He’d kissed her palm where he’d spent the night in the cave and then finished the route, curling over her hand, and up her arm until he reached the inside of her upper wrist.
Kissed her there too, and now heat flooded her face, a repeat from when she’d pulled her arm away in the middle of the restaurant, too aware that people might be watching. With their phone cameras.
He probably saw her embarrassment, maybe even remembered the past, because he swallowed and looked away.
“Come in,” Ella said, and Brette looked at her as if to say “Have you lost your mind?”
Maybe. But she’d been waiting three years for this moment. No, not her brother’s crazy assertion that he planned on repeating Gage’s legendary run, but the one that included Gage in her living room, away from reporters and lawyers and Dylan McMahon’s family.
A moment when Gage couldn’t hang up on her. Delete her emails, ignore her texts. “You’re right, Gage, my brother is an idiot. Sometimes. Lately.” She kept her voice easy, soft.
No fight in it.
Gage stepped over the threshold and into her condo. “This is my friend Ty. He’s on the ski patrol.”
“Nice to meet you.” She turned to Gage. “I don’t think he’s here, but you can look around. We used the back entrance when we came in, so maybe he’s here and we didn’t see him.”
Brette had her by the arm, tightened her hold. She pulled out of it. “But why did he call you?”
Ty followed him in. The guys tugged off their boots, a courtesy they probably did on reflex.
“I took his ski pass away today after he skied out of bounds,” Gage said. “We were in the Base Camp and he recognized me. Maybe it ignited the idea.”
“Oh, hardly. He’s been talking about skiing your line for a few years now.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, because Gage glanced up as he set his boots on a nearby mat.
“So, he’s serious.” Gage shook his head. “Ella, you of all people should tell him how dangerous—”
“I don’t understand—what’s Heaven’s Peak?” Brette said.
“It’s a mountain in Glacier National Park,” Ella said. “Gage was the first to freeride down the face. He posted his self-made video explaining how he did it, and it’s had over a million views. He even made the national news—it sort of jump-started his career.”
Gage held up a hand as if to stop her explanation. “It’s one of the most dangerous rides in North America,” he said simply. “I got lucky.”
For a second, with that statement, she glimpsed him, the easygoing, self-deprecating, sweet boarder who didn’t deserve to get mauled by the press.
Or by her law firm.
“And Ollie wants to ski it?” Brette said, looking at Ella.
“He’s sort of had this fascination with the big freeride champs over the years, thinks he wants to be one,” Ella said. “He has this dream of doing something . . . well, carving out fame for himself.”
“Fame is an empty dream,” Gage said.
And that shut everyone down. Ho-kay.
His friend Ty finally spoke up. “Can we check downstairs? Maybe he came in after you did.”
“Maybe,” Ella said. She picked up the soggy ice cream carton and brought it to the kitchen.
“I’ll go check,” Brette said and left, Gage’s friend Ty on her heels.
Which left Ella finally, providentially, alone with Gage. She put the ice cream in the freezer.
Gage had walked over to the stairs, as if contemplating taking the spiral staircase up to check the second floor.
“Gage . . . I really am glad to see you.”
A fire flickered in the stacked stone hearth, and the place smelled of the uneaten pepperoni pizza recently delivered from the Griz.
The makings of romance if things were different. Much, much different.
He glanced at her now. “You are?”
“Because . . .” She walked over. “I wanted to . . . I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
His expression didn’t change, just the smallest narrowing of his eyes.
“I wanted to explain.”
“No explanation needed, Ella. You were just doing your job.” He leaned over the stairway to the basement. “Is he down there?”
“Yeah, I was, but you need to know that—”
And that’s where her words hitched. Because he couldn’t know the details. Not without her career crashing in around her.
Like his had.
“It wasn’t personal.”
And that wasn’t what she wanted to say at all, but she had nothing else.
“Really.” His mouth closed, and he shook his head. “It felt very personal. Especially when you put Ramon on the stand.”