Zoe

I’ve never skied in my life. The closest I’ve gotten is a patch of ice in my driveway. That didn’t end well, so I’m not sure why I didn’t just tell him no. Well, I know why I didn’t. This is my chance to get him to agree to my soaps and show I’m a professional. It’s a little unconventional, and I may break my legs, but at least I’ll look fashionable doing it. He wasn’t kidding about Jean hooking me up— black pants and turtleneck, teal jacket, scarf, hat, gloves—I’m a walking endorsement for his Mountain Goat clothing.

The snow crunches under my black boots as I hurry to the dark-haired god waiting by the ski rental shop. I was hoping for a puffy marshmallow man, but much to my chagrin, he looks just as sexy in his all black outfit. He probably caused the avalanche with his hotness. It probably slid right off the mountaintop from being near his heat, just like my panties.

“Hey,” he greets me, lifting his aviators onto his knit hat to give me a thorough eye fuck. “My brand looks great on you.”

I’m thankful my cheeks are already flushed from the cold, so he can’t decipher the blush now spreading across them. I flip off the hooha switch and hold out my hand to shake his, because that’s appropriate behavior between potential partners. They shake hands, not run them along a whisper of stubble and into the dark hair peeking out from his hat, like mine want to do. “Hello, Mr. Steele. I appreciate the opportunity to discuss business with you. And the clothes to do it in.”

His brows rise a fraction, and he extends his hand to clasp mine. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Well, yes.” Unfortunately, it can’t be any other way. This is business. I release his hand and divert my eyes away from his encompassing stare to the white landscape dotted with skiers. Looks pretty easy. “So, do I just shout out things as we ski?”

He chuckles. “If you’d like, sure.”

He leads me into the shop where I’m fitted for the gear I’ll need and twenty minutes later, I’m clinging to the poles I have no idea what to do with in my hands, looking down an endless sugary slope. There are no obstacles in my way, so that’s a plus. “So, as I said earlier, I can brand all my soaps with your logo.” He looks over at me. “You may think soap isn’t that important, but your guests will appreciate the moisture. No one wants alligator skin. I only use my soap and my skin is extremely soft…” I trail off, realizing he knows exactly what my skin feels like—he licked it. Just like he’s now licking his lips.

“That it is,” he muses. “Great point.”

“As I was saying, take away all the clothes and skin is all you have left…” This is not going well. Now, all I see is his nude body covering mine. “Ready?”

“How about a wager, Zoe?”

“What kind of wager?”

“You beat me to the end of that slope and I’ll put your soaps in the cabins—“

“Seriously?” I cut him off in my excitement.

“Well,” he says, looking very dark and devilish against the pristine terrain, “if you don’t, then you agree to my proposal.”

“What proposal?”

“Well, if you win, you won’t have to find out.”

Maybe this is some kind of eccentric businessman test to see how bad I want this deal. My former boss had a bad habit of giving impromptu assignments that later turned out to be his way of ‘separating the sharks from the guppies.’ I’m not really one to venture into the unknown without cautiously dipping a toe in first, but I’ve had sex with Graham, so, yeah, this isn’t exactly following my guidelines. Time to be a shark. “Let’s do it.” Once again, his eyes flare at my word choice and it’s suddenly blistering hot on this mountain. “Count to three,” I tell him, getting into position and hunkering down a little.

I look over and a small grin plays at his lips. I really wish he’d take off that hat that’s making him look so ruggedly handsome.

“Ok, one,” he starts, but I’m already gone. I figure it’s only fair I get a head start. Besides, he should admire my tenacious desire to win. Since I don’t really know how to get started, I give an awkward attempt to run. It may not be the most graceful thing, but it works, and the next thing I know, the wind is hugging my face. I ski like a champion. For about a second. I wouldn’t exactly call what I’m doing skiing, more like trying to keep my legs together, which is what I should have done in the first place. Pricks of snow pelt my face, and my heart races faster than I’m flying as a tall black-clothed body whizzes past me like a gold medal skier.

“My soaps are hypoallergenic,” I yell out in a futile attempt to distract him. It doesn’t work, and my survival instincts kick in as he swooshes to a winning stop. Something I don’t know how to do. “Oh fuck,” I mutter as I drag my useless poles and then slam them down, sending myself face first into a bed of snow.

“Are you ok?” Graham asks, kneeling beside me.

“I seem to be.” I roll over, cautiously, making sure all my body parts work. “Am I bleeding? Don’t tell me if I am. If I have any major trauma, I don’t really want to know.”

With a gentle swipe that sends warmth all the way to my toes, he removes the snow from my cheeks, then releases the skis from my feet to help me up. “No, you’re not bleeding.”

“Best out of three?” I try, knowing there’s no way I could beat him in a rematch.

He smirks. “So you can cheat again?”

“Guess cheaters never win is a real thing.” Resigned to losing, I dust myself off. “Ok, congratulations. What’s your proposal?”

And then, he nearly knocks me off my feet with a snowball of words. “We’re getting married.”