She walks over to the bar, turning her back to me, acting indifferent.
I look around to be safe and raise the half-empty cup of coffee she left behind. A lipstick mark on the edge, her color. I sip her coffee, knowing her mouth touched the cup, and smile to myself. When I raise my head, I see her on the stool, watching me, eyes wide with disbelief.
Fuck, she obviously has never met a man who wanted her this much.
I want to wink at her, but the next second, she’s gone.
She disappears into the crowd, and I’m left burning, grinning like an idiot, knowing the game’s only just begun.
***
The training slope at Sölden is blue sky and bulletproof ice. My legs burn, skis biting, every turn shaving up a spray of icy crystals. I carve the last gate, heart thumping, and coast to a stop by the fencing. Snow squeaks under my boots as I click out and sling the skis over my shoulder.
Martin glides in behind me, overshooting the finish and fist-pumping like he just won the Olympics. “Trying to make us look bad?”
Lukas laughs, unstrapping his helmet. “He always does. Show-off.”
I shrug, grinning. “It’s my job. If you can’t beat me, at least let me inspire you.”
Martin throws a snowball that misses by a meter. “Inspiration. Right.”
We pack up in the waxing shed, the air thick with the smell of hot iron and pine resin. I’m peeling off my boots when Katharina leans against the bench, arms folded, one eyebrow up.
She fixes me with a look. “Saw you talking to Élise Moreau last night.”
“Élise who?” I say, all innocence, but my mouth twitches with a dopey grin. I finally know her name.
She rolls her eyes. “You have no idea who that woman is, right?”
I lift a shoulder. “Nope. Just assumed she was a Bond villain or maybe the CEO of looking expensive.”
Kath shakes her head, amused but exasperated. “She’s the only daughter and heiress to the Moreau empire. They own a lot of things, including the ski brand that took you under its wing.”
I blink. “How come I’ve never heard of them?”
She leans in, voice dropping just a notch. “They had to leave France because of a scandal. Bought Eiswerk to save it; a big deal, a Frenchman buying the Austrian national jewel. But rumor is, Laurent Moreau genuinely loves skiing. Kept the whole staff, didn’t replace anyone. Stays in the shadows.”
“So her family’s, what, some kind of super rich circle?”
Kath laughs. “God, Nico. Back in France, they were basically royalty.”
I let out a low whistle. “You trying to tell me I screwed a princess and should stop sniffing around her?”
She holds up her hands. “I’m not trying to tell you anything. Just thought you might appreciate the information.”
“Didn’t need it. I knew she was high class and posh and impossible… what?”
Kath’s mouth falls open. “Wait, you did what? How did you even manage that, last night—”
I cut her off with a grin. “Long story. And I have not the slightest intention of making it short.”
Kath stares at me, then just laughs, shaking her head. “That’s just so… you, Nico.”
As I pack up my things, I can’t stop thinking about Élise; her cool composure, that killer dress, the way she looked at me like I was both trouble and dessert.
So, she’s some kind of princess? I run my thumb over my bottom lip, remembering the champagne taste of her mouth. My heart kicks against my ribs like I'm staring down the steepest part of the Streif.
My fingers twitch with the memory of silk and warm skin. The moment when I stripped her of her princess pretense and had her moaning in my bed, pliant, willing, almost meek.
