Page 97 of Full Mountie

“That’s not even tempting a little bit, but thank you for the kind offer.” I twist toward Violet. “Violet, have you met Jack?”

She laughs. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure, although I think Max has mentioned your name. Violet Roberts. I’m Max Donovan’s wife.”

“I heard about the wedding. Congratulations. Where is your husband?”

She points at the gondola. “With the groom, up top.”

He holds out his arm. “Then may I escort you up?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” The gondola attendant waves them forward, and they step into the sleek carriage first. Sasha follows, and Tate and I take up the rear. There’s nobody waiting behind us, so we’re alone as we begin our ascent.

Jack and Violet are sitting on one side. Sasha and I are on the other, and Tate is standing in the middle, legs wide, and the swing of the gondola doesn’t even faze him.

It bothers Sasha, though. “I didn’t like this yesterday,” she mutters, glancing out the window before blinking her eyes shut and swivelling her head toward the floor. “And I like it even less today.”

I feel for her—it’s a long ride, about ten minutes, and as we rise above Howe Sound, the water glitters up at us as if to say,yeah, wow, you’re really high up there in a swinging tin can.

On the other hand, it’s the most breathtaking view. “I’d love to come back in the winter to ski,” I say.

Jack waves his hand towards someplace off in the distance. “I’ve got a chalet in Whistler you’re welcome to use.”

I wink at him. “I’m pretty sure I’d be fired if I accepted gifts from someone who wants to do business with the Government of Canada.”

“You know what I like about you, Ms. Evans?” He gets it right this time, and I know it’s deliberate.

“What’s that, Mr. Benton?”

“You’re a stickler for honesty.”

Oh, if only he knew the secrets I’m currently keeping. “I try,” I murmur.

The gondola sways side to side as the cable curves higher up the mountain, and Sasha groans.

“You okay?” Tate asks.

“Fine.” She shoots a quick, sharp look up at him. “You could sit.”

He grins. “I didn’t want to crowd you.”

Another sway, and this time his perfect balance slips a bit. He’s not at risk of actually falling on her—but like his tear into the parking lot, she doesn’t like the way he jams his hand against the side of the gondola to brace himself. “Just sit,” she snaps.

As soon as we get up to the summit, I’m shoving a glass of champagne in her hand. And making sure that Tate sits on Gavin’s side, near the back, maybe.

He leans in, curling his hand over the back of the seat right beside her, and pivots onto the bench. “There, I’m sitting.” His grin is too cocky by half, and he knows it.

At least one of them is enjoying this.

I sneak a look over at Violet, who is innocently gazing out the window, but I’m pretty sure she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Okay, so we’re all enjoying this a little.

Just as long as Sasha doesn’t murder the NHL player by the end of the day.

33

Lachlan

I’m walkingacross the lobby of Summit Lodge when I hear Beth’s laugh. Guests are still milling around inside, as we’ve got fifteen minutes or so until the bride arrives and the wedding can begin—and Jesus, I sound like a wedding coordinator.

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