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Chapter One

C harlotte – Earlier that Day

“Well? How did it go? Should I start calling you Professor from here on out?”

I chuckle at my best friend’s question. It’s just like Poppy to put the proverbial cart before the horse. She’s always been on my side since we met in the first year of uni as Freshers and one of my biggest advocates. Especially during the challenging times in my life over the past five years.

I, on the other hand, am a bit more reluctant to jump on that moving train until I’ve received an official offer and the new position is confirmed.

“I think I did well in the panel interview,” I offer, recalling the six faces that stared at me across the university conference room table. “They seemed impressed with some of my research papers and asked a lot about my dissertation.”

“Of course they did! You’re bloody brilliant and they’d be lucky to have your beauty and brains at their Hicksville university.”

I make a scolding noise into the speaker phone, gathering up my toiletries from the hotel bathroom and stuffing them in my suitcase. “It’s small, by comparison, yes. But Clearview Falls has a wonderful rich history as one of the top schools in the West.”

“Pish…but it’s not Cambridge,” she argues, a whine in her sultry British voice.

I snort. “Thank God for that. I’m very glad to be in the US and not back home.”

There’s a pause and I can hear her light a cigarette on the other end of the line. It’s late back in the UK, and I know she’s just returned home from a date.

A pang of homesickness flits through my belly at the memories we shared all those years ago during uni and our subsequent absence when I moved to the East Coast for my PhD program.

“Did they give you a definitive answer on when they’d make their decision and when you’d hear back?”

“Not soon enough. The dean said they’ll be finishing up their interviews this week and then making decisions the following. But you know how long these things take. It could be months.”

“What does that mean for you?” she asks, exhaling a breath over the line. “Will you stay there in the mountains until a decision is made? You have nothing to rush back to Boston for, after all.”

Don’t I know it. There is nothing and no one keeping me there. In fact, I have no plans if I don’t get this role as an assistant professor on a tenure-track. No other prospects at the moment. And I certainly don’t want to return to Cambridge with my pride in my hands and have to live with my father.

“Yes, I think I’m going to take Ana up on her offer and check out her mountain chalet for the weekend.”

Poppy hoots in excitement. “That’s exactly what you need! Time to let your hair down a bit and relax. You deserve it. And maybe you could even meet a handsome cowboy or hot ski instructor on the slopes.”

“Poppy,” I admonish, but fight the smile that cracks across my lips. “Why must everything always boil down to meeting men?”

Poppy really is a great friend. Even though we’re an ocean apart, she’s always there for me. But we also have differing viewpoints on relationships. She sees them all as a waste of time and I still have an old-fashioned belief that there’s someone out there for me and someday—hopefully soon—I’ll meet him.

“ Why ?” she drawls out loudly. “Because, my darling dearest, a vibrator alone just doesn’t cut it.”

We talk for another five minutes and then end the call with me promising to let her know as soon as I hear anything from Dean Becker. Then I text both my parents to let them know how my interviews went and set the phone to Do Not Disturb as I finish packing my bags. I’ll save their questions for later.

Checking around the room one last time to ensure I haven’t left anything behind, I drag my suitcase to the rental car and throw it in the boot. Then I type in the address to my cousin Ana’s mountain retreat and set a course for the trip.

In less than forty-five minutes, I’m pulling up to a giant ski chalet home in the mountain forest with a gorgeous wood and river rock exterior that screams, ‘Rich people own me.’

I suppose I shouldn’t judge, considering my childhood. It’s given me the opportunity to attend the best universities in the UK and the US and now allows me to enjoy some much-needed downtime after the hellishly exhausting year I’ve just endured. Shaking my head clear of those thoughts, I pull up to the large three-car garage drive and park my rental before stepping out into the chilly air.

The crisp, fresh scent of snow and pine trees alights my senses, the air so clean and the sky so clear that I already feel rejuvenated.

The air here in the mountains is so vastly different from the cities I’ve called home on the East Coast these past few years. And far from the English countryside where I grew up.

Grabbing my bags, I head to the front door of Ana’s home. When she heard from my mom that I would be here for my interview, she immediately called to offer me the retreat. Ana is British but married a brilliant American businessman twenty-some years ago and they now live their best life, as evidenced by the ginormous home I walk into after entering the code she’d given me to disarm the alarm.

I’d originally objected to the idea of staying the weekend because I didn’t have any ski apparel or equipment with me in Boston. But that problem was quickly remedied when Ana said, “I have more than plenty for you to use.”

Boy, she wasn’t kidding. When I open the door to the oversized wardrobe, I’m confronted with dozens of various ski pants and jackets to choose from. Yet as I stare into the cavernous closet, a tinge of loneliness spreads through my heart. It feels as vast as this space in front of me. But instead of full, mine is just plain empty.

Maybe Poppy was right. I don’t need a man or a relationship, but I do need someone to talk with and have fun with. A dog might work, but maybe finding a hot stranger to hook up with will help rebuild my self-confidence and help me move on from my past.

That’s what this is about, right? I need sex. Not a relationship, just hot, exciting sex .

I grab one of Ana’s evening outfits for later and peruse the insanely opulent bathroom, then decide to take an everything shower.

Everything is going to be waxed, shaved, buffed, and beautified before I head to the bar at the nearby ski resort down the road. From there, I’ll strike up a conversation with a stranger and set a course for the rest of the evening.

First things first, though. Using Ana’s super expensive body and hair products, I take a luxuriating shower and as I towel dry off, I decide I’d like to check out the slopes today and go for one run down the mountain before I head to the restaurant and bar. I’ve always loved skiing into the dusky hours and haven’t done it in forever.

Choosing a fashionable ski outfit with bright yellow and orange patterns, I grab a pair of boots and skis and toss them into my car. The ski resort is a mile back down the road and I passed it on my way here, so the drive is only five minutes, depending on the slippery conditions.

The resort lobby is lavish and bougie, with gorgeous western red cedar and pine varieties of timber that make up the walls and trim. As I make my way to the ski desk, I pass a stone fireplace with a massive hearth and masonry reaching the ceiling, a roaring fire blazing inside.

I purchase my tickets for the weekend and hop on the ski lift just outside and to the left of the parking lot. The view is spectacular as I arrive at the top of the black diamond path. Staring down the steep ski slope, regret and dread immediately take hold. Maybe my decision to take the most daring run isn’t such a great idea after all.

I take deep breaths, getting a tight grip on my poles in my gloved hands, and find my courage. I haven’t skied in years. What was I thinking? I glance over at the ski lift and then back down at the trail.

Fuck it. I can do this.

I adjust my goggles over my nose and push off with the toe of my right ski to start a zigzag motion down the mountain. The late afternoon sun’s rays shine bright into my eyes through the ski goggles and the cold wind whips against the material of my jacket as I whiz toward the bottom of the run. Feeling warm and more daring now, I pick up speed and fly through the powdery snow toward the bottom of the slope. My limbs are loose and my confidence soars as muscle memory takes over.

I’ve never felt better or more alive. It’s exactly the boost I needed today.

After living with a man like my father constantly controlled my life, the freedom of doing exactly what I want, when I want, is an amazing feeling.

Soon I’m nearly halfway down the slope when I encounter an icy snowbank. The tips of my skis tangle together and my torso tips forward from the momentum as I begin to lose my balance.

“Oh, shit!” I cry out in a panicky screech, my eyes catching on the immovable tree coming up fast in front of me.

And then out of nowhere comes a response.

“I got you.”

Suddenly, there are another pair of skis next to me and two strong hands cinching around my waist to stabilize my balance and keep me upright. We both turn to face one another, our eyes wide as I realize we’ve come to an abrupt stop just before slamming into the massive fir tree mere inches from our bodies.

“Bloody hell!” I whisper in awe, blinking rapidly as my body shakes from both the adrenaline rush and utter relief that I’m still alive and unmaimed.

The man laughs and he slowly releases his hold on me, removing his goggles from his face. Then he quirks a crooked smile. “You can say that again. Although I probably would’ve said fucking hell.”

My expression likely appears baffled as I stare at him, mystified by how he materialized out of thin air. Is he real or my guardian angel?

I inhale, hoping to regain my composure, but a whiff of his woodsy scent has me nearly swooning. The masculinity of the scent and his strong pair of arms, and perhaps a mixture of pheromones has my lady parts activating for the first time in…well, months. Or has it been over a year?

“Thank you,” I manage to croak out once I’ve steadied myself on my skies, shoving my poles securely into the snow. “I’m not sure where you came from, but it was fortuitous timing.”

His eyebrows shoot up and disappear under his hat. “Whoa, fancy words in a British accent. You might just melt the snow with all that hotness if you’re not careful.”

He gives me a slow, easy smile, and it confounds me. Is this man flirting with me? First he saves me and then he teases me in a sexy, cocky way?

Did I hit my head on that tree and not know it?

The man clears his throat when I don’t respond.

“Anyway, it might be a good idea if I follow you down. Is that okay with you?” he offers, motioning with a pole back toward the trail.

“Oh, yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that.” The words come out in a breathless rush. His smile widens and he waggles his brows before lowering his goggles.

The man follows closely behind and in a matter of minutes, we’re down the mountain and back at the resort.

As I slide to a stop and pause near the path that leads toward the parking lot, he maneuvers up next to me, shoving his poles into the snow and sliding his goggles once more to the top of his head. When I do the same and get my first good look at him, I nearly gasp. Now that I see him without the haze of a near death experience, I’m at a loss for words.

This man is definitely a decade younger than me and also one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. His face is covered in a well-trimmed beard of blondish-brown hair and his glacial blue eyes seem to sparkle against the reflected light from the snow. He’s taller than I am by a good six inches and his broad shoulders under the ski jacket look very strong, his frame blocking my view of everything behind him.

He has the build of an athlete or someone who takes fastidious care of their body. It could be from skiing, but I would guess some other type of sport. It’s not his body that has me doing something I’ve never done before. It’s the intensity of his blue gaze.

I flirt.

“I feel like I should thank you for your assistance,” I say coyly with the bite of my lip.

Maybe this man could be my one-night stand? The thought fills my belly with a fluttering sensation.

He could very well be a serial killer for all I know, but as long as he fucks me before he kills me, it’s worth the risk.

“Oh, yeah?” he replies, popping his skis off as I do the same and holding them in one gloved hand.

“I mean, a proper thank you,” I add, batting my eyelashes as seductively as I can.

“Proper, eh?” he asks in a teasing voice, trying to mimic a British accent and failing spectacularly. It’s rather cute.

“Care to join me for a drink?” I motion toward the ski lodge behind us; there must be multiple bars in a place this size.

It’s completely out of character for me. I’ve never been one to invite a man for a drink. Especially a man I don’t know. But in this case, I’m throwing all caution to the wind and going for it because he’s a very attractive man.

Without taking even a second to pause and consider my invitation, the man replies.

“Sure, I’ve got no other plans. I’d love to.”