Page 12 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

Jensen and his men returned to their vehicles and drove away, leaving the two of them alone on the ridge.

Lord fixed his feet into the snowboard’s bindings, then bent to tighten the straps, apparently so confident he would win this round, he wasn’t even going to gloat over his victory.

Isabelle’s irritation spiked. She dug her sticks into the snow, determined to take back control of their afternoon excursion.

‘Race you to the bottom, Mr Lord. The last one there is a rotten egg,’ she shouted over her shoulder as she launched herself off the crest, flying into the undriven snow like a missile fired from a starting pistol.

The adrenaline was like a drug as she slalomed down the slope at breakneck speed, her muscles singing, and heard him shout from behind her: ‘You’re on.’

Who knew? Her Majesty has some serious moves—and a killer instinct to match.

Travis grinned as his fake date for the afternoon shot down the steep slope, switching through the turns to carve tracks in the untouched snow ahead of him...

The old exhilaration pounded through his veins as he gained ground by taking the more direct route. Her lithe figure bent over her skis as she ramped up her stick action to increase her speed—aware of him catching her.

Strictly speaking, skis were a faster way to travel on snow than a board—because two long thin sticks of fibreglass were aerodynamically a more efficient form of transportation than the shorter board he was using. Plus, the rider could distribute their weight more efficiently.

But he had a few key advantages. He was bigger, more badass, and, however good she was, she was still an amateur who had never risked her neck to win a race...

His bad leg jarred as the board hit a rock under the snow. He rebalanced himself, then gritted his teeth and crouched lower to push harder.

She glanced over her shoulder—her face a picture of shock, then grim determination.

His grin widened, despite the pain in his kneecap, as he swept past her. He could ice the knee later. Much later.

The slope reached the tree line, the conifers too tightly packed for even him to risk racing any further, so he looped round and slammed into a stop.

‘I win!’ he shouted.

She skidded, spraying him with snow as she was forced to brake hard a couple of feet above him.

He tugged off his sunglasses and flicked off the film of ice. ‘Guess you’re the rotten egg, Belle.’

She yanked off her goggles. Then threw them into the air and laughed, her delighted expression making his heart pound.

‘I don’t care, that was glorious!’ she announced. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve been permitted to ski that fast.’

‘Yeah, who was stopping you?’ he asked, intrigued, not just by the joy in her eyes, but also the sense of fellowship. He knew what it was like to get back something you’d figured might be lost for ever. While he’d never be able to board at the level he had before the accident, being able to ride at all felt precious now, even with the price he was usually forced to pay afterwards if he pushed too hard... As he had today.

‘No one...specifically.’ She brushed her hair back from her face, releasing the long blonde locks from the updo—which hadn’t survived the ride. ‘I just have certain responsibilities, ever since my parents died.’ She glanced away, her complexion reddening in the chilly air. When she met his gaze again, the unguarded look had been replaced by something pensive. And wary. Was she thinking about her folks? Or just embarrassed she had revealed so much to a stranger? Because, although he hardly knew her, he had already figured out Queen Isabelle was not an over-sharer.

‘That must be a royal pain in the butt,’ he said, thinking it was a damn shame she never got to cut loose. ‘Always having to do what you’re told.’

‘Not at all,’ she said, the swift denial and the stiff tone contradicted by the colour still making her cheeks glow. ‘I welcome the responsibility.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, letting his scepticism show. She’d enjoyed the race, why not admit it? After all, there was no one here to punish her for not being queenly enough.

‘I didn’t know you could race like that... After your accident,’ she said.

‘The accident wasn’t that bad.’ He lied smoothly, not liking the flicker of sympathy in her eyes, or the abrupt change of subject. ‘And I’d have had to be dead to stop boarding. Or to let an amateur beat me on the downhill,’ he added. ‘Although you gave me a decent run there for about a nanosecond.’

A frown formed on her forehead—and he congratulated himself on locating the killer competitor again, behind the responsible rule-follower.

‘A nanosecond?’ she scoffed. ‘You only beat me by a whisker, you...you...’

‘Spit it out, it’ll do you good...’ he coaxed, enjoying her indignation almost as much as the sight of all that gold hair, flowing around her heart-shaped face. She really was a looker, especially with her hair loose.

‘Your attempts to provoke me won’t work, Mr Lord,’ she said, trying to regain the decorum she’d lost so comprehensively during their downhill.

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