6

THREE YEARS AGO

Gage wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky. One minute he’d been walking out to the pool deck, thinking he was meeting a fan for a quick autograph, and the next, he’d pulled beautiful Ella Blair out of the pool and into his life.

Yeah, he’d gone into the pool to rescue her, but being around her for the past three days made him feel as if he might still be gasping for breath.

First, the woman could shred the slope with her board. From tricks on the half-pipe to carving the snow to riding the powder, Ella strapped on and stayed in his line like nobody’s business.

She could compete on the freeriding tour if she wanted it enough. He couldn’t believe the way she’d carved her own line down the back bowl of Outlaw, even taking on the twenty-foot drop off Purgatory Ridge.

She belonged in competition instead of behind a law desk, but when they slowed down, rode up the chair lifts, or surrendered the hill for lunch and dinner, he could get lost in her stories of cases, her dream of fighting for the underdog. Apparently, although her family had money, she wanted to do something to help the downtrodden, the lost, the overwhelmed.

He could hardly believe that she’d traveled all the way from Vermont to make sure some distant friend didn’t do something stupid.

Namely, follow him down the mountain.

As if he’d let a punk chase him down the biggest ride of his career.

But telling her that had seemed to contain some magic. Turned him into some kind of hero in her eyes.

Gage wasn’t that guy who encouraged a flock of snow bunnies, so he made a point of keeping things casual. Friendly.

But he longed to capture that pretty mouth, taste her laughter.

Especially after she’d dried off and lost the bedraggled, drowned expression. Her hair turned out to be a rich copper, and he found himself watching the light bounce off it at night when they sat by the firelight in the lodge.

Her beautiful pale blue eyes could hold him captive, make him forget his tricks, the route he hoped to carve. He was even more drawn by the deep note of compassion embedded in them, as if she could weave through his layers with a look. Not that he had much to hide—but around her, he didn’t have to be someone he wasn’t. Didn’t have to pose, scrawl out an autograph, or be the persona that the public wanted.

With Ella, he was just a guy who loved to snowboard.

“Table for two, near the fireplace,” he said to the maître d’ of the Gaddy Room, the five-star steakhouse attached to the Outlaw Resort. A tall river stone fireplace soared two stories, past the stripped beams and rustic ridgepoles. The massive picture window boasted a view of Outlaw Mountain as the sun was falling in a crimson glow over the western ridge.

The restaurant smelled of the fresh grill and the flickering fire, and a Brad Paisley tune played from the band in the bar off the main dining room.

“She’s everything I ever wanted . . .” And how. Gage had finally, on this last night before his big run, asked her out for dinner. A date.

An evening to test if this might be real. If everything went well, he’d ask her if he could chase her back to Vermont, maybe see her between his freeriding events . . .

Or take her with him.

A thought that latched on with a fury when she showed up for dinner in a little sleeveless black dress, a sweater, a pair of shaggy sheepskin UGGs, and black tights that showed off the shape of her legs. Her deep copper hair hung down in tousled curls, long and tantalizing, and he just barely stopped himself from reaching out.

“You . . . where did you get that dress?”

“The gift shop,” she said, smiling.

He felt like a slug in his jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a sports jacket. He hadn’t even shaved, because he’d been going over the final arrangements with the camera crew from Xtreme Energy sports for his epic run.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said then.

Ella blushed at his words, and he wanted to wince and hit his head against something hard. He was so not a charmer—hence his decision to keep a wide berth between him and the female fans of his sport. More, he still had a few morals left over from his parents, despite the fame, the social media feeds, the magazine covers, the awards and parties.

And, of course, Ramon’s ambitions. His publicist had chased him down after he’d won the first world championship as a rookie freerider and instantly saw a future for Gage he hadn’t envisioned for himself.

In a way, he owed everything he was to Ramon Castillo.

Gage managed to help Ella into her chair and settled down beside her.

He eyed her hand, trying to figure out a way to hold it . . .

“I love this song,” she said, glancing at the bar crowd. “Have you heard of them—Montgomery-King? They have the most amazing ballads. I love Ben King’s voice.”

She started humming along.

Are you dreaming of me, out on your own

Are you thinking of us, and our own song

It couldn’t be just that easy, could it? “Would you . . . like to dance?”

“Oh—no, I mean—”

He got up, held out his hand. “Please?”

He must have said something right, because she smiled and his entire world lit on fire. Especially when, after he found them an edge of dance floor, she lifted her arms and settled them around his shoulders. He put his arms around her, pulled her against himself, and swayed to the music.

She smelled so good, a hint of the wild outdoors on her skin, the floral scent of shampoo still lingering in her hair. And the way she was looking up at him . . .

“You’re amazing on the slopes,” he said.

She smiled. “No, you are. And you’re going to be spectacular tomorrow.” Her mouth curled up in a smile. He wanted to press his lips against hers and taste them. “Thank you for the last few days. They were really fun.”

He leaned his head down, touched his forehead to hers. “It’s going to get crazy after the run. Media and lots of press—I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you . . .”

“I have to go back to Vermont anyway.” She wrinkled her nose. “My brother is turning sixteen, and my parents have turned it into a big family event. My parents are a little too doting.”

Maybe I could come with you . . .

He wanted to say it—but the words wouldn’t come. Not when she looked up at him, her eyes catching the lights.

He just couldn’t stop himself. It was like when he spotted the perfect line midway through a run and just had to take it. The wild impulsiveness that had put him on the map.

And now, that impulsiveness made him kiss her.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, right there on the dance floor. And he didn’t care who saw him, who might be taking pictures and loading them on Twitter or Instagram or even sending them off to TMZ.

Just pulled her close and lost himself for a long moment in her touch. The smell of her skin. The fresh taste of her mouth, the sense of finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for.

Her hair tangled in his fingers, whisper soft and thick, and he felt her tremble, a sweet sigh of surrender as she kissed him back.

He could have stayed there forever had the song not ended, had the clapping around them—hopefully for the band—not brought them up for air.

Then, she smiled, and he knew forever had just started.