“How nice of him,” Skylar murmured, curious to meet this Olympic gold medalist who was so devoted to his mom.
“Anyway,” Kathy went on, “the Lainpour shop in Crested Village will only hold the liquor for us until seven o’clock tonight. So, you’ve got to hurry. And after you pick it up, can you deliver it directly to Mark in the Snow King Suite?”
“And where’s the Snow King Suite?” Skylar wanted to know. Deena had mentioned that there were several private cabins on the grounds for special guests, but Skylar never would have guessed that the ski school director would be living in one.
Kathy went to the window, pulled back the sheer curtains and pointed to what looked like a mini-lodge set high on a knoll in the distance. “Over there. When you return, use the service road that runs behind the main lodge to get to the Snow King Suite. Think you can manage that?”
Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, Skylar nodded. “Sure. Now all I need are really good directions and a cup of hot tea before I leave.”
“Oh, that’s no problem! I brought you both,” Kathy told Skylar, making a rapid exit.
Within half an hour, Skylar was in her Jeep and driving higher into the mountains, headed east with the late afternoon sunlight at her back. Kathy’s map was easy to read and Skylar had no trouble finding Lainpour, a tiny shop on the main street of Crested Village. However, when she told the shopkeeper that she was there to pick up the case of Linie Aquavit, he told her that she had to go to his warehouse, ten miles down another winding road to get it.
By the time she got there, it had started to snow and the sun was rapidly disappearing. The slow-moving, too-chatty warehouse manager was in no hurry to stow the case of Norwegian liquor in the back of Skylar’s Jeep, and when he finally finished, heavy snow was falling and dark shadows that resembled silhouette cut-outs of the forest were hovering over the snow-crusted road.
Questioning her eagerness to take on this crazy mission, Skylar waved a grim good-bye to the man in the warehouse and settled behind the steering wheel, praying she would be able to get back to Scenic Ridge without getting lost.
She could see that more and more snowflakes were dotting the air. Her headache was back with a vengeance, her stomach churned, and she feared she was going to either throw up or pass out at any moment. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a bottle of aspirin, shook out three pills, popped them into her mouth and washed them down with the bottled water she had wisely brought along. The bitter aftertaste of the medicine stuck in her throat, making her feel even more uncomfortable and nauseous. However, she forced the sensation out of her mind, unfolded her map and studied it, mentally reversing Kathy’s directions as she pulled onto the road.
The drive back was frightening and tense. The snowfall steadily intensified until Skylar found herself staring into a sheet of blurry white, her vision reduced to a strip of light illuminated by the beams of her headlights. Slowing her pace, Skylar crawled along the single lane, praying she would not encounter another vehicle coming from the opposite direction.
“I’ll just take my time,” she murmured, forcing her shoulders back as she tried to relax. She turned on the radio and settled for a John Denver retrospective as she clutched the steering wheel and inched her way down the rocky path.
It took Skylar an hour and a half to get back to Scenic Ridge, where snow was rapidly piling up on the pitch-black service road. But, the moment she turned her Jeep toward the Snow King Suite, a wave of relief swept over her. She had successfully returned with her precious cargo and fulfilled her first assignment as the new concierge. In spite of her pounding headache, she felt pretty proud of herself.
Lights burned in every window of the cabin. Smoke curled from the chimney and drifted off into the snow-filled sky, filling the air with its pungent smell. Several pairs of skis were propped on the front porch alongside a shiny, red, old-fashioned bobsled and three pairs of boots. Skylar reached into the back of the Jeep and pulled out one of the bottles of schnapps to personally deliver to Mr. Jorgen, and then, on wobbly legs, stepped out of the car and gulped down a mouthful of cold air, fighting the urge to get totally sick right where she stood. Clutching the bottle with one hand and her stomach with the other, she cautiously mounted the three steps that led to the front door.
Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and Skylar locked eyes with a man standing in the entry.
“Oh. It’s you!” she gasped, stepping back in surprise. It was the intrusive, but handsome, guy from Gorsuch who had so annoyingly butted in on her shopping spree that morning. “You’re Mark Jorgen?”
“Yes, that’s me,” he said, in his accented voice. “And you are?” he prompted.
“I’m…” Skylar stammered, fighting back a violent wave of nausea. All of the blood in her body suddenly rushed to her feet, making her feel as if she were falling from the top of a high mountain peak. Dizzy and off-balance, she stared blankly at Mark, dropped the bottle of Linie Aquavit and sank to the floor with a crash.
Chapter 7
Skylar could feel herself being lifted and carried by strong arms, her head pressed against a muscular chest. Then everything went black again. However, within a few seconds, she recovered and opened her eyes.
Inside the cabin, the cold, crisp air had been replaced with a blanket of warmth that enveloped Skylar and calmed her down. A woodsy scent, like fresh cut pine mixed with earthy soil, filled her head and roused her from her near-faint, awakening her to the realization that Mark Jorgen’s right hand was cupping her buttocks much too tightly and she was not resisting. She thought about protesting this stranger’s brazen hold on her, but instead of mouthing off, decided to hold her tongue for now, thinking she was far too weak to put up much of a fight, anyway, and not all that eager to be released.
“There you go,” Mark said as he gently placed Skylar on a distressed leather sofa facing a hearty fire. He covered her with a plaid wool blanket and then sat down beside her, his hard thigh pressed into the side of her leg. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over her, his face very close to hers.
Skylar held her breath and held his eyes with hers, savoring the sudden rush of heat that shot through her chest and settled between her legs. This guy was too fine to be real! And his eyes were dark green, nearly black, and not hazel as she had predicted!
For a moment, she simply stared at him, as if she were still suffering from a dizzy spell when in fact her mind was as clear as the spring water that pooled at the base of the mountains. She recognized the same trace of a foreign accent that she had heard earlier, and her immediate impression was that he resembled an exotically wild and powerful mountain lion. His hair, tawny brown and streaked with gold, was thick and shiny, nearly falling to his shoulders. Of medium height, he had a strong, stocky build, and his skin-tight ski apparel accented the impressive muscles that swept across his chest, down his arms, over his thighs. His skin was tawny golden brown like his hair, and just looking at him caused a tremor of excitement, mixed with a ripple of fear, to shoot through her body and banish her mountain sickness.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
Finally, Skylar breathed her reply, “I think so,” and then struggled to sit up. “Sorry about the bottle of schnapps, Mr. Jorgen.”
He smiled and gently eased her back. “Don’t worry about that, and don’t try to sit up just yet.” He re-tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “I spoke to you in Gorsuch earlier today, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes…” She grimaced. “You were trying on sunglasses with your girlfriend…the blonde.”
“Goldie? She isn’t my girlfriend. She’s one of my students,” Mark promptly corrected.
She sure looked like she wanted to be a lot more than your student, Skylar wanted to say, but didn’t. “I’m