By the time she got there, it had started to snow and the sun was rapidly disappearing. The slow-moving, too-chatty warehouse manager was in no hurry to stow the case of Norwegian liquor in the back of Skylar’s Jeep, and when he finally finished, heavy snow was falling and dark shadows that resembled silhouette cut-outs of the forest were hovering over the snow-crusted road.

Questioning her eagerness to take on this crazy mission, Skylar waved a grim good-bye to the man in the warehouse and settled behind the steering wheel, praying she would be able to get back to Scenic Ridge without getting lost.

She could see that more and more snowflakes were dotting the air. Her headache was back with a vengeance, her stomach churned, and she feared she was going to either throw up or pass out at any moment. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a bottle of aspirin, shook out three pills, popped them into her mouth and washed them down with the bottled water she had wisely brought along. The bitter aftertaste of the medicine stuck in her throat, making her feel even more uncomfortable and nauseous. However, she forced the sensation out of her mind, unfolded her map and studied it, mentally reversing Kathy’s directions as she pulled onto the road.

The drive back was frightening and tense. The snowfall steadily intensified until Skylar found herself staring into a sheet of blurry white, her vision reduced to a strip of light illuminated by the beams of her headlights. Slowing her pace, Skylar crawled along the single lane, praying she would not encounter another vehicle coming from the opposite direction.

“I’ll just take my time,” she murmured, forcing her shoulders back as she tried to relax. She turned on the radio and settled for a John Denver retrospective as she clutched the steering wheel and inched her way down the rocky path.

It took Skylar an hour and a half to get back to Scenic Ridge, where snow was rapidly piling up on the pitch-black service road. But, the moment she turned her Jeep toward the Snow King Suite, a wave of relief swept over her. She had successfully returned with her precious cargo and fulfilled her first assignment as the new concierge. In spite of her pounding headache, she felt pretty proud of herself.

Lights burned in every window of the cabin. Smoke curled from the chimney and drifted off into the snow-filled sky, filling the air with its pungent smell. Several pairs of skis were propped on the front porch alongside a shiny, red, old-fashioned bobsled and three pairs of boots. Skylar reached into the back of the Jeep and pulled out one of the bottles of schnapps to personally deliver to Mr. Jorgen, and then, on wobbly legs, stepped out of the car and gulped down a mouthful of cold air, fighting the urge to get totally sick right where she stood. Clutching the bottle with one hand and her stomach with the other, she cautiously mounted the three steps that led to the front door.

Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and Skylar locked eyes with a man standing in the entry.

“Oh. It’s you!” she gasped, stepping back in surprise. It was the intrusive, but handsome, guy from Gorsuch who had so annoyingly butted in on her shopping spree that morning. “You’re Mark Jorgen?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said, in his accented voice. “And you are?” he prompted.

“I’m…” Skylar stammered, fighting back a violent wave of nausea. All of the blood in her body suddenly rushed to her feet, making her feel as if she were falling from the top of a high mountain peak. Dizzy and off-balance, she stared blankly at Mark, dropped the bottle of Linie Aquavit and sank to the floor with a crash.

Chapter 7

Skylar could feel herself being lifted and carried by strong arms, her head pressed against a muscular chest. Then everything went black again. However, within a few seconds, she recovered and opened her eyes.

Inside the cabin, the cold, crisp air had been replaced with a blanket of warmth that enveloped Skylar and calmed her down. A woodsy scent, like fresh cut pine mixed with earthy soil, filled her head and roused her from her near-faint, awakening her to the realization that Mark Jorgen’s right hand was cupping her buttocks much too tightly and she was not resisting. She thought about protesting this stranger’s brazen hold on her, but instead of mouthing off, decided to hold her tongue for now, thinking she was far too weak to put up much of a fight, anyway, and not all that eager to be released.

“There you go,” Mark said as he gently placed Skylar on a distressed leather sofa facing a hearty fire. He covered her with a plaid wool blanket and then sat down beside her, his hard thigh pressed into the side of her leg. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over her, his face very close to hers.

Skylar held her breath and held his eyes with hers, savoring the sudden rush of heat that shot through her chest and settled between her legs. This guy was too fine to be real! And his eyes were dark green, nearly black, and not hazel as she had predicted!

For a moment, she simply stared at him, as if she were still suffering from a dizzy spell when in fact her mind was as clear as the spring water that pooled at the base of the mountains. She recognized the same trace of a foreign accent that she had heard earlier, and her immediate impression was that he resembled an exotically wild and powerful mountain lion. His hair, tawny brown and streaked with gold, was thick and shiny, nearly falling to his shoulders. Of medium height, he had a strong, stocky build, and his skin-tight ski apparel accented the impressive muscles that swept across his chest, down his arms, over his thighs. His skin was tawny golden brown like his hair, and just looking at him caused a tremor of excitement, mixed with a ripple of fear, to shoot through her body and banish her mountain sickness.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

Finally, Skylar breathed her reply, “I think so,” and then struggled to sit up. “Sorry about the bottle of schnapps, Mr. Jorgen.”

He smiled and gently eased her back. “Don’t worry about that, and don’t try to sit up just yet.” He re-tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “I spoke to you in Gorsuch earlier today, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yes…” She grimaced. “You were trying on sunglasses with your girlfriend…the blonde.”

“Goldie? She isn’t my girlfriend. She’s one of my students,” Mark promptly corrected.

She sure looked like she wanted to be a lot more than your student, Skylar wanted to say, but didn’t. “I’m Skylar Webster,” she went on. “The new concierge here at Scenic Ridge.”

“Yes, I heard you’d arrived today. Funny meeting you in town like that. But Aspen is a very small place.”

“So, I’m beginning to see.”

“So, Miss Webster, altitude sickness got to you, huh?”

“Looks that way,” Skylar agreed. “Mr. Jorgen, I apologize for…”

“Please call me, Mark.”

“Okay, Mark. I’m terribly sorry I broke that bottle of liquor. I’ll pay for it. Just let me know how much it cost.”

Mark shrugged off her offer with a lift of his broad shoulders. “Hey. Don’t worry about that. What’s important is that you’re not hurt. Or are you?” Keeping one eye on Skylar, Mark slowly pulled back the blanket and began to sweep both of his firm hands the length of Skylar’s wet jeans, squeezing her thighs and legs at intervals. When finished with his examination, he rested his hands against her ankles. “I don’t feel any pieces of glass. Any cuts, or pain?”

“No,” Skylar whispered hoarsely, her legs burning at each point where he had touched her. “But I know I must smell like I bathed in schnapps.”

“You do, and it’s driving me crazy,” he laughingly teased, in a put-on kind of voice that was low, deep and full of humor.

They both broke into laughter, amused by their unexpected encounter.

However, I wouldn’t mind if you licked every drop of it off my body, she mused, unable to stop her mind from drifting ahead of the moment. With a jerk, she shook off that image and sat up. “Thanks for your help, but I’m feeling a lot better,” Skylar went on. “I gotta get back to…” She paused and broke eye-contact with him, suddenly flustered. He was much too attractive, in a dangerous way, and his piercing gaze was very unnerving. She gave herself over to imagining what it would be like to kiss those smooth, full lips of his, to touch that hair…

No, no. I’ve got to get a hold of myself and focus on my job. Skylar bit down on her bottom lip, in an attempt to crush the anxiety building inside her. “I need a shower, a good night’s sleep…I…have to go,” she told him, quickly swinging her feet to the floor. Before standing, she cautiously looked over at Mark, unable to say another word.

“Yeah. You’d better go and get out of those wet clothes,” he commented, sounding a bit distracted. “After a good night’s sleep you’ll feel better. So, did you bring the full case of schnapps with you or just the one bottle?”

“Oh! The case. Yes. From Lainpour.”

“Good. Please thank Kathy for going to get it this afternoon, and thank you for bringing it over.”

Skylar stiffened. His offhand comment hit her like an icicle stabbed into her heart. Thank Kathy? I don’t think so! she thought, recalling her frightening trip back from Crested Village. “For your information, Kathy didn’t pick it up,” she started. “She was too busy and couldn’t get away, so you can thank me. In spite of a bad case of altitude sickness, I got out of bed and drove all the way over to Crested Village, then to Lainpour’s warehouse in some backwoods part of the town. On the way back, I got caught in a blinding snowstorm, but I gladly put myself through all of that in order to deliver your precious liquor…which remains in the back of my Jeep,” Skylar finished in a huff, not feeling particularly charitable.

“That took some doing,” Mark commented, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Damn straight it did! But I managed just fine.”

“Good for you. So, why all the fuss? After all, you are the concierge,” he stated, his too-smug smile growing wider. “Aren’t you just doing your job?”

Skylar’s jaw dropped. What a jerk, she thought, realizing she had pegged him right the first time. He was a know-it-all snob, just as she’d thought he was when they met in Gorsuch earlier. Before she could form an appropriate comeback, Mark reached over and opened a carved wooden box that was sitting on the coffee table and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

“Here. For all your trouble,” he said, extending a fold of cash.

A tip? He’s actually offering me a tip! Her temper flared to the point of screaming. Feeling totally offended, she was tempted to decline the money. However, a good concierge deserved generous tips, and refusing to take his cash might seem out of character.

I want this self-centered jackass to believe, as the staff does, that I am simply the underemployed sister of the owner, who desperately needs this job. “Thank you very much,” she told him, palming the bills with a flick of her wrist before stuffing them into the pocket of her wet jeans. Rising, she went outside and opened the hatch of her car.

Mark came up behind her and reached into the back of her vehicle to remove the heavy box of bottles.

Glad to be finished with this crazy assignment, Skylar walked to the driver’s side of the Jeep and was about to step in when Mark leaned around the side of the car and said, “You call this a blinding snowstorm?” Chuckling, he shook his head. “This isn’t even a flurry, Miss Webster. You’ve got a lot to learn about life in the mountains.”

“And you’ve got a lot to learn about me,” she fumed under her breath, climbing inside. She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw him standing in the middle of the road, holding the box, a huge grin on his face. Furious, Skylar started the engine, jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator and sped off down the service road.

“Wow!” was all Mark could say as he watched Skylar’s red Jeep disappear around a curve. Hefting the heavy box, he went back inside and set the liquor on the black granite bar in his small, but well-appointed kitchen. Still rattled from the unexpected encounter, he pulled a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of schnapps from the box.

“May as well sample this,” he murmured, adding ice to the crystal tumbler. After opening the liquor, he poured himself a generous amount, added a thin slice of lemon and then wandered back into the great room to sit down.

The first thing he noticed was the blanket that he had used to cover Skylar. It was still on the floor where she had tossed it. He bent over and picked it up, then sank back against the pillows on the sofa, inhaling her scent.

“Too gorgeous to be a concierge,” he mused, staring into the fire. “And what a woman.” He could still see her warm, tea-colored skin, silky, black twists that bounced against her cheeks, intriguing, black eyes that had clearly assessed him in a gently provocative manner. She was petite, but well-toned. And she had great legs, he had felt every curve himself. She was small, but definitely not fragile. This was a woman with grit and guts, no trace of a diva attitude. He had to get closer to her!

Concentrating on this brief, but stimulating encounter, Mark tried to analyze his reaction to Skylar, certain he had never felt this way before. His body hummed with a kind of anticipation that made his palms wet, his throat tight and brought a strange sensation to the pit of his stomach. What was going on?

Mark let his head fall back against the sofa as he savored the Linie Aquavit, his thoughts riveted on Skylar. At one time in his life, a working woman like Skylar Webster would never have turned his head. With one foot planted in the African-American world of his father and the other in the Euro-rich world of his mother, Mark had always felt uncertain about where he belonged.

When Mark was eleven, his parents divorced, and his mother took him to Norway to live. His mother’s motivation, other than to remain far away from his father, had been to push her son into a career as a professional skier. She became his agent, his trainer and manager and his best friend, setting the direction for the rest of his life. Mark had always regretted that she had deliberately kept him isolated from links to his paternal heritage, but there had been little he could do about it, and his mother always got what she wanted.

For years, Mark’s world had revolved around a stream of globe-trotting, glitzy, super-rich people—and women who had begged to occupy his time and his bed. He’d never loved any of them, but they had been fun to party with. He had had his choice of gorgeous women around the world, and he had wasted a great deal of money and time on them.

However, now that his fast-paced professional career was over and he had severed professional ties with his mother, things were different. He was back in the United States, where he planned to live permanently, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to settle down with a grounded African-American woman who was not afraid to work hard and whose world did not revolve around money, society events and outrageous status symbols. He wanted to start a family with an intelligent, beautiful woman who would appreciate him for who he was now, not for who he used to be. He wondered if Skylar Webster might be the woman he was looking for. There was only one way to find out—put her to the test.

Chapter 8

The best features of Skylar’s new office, a cozy space only a few steps from the registration desk, were the two tall windows that faced an inner courtyard where a huge fire pit, a hot tub with an outdoor movie projector and a deck provided the guests an unparalleled view of Aspen Mountain.

Cupping her mug of hot chocolate with both hands, Skylar leaned over her desk and rounded her shoulders, stretching out her back. She had made it through her first full day of work without any major incidents, mishaps or encounters with dissatisfied guests, and her mountain sickness had eased. Between fielding calls for general information and making spa and massage reservations, she had provided directions to the various activity areas of the resort and chartered a limousine to take Goldie Lamar and her companions to the Silver Hills Theater.

At least her job kept her busy and kept her mind off of Lewis, except when she saw couples in love sitting by the fire or having fun on the ice or the slopes. The sight made her feel empty and sad, and she sometimes wondered if perhaps she’d broken off too quickly with Lewis. Should she have tried harder to work things out? Would it have been possible? The turmoil of that failed relationship still simmered in her heart.

Did Lewis cheat on me before the accident? Did he leave me for another woman because I can’t have children? Had he really expected to benefit from my financial windfall? Did he ever really love me? The unanswered questions went round and round in her mind whenever she allowed herself to drift back in time.

The good thing was that she was definitely feeling much better than when she arrived back at her room last night, nauseous, half-frozen and irritated as hell at Mark Jorgen. Thank God she had not seen or spoken to him all day.

“I’m getting rave reviews from my guests,” Deena remarked as she entered her sister’s office and settled into the chair across from Skylar. “I think you passed the first hurdle when you managed to get Goldie Lamar’s mother-in-law those tickets to Silver Hills Theater for tonight.”

“If all of my requests should be so easy,” Skylar replied, grinning over at her sister. “Your decision to buy a full page ad in the theater’s next promotional booklet sealed the deal. Thanks.”

“Glad we could work it out and it’ll be good publicity for us, too,” Deena replied.

“Hey, have you heard from Jerome? How’s his dad doing?” Skylar wanted to know, hoping things were not too rough for her brother-in-law, whom she liked very much, even though they were not particularly close. With Skylar living in Tampa and Jerome and Deena in Colorado, the three simply hadn’t made the effort to visit over the years, and now it was too bad that Jerome had to be away during Skylar’s first extended stay in the mountains.

The cheerful expression that had been on Deena’s face when she entered shifted into one of concern. The worry in her eyes told Skylar that things were not going well. “I just spoke to Jerome,” Deena said. “His dad is not bouncing back as he and the doctors had hoped. Seems the cancer was much more advanced than the doctors had thought and the surgery took its toll. He’ll be in the hospital quite a while longer than the two days he had been told he’d have to spend there, and he’ll need at least a month at home recuperating while undergoing chemotherapy.”

“Gee, I’m really sorry to hear that. Think you need to be with Jerome?”

“No, not right now…maybe later…after the reunion is over. Not much I can do now but wait, and I can do that right here. Jerome seems to be holding up okay.”

“Well, you know best.”

Deena nodded, and then said, changing the subject, “Kathy told me you drove all the way over to Crested Village last night by yourself to get the liquor for Mark. I would have gone with you, Skylar. Why didn’t you ask?”

Skylar shrugged. “Guess I wanted to prove to myself that I really can do this job. However, I have to admit it was a pretty scary trip. Started snowing. Got dark on me. And when I finally got to Mark’s cabin, he acted all smug, as if what I’d done was no biggie. What’s up with him anyway? Where is he from? He has some kind of a funny accent.”

“Mark is biracial,” Deena replied. “His father is black and his mother, Virina Dagrun, is a well-known Norwegian model.”

“Was Mark born in Norway?”

“No, California, but when his parents divorced, his mother took him back to Norway to live.”

“So, that’s the reason for his accent,” Skylar murmured. “Well, he’s probably upset with me.”

“Why?”

“After I arrived with his delivery, I kind of fainted…passed out for a few seconds on his doorstep. Overwhelmed by the altitude, I guess. Anyway, I broke a bottle of schnapps and soaked my jeans. He took me inside and then had the nerve to try to tell me what my job was…and that was after he had flirted like crazy with me.”

Struggling to suppress a chuckle, Deena pressed her lips together, one hand to her mouth. “He flirted with you, and you’re upset?”

“Yeah, put me on his couch and was leaning over me, putting his lips real close to mine. Even felt my legs. Got all in my face and everything. It was really rude.”

Now, Deena laughed aloud. “Please! He was probably just making sure you were all right.”

“Hump. Working his Afro-European charm on me, you mean, as I’m sure he loves to do with all of your female guests.”

“He does generate a lot of attention,” Deena admitted.

“Well, I’m not one of his starstruck students like Goldie Lamar. I swear that woman has a major crush on Mark. When I called her to tell her I had the theater tickets for her party, all she wanted to do was rattle on and on about her fabulous ski lesson with Mark this morning and how gentle he had been with her.”

“Mark’s quite the star around here,” Deena said.

“He’s an employee, just like me, and he ought to remember that.”

“Lighten up, Skylar. You have to admit, he’s a hunk. Real easy to look at and a nice guy, too.”

“Rather exotic, I’d say,” Skylar said grudgingly.

“So what if he creates a stir among the guests. Nothing wrong with that. You may not know it but he has an international reputation as a very eligible bachelor, so you shouldn’t complain that he flirted with you. Wouldn’t it have been much worse if he had paid you no attention at all? Really, Skylar. You’re smart, attractive, single. Stop being so damn sensitive. Mark Jorgen could be quite a catch.”

“A catch? What makes you think I’m in the market for a man?”

“Oh? You’re not?”

“No!”

“Maybe you should be, ’cause I hope like hell you’re not holding out for a second chance with Lewis Monroe,” Deena said.

“Hell would freeze over before I’d give Lewis a second chance. But I’m not gonna lie. I loved Lewis and I know he hurt me, but it’s not that easy to forget and move on. I trusted him,” Skylar said in a small voice.

“He cheated on you.”

“I know…but you think I can just forget about our good times together and take up with a new man, like buying a new pair of shoes or a dress? I need time to get over Lewis, and an affair with a playboy ski instructor is not the way I plan to do it,” Skylar said.

“Okay, okay. I hear you,” Deena replied, backing off. “I was simply suggesting that you not judge Mark too harshly.”

“Fine. Anyway, back to Mark Jorgen, what’s with this special liquor…and his mom?” Skylar continued, asking the question in a way that she hoped sounded very innocent. Truth be told, she had lain awake for a long time last night thinking about Mark Jorgen and wanted all the details Deena could provide. Her intense desire to know more about this man, both angered and intrigued Skylar: she had never met a man quite like him and definitely didn’t want anyone, especially her sister, to suspect how strongly he had affected her.

“Oh, yeah. Virina Dagrun. Mark’s mother. As I said, she still lives in Europe. She was also a very good amateur skier when she was younger. Now, I believe she’s the spokesperson for some high-priced line of cosmetics.”

“Does she still ski?”

“No. She gave up her dream of turning professional when she left Norway and got into modeling. After her divorce, she returned to Norway, focused on Mark’s talent and became his trainer and agent,” Deena explained. “She got him to the Olympics, but somewhere along the way, their relationship turned rocky. I don’t know the details, but Mark did say that she didn’t want him to leave Europe to settle in the States, and she was not too happy that he decided to teach here at Scenic Ridge instead of a better-known, European ski resort.”

“Sounds like quite a mom,” Skylar coyly commented, hoping Deena would give up more. A man’s mother could be a powerful influence and a key to understanding him. It might be good to know just how important a role Mother Virina played in Mark’s life.

“Yeah, Virina is something else. She’s coming for her first visit soon—right in the middle of the Black Winter Sports Reunion—which is just around the corner,” Deena reminded Skylar. “It’s going to be a crazy, hectic time with a full hotel and the slopes as crowded as they’ve ever been. I hope you can handle it.”

“I’ll have to,” Skylar noted, flipping through the pages on her desk calendar. She stopped when she saw that Jean-Paul had not only penciled Virina’s name in on his calendar as arriving on January 29th, but had drawn four stars above it. “I assume Mrs. Dagrun…”

With a shake of her head, Deena stopped Skylar. “I spoke with her when she made her reservation—she prefers to be called Miss Dagrun. Her maiden name, so make a note of that.”

“Got it. And I assume she wants one of the corner rooms,” Skylar went on, making notes on her calendar. “Maybe on the second floor, facing east so she can watch the sunrise in the mornings?”

“No. The Vista View cabin. Already reserved. She made it clear that she didn’t want to stay in the main lodge. I know what she was thinking, after all, if Mark can have a private cabin, why shouldn’t she?”

With a laugh, Skylar nodded. “Right. I don’t know the woman, but I can imagine her saying something like that. But if she’s so picky, I’m surprised she isn’t staying in town at the Little Nell or the St. Regis,” Skylar noted. “I’m sure she could arrange for a car to bring her out here to visit her son whenever she wanted to see him.”

Hunching closer to the edge of Skylar’s desk, Deena crinkled her soft, brown eyes until they were half shut. “That would never do. She wants to be close to Mark. She told me so. I think she’s lonely. He must have been the center of her life.”

“But he’s a grown man!” Skylar commented.

“Thirty-eight to be exact.”

“And never been married, I assume?” Skylar prompted thinking that if Mark felt comfortable enough with Deena to discuss his relationship with his mother, maybe he’d shared information about his love life with her, too.

“Not as far as I know, but I’ve never asked him about his romantic past. Maybe you can get that out of him…if it’s important for you to know.”

With a scowl, Skylar shrugged, “I’m afraid I’m not that interested.”

“Doesn’t sound that way to me.”

“Oh, drop it, Deena, please.”

“Okay. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Dagrun gives you a real workout when she gets here. But don’t let her rattle you, okay?”

“Afraid I might run off and join Jean-Paul at the Hyatt Regency in Utah?” Skylar joked.

“No, but you might be tempted. She sounds like the kind of guest who can be a real pain in the butt. Demanding, picky and insistent on having things done a certain way. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s coming to Scenic Ridge to convince Mark to leave.”

“Leave? But you said he was happy here.”

“He is, and I plan to keep him happy and keep him here.”

Skylar sipped from her mug, intrigued by Deena’s remark. “You talk about Mark Jorgen as if he’s a guest, not an employee.”

“In a way he is a guest,” Deena agreed. “And I expect you and the staff to treat him as such. As an Olympic gold medal winner he has clout…a following of devotees that attracts high profile clients. Whatever he asks for, you get it, or do it. Okay?”

With a jerk of her shoulder, Skylar puckered her lips and nodded her understanding, pleased with herself for already having shown him exactly what she was all about. Fulfilling Mark Jorgen’s requests would be easy, as long as he didn’t overstep the boundaries she planned to put in place right away.

Chapter 9

The sculpted candle in the center of the table gave off the delicious scent of white gardenias and cast a golden glow over Virina Dagrun’s model-sharp features. Her silver blonde hair, cut into a short-boyish style, softly cupped below her ears, shimmered in the candlelight as she reached for her balloon-shaped wine glass. She leaned closer to the flame, appreciative of the muted lighting in the intimate restaurant, hoping it helped disguise the newest wrinkle she had discovered beneath her left eye that morning. What a drag! If she’d had more time she would have made an appointment for a Botox injection before dinner, but she’d been too rushed, having flown in from Oslo only five hours earlier.

“Do you like my choice of restaurants, Richard?” she asked her dinner guest, lifting a hand layered with jewels as she glanced around the New York City establishment. Each table was nestled inside a private semicircle booth and was covered with a crisp white lace cloth, sparkling crystal and silver so shiny that it created tiny bursts of light throughout the room. Virina found so many of New York’s better restaurants too boldly lit and open for her tastes, but the atmosphere at Jannike’s was perfect. It was dim, decorated in old European style and expensive enough to keep the riffraff out.

“A very elegant place,” Richard replied, nodding his approval. “Quiet, and as private as you said it would be. The kind of place where people can actually talk to each other without screaming in their faces or worrying that the people next to them can overhear every word.”

“Precisely, and we have a lot to discuss, Richard. I’ll be leaving New York in a week, so we don’t have a lot of time to get everything settled,” Virina began, taking a quick sip from her glass. She placed her goblet on the table and a bright red fingernail to the side of her mouth, as if struggling with a thought, when in fact, she was sizing Richard Nobel up while formulating her strategy.

She knew how to play the negotiating game with the best and knew she was going to get what she wanted from this good-looking journalist who was sitting across from her, drinking the two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle wine she was paying for. He was thin, almost gaunt, but carried himself with an aristocratic air that she found very appealing. His earthy brown skin, black eyes and bright white teeth reminded her of Nat King Cole, the most gorgeous black man ever, in her opinion. A man as good looking as Richard was probably used to women coming on to him, so why not take a chance? If flirting with him didn’t work, she had other ways to get what she wanted.

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