Rebound (17 page)

A
li’s skis catch on something and I watch her catapult off the snow, then she’s twisting sideways in the air. She fights to keep her balance as she lands hard, but she’s going too fast and her skis are crossed. I know she’s going to tumble before she actually does, then she’s sliding and skidding over the snow, her skis popping off, her poles rolling away.

I unsnap my boots and sprint toward her. I’m by her side before she’s come to a full stop.

“Oh . . .
wow,
” she says, lying back and lifting her mask. Snow covers her jacket and part of her face, but she’s laughing. “That was embarrassing.”

I can’t laugh with her. I don’t like the way she came down.

“Hell of a wipeout, Quick. Are you hurt?”

“Yes.” It’s only now that she winces and reaches down to her leg. “My right ankle. I think I twisted it.”

I kneel by her boot.
“
Did you feel a snap?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Her eyes narrow and she smiles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look worried.”

The wind is starting to howl around us. Ali and I are the only two people dumb enough to still be out here. She’s hurt and we’re about to get caught in a blizzard. So, worried? Yes. But panicked? Hell no.

“Just assessing the situation here, Ali. Let me help you sit up.” That small movement makes her gasp and grip my arms. “Easy, easy. You, okay?”

“Yes,” she nods, but I can tell she’s trying to be brave. Alison’s starting to shake so I take off my coat and cover her, tucking the edges around her to preserve warmth. Then I pull off my gloves and get my phone from the inside zipper of my shell. “Give me a minute to work my magic.”

It’s only five minutes before a ski patroller shows up with a snowmobile. He introduces himself as Bob. I help him lift Alison onto the back and briefly consider taking over and making him ski down the hill.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I tell Ali.

She nods, and I notice her eyes are strained. She’s in real pain.

I fly down the mountain and reach the bottom only moments after the snowmobile does.

Ali is taken around the ski school entrance to a medical clinic, where I relieve Bob, the patrol guy, of his duties and pick Ali up, carrying her inside. Bob directs me to a small room with two gurneys, a chair, and an awaiting physician’s assistant who introduces herself as Darla Mead.

As soon as Ali’s ski boot comes off, I know we’re in deep shit. It’s swollen badly and as Darla checks mobility and feels around the bones, Alison sucks in a hissing breath and reaches for my arm.

“Is it broken?” she asks.

Darla gives me an apologetic look. “We can’t know without an X-ray.”

“Let’s get an X-ray.” I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s not easy.

Darla looks at Bob, who answers. “The blizzards closed all the roads around the resort.”

“I’ll get her there on a snowmobile.”

Bob shakes his head. “You don’t want to go out there right now. We’re looking at up to two feet of snow coming in tonight. In another hour, you won’t be able to see your own hands. St. John’s is clear across town. That might as well be a state away in these conditions. You’re going to have to wait for the storm to blow over.”

Unlike Darla, his delivery is cavalier, like he’s said this a thousand times and couldn’t care less.

“Not an option, Bob. She’s hurt.”

He shrugs. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“Bob, your choice is get her to a hospital or get the shit beaten out of you by me. What’s it going to be?”

“Adam.” Ali slips her cool hand into mine and squeezes.

Bob’s palms come up. “I’m done. I’m out of here.”

He’s not done. He’s just smart enough to know my threat was real. I feel powerless. Not a feeling I wear comfortably.

“I’m sorry,” Darla says once he’s gone. “Bob doesn’t have the best bedside manner in the world, but he is right. It’s dangerous out there right now. We can’t move her, and we can’t bring a doctor here. And, anyway, it’s possible that even if you could see a doctor right away, they’d tell you to rest it and let the swelling subside before you could get a diagnosis. In the meantime, I can give you some prescription meds for the pain. They’ll take the edge off and make you more comfortable.”

Ali gives my hand another squeeze. “Okay,” she says to Darla. “That sounds fine.”

I’m on the phone as Darla prepares a to-go kit of bandages, ice packs, and pain meds. By the time Ali is ready to leave on crutches, I’ve checked us into the resort and arranged for our bags to be sent over from the retreat house.

Ali listened as I made it all happen and didn’t argue. She still doesn’t say anything as we take the elevator to the penthouse suite and meet one of the resort employees, who’s there with our bags and key cards.

Inside, I get her settled in the all-white living room. White couch, plush white rug, soft white blankets—and, through the window, white snow. The wood floors and the rustic fireplace look colorful by contrast, adding warmth to the modern space.

I set Ali’s crutches inside the door—they’ve been more of a problem than a solution—and get my arm around her. When she gives me her weight like she can barely hold herself up, I lift her into my arms and step inside. The moment feels strangely matrimonial, but also definitely not.

“You want to go to bed?” I smile as I hear myself. “I’ve been meaning to ask you that for a long time, but in this case, I mean to prop up your ankle and rest.”

Ali’s smile is sweet and a little tired. She wraps her arms around my neck and lets her head settle on my shoulder. “Can we just sit out here for a bit?”

“We can do anything you want.” I carry her to the couch, but she doesn’t let go of me when I set her down. So I sit and keep her on my lap. The feeling of her weight and closeness makes me hungry for her, and suddenly I’m not sure what comes next.

I want to kiss her slowly. For a long time. And everywhere.

I want to tell her I’ll do anything to keep her comfortable and safe.

I want to get her a pillow and put her foot up on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to stay, Adam. You probably could’ve still gotten back to LA.”

“No offense, Ali, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Do you really think I’d leave you?”

“No.” I can’t see her face—her forehead’s nestled right under my neck—but I know she’s smiling. “I’m okay,” she says after a moment. “I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. I’m actually . . . good.”

“Vicodin kicking in?”

“No. I haven’t taken it yet.” She snuggles closer, her hand coming up to my chest, her finger slowly twisting around the zipper of my ski shell. “If only Jasmine could see us now.”

“Personally, I’m glad Jazz isn’t here.” The sight of her draped over me, all long limbs and silky blond hair, is making me rock hard. I’m straining against my pants, and since she’s sitting on me, against her too. “That’d be awkward for me, especially if you moved from my lap. But you bring up a good point. As your trust partner, it’s my job to make you comfortable. What do you say, Quick. How about we get you set up for the night?”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes so open and trusting. “That sounds great.”

I help her onto the bed. It’s not even fifteen steps away and I’m carrying most of her weight, but her eyes are glazed and her face is pale as I get her perched at the edge of the mattress.

She slides onto it, and her face goes pale.

“You’re hurting,” I say. Seeing her in pain brings back the same tunnel vision I felt earlier at the clinic, like I can’t focus on anything except making it go away. “Wait here. I’ll get the pain meds.”

“Not yet, Adam. Maybe after some food? I’m really sensitive to medication.”

“All right. I’ll order something.” I’m so locked into tasks right now, into easing her pain that, mentally, I’m already offering the
hotel kitchen a two hundred dollar tip if they can get my order up in twenty minutes.

“Wait,” she says, catching me by the hand. “Thank you.” Her face lights up with a smile so raw with kindness, it guts me.

It’s only now that I remember the things we told each other yesterday about Ethan and Chloe. How she’d looked at me the same way then. I didn’t get a chance to finish telling her about Chloe. We were interrupted by news of the storm before I could, but when it’s the right time, I will.

I lean down and kiss her lips lightly, once and then again, hovering over them a second, and then another second, relishing the taste and feel of her. Kissing her feels like the most natural—but incredible—thing in the world. I have to tear myself away.

“Whatever you need, Quick. I’m right here. Rest.”

In the living room, I get on the phone with room service and order soup, salad, and white wine pasta—which I’m ensured will be here in twenty minutes. I grab a quick shower, pull on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Then I get Ali’s suitcase open, find pajama pants and a soft shirt, and I lay those out for her.

I start a fire, then text Grey to let him know I might not make it back for a few days. Finally, when there’s nothing left to do, I watch waves of snow coat the world outside—until I hear Ali calling to me.

“Adam? Can you come here?”

H
e’s at my side in a second, his eyes sweeping over me, worried. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. I just wondered if you’d help me change into something else.” I’m warm in my ski pants, and the slippery fabric’s making it difficult to get comfortable on the bed.

“Already ahead of you,” he says and heads off to the living room, returning before I know it with my pajama pants and a cotton shirt.

“Those will be so much better,” I tell him.

Gently, Adam helps me sit on the bed, straightening my injured foot carefully, his touch so gentle.

“Pants first?” he asks.

I smile. “That’s probably best.”

He leans close to me, and again his leather and spice scent washes over me. His hair’s still wet from the shower, and he gives
off a delicious warmth that makes me want to lean against him, breathe him into me.

“Can you ease up a bit?” he asks, getting his hands under my body to pull down the pants.

We work together to get my pants off, and he doesn’t hide his interest in taking in the length of me. When he lifts me against him to help pull my shirt off over my head, I feel every bit of that interest, hard and firm along my thigh.

“Bra on or off?” he asks.

“Off, please.”

He leans against me to unclasp it, his hands heating my skin, then pulls the filmy material over my arms. Again, his gaze sweeps over me, and his eyes grow serious, their gray turning smoky and full of depth. “You’re beautiful, Ali.”

“So are you.”

And he truly is. I want to drink in every bit of him—his elegant, aristocratic features, strong square jaw, his bright, intelligent eyes. And his beautiful hands—artist’s hands, I think—with their long tapered fingers and neatly squared nails. They have a roughness to them and a polish—so perfectly him.

We decide it’s too much work to put on my pants and shirt, so he helps me into a plush white robe and settles me gently back down against the pillows. I can feel the warmth of the now-roaring fire across the room. It’s warm and delicious, and I want to sink into the pillows and pull him down with me.

“Do you want to put your foot up?” he asks, sitting down beside me.

“No, I’m fine, really,” I say. The ankle is still sore, throbbing a little, but it’s the last part of my body that needs attention right now.

He takes my hand and brings my palm to his lips. He plants a kiss there, trails his lips over my wrist. I wonder if he can feel how wildly my pulse is pounding. “What can I do for you?” he asks. “Tell me what you want.”

“I really want your hands on me,” I say, surprising myself again. I could get used to saying it, to asking for what I want. Something about Adam makes me feel safe to do that. And here, in this lush room, with the fireplace, and snow sealing us in, it seems right to express any desire, to claim every need.

Adam makes a sound like a groan, and his arms come around me. “I want you so fucking much, Alison,” he says. “It’s killing me.”

He buries his hands in my hair and moves his mouth down to capture mine. His kiss is fierce, and I fall into it, clutching onto his broad shoulders. My robe falls open, and the buttons of his shirt chafe against my bare skin, his jeans rough against the inside of my thighs. I pull him tighter to me, my tongue seeking his, needing the taste of him, the softness of his lips, the taut strength of his body.

His lips trace a path down my throat. I sink back against the bed, all of me open to him, wanting him everywhere. He stretches out beside me, the bed sinking beneath his weight. I want to wrap my legs around him, pull him against me to feel again how hard he is, how much he wants this too, but the pain in my ankle makes that impossible. So I clutch onto him, running my hands through his soft hair, feeling his lips and tongue move over me, down to my breasts, circling them with his tongue, bathing me in a warm, perfect pressure.

His thumb spirals over my nipple, his tongue teasing the hollow of my throat now. He feels so good. Every part of him feels like perfection, and I want so much more of it.

Someone knocks at the door, and we freeze.

“That would be dinner,” Adam says and offers me a sexy, devilish smirk.

“But I don’t want dinner,” I say, holding his face in my hands and rising up to tease his earlobe with my teeth. “I want you.”

They knock again, and Adam buries his face in my shoulder. We’re laughing. And everything feels so slow and sexy and right.

“You’ll have to get rid of them,” I tell Adam.

He takes my hand and presses himself against me. The feeling of him, the weight of his need, fills me with warmth, starts an insistent, throbbing ache that pulses from the center of me. “And you’ll have to get rid of those panties,” he says.

Another knock, this one more urgent. With a sigh, Adam pulls away. “I should get that, or they’ll just keep knocking.”

“I suppose.”

He kisses me and then does his best to tuck himself back into his pants and leaves his shirt untucked.

“Stay where you are,” he tells me.

“I wouldn’t leave this spot.”

He goes to answer the door. My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand—Adam must have put it close by for me—and I look at it.

My father. Of course.

I fire off a text to let him know about my ankle and that I’m stuck here for another couple of days because of the storm. He texts back something about being in the perfect position now.

             
Dad:
 Hope you’re getting the goods on Blackwood.

I smile at his phrasing and answer back.

             
Ali:
 
  
Definitely getting everything I need.

He doesn’t have to know that I mean Adam—his strength and intelligence and goodness. Or that what I need, I’ve decided, is to forge my own path. That will be a discussion for my return.

“What’s funny?” Adam asks.

I turn to him. “Just life.”

He sits and runs his fingers over my skin. Again, that heat, that feeling of being lit from within by another person’s touch.

“You know what I think?” he asks.

“No. What?”

Adam leans down, his lips against mine. “I think the hell with dinner. We can eat later.”

He traces my lips with his tongue, and I capture it between my teeth, draw it into my mouth. I can’t get enough of the taste of him, the feel of his tongue darting between my lips. His kisses are perfection. The weight of him against me the best thing I’ve ever felt.

I know we should be making promises. I should tell him I’ll quit working for my father. Or he should tell me he doesn’t need my father’s money. We should say that we’ll carry this moment back out into the real world with us, that it means something, that it’s more than the magic of being contained together, our two bodies drawn to each other in a way that feels inevitable. Eternal.

But I don’t speak, and neither does he. If he’s like me, he doesn’t want to be reminded of all that. He just wants to be here, in this moment. The two of us and the storm and no tomorrow. Not yet.

I reach up and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt, rising up to kiss the tan flesh exposed there. I’m dying to feel more of him, to be skin to skin with him, to take possession of his beautiful, solid body.

“Can you take this off?” I ask. “Or like, maybe everything?”

He laughs and peels off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor beside us. Once again, I can’t get over the sight of him. His broad swimmer’s shoulders, lean tapered torso. The shadow and light of his muscled abdomen, and the beautiful artistry of his tattoo, the birds falling—no, flying, becoming clouds.

I run my fingers over the marks and think about Chloe and what he’s lost. It makes me feel close to her, the way I did when I saw her picture, charged with carrying her love forward into the future I share with Adam. It feels like an honor.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.”

Adam kisses me again, his warm muscled chest grazing my nipples, carving my insides. His touch is electric. It’s heaven. And I never want tonight to end.

His fingers leave a searing path on my skin. They brush over my breasts, my belly. He helps me take off my panties. Everything feels seamless, predestined. His tongue trails against my throat, my mouth, my collarbone, as he parts my thighs and touches me, gently at first, and then more insistently. His fingers move against me, and I’m open to him, so ready for the touch I’ve been craving for months. Wanting it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

“I want to make you feel good, Ali.”

“You . . . are . . .” I tell him, but my words are air.

His hands move over me, firm then light, flicking then circling. My body arches up to him, and I capture his hand in mine, pressing him to me, moving up against him, reaching for that place of burning light that I can feel tingling at the edges.

He rises up, our hands locked, bodies moving together, and he looks down at me. The firelight gives his skin an even more golden hue, turns his brown hair to shades of gold and amber. And then I realize that he’s
truly
looking at me. His gray eyes lock onto mine, his expression more tender and more searching than anything I’ve ever seen. It feels like coming upon something wild and rare, something you don’t want to frighten away with sudden movement.

The sight undoes me, and the burning spreads through me like a forest fire, hard and lashing, seizing me, searing everything away. I have to close my eyes, to give myself over to the devastating, insistent pull. My body trembles fiercely, and all I can see in my mind is his expression, his gray eyes locked onto my own. Wave after wave sweeps through me until I’m emptied of everything but a floating lightness—joy.

Finally, I open my eyes again, and he’s still looking at me. Beautiful.
Strong. And now, it seems to me, more boyish somehow. Unburdened.

“Alison,” he breathes, and he doesn’t have to say anything else.

I put my hand against his face and cradle it for a moment, taking in his direct, beautiful gaze. Without saying a word, I try to tell him everything I feel. We lie together like that for a long time, and then we break the moment with a slow, deep kiss, the kind that makes me forget who I am, who he is, where either begins or ends.