AS FAR AS TRISTAN WAS concerned, few things were sexier than fresh powder with sunlight on it.

Victoria. Pale eyes. Dangerous curves.

He shook the thought aside, and in the process pulled his gaze from his office window. On Tuesday, closing on Spencer’s new property had gone well, and that was about the last time this week that Tristan had any focus.

Every time his mind wandered, it came back to her. Now it was early Friday afternoon, and the only mental task he could manage beyond telling himself not to think about Victoria, was staring at the fresh snow and thinking about skipping out of work early, to hit the slopes.

Even if he was the kind of person who did that—dropped what he was working on to screw around—he had too much to get done today.

Do I really?

He’d send the requested paperwork back to the IRS. With everyone in the office after the holiday, his people were caught up on their tasks.

Nothing critical looming.

That didn’t mean he could shirk responsibility. He didn’t even know why he was considering it.

His email pinged, drawing his attention. It was an automated message from the company who managed his rental properties near the different ski resorts. The weekly report summarized activities for each cabin and condo. He opened the document out of habit and absentmindedly scanned it.

Cabin 4. The Canyons. Cancellation.

He grabbed his phone and was dialing before his brain could hop back on the carousel of indecision. He told the property manager not to rent the cabin, he had plans for it. “Yes, for the entire weekend. I’ll take it through Sunday.”

Then he set his out of office message on his email, and gave Reception a heads-up about where he’d be in case of an emergency. It would be three-thirty by the time he got on the slopes, and they’d be packed. He didn’t care. As long as he could lose himself in the rhythm for a few hours.

He’d pay good money to come back with solutions to all his recent problems, too. That seemed far less likely.

****

A FEW HOURS LATER, face colder and more chapped, and thoughts clearer than they had been in a while, he headed to the parking lot. He stripped off his coat as he walked. It was still in the thirties outside, and his sweatshirt would keep him warm on the drive.

As he drew closer to the Subaru, he saw a familiar car parked next to his. Someone climbed out to meet him. Even though the sun had set, the parking lot was well lit, catching the auburn highlights in Victoria’s hair.

At least this time she wasn’t popping into his thoughts randomly.

He flashed her a wide grin, not feeling the emotion behind it, and opened his hatchback so he could stow his board and gear. “Miss me that much?”

“You check your messages lately?” Her voice was flat.

His calm evaporated in a puff of ice. He slammed the rear door on the car. “I don’t do a lot of that on the slopes. How did you know where I was?”

She followed him to the driver’s seat. “Reception told me. I insisted it was an emergency.”

“Is it?” He sat in the car, legs hanging out, to take off his boots and pull on sneakers. He’d shed his ski pants once he got to the cabin.

“Have you checked your messages lately?”

He stared up at her, mouth drawn in a thin line, not trying to hide his irritation. “Not in the mood.”

“The IRS notified us today that they feel they have enough information to open a formal investigation. I’m wondering if you got similar news.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was already turning on his phone. Discovery never took only three days. Especially right after a holiday. What did they find? Messages scrolled in. An email from the office letting him know there was important paperwork waiting for him. A voicemail from Mischa asking about a criminal investigation, and another from Victoria with similar news. “And fuck. You came all the way up here to tell me this.”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

She shrugged. Or was she shivering? “I want to know how you’re going to handle things on your side.”

He wanted to give her an asinine answer about how he didn’t have to handle anything, since he hadn’t done anything wrong. Obviously it wouldn’t be that easy. “I don’t know.” Story of his life lately.

*

VICTORIA HEARD THE edge in Tristan’s voice. It held a colder bite than the gusts grabbing at her coat. It wasn’t the same kind of abrasive she was used to, though. It didn’t seem to be directed at her.

“So much for a weekend away.” He fell to the side, his head colliding with his seat.

She couldn’t ignore the disappointment that hung in his words. “Why?” she asked.

He looked at her with his brow furrowed, as though he didn’t understand the question. “Because this is critical and needs my attention.” There was the condescension.

She hadn’t missed it. “You have your laptop with you.”

“No I don’t.” The answer came too fast, and was too defensive.

“Yes you do.”

His chuckle was bitter. “Great. Even you know I’m an uptight prick.”

“You’re responsible and disciplined. There’s a difference.” She wasn’t saying it to make him feel better. It was one of the things that made him attractive.

“One is a polite way of saying the other.”

Another gust tore around them, and she hugged herself, trying to keep her teeth from chattering in the cold.

He frowned. “I shouldn’t be keeping you here.”

“I guess I’ll let you get to work. Call me if you figure anything out? Please?” She could do pleading when it was for the cause, regardless of who she had to beg.

“I will.” He turned away to set his ski boots on the floor of the rubber mat of the turned down back seats. He looked back at her, and his expression had shifted to something softer. “Do you have plans?”

“Hot chocolate and popcorn and the most distracting movie I can find on Netflix.” She hid her wince as the honest answer slipped out. His question had caught her off-guard.

“I’m stopping at the grocery store before I head up to my cabin. I can have all three in under fifteen minutes.”

If he was anyone else, she’d assume he was inviting her to join him. Assumptions with Tristan were dangerous. “I don’t catch your meaning.”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, leaving blond strands poking up every which-way. “You know more of the details about this deal, from your side of the fence, than anyone. If you don’t have an answer, you can tell me who does. Stick around a little longer, and we’ll see if bashing our heads together helps us figure out what’s so damning about this situation.”

Did he have an ulterior motive in asking her to stay? No. Another thing she appreciated about him—he was honest about what he wanted. She tucked aside the disappointment that there wouldn’t be more to the evening than work. But with this new scrutiny, added to their already-volatile past, the last thing she needed was to indulge her crush. She rubbed her stomach. “Sure. I’m in.”

*

TRISTAN WALKED INTO the grocery store with Victoria. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her to stay. Or rather, the reason he gave her was valid, but a whisper inside pointed out there was more to it.

With her next to him, close enough her heat radiated through his sweatshirt, and the faint floral of her perfume teased him, wicked thoughts knocked at his mind. He wanted to ignore them. It wasn’t easy to block out the tantalizing reminder of how she tasted. How she felt wrapped around him. The sounds she made when she came.

“What kind of hot chocolate?” His question came out louder than he intended.

She gave him a funny look. “Uh...?”

“You said hot chocolate and popcorn.”

Her laugh wove through the memories dancing in his head. “It’s more of a concept than a literal.”

“Conceptual hot chocolate?”

“Sort of.” She grabbed his hand and a basket, then tugged him toward the frozen food. She stopped in front of the pizza rolls. “It’s about grabbing too much of whatever looks good, and indulging for the night.”

The way she said indulge rolled over him like temptation. The last thing he should be doing was tumbling down this path, but it was easier to think about than a looming financial investigation.

She met his gaze, and her eyes grew wide. “What?” Her question was breathless.

“You look good. Can I have you as an appetizer?” No, no, no. He needed to stop. But he didn’t want to.

She licked her bottom lip. “Not dessert?”

“I’ll take both if you’re on the table.”

Her eyes locked on his, and her chest rose and fell faster. When she ducked her head, the spell was broken. “I mean food, dummy. Whatever looks good, food-wise.” She grabbed a bag of pizza rolls and tossed them in the basket, followed by mozzarella sticks, and potato skins.

The brush-off stung more than he wanted to admit. He slid a cool demeanor back in place. “This is all crap food. We can’t eat this for dinner.”

“You’re kidding.” She finally looked at him again. “You’re an adult. Not on the training circuit. You can have chocolate cake for breakfast if you want. Ooh, chocolate cake.” She spun and headed toward the bakery.

He followed, fascination mingling with irritation. “This isn’t about whether or not I can pick my own food.”

She turned to face him, walking backwards. With the occasional glance over her shoulder, she navigated the aisles smoothly, stopping in front of a shelf of Bundt cakes. “Yes, it is.”

“Excuse me?”

“When you order pizza, how do you order it?”

“One each—pepperoni, veggie, and supreme. That typically feeds the office.”

“I mean for yourself.” The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.

He refused to admit he didn’t really order pizza for himself. “Depends on my mood.”

“Sure. Then this is only me I’m talking about. I grew up on a strict diet. I feel guilty every time I break it. But my therapist makes me.”

“He makes you eat pizza rolls.” This was a bullshit line of conversation. He didn’t stay away from the high-fat, high-calorie foods because of residual hang-ups from training. It was just the smart way to do things.

Victoria nodded. “Yup. To remind myself nothing bad happens if I indulge responsibly.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Not that I’m worried about anything.”

“All right. You get a salad, or a steak, or whatever your manly constitution dictates is appropriate for dinner. I’m having chocolate cake.”

“How many steps are between chocolate cake is no big deal and one drink won’t hurt?” He wanted to smack himself as he was asking the question. What was wrong with him? The reflex to keep her at arm’s length had kicked in without him realizing it, and now it was too late to take it back.

The glare she turned on him, any playfulness replaced with hurt, added to his regret. “Fuck you.” She bit the words off, dropped the basket on the ground, and walked away.

“Vick— Wait.”

She didn’t even pause.

Tristan would chase her down, but he’d do it with a peace offering. He grabbed the abandoned groceries, a tray of fudge brownies, plus a small cake, and some donuts, and headed for the registers.

He cared. Probably more than he should. Her wounded expression was seared into his mind, burning him from the inside out. They’d been having fun until he played the butt-hurt card and pushed her away. And as much as habit said that was fine, he wasn’t okay with it at all. He needed to make things right, if she let him.

And if you remember you’ll never be her first. That fucking voice of his coach’s was back. Tristan knew Victoria had been with other men, but that wasn’t where the nagging came from. Mischa was her first love.

And Tristan hated that even if he pursued this, whatever it was, he’d never be more than second place. Even more, he hated that he couldn’t move past it.