“Can you grab my stuff for me from the back?” Jacob asks Evan.
“Sure thing.”
When Evan leaves to fetch Jacob’s gear, Jacob leads me to a bench where he helps me wriggle my way into the boots and fastens them.
“They’re going to feel tight, but that’s okay. We don’t want you slipping around in there. That’s how ankles get broken.”
“Thank God for protecting my ankles.”
Jacob chuckles and supports my calf in his hand as he guides the other foot into the boot. His grasp is firm, warm, and sends electricity through me.
I wonder what it would feel like if he touched my bare skin?
Hmm . . . a naked Jacob. It’s not a bad thought in the least.
I lick my bottom lip, watching his mouth move as he tells me about bindings and wax and things that I just don’t understand or, frankly, give two shits about.
“Understand?”
“Sure.”
“Did you even hear what I was saying?”
“Sure,” I say again.
“What did I say?”
I frown and watch his deep green eyes as they smile down at me.
“You said something about bondage and hot wax.” I bite my lips to keep from grinning as he tosses his head back and lets out a full belly laugh.
“Not exactly.”
“My apologies.” My voice doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. I haven’t flirted this openly in a long, long time, and it’s damn fun. Jacob is a hottie, and there’s no ring on his finger, so why not?
Maybe a fling with a ski instructor isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Come on, Grace, let’s get you on the snow.”
“This is the part that scares me.” Suddenly, the flirty is gone and is replaced by gargantuan butterflies and dread.
“Hey,” he says and cups my chin in his hand, making me meet his gaze. The zing from his touch travels down my breasts, my spine, and directly to my core, and I suck in a breath and feel my eyes go wide. “I promise. I’ll take care of you, darling.”
“Okay,” I whisper and discreetly fan myself as he stands and turns his back to me, slipping his feet into his own boots, but I notice they aren’t ski boots.
“Why do I feel like I have a storm trooper’s boots on?” I ask as I follow him out of the rental shop and into the snow. Jacob has my skis balanced on his shoulder. I have a pole in each hand, stabbing the snow and ice as I walk beside him. “These poles are great. I should walk with them everywhere.”
“I can’t believe you’re that clumsy, Grace.”
“Oh, I am. Always have been. It’s not a big deal.” I shrug and take a deep breath of cold, fresh mountain air. “I think my parents named me Grace as a cruel joke. God, it’s beautiful up here.”
“Where are you from?”
“Cunningham Falls.”
His head whips around to stare down at me and his eyes narrow with renewed interest. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, my friends bought me these lessons as a gift.”
“Why would they buy you ski lessons if you have no interest in skiing?”
“Because we’re all taking a ski trip to Aspen in a few weeks for a girls’ weekend away, and they think I need a head start so I can flirt properly with the hot Aspen ski instructors without needing medical attention.”
“So you’re all going to hit on ski bums?”
“No.” I wave him off and laugh. “Cara and Lauren just got engaged, so it’s really a bachelorette weekend. I probably won’t actually hit on anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Why aren’t you wearing ski boots?” I ask instead of answering him.
“Answer the question.”
“You answer mine.” I stop walking and throw him a mock glare, making him grin.
“I can’t be on skis if you’re on skis and need me to help you. I’ll be on skis with you tomorrow.”
“How long have you been doing this?” And really, how well can this pay? Jacob looks to be in his thirties. Is this his career?
“You answer my question first.”
“I don’t even remember what we were talking about,” I reply and begin to stomp away when he crowds me and tilts my chin back with his free hand.
“Don’t lie to me, love. That’s one thing I won’t have. There’s no need of it.”
“I’m not a good flirter,” I whisper and watch his breath come in and out in soft puffs.
“Could have fooled me,” he replies with a grin. He leans down and kisses my forehead, then quickly resumes walking to a wide, clear area.
“Where are we going?” I pick up the pace, my short legs in the heavy boots trying with all their might to keep up with his long strides.
“Over here.”
“The ski lifts are over there.”
“You’re not getting on a lift yet. Maybe a little later.”
“Well, this is boring.”
He sets my skis on the snow and motions for me to step into them. “Keep your balance with your poles and click your boots into the bindings. Good girl. See? You’re a natural already.”
“And you’re full of the blarney,” I reply in a horrible Irish accent.
“That’s Ireland, darling. I’m from London. Okay, first thing’s first.”
“You never answered my question,” I interrupt him.