Isla Bouchard could not get enough of Aspen in December. Naturally, she had done her best to research in advance about the place, but even so – reality was far better than what her imagination had been able to come up with. Maybe it was because her family was not the affectionate type, but she had never quite believed one could literally “feel” Christmas in the air…until now. Through the short but winding ride it took Isla to reach her hotel from the airport, she had seen just about every Hallmark Christmas card illustration come to life: rosy-cheeked children laughing as they crowded around Santa with his live reindeer, snowy-white mountains that reached up to kiss pristine-blue skies, and barren trees made festive by holiday lights hanging from its branches and red-and-green ribbons tied around its trunks.

Soon, she had her first glimpse of her home for the weekend, and Isla couldn’t help but draw her breath as Mt. Aehrenthal slowly rose into view like a timber-and-stone castle straight out of a German fairytale. As her cab came closer, she was able to peer through its panoramic windows and take in its enchanting interior: stone-cladded columns that intersected with overhead log beams, tall exposed ceilings and shiny mahogany floors, leather sofas forming a half-circle around tree bark tables, and six brick fireplaces (and all of these were in the lobby alone).

If Isla had been the type to feel self-conscious, then she would have already felt like shrinking into nothing by the time her white taxicab joined the long queue of luxury vehicles rolling up the driveway. To say that she felt out of place was an understatement; her entire surroundings were simply of a different league, one that even her comfortable, upper middle-class background had not been able to expose her to.

All the clothes she had shopped for this trip, Isla realized ruefully, now felt quite outdated. She had purchased them only a month ago, actually, but somehow, the guests around her, dressed as they were in the most stylish ski and après ski attires, made it seem like anything sold this year was already out of fashion.

It was as if only clothes meant to have its catwalk debut for next year’s winter season were en vogue, Isla pondered to herself. But how did one even shop for clothes that were not yet available? How did they even know that those would still be fashionable by the time they came out? Was this a mystery only the very rich knew the answer to?

As soon as she climbed out of the cab, a bellboy came forward to take her luggage, and ignoring the snooty expression on the younger man’s face, Isla simply thanked him with a smile and engaged him in a cheerful chat about the hotel. “It’s my first time to travel alone,” she confided to him, “and it’s also my first time to see snow. Do you have any recommendations for what I can do here during my stay?”

By the time they made it to the reception counter, the bellboy – Willy - had given up putting on airs and was quite enthusiastic as he described the many activities the town had to offer.

Although it was only eight in the morning, Isla was pleasantly surprised when the hotel’s receptionist didn’t turn her away with a pointed reminder about the standard check-in time. Instead, the pretty, well-groomed receptionist simply gave her a warm smile of welcome and asked for her ID. “I’ll also need a few moments to search for an available room, if you’re alright with waiting, Ms. Bouchard?”

“Of course. Please take your time.” While waiting for the receptionist, Isla looked about her curiously and noticed a pair of well-dressed women. Their gazes met, and she was about to smile politely in greeting when the two women quickly looked away as if worried Isla might suddenly latch on to them like a leech.

The women’s reaction would have made most people feel insulted, but it only caused Isla’s lips to twitch– a fact that did not escape the man seated at the opposite end of the lobby, his imposing length folded in one of the armchairs next to the windows.

He had a tablet on his lap, and he had in fact been reading the news on it when he noticed her arrival. Everyone did, actually, which was ironic since she, on the other hand, appeared genuinely unaware of the impact she made on the right people.

And with “right”, what he actually meant was the few men who had sat up and taken notice of her, men who were all wrong precisely because they were cut from the same cloth as he was.

Like him, those men would see past her ‘plain Jane’ disguise, something he doubted she was even aware of. The tight bun would be a turn-on rather than a boring hairstyle (it made men like him hunger for the sight of her red-gold locks cascade down her back), and the same went with how she was covered head to toe in her turtleneck sweater and jeans (men would always want more what was withheld and unseen).

Like him, those few “wrong” men would be far from intimidated by the way she carried herself: head up, back straight, and a stride that was brisk and purposeful as it was sensual and graceful. It was, if anyone cared to ask him, how he imagined Diana, goddess of the hunt, would have walked the face of the earth if she ever came down from Mt. Olympus.

A woman who embraced her femininity but found no shame in her strength, he mused. A woman like her would no doubt be wild and imaginative in bed, her every instinct driven by passion – but only to a man she deemed deserving of her attention.

And he would be that man.

Just the thought of claiming her had his nostrils flaring, his hooded gaze burning so hotly that it inevitably stirred her consciousness and eventually caused her to turn around.

A more polite man would probably have looked away by the time she faced him, but instead his scorching gaze remained on her, waiting to claim her from a distance. He had always been the type to court trouble anyway, and more than that, he wanted her to see the desire in his eyes – and know that it was all for her.

And so she did.

Isla’s hand instinctively went to her throat when her gaze clashed with the stranger’s. She was no shy wallflower when it came to men; that would’ve been impossible considering 90% of the workforce in her father’s law firm were men.

But this stranger…he wasn’t like any of the men she knew. Something about him felt so inexplicably different – threatening even. For one thing, he was too gorgeous than a mortal had any right to be. Silky chestnut brown hair that could’ve been the subject of a men’s shampoo commercial, deeply tanned skin, and a body that was so obviously muscular not even the fact he wore layers of clothes (a buffalo check barn jacket thrown over a gray round-neck shirt and jeans) could hide how formidably built it was.

To put it simply, he wasn’t the kind of man someone like her could ever attract, thus making Isla glance curiously over her shoulder. She was certain he had to be staring at someone behind her – but no one else was there except Willy.

Her brows furrowed. Did that mean he was looking at her? She glanced back at the stranger, and it was as if he had heard her question, with a smirk slowly unfolding on his lips.

It’s you I’m looking at, the smirk said – but it didn’t end there, and her disbelief only grew as she saw his arrogant gaze dip to her mouth.

And there it stayed until she had no choice but to read the message – no, the command – in his gaze. I’m going to take your mouth, drive my tongue inside –

Her cheeks heated, and Isla turned away with clumsy haste, desperate for some reason not to let him see her blush. How hot she felt right now! So much so that she had to clench her fists against the urge to fan her face. Dear Lord. What was happening to her?

A smile of pure sexual interest slowly unfolded over the man’s lips at the way his redheaded goddess suddenly spun, her back to him. He would have suspected her manner coy if it had been any other woman, but not her. Never her. He was damn certain of it.

“Thank you for your patience, Ms. Bouchard.”

The receptionist’s words had Isla breathing a sigh of relief. Thank God. The sooner she could put distance between her and Mr. Shameless, the better. Thanking the other woman as she handed Isla her card key, she added, “I hope I didn’t put you through too much trouble?”

“Not at all, Ms. Bouchard.” The receptionist shook her head with a smile. “We hope you have a pleasant stay with us.”

“I’m sure I will.” She handed the card key to Willy, who had insisted on escorting her to her room, and did her best to resist the urge to run. She could still feel his gaze on her as she and Willy headed towards the elevator, and her throat tightened in involuntary response. Why was she acting like this? Was it because he was the most handsome man she had ever met or was this some weird, late after-effect of the breakup?

Isla was only able to breathe normally when they made it inside the elevator and she was finally free from the stranger’s compelling gaze. She might have come here to forget, but she wanted it done by her rules. She wanted it done in an orderly, peaceful fashion – and that wasn’t going to happen if she became involved with the stranger in any way.

Upon reaching her hotel room, Willy tapped the reader with her card key to unlock the doors. “Here we are, Ms. Bouchard.”

A smile broke over Isla’s face as she stepped inside her room and took in her surroundings. “It’s so pretty!” The room was spacious but cozy at the same time, with elegant stone-cladded corner posts, rich wood furniture, and thick drapes that matched the warm colors of the room’s plush carpeting.

“I’m glad you like it, Ms. Bouchard.” Privately, however, Willy felt bad as this was the cheapest type of accommodation offered by the hotel, and when Ms. Bouchard insisted on giving him a tip (one far larger than what he received from the millionaires he regularly assisted), he thanked Isla fervently and promised to do his very best to score her a free upgrade if the opportunity ever arose.

“In fact, Ms. Bouchard, I think I have an idea of how you can get upgraded to the suite class right this very moment,” he shared eagerly. “You just have to pretend something in here made you have a small accident, and I could---”

“Stop it,” Isla protested laughingly. “Don’t you know you could get fired for something like that?”

Willy snorted. “You’d be surprised how often and how many guests do something like that. And most times they’re the ones who can afford to pay a month’s stay here, too.”

Once Willy was gone, Isla wasted no time unpacking. She liked her things organized, and so she was not the type to keep her clothes in the suitcase and pull something out every time she had to change. Even if it were just for an overnight stay, she liked to have her clothes hung properly, and she always made sure to personally clean out a hotel drawer before using it to tuck away her underwear out of sight.

Once done indulging her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, she had a quick shower and later on changed into a dark gray turtleneck, jeans, and knee-high boots. On her way out, she paused to glance at her watch and smiled at herself when she saw it was just half-past ten.

Good.

They were supposed to meet at eleven, but she would rather be excessively early than a minute late.

Upon making it back to the lobby, Isla didn’t even spare a glance at the various Michelin-starred restaurants she walked past but instead went straight to the back of the hotel, where its patio-styled bar and grill was located.

The server behind the counter smiled at her upon Isla’s approach. “Welcome to Alexio’s.”

“Hello, Sheryl.” Isla got the server’s name after a quick glance at the server’s nameplate. “I was wondering if you have a table for two available?”

“Absolutely, Ms. Bouchard.”

Isla was taken aback at the fact that the other woman knew her name but decided not to ask about it. Maybe Mt. Aehrenthal prided itself with its personalized service, she reasoned to herself.

As she followed Sheryl to her table, Isla eagerly looked about her and tried to take note of every little thing. Staged like a rich man’s picnic ground, Alexio’s boasted of umbrella-shaded tables adorned with fresh water blooms, checkered place mats, and colorful ceramic plates. Patio heaters had also been set up – alongside complimentary shawls folded neatly over the back of each picnic chair – to keep their guests warm and cozy.

The table Sheryl led her to was at the far end of the restaurant, bordered by white picket fences on one side, and with a breathtaking view of the mountains and the hotel’s busy ski-in, ski-out access area, which made for a rather vibrant scene.

Sheryl opened the menu book for Isla, saying, “Simply ring this bell if you need any kind of assistance, Ms. Bouchard, and one of our servers will be with you shortly.”

Isla took her time studying the items on the menu, all of which were so mouthwatering that by the time she reached the dessert section, she couldn’t stop her stomach from making a soft, small growl – and it was at that same moment someone slid gracefully into the bench opposite her, which was then followed by a man’s deep chuckle and a strongly accented voice drawling, “Based on that little sound, I think I came just in time.”