Page 11 of Snowbound Lovers
“Good to know. Now I’ll get the beers and you get the wine. There’s no way I’m selecting a bottle from your dad’s cellar collection. I need to keep in my fathers-in-law’s good books after eloping with his only daughter.”
I laugh out loud. “Oh please, let me watch when you and Jas tell him. I would pay admission to that show.” Scott laughs along, but it sounds more forced. I feel sorry for my worried friend.
“Hey, chill, man. Dad will be fine. He wants nothing more than for his little girl to be happy.” It’s the truth. Jas has always been Daddy’s little girl, and anyone can see Scott makes her very happy. “It’s my mom you have to worry about,” I can’t resist adding with a smile.
I leave Scott in the kitchen to grab the beers and step through the door of the closet wine cellar. Dad’s pride and joy. Row upon row of expensive bottles of wine are lined up neatly like soldiers on a parade ground. All carefully hand selected by my father and well stocked for the holiday season. After Christmas, Jasmine’s friends will leave, and the rest of the family will join us. It’s a family tradition for us to all gather together for at least a few days between Christmas and New Year’s. I had originally intended to come only for those few days, but Jas insisted I extend my break, and now I’m glad she did.
Today, each turn of my board when I descended a powder run had me feeling like the office stress was peeling away like layers of an onion. One thin layer at a time, revealing the person underneath, the real me. The man who, for the majority of the year, forgets how to have fun. Maybe my family is right and I need to learn how to balance work and play.
I look through the shelves on the left, the section of the cellar Dad likes to refer to as theeveryday wines, then choose a pinot noir from the Sonoma Coast and one of my favorites.
I return to the living room to join the others, where all three couples sit cozily together by the fire. I look around the room, my gaze landing on Madison, who is standing alone, looking out the large windows. It’s hard not to look at her, with her chestnut-brown curls loosely trailing over her shoulder and down her back. She is striking, and the more time I spend with her, the more I’m drawn under her spell. I wander over, and she turns her amber eyes to me as I approach. Tonight, those beautiful eyes are harnessing the reflective glow from the fire and remind me of a fierce lioness going in for a kill. But I’m not scared.
I hold up the wine as a peace offering. “Would you like a refill?”
She murmurs her thanks, holding her glass out to me. She smiles, but it’s not one of her naturally joyous smiles. It’s more a politewish I was anywhere else but here with youkind of smile.
“Don’t think that pouring me another drink is going to make me like you.” I can’t say I’m surprised by another of her generally outrageous comments. It’s a shame those pretty lips don’t come with a filter. I’m beginning to understand why her nickname is Mads.
“I wouldn’t dream of thinking that,” I respond before walking back over to join the others.
They say it’s a fine line between love and hate. Well, Madison and I have nailed the hate part. Now, if only I could convince her to use that mouth for good, we may have a chance at being friends … or something more.
Chapter 7
Madison
Warm,flickeringflamesfromthe fireplace and a glass of a very good red wine were making me sleepy. I could have happily curled up where I was on the sofa and fallen asleep. But instead, I’ve had to drag my tired body to standing before saying goodnight to my friends and walking stiff legged to the stairs. Damn, my leg muscles have seized up in the short space of time I’d been relaxing by the fire.
I thought I was fit enough to slay this snowboarding, but I guess I’m not. For the last month, I increased my gym sessions, doing hundreds of squats, sit-ups, and even push-ups. I was so proud of my efforts … until now. Every muscle in my body aches, and the ones that don’t ache are probably covered in purply gray bruises.
All those hours of workouts, and what good has it done me? None. I gently rub my palm over my thigh, then raise my leg to the first step. It feels like I have concrete boots on, and my thighs burn like I’ve run a marathon. I have the mobility of an octogenarian, and my calves are so tight you could bounce a coin off them.
I drag my other leg up to the same step, using my tight grip on the banister to take some of my weight. Trying to let the momentum lift me, I slowly move painfully up some more steps, one by one.
When I’m about halfway, the heavy tread of someone stomping on the bottom step behind me has me halting. I look over my shoulder, even though I already know it’s Jarrod. His fresh woodsy mountain man scent announced his arrival.
He takes some more steps, drawing closer. “You okay? You look like you’re struggling. Bet snowboarding doesn’t seem so easy now.” Of course he feels the need to remind me of my stupid comment from last night.
This man has a knack for triggering a reaction from me every time he opens his mouth. I wish I could ignore his snarky comment, but it’s not in my nature.
With a huff, I glare at him. “I never said it was easy. I said itlookedeasy. Big difference,” I say in the bitchiest tone I can muster as I continue to take a couple more painfully stiff steps. I’m not going to rush up the steps just for him.
I can only hope having to wait for me will give him a small measure of the frustration I feel every time I’m in his vicinity. I glance over my shoulder and catch him checking out my ass.What the heck?
“Stop that!” I demand, spinning around to confront him and nearly losing my balance in the process. Ouch, that kind of hurt.
Jarrod stands two steps below me, bringing us eye level, his hands outstretched before him. I’m not sure if his hands are out in preparation to catch me if I fall or if it’s an act of self-defense.
He blinks a couple of times, then says, “What?” I’m not buying his innocence. But hang on, since when did Jarrod start checking me out? Oh that’s right … the moment I flashed him all my goods and he drank in every inch of my naked flesh. He almost admitted as much earlier.
I wave my finger at him, ignoring his smirk. “Hey, buddy. Your eyes are cashing checks they can’t afford.”
“What does that even mean?” He scoffs, his superior manner raising my hackles.
“Just because my butt muscles are sore and I’m walking up the stairs like an eighty-year-old, it doesn’t give you the right to check out my ass.”
His lips stretch wider. “There you go again mentioning your butt. Your muscles must really be sore. Would you like a massage? I’m here for you.” That smile and tilt to his head should not be so cute on a grown-ass man.
