But Sasha knew that sound. “The wind is really picking up. I bet that was just my wooden bear that got blown over again.”
“You’re right. It was the bear. It’s starting to snow. You’ve got wood on your deck. Mind if I start a fire?”
“I’d like that. Thanks.”
Sasha watched him work, some part of her purring to see the big stack of wood in his arms, his butt doing amazing things for his climbing pants, his biceps shifting as he piled firewood and kindling next to the stove and built the fire.
Why did he affect her like this? She’d spent her life around strong men, and no one had made her feel this way—as if her senses were heightened and her heart was beating a little too fast. “Why did you leave LA?”
With the fire now crackling, he closed the stove’s iron door and returned to his seat on the sofa. “It wasn’t any one thing. It was everything. Traffic. Potholes. The cost of living. Plastic people. Celebrity culture. One day I realized I didn’t want to be there any longer, so I started looking for something in Colorado. I missed the mountains, the change of seasons, skiing, the laid-back attitude.”
Sasha had never seen Darius so relaxed, his gaze warm, his features not quite as hard. “You told me the other day that one of the celebrities you’d worked with had asked you to mix her a martini and give her a massage. Is that the craziest thing that happened?”
“God, no.” He shook his head, a grin on his face. “There was an up-and-coming actress who had her personal assistant lead me to her bedroom for an intake interview. The actress was wearing nothing but a silk robe, whichaccidentallyfell open a time or two. I was trying to work, but she kept interrupting me, asking me whether I found her beautiful or sexually attractive and wanted to touch her.”
Sasha’s mouth fell open with surprise. “What did you say? I mean, I suppose shewasbeautiful.”
In one motion, Darius leaned closer, bringing his face even with hers, his gaze seeming to pierce her, his lips curving in a lopsided grin that Sasha felt to her core. “Not to me. I preferrealbeauty, not the synthetic kind.”
Sasha’s pulse skipped, warmth rushing into her cheeks. She stared into his gray eyes, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. “Wh-what did you do?”
He slowly sat back. “I told her that when she was dressed, we could continue talking in her living room. Then I walked out. But enough about that. How did you get into climbing?”
“Every summer, my parents sent my brother and me to a summer camp in Yosemite. As you know, they’re software engineers. They worked long hours and didn’t really have much time off. I think I was eight when the camp brought in one of those big, portable rock walls. Each of us got a turn. Some of the kids were scared, but I fell in love with it then and there. I kept getting back in line.”
She told him how her parents took her to a rock gym when they’d heard this. “One of the instructors told them he thought I had talent, so they signed me up for lessons. They didn’t imagine it would become my career. They just wanted to make sure I had a sport—a way to stay fit.”
“What do they think now?”
“They’re proud of me, I know, but they also don’t like that I live in Scarlet. They don’t understand why I won’t move back to San Jose or LA and try to parlay my climbing success into a film career or something.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Not at all.” She was starting to feel drowsy but fought not to show it. She didn’t want this time with Darius to end. “If I stop climbing competitively, I would want to teach climbing and focus on rescue work. I’m also interested in wildlife photography.”
“Are your parents coming to help you?”
“No. They’ve got deadlines.” The excuse sounded hollow to her ears, and she found herself rushing to make it better somehow. “If I’d been seriously hurt, they’d have come. Theydidsend flowers.”
He frowned. “I’m glad you’ve got so much support here in Scarlet.”
“Th-thanks.” Sasha yawned. “Sorry.”
Darius glanced at his watch. “It’s late. I should go and let you get some rest. I’ll stoke this fire, make sure you’re settled, and get back to the Inn.”
She didn’t want him to go, but she was afraid of seeming like she was coming onto him like one of those Hollywood stars. Ten minutes later, she stood by her open front door, saying goodnight, snow swirling in the darkness. “Thanks for your company tonight—and your help.”
Oh, how she wished he would kiss her.
“Thank you.” He gave her a warm smile, reached up, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, his touch scorching. “Get some rest.”
Then he turned and walked to his vehicle.
Darius tossedand turned all night, endless thoughts of Sasha drifting through his mind, mixing with restless dreams. He gave up pretending to sleep at seven when the scent of freshly baked croissants roused him. Feeling strangely on edge, he got up, showered, dressed in jeans and a dark blue Henley, and went down to the dining room.
He had to give Bob and Kendra Jewell credit. Their French pastry chef, Sandrine, put together a breakfast no sane person would want to miss. He piled his plate high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and freshly sliced fruit, grabbed a couple of warm croissants, and settled at a table near the window.
“A latte this morning, Mr. Silva?” Sandrine had the effortless grace of the French, her dark hair streaked with gray and piled in a twist, her accent pleasing. “Orange juice?”
