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He’d begun working at a local boxing gym. For fun, he’d boxed as an amateur and had challenged himself to win every match he’d played but mostly he’d fallen into a routine of working by day and studying by night. He’d been smart—too smart for the online courses, too smart for the problems posed in exams, but smart enough to see where his talents lay and to take advantage of his gift for maths by entering the complex world of coding.
And from there to where he was now. From a seventeen-year-old kid developing a website for his coach, to the eighteen-year-old being paid to design for someone else, and then wanting more than just working for other people; wanting more than just standing still.
He’d saved and become a hunter, the guy who knew just where to find the next big start-up. The guy who turned everything he touched to gold. By his late twenties, he’d been invincible. Winning had become his goal and winning had got him the sort of wealth most people could only dream of.
That said, Mateo knew that it was easy to forget the road that had taken a person from rags to riches, and to forget that road was to risk forgetting lessons learnt along the way. Rags to riches could end up as rags again in the blink of an eye. All that was needed was a little too much laziness and a little too much complacency.
Being here on the mountain was a reminder. His father no longer lived here. Mateo himself lived in London, with places in New York, Hong Kong and Dubai, but this quiet corner on the slopes was a sliver of a distant past.
The merest hint that some clown might now invade his sanctuary filled Mateo with grim rage. Quite still, and ear cocked, he heard the bang on the door with a sinking heart, well aware that he could hardly turn away whatever dope might be shivering outside. Dope ordopes: lads who’d decided to play fast and loose with their own lives, safe in the misguided juvenile delusion that someone would magically materialise to save their sorry skins.
He switched off the stove and padded barefoot to open the door.
Alice was about to bang on the door for the third time when it was pulled open without warning and she stumbled forward, clattering clumsily on her skis, sagging with exhaustion and relief. She hadn’t had time to clock who exactly had opened the door. She just felt herself being caught as she began toppling to the ground. Arms around her waist grabbed her, tugging her straight and then holding her upright, at which point she did take notice of the guy who was now supporting her.
Cold, narrowed eyes were staring down at her from a towering height. She was an unimpressive five-three and this guy was well over six feet. She blinked and the breath caught in her throat, because she was staring up at a man who was sinfully beautiful with perfectly chiselled features, sharp cheekbones, the oddest colour of green eyes and very dark, shortly cropped hair. He was wearing worn, faded jogging bottoms, an equally worn sweater and an expression of barely suppressed annoyance.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I...’
‘You’d better come in, but only because I can’t have you collapsing in a blizzard outside my front door!’
‘I...’
‘And you might as well bring the skis in too. Leave them out there and they’ll be buried under the snow and, before you apologise for landing on my doorstep, I’ll tell you straight away that the last thing I need is a complete stranger invading my privacy!’
Hard, green eyes bored into her and Alice, normally the sunniest of people, felt a quiver of anger. Today was definitely not her day when it came to letting her emotions get the better of her. She stood back, folded her arms and tried to ignore the bitter cold settling on her now that she was standing still.
‘Well?’ he demanded, scowling. ‘You’re letting the cold in.’
‘I’m not sure Iwantto come in!’ Alice shivered, her arms folded.
‘What the hell are you going on about?’
‘I don’t like your attitude. I can’t be too far from...from...civilisation, if you have a place here, and I’ll take my chances if you point me in the right direction!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He looked at her with even more narrow-eyed displeasure, then stared straight past her shoulder to the swirling snow now being consumed in darkness. ‘Although...if you really want to take your chances? Approximately five miles south-east you might just stumble to the nearest very small town. Miss it, though, and you’ll be spending a very cold night on the slopes and, despite your idiocy in being out here in the first place, my conscience won’t let me send you on your way. So, if you still refuse to come in then I’ll be forced to carry you in over my shoulder.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Care to try me?’
He spun round on his heels. Alice detached herself from her skis and tripped along hurriedly behind him, slamming the door behind her and breathing a sigh of blessed relief at the warmth that had replaced the biting cold.
She took a few seconds to glance around her. The place was cosy but utterly luxurious in an understated way. Wooden panelling and stained-glass windows splintered the fading light and the rug that covered the parquet floor was soft, faded and clearly silk. Two black-and-white photographs on the wall were signed by the photographer and looked vaguely familiar. She was ridding herself of her outer layers as he vanished into one of the rooms off to the right and, when she entered behind him, it was to find herself in a superbly fitted kitchen rich with smells that made her mouth water.
She cleared her throat and then reddened as he swung round to face her. The lighting in the hallway hadn’t done him justice. Her mouth went dry as she took in his truly spectacular good looks. Her heart picked up speed and she frantically tried to get herself back to a place of righteous anger at his high-handed arrogance. Was she here on her own with him? she thought belatedly. Should she be concerned? What if he was dangerous? Strangely, she wasn’t scared, but then again she was half-crazy with exhaustion, so her brain was probably not functioning properly.
‘You’re wet.’
His dark, cutting voice interrupted her wandering train of thought.
‘That’s because I’ve been out in a blizzard for hours. Okay, maybe nothours, but long enough.’
‘Which is something I’ll get to just as soon as you get out of those clothes.’
‘I can’t. I have nothing to put on. I forgot to travel with my suitcase.’