Confessions of a Chalet Girl: (2 page)

‘You’re lucky your family don’t mind you being away.’ His jaw tightened, a shuttered look briefly obscuring his features.

She snorted. ‘They don’t mind, no. So you don’t have a choice?’

‘Nope, I’ve got to fly back to London, act as referee, make sure no one actually kills anyone.’ He sighed and kicked at the snow. ‘Frankly I’d rather stay here and work.’

‘It doesn’t sound much fun.’ She grimaced in sympathy but didn’t want to delve deeper. Confidences invited confidences and she couldn’t go there.

Her mother and her new partner would spend Christmas blind drunk. It might be all right for a while, until the rowing started. A shiver ran down her spine and she hugged her arms around her body, head pounding.

‘Here.’ Scott took his ski jacket off and put it over her shoulders.

The warmth enveloped her like a hug and tears threatened again. She blinked them back fiercely.

Don't be nice to me, just don't.

‘You need to be careful out here in the cold.’ Scott frowned. If he'd seen her glistening eyes he chose not to mention it. ‘The temperatures at night can be dangerously low. Barely a season goes by without a drunken tourist having to be fished out of the frozen river in the morning. The ice is treacherous. You girls need to take more care. Particularly if you’re drinking shots.’

You girls?

She glared at him. How dare he give her a lecture about alcohol? As if she hadn’t grown up with the consequences, had them thrust in her face every day…

Ok this was good. Being angry she could handle. So there were a few chemical reactions happening between them. The guy had good pheromones. So what? Nothing would happen.

You need to take more care.

She did nothing
but
bloody well take care. As soon as she was old enough she was cleaning up vomit, encouraging her mother to change, to wash her hair, to maintain the semblance of a normal home for all the prying eyes and snoops. Terror at the idea of being put into care meant she perfected the art of pretending everything was okay. Then the years trying to get her mother to AA meetings before the gut-wrenching conclusion she never would because she simply didn’t want to.

‘Right,’ she replied, voice tight and her throat aching with the words she wasn't saying. Her heart felt as cold and heavy as the patches of thick ice on the path. She didn't want his advice, didn't want his… Well, maybe she did want his jacket. It was bloody freezing after all.

‘Are you okay?’ The warmth in his tone and the absence of a mocking, teasing air made her almost think about confiding.

Almost.

‘I’m fine thanks, really pleased to be here.’ She smiled a tight smile. ‘Thanks for giving me the opportunity to work here.’

Fine, so she deserved the raised eyebrow she got for that, it sounded insincere even to her own ears. She met his gaze levelly, defiantly, flashing a ‘no entry’ sign as politely as she knew how.

It was a look she’d practiced and used to great effect with teachers prying into her home life when she was a child and she’d carried it on into adulthood. It had been a useful tool in her defence arsenal.

‘I’m thinking you don’t normally get to have much fun, Holly.’ The flirty edge was back in his voice and a spark danced in his eyes. Clearly she needed to practice her 'piss-off look'. Either that or he was immune. That was a scary thought.

‘Fun?’ She ground her teeth, immensely grateful they were almost at the chalet.

‘Yes, you know. That thing where you relax, let your guard down, lose control.’

‘I never lose control,’ she replied, pulling his jacket more tightly around her body.

The snow-covered porch of Chalet Repos was a welcome sight. She huddled in the doorway as he pulled out his keys to let them into the basement staff quarters.

‘That sounds like a challenge,’ he said. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that was dark and probing, seeing…what? Far too much, anyway.

She couldn't look away, the connection between them mesmerising her, accompanied by a tug of desire so visceral it took her breath away.

Flakes of snow fell, softly tickling her nose and resting on her eyelashes.

‘It's snowing again.’ She broke away first, stamping her boots on the doormat to dislodge the snow.

Scott laughed and turned the key in the lock. ‘Call that snow? Just you wait until we get the really heavy falls. Oh, I meant to ask you - whose was the bra you pretended to remove?’

The change of subject startled her. She stared at him, flushing again as something knowing and very, very sexy flashed in his dark eyes.

He held the door open and she slipped past him, the warmth of the chalet enveloped her as she stepped inside, senses tingling and skin super sensitised. His hand lightly brushed her arm when he took his jacket back. She started violently. Had he done that on purpose?

‘Err, what makes you so sure it wasn't mine?’ The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. Never ask a question you don't want the answer to.

Too late.

Scott couldn’t help but grin. Holly intrigued him. He knew he should maintain a professional distance but what the hell, it was fun playing with her. She was a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to rise to. On the surface she seemed to be acting a part, that line about being grateful for the opportunity had been falser than her little strip routine.

Usually he hated that kind of superficiality but her eyes had a depth and intelligence that blew him away. Intuition told him there was more to her than met the eye, although he had to admit what met the eye – the lush curves of her body and wavy auburn hair - was an absolute treat.

Clearly all was not well back home. Well he could certainly relate to that.

Generally the chalet girls the agency sent him were a hardy breed who partied like it was their vocation. They worked efficiently enough so they could get maximum time on the ski slopes and in the bars at night. Some were looking for flings, others looking for rings.

Holly didn't fit the Hooray Henrietta mould.

Nor did she fit the bra she’d so carefully tried to pass off as her own.

‘It was too small,’ he replied bluntly, trying not to laugh too openly, watching the deepening flush of her cheeks. She was so easy to tease. Making her blush was hardly a challenge. He liked it that Holly was sweet but also very, very sexy.

Holly crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him, but tellingly her pupils dilated into two black pools, vivid against irises of deep forest green. Her lips parted.

He knew the signs when a woman was attracted to him. But this felt different. More. Warmer, softer and far more meaningful.

He should lay off, take a step back.

She's staff, remember!

A glimpse of pink tongue between Holly's white teeth distracted him and he wondered how she would taste if he kissed her. This was all her fault for being so damned irresistible.

‘The bra was too plain as well. I’m guessing you’re a lacy bra kind of girl, and you go in for colour too.’

‘Oh.’ Her mouth opened and then abruptly closed again as she fixed her eyes on her boots. Her body might be speaking the language of desire but her troubled eyes said she was conflicted.

Scott regretfully decided it was time to back off. Time to act like an employer.

Remember what happened last time you broke the rules?

A nightmare he'd be mad to repeat.

‘Would you like a proper tour of the main chalet?’ he asked. ‘Now's the best time, the lull before the storm. Unless Sophie's already shown you?’

‘We didn't have time.’ Holly bit her lip, a tiny gesture that sent a volt of sexual energy coursing through his veins.

‘Okay, follow me.’ Scott strode off quickly before the close confines of the hallway led him to do something he shouldn't.

In the main open plan living area mellow flames still flickered in the fireplace. They cast a soft, amber haze over the room's leather sofas and faux fur throws.

‘Sheepskin, cow skin… Any other animals to declare?’ Holly grinned.

He liked that she was taking the mickey.

‘Actually I think the rug under that table over there is goatskin. I know, it's a bit of a cliché but it's what the guests expect. Chalet chic. Looks simple and rustic but costs the earth.’

‘I think it’s fab. And so lovely to have a real fire too.’ She walked towards the hearth, stretching out her hands.

He imagined Holly lying on the rug in front of the fire, her curves highlighted by the soft light.

Clearing his throat, he wrenched his eyes away. ‘Do you need to make your phone call or can it wait?’

‘It can wait.’

‘Follow me.’ He led her to the guest suites, striding ahead to make sure she didn't come too close. He wasn't sure how long his resolve might hold. The client accommodation reminded him of his earlier suspicion. He turned to face her.

‘You still haven’t answered my question. If it wasn’t yours, where did the bra come from?’

He couldn’t help himself. The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Like steak and chips when you were on a diet, teasing Holly was just too tempting.

‘Chalet Repos' lost property.’ Her confident stare radiated defiance.

‘So our guests pay for the luxury experience and you choose to drape their underwear in public for the whole of Verbier to see?’

‘But it's okay to let your staff face some initiation where they have to flash their underwear to the entire resort? I’m quite sure it contravenes some employment law or other.’

Checkmate.

‘Why do you want this job?’ Genuine curiosity prompted the question.

‘Why spend the winter temping in a London office and cramming yourself onto the tube when you can ski all day and hit the town at night?’

He'd heard this argument many times. Gut instinct said she was parroting what she’d heard someone else say. Holly wasn't a party animal. Was she going to give him a straight answer to any question he asked?

‘Right.’ He remained unconvinced. ‘Well, it's part of your job to make sure our guests have their every whim met. Whatever the guest wants, from fireworks to an off-piste expedition, we organise it. That's what we do; help them experience life to the max.’

Great, now he sounded like a cola commercial.

‘Err, when you say every whim…’

‘Every whim within reason that is,’ he replied, trying very hard to suppress all the whims he’d like Holly to satisfy. ‘Nothing dodgy obviously. Don’t worry. Come to me if you have any problems with … ahem, sexual harassment.’

‘Like people asking me questions about my underwear for example?’ She smiled sweetly.

This girl was trouble.

He grinned. ‘Yes…something like that. Right, I’d better dash and let you make that phone call. I’ve got a date with some paperwork. And another thing - do you mind if I leave your ski pass ‘til the morning? I expect you can’t wait to hit the slopes.’

‘Err, no that will be fine. Well, um, goodnight.’ Her eyes searched his for a few seconds before she averted her gaze. Was she looking for something? Hoping for something?

‘Goodnight.’ He turned away. Walking to his office was one of the strongest tests of self-control he’d ever known.

***

Holly paced the room clasping her iPhone. As it was more of a broom cupboard with bunk beds than a real bedroom this was difficult. She thought about the banter with Scott and smiled. She'd won that last point nicely. Although, what if he now thought she didn't want him to flirt?

Well then, that would be good because she didn't want him to. Did she?

She stared out of the window. The snow fell in thick, heavy flakes as large as her palm. The view of the valley with its snow-laden pine trees and picturesque chalets bathed in the moonlight soothed her.

She scrolled through her contacts list, maybe it was a bit late to ring. She’d text Pippa instead.

A beep signalled a reply.

Hmm, I met a rather interesting guy who kept going on about my underwear…
Well, maybe she wouldn’t send that reply. Instead she typed:

Pippa’s reply appeared on her screen as she watched.

Great, why did Pippa insist on assuming all Holly needed was a man? It did Holly's head in. She’d told her often enough she wasn't bothered. What she needed was to be as far away from home as possible and to be left alone. She looked around at the four bunks squeezed tightly into the cramped space.

Alone was something she was going to struggle to be.

***

‘Give us a snog love.’ One of the guests leered towards Holly, red-faced and with a paunch that bulged over his waistband, shirt buttons straining.

She reeled back from the alcohol fumes on his breath, almost gagging. The chimes of the church clock rang out the New Year, sounding sharp and clear on the alpine air.

Holly cursed the enforced jollity of New Year and drunken morons … sorry, 'paying guests', to whom she had to be polite and not knee in a sensitive area, no matter how provoked she was.

She’d slip away for a bit. The others could cover for her. If they took cigarette breaks then why shouldn’t she have a little nervous breakdown break? She raced down the steps.

The path to Chalet Repos’ terrace lay shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by flashes of fireworks. Most of the guests were up on the balcony or inside. The firework display would keep everyone busy for a while.

She inhaled the fresh air deeply, enjoying the relative peace so much that she didn't care about the cold. You'd think a ski resort in the Swiss Alps would have plenty of peace but no such luck. The small dormitory had proved as suffocating as she'd feared.

‘Who or what are you escaping from?’ A low male voice asked from the shadows.

She jumped up from her slouched position next to a pile of crates, muscles tensed. If anyone tried it on she was using her self-defence moves, guest or no guest.

‘Hey, it's okay, don't panic,’ he added, the kindness in the tone sounding familiar. Her fists unclenched and she peered at the man more closely, her eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light and recognising Scott.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness, appraising her with an intensity that made her shiver. Frying pans and fires came to mind.

‘Hello again.’ His mouth widened into a warm, confident smile.

‘Hello,’ she replied shyly, hoping the darkness partially obscured her thousand-watt smile reaction to seeing him again.

Avoiding tackling her confused emotions for him had been fairly easy since her first night, as he'd flown home to London for Christmas. She’d been up to her armpits with guests' children needing babysitting while their parents skied. Not that she minded being busy but her ski pass lay untouched in her rucksack and she never got round to organising a lesson.

‘What brings you down here?’

‘I don't want to be kissed.’ She blurted the words before her internal censor had time to react.

His handsome face creased with amusement. ‘I wasn't planning on kissing you, but now you mention it … ’

She could feel her face flaming, even in the freezing night air. Snowflakes stung on her overheated skin. She hated Scott's knack of making her blush like a teenager.

‘Come into my office, it's more comfortable than out here. Warmer too.’

‘Come into my parlour’ said the spider to the fly … 

He took her hand, tugging her through the back door and she ignored her reservations, too intrigued to pull back. He exuded a no nonsense air of authority that was hard to resist and seemed infinitely more grown up than the lairy city boys staying at the chalet for New Year. Sure, he was older than them by a few years, maybe about thirty or late twenties, but she didn’t think it was just age that set him apart.

‘I meant I don't want to be kissed by one of the guests, they’ve had a bit too much to drink.’ It was a huge understatement. They'd been downing champagne at a staggering rate.

She stood awkwardly in his office, aware of her hand still resting in his, skin on skin. The odd sensation they were the only two sober people in the world at that moment made her skin prickle with anticipation.

‘But you would like to be kissed by me?’ He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb, a tiny movement but one that set her senses on fire.

Up close the manliness of him overwhelmed her. The attraction drawing her to Scott was so visceral it scared her. He was fit and rugged. His thick, dark hair flopped wherever it pleased and a hint of stubble shadowing his strong jawline. She imagined how that stubble would feel if he kissed her.

‘I … ’

Kiss me. Please kiss me!

It was no good. She couldn't say the words aloud. But the hot rush of desire was there nevertheless. She tried to remind herself she wasn’t here in Verbier for this. The terrifying sense he could see right through her to the Holly hardly anyone knew unnerved her. Fear fought attraction and she felt like the Pushmi-pullyu from Dr Doolittle, not knowing which way she wanted to run.

‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ She tried to steer the conversation into safer waters.

He shrugged, eyes briefly clouded and his features taking on a harder edge. ‘You know families.’

Indeed she did.

‘No murders then?’ She smiled, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Not yet, I managed to restrain myself.’ The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Hey, why do you think I came here for Christmas?’ she joked and then instantly regretted it. Kissing would be preferable to questions.

Infinitely more preferable. Was it too late to press the rewind button?

‘Running away from guests wanting to kiss you was the better option?’

Actually it was.

‘I'm not one of
those
chalet girls,’ she murmured, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding his quizzical stare. ‘You know, you must know what everyone gets up to?’

‘Unofficially yes, officially no.’ He regarded her with amused interest. ‘As long as everyone involved is over eighteen I don’t see I've any business stopping it if two people want to sleep together.’

Sleep together
.

The phrase stuck in Holly’s mind and her cheeks burned again. Great, how did this guy have the ability to make her blush so easily? She hadn’t been like this since her first crush at sixteen.

‘So, what sort of chalet girl are you?’ He quirked a thick, dark eyebrow. Knowing amusement danced in his eyes and his thumb rhythmically stroked the inside of her palm. The movement started a gentle tingling that spread all over her body.

She had to say something, needed to make it clear bed hopping wasn’t her thing. The only one-night-stand she’d had, against her better judgement, left her feeling miserable, not liberated.