"I'm good at my job."
"Those aren't the same thing."
One of her eyebrows lifts. "Sometimes they are."
I'm about to respond when she shifts her weight again, turning slightly like she's going to walk away. Her outside ski catches on something, and suddenly she's tilting backward, balance gone.
My body reacts before my brain catches up.
I move with muscle memory from years of hockey, from reading plays before they happen, and catch her before she hits the ground. My hands close around her waist, steadying her, and suddenly she's pressed against my chest, and every point of contact burns through the layers of winter gear between us.
She fits against me perfectly. I shouldn’t notice, but I do.
Her breath hitches just slightly, just enough that I feel it through her jacket, and for a stretched second neither of us moves. My fingers are still spread across her waist. Her weight is still supported by my grip. Everything crystallizes into this single moment of contact.
I can smell her shampoo. Lavender and something like sandalwood. I notice the way her breathing shifts. The tension in her spine and the way she's holding herself carefully, like she's afraid any movement will break whatever this is. I notice all of it, and I don't want to, because it would be too easy to bend down and kiss her right now.
Her eyes search mine for a moment, as if she senses how easy it would be too. I lick my lips at the thought of pressing them to her warm pink mouth. The feeling of my tongue gliding against her lower lip to ask for access to tangle together with hers.
I lean in closer and then the moment shatters, I see it in her eyes. It's panic, or uncertainty at some level. She's at war with what she wants, and I can see it right then. Or maybe I read her all wrong from the start. Either way, I have no intention of kissing Natalia if she isn't interested.
I set her back on her feet and released her immediately, stepping back to put space between us. Cold rushes in where the pressure of her body against mine used to be, and I force my expression into something controlled.
"Be more careful, Natalia," I say, voice ice to mask whatever just slipped for a moment. "I won't always be there to catch you."
She steadies herself, finding her balance on her boots. For a moment she just breathes, and I can see her composure reassembling. Then she meets my eyes, only determination left in them.
"I don't need you to catch me," she says quietly. "I need you to stop running."
Stop running. She has no idea what she’s asking for. And I’ll never tell her.
So, I do exactly that. I turn and walk away.
"Wait—" she calls after me.
I don't.
Instead, I leave her standing there in her brand-new gear with her persistent questions and her refusal to quit.
My hands are flexing inside my gloves. My jaw is tight enough to ache. The place where I touched her waist feels like it's still burning, phantom heat against my palms.
This morning I thought I could escape her on the slopes. Now I know the truth. She's not going anywhere. And the worst part—the part that pisses me off more than her following me, more than her refusing to leave—is that some buried piece of me doesn't want her to.
I shove that thought down deep where it belongs and focus on the lift ahead.
Chapter Eight
LUKA
The resort bar is already buzzing by the time I’ve showered and changed at the resort lockers.
I head straight for the pool table in the far corner and write my name on the chalkboard to challenge the current players. I chose that table for a reason. It’s tucked away from the fireplace and the couples pressed too close together, away from the windows and the tourists taking photos. It’s the least inviting place in the room.
That won’t stop anyone, but it buys me time.
At least it will take my mind off everything going on outside the bar—Randolph, the photo shoot, the woman taking up half my bed, who has a funny way of making sure I don't get laid on this trip. Meanwhile, she's making eyes at the ski instructor.
Fucking Zack.
