“This is the life,” Maggie groaned, rolling her back against the bench and closing her eyes. Beads of sweat made a slow descent down her temples and the slopes of her breasts tucked into the towel, her bronzed skin flushing red with the stifling heat.

Ashley had to admit it was pretty nice, reclining there in the hot sauna while icy-cold snow fell outside. She felt decadent wrapped in a towel that probably cost more than the entire contents of her suitcase, feet up and head tilted back, smiling over at her friends as they got comfortable on the benches.

Cami hummed in agreement, readjusting her towel, tendrils of damp hair framing her pretty face. “We should just stay here all day.”

“We’ll end up cooked,” Ashley muttered.

“Cooked and relaxed.”

“And the boys would miss us,” Maggie added.

Not me, Ashley thought, but there was no bitterness there. She was happy for her friends, even if it made her the third wheel more often than not these days.

Cami turned her head to grin over at her. “Speaking of…”

“No,” Ashley said. She could see by the mischievous glint in Cami’s eye where this was heading, and she came here to chill out, not get another interrogation over something not even worth speaking about. She and Preston weren’t any kind of thing, and there was nothing else to say. They had one night that ended too soon and that was it.

Cami, however, was undeterred. “I’m just saying—you’re here, he’s here… Where’s the harm in a little fling?”

Sighing, Maggie trailed fingers through the sweat on her breast bone in a serene sort of fashion, and murmured, “Give it a rest, Cami,” as if she had no energy to listen to any of this right now. Ashley was fiercely grateful for her.

“All I’m saying—” Cami repeated, indignant, but Ashley’s glare cut her off. “All right,” she said, raising her hands. “Fine. I get it. But don’t blame me when you regret missing your chance.”

“Hmm.” Ashley settled back on her bench and let her eyes fall shut, releasing a long breath. “Already missed it.” Missed it the moment she stopped Preston’s hot path of kisses up her thigh just so she could tell him she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sleep with him. Couldn’t have what would no doubt have been the best night of her life.

“Pretty sure that’s not true,” Cami mumbled, before falling silent and letting the heat take her.

Ashley had kicked herself many times in the weeks since that night.

Not that anything would change even if she could go back—she would still be paralyzed by fear and panic, focused entirely on her own body rather than what he could do with it. There was no changing the fact that she was an insecure wreck, and likely would be for a very long time.

Still, though. What could’ve been…

It was with even more regret that the girls later left the comfort and luxury of the sauna and prepared for the skiing lessons. The boys had already been on the slopes for a while, but Ashley and the girls hadn’t been able to resist a visit to the spa first. Now, suitably relaxed and pampered, it was time to attempt the slopes. And Ashley was terrified.

She’d only skied once in her life, at least a decade ago and very badly. She still remembered the painful noise in her back as she’d fallen hard on her butt after one particularly enthusiastic leap off the chair lift. She hadn’t broken anything, but her ass had throbbed for a week, a bruise on it so bright that it was almost a work of art.

She couldn’t imagine anything worse than an afternoon on the slopes, but she was here now, and she’d promised she’d give it her best shot. Even if she only tried one time and then gave up—she could at least say she’d kept her word.

Maggie and Cami didn’t need lessons, of course—Maggie had grown up in this life of summer in the Hamptons and winters on the slopes, and Cami had experienced enough of it since marrying Drew that she was at least able to remain upright on her skis and look glamorous doing it. Still, they kept Ashley company while the instructor ran through the basics, before departing for the blue square, leaving Ashley at the mercy of the green circle and her own flailing limbs.

On her sixth fall, aching in places she didn’t know could ache, she decided she’d had enough. Human beings did not evolve to stick flat pieces of wood to their feet and slide down a hill like maniacs, and she wouldn’t have any more of it.

“Need a hand?”

The voice came from somewhere to her left as she lay flat on her back, staring up at the winter sky, breathing through the aches. At first she thought it was the instructor, but she could still hear him in the distance, shouting in panicked tones at the elderly lady who kept trying to daredevil her way down a restricted piste despite never having been on a pair of skis in her life.

And then the rich timbre of that voice filtered through the haze of Ashley’s brain and registered as Preston.

Of course. Who else better to witness her total failure at something that came so naturally to the world of the rich and fabulous? The richest and most fabulous of them all, obviously, and the one whose pants she frequently imagined removing.

“No.”

He laughed and appeared in her vision, looking like an advertisement for fun, stylish winter vacations. His breath came in puffs of mist as he grinned at her and held out his hand, eyes shining and cheeks red with life. “Come on, you stubborn woman, let’s get you up.”

Then he leaned down completely without her permission and grabbed her arm, yanking her upright as if she weighed nothing at all.

She was instantly and acutely aware of how frumpy her borrowed ski suit made her look, and did her best to rearrange her stance into something that best worked her angles. And then promptly slipped when she caught one ski on the other and overbalanced.

“Okay,” Preston said, blinking down at her while she did her utmost to disappear into the snow and escape the total mortification. “Let’s sit then.”

He sat, plonking his weight right down next to her and kicking off his unhooked skis.

She stared at the side of his face, at a complete loss for words.

“How are you finding it?” he asked her, pulling off his gloves next. She found herself wildly hoping he would continue with this impromptu striptease and wind up naked in the snow, just so she could look at him a while.

“It’s hell.”

He turned to flash a grin at her. “I was sure you’d give it up after the fourth fall.”

Stomach plummeting down to her knees, she asked, “How long were you watching me?”

“Uh…how long have you been up here?”

“About an hour.”

“Yeah, about an hour,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. She wanted to shove him over almost as much as she wanted to kiss him.

“Great. I hope you got a good laugh out of it.”

“That one time your legs went in different directions and you ended up skiing backwards down—”

“Oh god, shut up,” she groaned, covering her face with a gloved hand.

He chuckled, then nudged her side with his elbow. “You’re no worse than any other beginner. And you’ve got more perseverance than most.”

It was a sweet comment, if not entirely comforting, and she dropped her hand away from her face and offered him a small smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugged casually, almost awkwardly, and turned his gaze to the landscape before them. A silence fell between them, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Preston was getting out of all of this—getting her up onto his mountain, doing his best to spend time alone with her, taking an hour out of his day to watch her fail so spectacularly at skiing, and then sitting quietly with her, watching the snowy landscape and people so much more glamorous than her effortlessly skiing across it. Surely he would find it more stimulating to spend his time with someone from his own world—and yet, he seemed quite content here, with her, sitting in the snow.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what the signs pointed to—that he was interested in her. That his words that night at Maggie’s wedding had a ring of truth to them. But what she couldn’t work out was what it was about her that interested him, because she certainly had nothing to offer a man of his status. She wasn’t built for the society pages; she didn’t know the right things to say to people who lived lives of indulgence and splendor. She didn’t even know how to stay upright on a pair of skis, dammit.

There was no way she could fulfill him, not beyond anything physical—and even then she’d failed at that.

“I was wondering,” he said, cutting through her gloomy thoughts, still staring forward, not looking at her, “if you’d come to the gala tonight as my date.”

The beat of silence that followed his words made him glance over at her, and that look of hope in his eyes—she didn’t know what to do with it. Why her?

Was this all some big cosmic joke, or did she really have a gorgeous billionaire chasing after her heart?

She almost could’ve laughed. Instead, she said, “Why?”

He blinked at her, slowly and with simple sincerity. “Because I want you to.”

But… “Preston—”

“There’s no catch,” he rushed to say. “I don’t know why you keep thinking there’s more to this than me liking you. No agenda.”

“I don’t think that,” she lied, and his flat expression called her out on it. Her stomach gave a slow somersault, a frisson of excitement coiling up her spine—excitement, and possibility. “Shouldn’t you already have a date?”

He gave her one of his charming grins, the one she was quickly coming to adore. “I was kinda holding out. Just in case.”

It turned out she had a lot less resolve than she thought, because a few hours later she found herself standing in her room, dressed to the nines, about to attend a massively grand event on the arm of Preston Alcott.

Oh god.

Her phone rang.

“Ms. Woodsen,” the monotonous voice on the other end of the line said. “Mr. Alcott is waiting for you in the lobby.”

Ashley swallowed and said, “Thank you,” then hung up and turned to face the mirror.

The event called for formal attire, and she’d bought an understated, floor-length black dress from the BCBG outlet. The sleeves reached down past her elbows, the V-cut dipping low enough to show off her cleavage, the material cinched in at the waist and then flowed out around her hips, draping to skim her toes. She’d spent a small fortune on this dress, even if it was from an outlet, and the trip to that store still brought a smile to her face. The store clerk made a long face when Ashley had asked to try on the dress in size X-Large, as if not believing that it would fit her. But the fabric was stretchy, and Ashley knew that BCBG always ran on the bigger side, and the dress fit her and hugged her in all the right places.

Her feet were encased in simple, strappy heels, and she felt elegant and refined, with her hair teased up into a loose bun, thin strands curling around her face and tickling the back of her neck. A small pendant hung from a silver chain around her throat, matching the studs in her ears, and she’d kept her makeup neutral except for the lash of red on her lips.

Drawing in a shuddery breath, she turned to look at herself this way and that, checked she was okay from all angles, no marks on the material, the back of the dress draping just right.

She looked nice, and all she was doing right now was delaying the inevitable.

Preston was waiting for her downstairs, and she couldn’t make him late for his own event.

He had no words for her tardiness when she eventually made it downstairs. In fact, he seemed to have no words for anything at all. He stood there, clad in the sexiest dark gray suit ever tailored, and stared at her with eyes slightly wide, breath slightly quick, all of him just slightly off-kilter. She felt immediately, overwhelmingly self-conscious.

“Is it too revealing? I should go change,” she muttered, crossing arms over her chest, attempting to hide her cleavage. God, what had she been thinking—here he was, looking like the very personification of handsomeness, and she’d shown up with half her boobs hanging out in a dress that swished about like she was a five-year-old playing dress-up in Mom’s closet.

And then he found his voice. “You couldn’t look more perfect right now if you tried.”

Two very powerful emotions clashed within her chest: embarrassment, and total elation.

He cupped her face in both hands and bent his knees a little to make her look him in the eye. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Okay? Look at me. Am I lying?”

He wasn’t—she could see that. And she didn’t know how to cope with it.

She had to clear her throat in order to let her voice through. “Let’s just—can we just go?” she asked, and it was to her great relief that he conceded and led her out to the limo.

They were going about an hour earlier than all the others. As the host, Preston had to be there first, give himself time to ensure everything was how it should be before the arrival of all the guests. Ashley was glad of the opportunity to get her bearings at the resort before it filled with so many people.

The Alcott Resort was breathtaking. There was no other word for it. Sitting on the western face of the mountain and overlooking the world like a god up on Mount Olympus, it cut an imposing figure at least three times the size of the Murray Slopes resort and a hundred times its glamor. And the man currently helping Ashley out of the limo owned it. Preston owned this entire building and everything in it, and the sheer expanse of his wealth left her dizzy.

“You okay?” he asked as she stood there staring up at the place, no doubt looking like a gaping fish. She was freezing, the night having turned windy and fierce, but she barely noticed it. Not even when snow settled onto her skin.

“It’s just…so big.”

He made a noise that flung her back to frat houses in her college years, and she couldn’t help but playfully roll her eyes at him. “Simmer down.”

Smirking, he took her by the arm and steered her forward. “Come on, it looks even better on the inside. Warmer, too.”

He led her up the stone steps to the entrance, upon which two uniformed young men were standing ready to open the doors, nodding at them blandly as they passed.

“The investment needed to renovate a place like this must be huge,” Ashley remarked as they made their way through the massive foyer. A grand staircase split the foyer in two, flanked on either side by golden pillars so tall they disappeared up past the balconies of the next floor.

Preston nodded. “Which is why tonight is so important.” There was an edge to his voice, something that hinted at nerves. It was clear how much this place meant to him, to his grandfather’s legacy, and this event would secure its future. There was no doubt he felt the pressure.

The foyer was empty, save for a few members of staff rushing around, some of them nodding at Preston or stopping him here and there to ask him questions. Seeing Preston in work mode—cool, commanding—made Ashley feel funny things low in her stomach, and all she could do was stand to the side and watch him, wait while he directed people to complete various tasks before the doors opened for the guests.

There was an air of excitement about the place, thick and intoxicating, and that air only grew thicker as they entered the ballroom.

The contrast of heat in there made her gasp, and she looked around in confusion at the vintage luxury of the place before she saw the source of so much delicious warmth.

“Underground steam system,” Preston explained as if reading her mind. He gestured towards the artistic screens installed along all the walls, behind which billows of steam emerged from the top, creating the heat. “It gets pumped up from the system downstairs. Don’t go down there, by the way,” he added, a hand on the small of her back to steer her farther into the room. “You’ll get lost.”

“I’m sure you’ll come find me,” she responded, finding some kind of boldness within her, something that made her want to flirt, just a little. He smirked back at her, opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a passing employee who wanted him to come check something in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, he guided her back to the grand entrance hall and positioned her beside him at the doors as if she belonged there.

Mildly panicked as she watched the doors being pulled open, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“Just stand here and greet people.”

“But—”

He gripped her hand. “It’s okay,” he said, smiling at her. “You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not my place,” she said desperately. Standing there and greeting guests as if she was the host, as if she had any importance there at all—

“It is.” He said it with such conviction that it made her snap her mouth shut, and he nodded at her before turning to paste on a wide grin. “Lewis, hi! How are you? May I introduce Ashley Woodsen…”

She shook hundreds of hands and kissed too many cheeks in the time that followed, gradually transitioning from panic to ease to mild boredom. So many rich people, their faces and names all blurring into one, until eventually she stopped even really listening to the introductions and just blandly nodded and smiled and shook hands as required. She could tell Preston was flagging as well, and they shared a moment of mutual sympathy as they looked at each other and frowned.

“Ash?” Cami said, having arrived with Drew and making her way down the procession. Her eyes were wide with confusion and surprise.

Ashley shrugged at her. “I don’t know either.”

“It’s like…you’re his lady,” Cami said, glancing at Preston, before beaming a sly grin at Ashley.

Ashley had to fight a blush. “Don’t say it like that,” she muttered and took a moment to grab Cami’s hand and lead her a few feet away, breathing in the temporary relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Cami asked her in a hissed mutter. “Are you freaking out? This place is huge.”

Ashley grabbed Cami’s arm in a wild grip. “I don’t know why he—”

“Yes you do,” Cami said, tutting at her, smoothly breezing past Ashley’s discomfort. “Give me a hug. Drew’s waving me over. You look amazing, by the way.”

After, what felt like hours later, the last of the guests passed by and the staff closed the doors. Amidst all the noise and commotion, Preston pulled Ashley into a tiny room beside the reception desk and gave her a lopsided smile. He looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry, I know that was boring as hell,” he said to her, leaning back against a shelving unit and scrubbing a hand over his face. This was an office, Ashley realized, and the chair beside the window looked like the most inviting thing in the world right now. “I didn’t expect it to go on that long. To be honest, this is the first major thing I’ve ever hosted.”

Ashley blinked at him. “What?” That couldn’t be true. The man had been filthy rich all his life—no doubt he’d thrown all manner of parties in his time.

He shrugged. “I’m not really into the whole society thing.” He put air quotes around “society,” as if he found the whole concept of it as ridiculous as she did.

Before she could wave off his concerns, tell him she didn’t mind keeping him company through it, not really—in fact, she secretly enjoyed it a little, playing the glamorous hostess, even if internally she whined about it—the window pane behind her suddenly rattled with a vicious wind, making her startle and hop away from it. “Jesus.” She pressed a hand to her chest.

Preston frowned at the glass, worry flitting over his perfect features. “Might be a storm coming in,” he muttered, and there was something about his tone that made her shiver.

They were on the top of a mountain, shut off from the world. If they got caught in a storm…

“Let me take you back to where it’s warm,” he said after a beat, and guided her out of the room, glancing at the window with unmistakable concern as they left.