Page 19 of Mountain Security

“Right …” She spread the cream quickly, hoping she wasn’t leaving white streaks all over her face. “How’s that?”

“Almost perfect,” he said. He brushed her cheek, wiping away a bit of creamy residue. “There. Perfect.”

“Thank you.”

She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun streaming through the glass.

“This is very relaxing,” she said without opening her eyes.

He made a small sound deep in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. She opened her eyes again, curious to see what had caused that sound to emerge, but he was staring straight at her.

“Unfortunately, we’re going to have to get up now, or else we’re going to be taking the gondola all the way down again.”

He helped her up and handed her a helmet, the four poles, a pair of gloves … she felt like a child, but wasn’t about to complain.

“Okay. Getting off is the same as getting on. I’ll tell you when.”

“You mean it’s not going to stop?” Her stress levels rose through the roof. Stressing was something she was really good at.

“Don’t worry. It slows down. It’s going to be fine.”

Itwasfine. Moments later, she was standing in a telecabine building much like the one below, except this one was at the top of the mountain. She looked down at herself, patted her head. She had her helmet and her goggles, her gloves, her poles, her—

My skis.

Can’t ski without skis.

Alex arrived behind her, setting both pairs of skis down.

Right.

Doubts filled her. This was the moment of truth. There were no more distractions, no more delays possible.

“You click your skis on like this,” Alex said. He made it look easy, but the moment she tried to do the same, her boot slipped on the snow.

Shit.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked, not quite sure what she meant, but knowing she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of him.

“It’s going to be great. I was a ski instructor for three winters while at university,” he said. “I’ve taught sixty-year-olds to ski. I can teach you.”

She snorted at the comparison.

He banged the side of his pole against her ski boot until a clump or snow fell off.

“There. Try again,” he said, smiling widely.

God, he was handsome, even in the thick black helmet he was wearing. She supposed she must look like a mushroom in hers.

She tried again, pushing with the front, then the back of the boot, watching it click into place.

“You’ve got this, Yvette!”

“Okay … What now?” she asked cautiously, feeling as stable as a newborn piglet.

Alex flashed her a joyous smile. “Now we ski.”

* * *

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