The Real Romero(24)

                ‘You’re cute when you’re being self-righteous,’ he murmured and Milly stood stock still and folded her arms.

                ‘You might think you’re the hottest guy on the planet,’ she said on an indrawn breath, ‘and you might be bored because your job here with the Ramos family fell through, but that doesn’t give you the right to flirt with me just because I happen to be around.’

                ‘Who’s flirting?’ He surveyed her lazily. ‘Simple statement of fact.’

                ‘And I won’t be running around cleaning up behind you like a maid either. I realise I’m being paid by Mr Ramos, who’s been more than generous, all things considered—and I know that that’s thanks to you—but I’m going to use my time here to really relax and try and forget about what I’ve been through. I don’t want to feel as though I’ve got to be on full alert every time you’re around.’

                ‘I’m at a loss. What do you imagine I’m going to do?’

                ‘Well, I just think we should lay down some boundary lines.’

                ‘Agreed.’ He held up both hands with a wicked grin that seem to utterly contradict what he had just said. ‘Shall we have a spot of breakfast and then put our skiing skills to the test? The weather looks perfect. We could save the boundary line conversation for a little later.’ He watched her hesitate, wondering whether to carry on the argument, maybe add to the ‘boundary line’ suggestion, but in the end the thought of taking to the slopes proved too much of a temptation and she smiled, her good humour restored.

                Inexperienced.

                Vulnerable.

                He should be laying down more than just a few boundaries himself. He should be the one warning her off. He had the instincts of a born predator when it came to women and, however much she amused him, the last thing he wanted was for her somehow to get it into her head that he might be a worthwhile replacement for the vanishing ex-fiancé. The guy was obviously a complete loser, and she was well rid of him, but transference was a dangerous possibility and a complication he could do without.

                As are women who have romantic notions of love and marriage, a little voice added. A complication he could do without...

                * * *

                Milly’s face was flushed with happiness when, several hours later, they returned to the lodge.

                The day’s skiing had been exhausting, exhilarating, wonderful. It had been over a year since she had last taken to the slopes. The real slopes. She had managed to keep her hand in by going as often as she could to the nearest dry slopes, but nothing could come close to the feeling of euphoria when, poised at the very top of the mountain, you looked down to the naked, white beauty of snow-covered slopes. It was the closest you could get to your mind being empty, with just you and the infinite snowy space around you, your whole body yearning for the thrill of speed.

                They had raced. She was good but he’d made her look like an amateur. He knew where to go to avoid all crowds. He would, she supposed. He would know these ranges like the back of his hand.

                Dressed completely in black, including a black woolly hat and dark sunglasses, he was unbearably sexy, and she’d found her gaze drifting back to him repeatedly.

                He moved as though he had been born to ski. He was skilled, fast, at times disappearing to reappear like a speeding bullet far ahead of her on the slopes.

                They’d broken off for lunch at a tiny café nowhere near the hubbub of the town centre. This café was in the opposite direction, and there wasn’t a single designer shop in sight—unlike the town centre, which heaved with rich and famous people spending money in the expensive shops that had sprung up to cater for their exclusive clientele.