Suite Embrace (12 page)

“Uh, fine,” Skylar said, pulling the door open wider. She touched her wet hair, suddenly embarrassed to be caught looking like a total wreck. “It has been rattling like crazy and I was getting worried about it cracking or falling out.”

“Don't want that to happen,” Mark assured her as he entered the room. He looked around. “Cozy, with the candles and all.”

“It's light,” Skylar replied matter of factly, watching as Mark unzipped his parka and hung it on the back of a chair. He had changed out of his wet ski clothing and was wearing faded jeans and a soft blue turtleneck. He reached down and removed a roll of duct tape from the inside pocket of his jacket. “This ought to do the job. No sense in taking a chance.”

“Right,” Skylar agreed, beginning to feel a coil of heat gather between her thighs. In the shadowy dimness he resembled a dark silhouette that was both powerful and tender. She liked the way he moved, in the easy manner of a professional athlete who had total control of his body. A sudden fantasy spun into her mind: he was a mountain man, come to rescue her from a devastating snowstorm, and not sent by Paul to fix a rattling window. Here she was in a secluded mountain resort with a handsome international Olympic skier, who according to Deena was one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. Suddenly, Skylar wasn't nearly as worried about Mark as she was about herself and the fact that she was wearing only a robe over her naked body.

“Go ahead and check it out,” she told him, breaking out of her fantasy. “If the window might blow out, please fix it.”

Skylar followed Mark into the bathroom, aware that every toiletry she owned was scattered across the counter and she hated for him to see her most private space in such a state, but there was nothing she could do.

He went to the window, flashed his light over it and then tapped the glass. “It's loose all right. Can't leave it like this.” He turned around. “Uh…can you hold the flashlight on this while I tape it up?” Mark asked, extending the light to her. “I'm gonna need both hands.”

“Sure, no problem. Give it to me.” She stepped closer, took the light and aimed it over his shoulder, toward the foggy window.

“Good, this won't take long,” Mark said, focusing on the job. He deftly unrolled one length of tape after another and secured them in a crisscross pattern over the glass, making sure he filled in all the gaps along the edges. “All finished,” he declared, suddenly turning around at the same time that Skylar stepped forward to examine his handiwork.

Their bodies swung together.

With a gasp, Skylar stiffened, but stood very still. Not too long ago, she'd told Mark that he would never make love to her, that he ought to find some other woman to fulfill his fantasy. She'd told Deena that she was not in the market for a man. And she'd told herself that she needed time to get over Lewis, to heal her heart and her badly bruised ego before getting caught up in any kind of romance. But now here she stood with her eyes locked to Mark's, both confused and clear about what she wanted.

 

Unable to help himself, Mark lowered his gaze and fastened his eyes on the swell of Skylar's breasts, which were pressing prominently against the front of her robe. He wanted to reach out and trace a finger along the open edge of her collar, move his hand so close to her skin that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. But of course, he didn't dare. He was not going to press his luck and risk offending her, even though he sensed that she would not deny him if he tried.

All day, he had gone to great lengths to avoid pushing too hard, too fast. They had kissed, embraced and talked, but he had not let his hands stray to parts of her body that had not been exposed. He'd made that mistake when she'd come to his cabin and he wasn't about to ask for more trouble.

A delicate scent of apples came from her dark, damp hair, sending a jolt of desire straight to his groin and making him hard. He wanted to grab her, bury his face between her soft brown breasts, press his lips to nipples that he knew would be hard, firm and sweet. The fire she was igniting inside him was one that Mark knew could only be extinguished by claiming Skylar completely. Would he ever be able to do that? he wondered, closely watching her for any sign that he had a chance.

From their very first encounter, she had let him know that she was a woman in total control of herself, and one not easily impressed. While other women had thrown themselves at him and made his conquests easy, this was a woman he would have to approach very carefully if he expected to earn her trust. He hadn't had much practice with this kind of a pursuit, and the restraint it required was driving him mad, as well as initiating a blaze of anticipation that burned hotly in his belly.

 

Skylar felt as if every nerve in her body had been lit with a match. Holding her breath, she let Mark run his gaze over her breasts, up to her lips, across her eyes and back down, without moving a muscle. She could easily pull back to avoid an encounter, but she didn't. Shifting to one side, she silently dared him to make a move, and when he shifted in tandem with her, she sank back against the marble countertop and rested on the edge, parting her legs as she raised her face toward him.

Mark didn't hesitate to accept her dare, embracing her with an urgency that made Skylar go weak. Quickly, he positioned his hips between her legs, his lips against her neck. He sagged against her, giving up a deep moan of pleasure, inhaling her scent while steadying himself.

Skylar wrapped both arms around Mark's shoulders, pulled him more deeply into the split of her robe, and locked her bare thighs around his legs. Raising her hips, she pressed the pulsing heat between her thighs to the rough fabric of his jeans, pressing harder and harder, holding her breath while firming her grip on his shoulders.

Lifting his face from her neck, Mark hooked his thumbs into the collar of her robe and slid it off her shoulders. The fabric settled in a soft pile at her back. Looking into the mirror behind Skylar he let his eyes travel the length of her spine, to the curve of her waist, down to the flare of her hips. Leaning back, he took in the full round shape of her breasts, standing erect with their dark brown nipples pointed lusciously at him. With a moan, he sought her lips and this time his kiss was solid and insistent, as if pushing her to admit that she wanted all that he could give.

With a slight push, Skylar moved upward to sit fully on the cool black granite countertop, her legs clamping even tighter around Mark's thighs.

Mark moved his hand low, swept it softly across her stomach, and then between the open folds of her robe to find the silky skin of her inner thighs. Ever so gently, he massaged one leg, then the other, inching closer and closer to the mound of curly hair that lay between his touch and her fulfillment. Its dampness caught him off guard, causing a catch in his throat that made him cry out, and he wondered briefly if he had been the cause of her wetness or if she was still moist from her shower. Either way, her rocking motion was driving him wild, pushing him deeper and deeper into his mission to satisfy her. He wasn't concerned about himself, though he could feel a rush of need vibrating deep in his stomach. Making Skylar happy was all that mattered now.

When she sucked in a breath and opened wider to him, he slipped a finger into her core and stroked her wetness with a feathery touch, rocking back and forth, his lips still sheltered hers, his soul aflame with the joy of bringing her to fulfillment. When she cried out and shuddered convulsively against him, he finally broke off their kiss and eased his hand to rest against her thigh, feeling as if he had been to heaven and back and hoping she felt the same.

I don't want this to ever end, Skylar silently admitted, clinging to Mark, wishing he did not possess such a mesmerizing, hypnotizing effect on her. Breathing hard, she pressed her face into his soft sweater, knowing their encounter had to end at this point. She could not give him more. Not now.

When he pulled back, she let him go with a kiss on his forehead and a sheepish, but grateful smile. He wasn't going to ask for more than what she'd offered and she knew he would not push her.

O
n Sunday morning, when Count Wilhelm Willard's private airplane touched down at Aspen/Pitkin County airport, Virina settled her slim hips more firmly into the soft beige padding of the Italian leather seat and turned her profile to the window. Huge piles of snow lined the perimeter of the airport, rising high enough to create a frozen wall of packed ice between the busy landing strip and the area where small planes, like the one she was in, filled a parking lot.

She studied the lines of mini jets which, in her opinion, resembled colorful birds that had been temporarily grounded and were poised to take off once more. The sky was vividly blue, free of clouds and sunlight bathed the snow-covered mountains in the distance. The setting was picture-postcard perfect, with its quaint buildings and tall Aspen trees rising majestically as a backdrop—just as she remembered.

It had been five years since Virina had been to Aspen, and she was glad to be back, though she knew that the exclusive ski town was becoming alarmingly popular and much more accessible, luring all kinds of regular folk to the rustic enclave of the rich and famous. Hopefully, the better hotels, restaurants, shops and clubs were holding firmly to their rigid standards.

“So, you said this is your first time in Aspen?” she asked Richard, who was sitting across from her, finishing his third Bloody Mary and looking out the window.

“That's right,” he confirmed, leaning forward in his seat. “And as I said, I'm really looking forward to enjoying myself even though I've got a lot of work to do. I've covered ski club reunions many times, and I know that things can get kind of crazy. The crowds, the social scene, the competitions. There'll be a bunch of parties and celebrities all over the place, so I hope to get some great candid shots and impromptu interviews for
Sports Challenge
.”

“I'm sure you will,” Virina concurred. “When celebrities come up here, they're so much more relaxed and willing to talk to the media. As long as you don't crowd them or make a pest of yourself, you'll probably get much more from them than you think.” She reached for her heavy designer tote, slipped the copy of the magazine that she had been reading into the side pocket and then handed her empty champagne glass to Henri, the flight attendant. “Now, you told me that you ski,” Virina reminded Richard. “Are you good?”

“Average.”

“Only average?” Virina arched a brow and grinned. “Come on. Is that the truth? Usually when someone says that, they're afraid to admit that they can handle themselves on the slopes pretty well.”

“You got me,” Richard confessed. “I lied. I'm really a klutz. Not close to average.”

“So, you're not going to enter any of the competitions during the reunion?”

“Naw,” Richard said. “I'm what you might call a chronic beginner. I take lessons, ski for the weekend, then forget everything I learned. Each time I go out, I have to start all over. Can't seem to master anything.” He chuckled. “Maybe one day it will stick.”

Nodding, Virina wet her lips in a knowing way. “You've probably had poor instructors. A good instructor like myself or Mark could cure you.”

“Think so?” Richard teased, grinning playfully at Virina.

“Definitely,” she said, picking up on his relaxed mood, unsure if it was due to the Bloody Marys he'd been drinking or if he was actually flirting with her. Either way, it didn't matter. She found Richard Nobel to be terribly attractive, but he was married, and she had made up her mind that there was no possibility of getting him into her bed while they were at Scenic Ridge. That kind of complication, she didn't need. “I'm going to get you out on that powder and teach you the right way to do it,” Virina promised. “Unwarranted fear of failing is the only thing standing between a good time gliding down the mountainside and a miserable time on your backside. I'll set aside a few hours tomorrow to show you what I mean.”

“I'd be down with that,” Richard quipped, twirling his drink on the gleaming cherry wood table between them. “Might be fun.”

“Trust me, it will be an eye-opening adventure, and I'm going to hold you to it,” Virina replied.
If only I could teach you a few other things when we're off the slopes and alone,
she wished, assessing Richard closely. A romantic affair—with a future to it, was exactly what she needed right now and she planned to keep her antennae up for suitable prospects while she was in Aspen.

When the plane had come to a complete stop, Henri opened the door and released the steps. Virina pulled her oversize Dior sunglasses over her eyes, slipped her short, blue frost fox coat over her shoulders, grabbed her Gucci tote and preceded Richard through the door, nodding her thanks to Henri.

As soon as her stylish boots touched the ground, she lifted her chin even higher, took off across the tarmac in her most dramatic catwalk stride and entered the terminal building with Richard hurrying along behind her, anxious to keep up.

At the passenger pick-up area, Virina paused in front of a knot of drivers who were holding up signs as they waited for their passengers to arrive. She scanned each sign, and after not finding her name, stepped outside and frowned. Hotel shuttles, town cars, Range Rovers, a few Hummers and a black limousine were parked in the passenger pickup area.

“I thought Mark was arranging for my limo,” she complained, her voice high-pitched and tight. “A white one, I told him, not black, and with a bar stocked with
Linie Aquavit
.”

“Probably on its way,” Richard offered as he walked a few paces farther down the sidewalk, scanned the line of cars and then returned.

“It should be here right now,” Virina spat out. She whirled around and focused on Henri, the flight attendant, who was busy struggling to get Virina's skis and her five-piece set of Louis Vuitton luggage onto a rolling cart. “Henri. Where's my limo? Find out what's going on and let's get out of here!” she demanded.

“Right away. I'll check on it,” he called over to Virina, who had turned around and was walking back inside the busy terminal building.

With a grunt of annoyance, Virina sank down into an empty chair near the rental car area and glared at no one in particular while Richard hovered nervously nearby.

“I absolutely hate waiting around like this,” she complained. “Wasting valuable time. There are so many things I could be doing other than sitting here.” She pulled out her cell phone and began punching in numbers. “I don't understand how Mark could have mixed things up. I specifically told him to make sure the limo was on time. He knows how much I detest delays like this.”

“I'm sure your car will be along,” Richard lamely comforted, moving aside to let a woman pushing a stroller pass by. When the woman gasped and stopped abruptly, he stepped back, unsure of what she was going to do and thinking something must be wrong with her.

“Virina Dagrun!” the woman called out in a heavily accented voice that sounded like German to Richard. She quickly maneuvered the baby stroller closer to Virina and bent down. “You are the face of Deleur Cosmetics, aren't you?” She beamed at Virina while fumbling in her purse to pull out a mint-colored tube of cream, which she waved back and forth in the air. “I just love your night cream. Love it! Took years off my face. I can't live without it.”

Smiling, Virina clicked off her cell phone and stuck it back into her tote, gracing the woman with a megawatt smile. “Why, thank you.” She extended her hand and touched gloved fingers with the stranger's in a polite, but tepid greeting. “Everyone who tries it is hooked immediately. So glad it's doing the job for you.”

“Oh, it is. My skin has never been so smooth!” the stranger gushed.

“And you're a very beautiful woman, so I can see that you'll need my cream for many years to come…it's so important to maintain, you know?” A throaty laugh slipped from Virina's lips and brought a beaming smile from the woman. Looking up, Virina scanned the lady from head to toe. “Gorgeous Prada puffer,” she finally commented, giving her approval of her admirer's attire.

“Thanks. Isn't it delicious? Now, may I have your autograph?” the woman rambled breathlessly, digging once again into her oversize hand bag. She located a crumpled piece of paper and a pen, which she held out to Virina.

“But of course,” Virina agreed with a wave of her hand, clearly not interested in using the materials the woman was offering. She reached into her tote and removed a peach-colored notepad and her silver Tiffany pen, wrote her name with a flourish on the paper and then handed it back to the woman, who gushed her thanks and moved on.

Richard, who had watched the exchange with interest, stepped over and studied Virina. “Seems you're about as well-known as your son, huh?”

Glancing over at him, Virina pointed her chin at Richard and blinked several times, as if trying to grasp his meaning. “Why, yes. Of course, I am,” she bluntly replied. “More so in Europe, of course. As the face of Deleur Cosmetics, I owe everything to my clients, and I enjoy chatting with them when they take the time to stop and speak with me.”

Before Richard could respond, Henri returned to tell Virina, “Your transportation has arrived.”

“Thank God,” she snapped, rising. She swept past Richard, through the glass double doors and emerged on the curb once more, where she scowled into the sunlight, clearly frustrated. “Where?” she demanded. “I don't see a white limo out here.”

“Over there. That red Jeep,” Henri replied. “The woman driving it said she was sent to pick you up and take you to Scenic Ridge.”

 

“She looks exactly as I expected,” Skylar remarked to herself as she shut off the engine and stared at the striking blonde woman draped in fur who was shouting at a small man pushing a luggage cart. Virina Dagrun was mature, yet youthful looking at the same time, and must have been wearing at least ten thousand dollars worth of clothing by Skylar's calculation. She was tall, slim, delicately pale and bore little resemblance to her powerfully built, muscular, tawny son, who seemed casually unaware of how handsome he was.

Everything about Virina screamed money, high style and class, and her striking figure was drawing curious stares from some of the people rushing past, who stopped to stare at her, obviously thinking that she must be some kind of a celebrity.

Skylar bit her lip, surprised by the sensation of envy that flooded through her and gave her pause. All around her, she saw gorgeously dressed people wearing outrageously flamboyant clothes as they hurried to get their luggage loaded into limos, luxury cars and fancy SUVs.

“So what?” Skylar murmured, resting her gaze on a man wearing a chocolate-colored suede long coat and knee-high leather boots that were so heavily tooled with silver that they resembled works of art.

I could afford to drive a Hummer and wear thousands of dollars worth of fancy clothes, too, if I wanted to make sure everyone knew how rich I was, she thought, feeling a bit grumpy. I could turn heads and stop traffic. I could glam myself up and walk around with a flunky tagging along behind me juggling a load of designer luggage. However, Skylar knew that her self-imposed circumstances prevented her from flaunting her money, and it was just as well. She was getting along fine with the staff at the lodge, and they would probably either snub her, resent her or hit her up for a loan if they knew the truth.

Thank God, Mark didn't have a clue about her wealth, either. He seemed totally turned off by people with too much money and bored with the whole status symbol thing. He dressed simply, drove a Range Rover, not a Hummer, and lived in a cabin in the woods when he could afford to live in a luxury hotel. He was tired of people with too much cash and too little substance and was content to live a normal, unpretentious life. So far, he seemed to respect the fact that Skylar's needs were as simple as his and she didn't plan on upsetting what they had found together by suddenly flashing a lot of cash.

Now, Skylar prepared herself to face Virina. Steeling herself for whatever might come, she got out of her Jeep while mentally rehearsing her greeting. Mark had warned her that his mother was not easy to please and was rarely satisfied with anything anyone did for her. His suggestion was to ignore any remarks that his mother might make that could be considered insulting and remain pleasantly detached from her drama.

Hello, Miss Dagrun. Welcome to Aspen. Sorry we weren't able to arrange for a limo to pick you up, but everything was absolutely booked. Black Winter Sports Reunion and all. The mountain is packed with visitors
. The words bounced around in Skylar's head, drumming into her brain.

However, before Skylar had advanced two feet toward her passenger, she heard Virina tell the man who was with her, “I'm not riding in that dirty thing!”

Sucking in a sharp gulp of cold air, Skylar crunched her way across the fresh snow, wishing she had taken the time to run through the car wash on her way to the airport—mud was splattered over the front and sides of her Jeep. But, running late, she had had to make a choice: arrive on time or arrive in a clean, shiny car. Obviously she'd called it wrong.

Dismissing Virina's remark, Skylar extended her hand to Mark's mother, who pointedly ignored it. “Hello, I'm Skylar Webster, the concierge at Scenic Ridge. You must be Miss Dagrun.”