Earlier this morning at five a.m., I’d already spoken with Shawn, the producer of the show, to confirm that he and his crew were already set up and filming as the women began filtering out of their lodge rooms. But I wanted one final opportunity to see it in action before I left to handle my other business affairs.
Getting Kellan locked down on his contract with Flying Aces.
Paula’s walkie-talkie crackles and she answers. “This is Paula. Go ahead.”
Another assistant of ours, Val, comes on over the line. “Brett is here and ready. And looking fine, if I do say so myself.”
Paula giggles and her cheeks flush. “Ten-four. I’ll be right over to manage the queue line.”
She replaces the phone in her holster at her hip and nods. “All set, boss. And you don’t have to worry about Shawn, I’ll talk to him on my way into the ballroom. Good luck with your client meeting. Go get ‘em.”
She gives me the thumbs up and a bright, cheery smile and heads off toward the set of ballrooms at the far end, while I turn back to the breakfast buffet table to refill my coffee mug.
I fill it to just the brim and add in my required three packets of sugar, stirring until it dissolves, when a heavily accented Swiss German dialect grabs my attention from the table next to me.
“Guten Tag, Miss Taylor.” His formality is deceptive because when I turn and look up at this man the size of a tree, it’s as if he’s seeing me naked through my clothes. Maybe because he has. And my past is coming back to haunt me in the form of an Olympic hottie.
I take a moment to peruse the giant and then tilt my head with a smile. He looks as devastatingly gorgeous as he did the first time we met several years ago when we had a pretty hot week together at the Sochi Winter Olympics.
“Good morning, Kellan. Nice to see you again.”
Chapter Two
Kellan
My career, excuse the expression, has taken me on some pretty amazing high’s – to the tops of all the major mountain tops in the world – where I’ve felt alive and untouchable, competing in one of the most exhilarating and risk-taking sports out there.
And it’s also taken me all the way to the bottom of those slopes, where I’ve tasted defeat and loss in both my skiing profession, as well as in life.
This past year, in particular, has been a rough one. Once crowned the Slope King, I’m nearing the end of my lucrative and pretty fucking amazing career as a world-champion downhill slalom skier. I was the first in my home country of Switzerland to achieve Olympic skiing gold, silver and bronze champion status.
But a devastating crash and back injury in the last world championships left me fighting to get back out on the slopes to regain my position and titles. But I’m not sure if I can do it anymore. My body isn’t in the same shape it once was, and honestly, that crash scared the ever-living-fuck out of me and has turned me inside out with fear.
The past three months as I’ve trained and conditioned for the next series of events and Olympic tryouts, I’ve put a lot of thought into what I wanted to do next. I can’t ski forever. But there is another option. I can coach and train other up-and-coming phenoms to take my place.
The only problem with that is I want to remain in the United States, and I can’t do that with an expiring Visa. My agent suggested a possible solution.
Marry a U.S. citizen.
But who? I’m not seeing anyone, and I’ve never had a serious relationship. The odds are not in my favor. Except there might be a possible solution if I can make it happen.
“You’re looking stunning this morning, Hollis. Maybe it’s the mountain winter glow you have. You wear it well,” I tease good-naturedly, as Hollis rolls her eyes at me. But I tap her cold, red nose with the tip of my index finger.
I know Hollis’s sensitivity to the cold, winter climates, and how she dislikes the frigid temps, which has always made me curious then why she works in this industry in the first place.
Hollis snaps her teeth with a growl at my finger as I pull it away with a laugh.
“My, my. Someone’s touchy this morning. I think someone needs a sense of humor or maybe more coffee to warm up that frigid personality of yours.”
She shoots me a glare, knowing I’m just messing with her. I enjoy teasing and flirting with Hollis and have since the first time I met her. It was in Sochi – that god-awful shithole – where we met and found ourselves back in my room one-night, that turned into every night that week, melting more than the snow together. Our chemistry was, and still is, off the charts, and we were insatiable for each other.
But all good things must come to an end. She was just starting her climb up the corporate ladder, and I was on the road traveling for months at a time, and training when I was home in Switzerland or my U.S. residence in Vail, Colorado.
“You sure do know how to make a girl feel good, don’t you, Kellan?” She mocks, unzipping her white winter parka to display a form-fitting turtle-neck sweater underneath.
I can’t help but notice the perfect shape of her breasts and how cold she must be with the way her nipples poke out through the material.
I inwardly groan at the recollection of how perfect those rose-bud nipples are up close and personal, and how sweet her skin tasted. Leaning down so my lips are mere inches from her ear, as I take a long whiff of her vanilla-scented skin and whisper, “I think I remember quite well how good I made you feel, Hollis.”
