He was keeping his hands to himself but his determination to keep in mind that she didn’t play by his rules, that she had been hurt once and he didn’t want to be responsible for adding to the tally, was beginning to fray round the edges.
Right now, she was downstairs cooking something. It would be good. She would be moving around the kitchen in clothes that showed off a body she seemed to have downgraded to the lowest possible rating, despite the fact there wasn’t a red-blooded man on this earth who wouldn’t have appreciated those generous breasts, that tiny waist and those womanly hips.
Wouldn’t it do her good to have a man—a real man, not a wimp like the vanishing ex—tell her how sexy she was?
Wouldn’t it do her self-confidence a power of good for her to know what it felt like to be desired? From what he had read between the lines, the ex had been a waste of space from day one. They had met, gone to the movies, gone on walks, enjoyed meals out. From where he was standing, it had been a courtship that had shrieked ‘boring’—and most women with a little more about them would have picked that up and moved on after deadly date number four.
But Milly hadn’t and, now that fate had seen fit to bring them together for a few days, wouldn’t he be doing her a favour if he showed her that she was a desirable woman? If he conclusively proved to her that she was well rid of the man, that she could have any guy she wanted...?
With the logical, clear-minded and concise brain any lawyer would kill for, Lucas made a mental list of all the many reasons why he could be justified in sleeping with her.
At the very end, he tacked on no more restless nights for me wondering...
He got downstairs to find the kitchen empty, with a note on the counter propped up against the salt shaker.
She had popped down to the town to get some stuff.
It had been snowing sporadically for the past twenty-four hours but the snow had gathered pace overnight. Optimum skiing conditions were bright-blue skies and good accumulation of snow. Too much falling snow could end up being inconvenient and, in some cases, downright dangerous to safe skiing.
He looked outside at what appeared to be a gathering snow storm. The lifts would be running at half-empty, if that. The line between safe and treacherous was slim. But she was a damned good skier. The best skiing companion he had ever had—courageous without taking unnecessary chances. He would wait for her to return and give himself a chance to catch up on work.
But there was no internet connection. Nor, when he tried his mobile phone, could he get a signal.
He waited a further twenty minutes and then realised that he had no choice but to hunt her down.
Chances were she was fine and on her way back but there was the very slender possibility that the sudden heavy snowfall had disorientated her, as it was wont to do with skiers unaccustomed to these slopes.
A disorientated skier very quickly became a skier at high risk. There had also been three avalanches in the past eighteen months. No casualties, but it only took one...
One disorientated skier, unfamiliar with the terrain, reacting without thinking, panicking...
When that happened, experience on a pair of sticks counted for nothing.
He dropped everything: the coffee he had just made; the historic files he had been about to review on his computer; the report waiting to be concluded.
He hit the slopes at a run, strapped himself into his skis and took off.