“Wait, no! Steep sounds scary,” she said, catching at his sleeve and releasing a gurgle of nervous laughter, still taking in how he hobnobbed with the crustiest of the upper crust. “I’m cautious because it slants downhill. I’m used to ice. Flat.” She lifted the hand not holding her poles and cut it straight across the air to demonstrate.
A snowboarder kicked off the ledge beside them and began to fishtail down the sharp incline, spraying powder back and forth with a swish-swoosh. Demitri had said he usually boarded, but he’d chosen to ski this weekend since that was her preference. She feared she was holding him back. He detoured for the occasional jump or slalom through a copse of trees, but kept returning to her side almost before she realized he’d disappeared, and always stopped with her if she needed a break.
“Ice? You mean skating?” he asked. “Do not tell me you played hockey.”
“I’m Canadian. Of course I’ve played hockey. On a pond, not in a league, but I really meant ice dancing in a rink.” She’d always thought the carving of skis into snow felt a lot like working skate blades against the ice, but speed gathered rather swiftly on a slope. She was so busy controlling that she wasn’t paying attention to the signs, trusting Demitri to keep her from getting lost and keep her on the easy runs.
“Ice dancing,” he repeated, taking in this new information with a bemused look. “How long did you do that?”
“Almost six years, I guess?” She wrinkled her nose. “Until Dad left and there wasn’t really the time or money. I had a friend who drove me for a while, then I took the bus by myself, but Mom didn’t like me sitting at the bus stop at five in the morning and...” She’d needed her. Gareth had. “It just didn’t work.”
“That’s too bad.”
“That’s life,” she said, shrugging it off. “It doesn’t really bother me except, well, like today when we met your friend who medaled. I don’t know if all the training in the world would have got me half that far, but he’s just a guy who worked really hard. He made sacrifices, I know that, but it makes me think that if I’d been able to stick with my own training, I might have got a blue ribbon somewhere along the way. I really liked it and would have done the work. I wished I could have kept it up, but my life has never really allowed for the chasing of dreams.”
He was looking at her as though he wanted to ask more, and she didn’t want to talk about it or she’d get emotional.
“Okay, I’ll try the top-level run,” she told him decisively. “But if you get bored waiting for me to pick my way down, promise to go ahead. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”
“I’m never bored with you, Natalie,” he admonished. “That’s why you’re here with me.”
“Such a flatterer,” she said, hoping he’d blame the tremor in her smile on the cold.
“It’s the truth. But with the ice dancing, is it something you could take up again?”
“Gonna offer to be my sponsor? No,” she said firmly. “It’s not.” She shifted her weight and moved in a comfortable glide so her skis were alongside his. Facing him, she leaned over, offering her mouth for a kiss. “But it’s nice of you to encourage me.”
“I’m not being nice. I’m telling you you’re not too old. Seriously, what are the obstacles? The cost?”
If only he knew.
“You better take advantage of this now,” she said with a touch of her gloved fingertip to her lips, not wanting to discuss any of her discarded aspirations. “In case I break a leg and have to spend the night in the hospital.”
“I’m not going to let you break a leg. You know exactly where I want you tonight.” He covered her lips with his own.
* * *
Demitri was in the kind of sleep he rarely found. Conditioned by his childhood to be a light sleeper—always on guard—he didn’t often hit the really deep levels of REM, but he’d had an early morning, a lot of exercise, plenty of good food, a few glasses of wine in the hot tub and a delicious release with Natalie’s humid gasps of pleasure against his ear. The room was cold, the bed warm, the smooth lobes of her bottom were spooned into his groin, and her breast was in his palm. He had found perfection.
Then a song like something off a kid’s cartoon penetrated his consciousness. He fought acknowledging it, but Natalie shifted, coming up on an elbow to fumble for her phone on the night table.
“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad,” she said.
“Just make it stop,” he growled, dragging her back into the hollow of his body, resealing the heat of her nude skin against his own.
“No, I mean I should have told you. Don’t freak out.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? With his nose buried in her hair, he felt the tug of incomprehension pulling against the weight of falling back asleep.
“Hey, baby,” he heard her say.
Baby? His mind sharpened.
“Hi, Mom,” a little girl’s voice said.
He snapped his eyes open.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS DEMITRI LEFT the bed behind her, Natalie tilted the screen on her phone so Zoey wouldn’t see she had company. The fog of sleep was still befuddling her, but she was a mom, capable of pulling it together when her kid needed her in the middle of the night.
“Why are you up so late, sweetie? It’s past your bedtime. Are you okay?” She’d talked to Zoey before leaving Paris, explaining she was going away for the weekend so might not be able to answer any calls. The fact her daughter wanted to connect anyway alarmed her.
“Daddy said I could stay up ’cause it’s the weekend.”
The door to the bathroom clicked firmly shut.
Natalie suppressed a wince and focused on her daughter. Zoey wasn’t bathed, let alone in her jammies. “Where’s Grandma?” She, at least, appreciated the value of a well-rested child.
“Auntie Suzie’s baby is coming so she walked over to look after Bobby. She’ll be back in the morning. Daddy said I could call you and tell you.”
“Oh! Well, that is exciting news.” They’d all known this might happen, so Natalie wasn’t completely surprised. Heath was with Zoey and the worst that was going to happen was a late bedtime without a bath, but it still annoyed her that he saw no value in sticking to routine. “Babies usually take a long time to arrive, though, so you can’t stay up and wait. I want you to go to bed now, and I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”
“But, Mom...” Always Mom lately. Never Mommy anymore. Five years old was way too young to make that transition.
“Listen, we’ll compromise. You can skip your bath and have one tomorrow when Grandma is there to help you. Get yourself into your jammies and ask your dad to read stories, then you can play two or three games on the tablet if you want. You don’t have to sleep, but I want you in bed.” It was a trick. Zoey always dropped off like a rock once she was under the covers, especially after an active day on Heath’s mother’s farm.
Zoey agreed reluctantly. They said their “I love yous” and Natalie ended the call. Sitting up, she stared at the bathroom door, stomach as heavy as the pit of doom. Now what?
As the silence prolonged, the door opened. Demitri hesitated in the frame, naked and powerful, glancing at her with a chilling flatness that turned her to stone.
Her heart plummeted while varying levels of culpability, indignation and vulnerability washed over her. She should have told him, but he didn’t have to act as though she’d committed a federal crime. As though he was not only furious, but wanted nothing to do with her now.
His view of her had changed, exactly as she’d feared. No matter how common single motherhood was these days, a stigma still existed. A judgment. Maybe she wasn’t easy, but she was a woman who made bad choices where men were concerned. Someone who didn’t have it together. A failure, and therefore her daughter didn’t stand a chance. Natalie had been exposed to all those angles of prejudice at one time or another.
And she couldn’t deny that she made bad choices where men were concerned, could she? Look at this one, giving her the silent treatment rather than asking her why she hadn’t told him.
He moved to the chest of drawers and fished out a pair of shorts, stepping into them, and then continued to dress with efficient flicks of a collar and a snap of his jeans, all without looking at her. When he sat to put on his boots, she got the message.
“You don’t have to go. I’ll leave,” she said, flipping back the covers and rising to search out her own clothes.
“It’s fine. Stay.” He stood and reached for his jacket off the hook on the wall.
She snorted, the furthest thing from amused. Angry, actually, that he didn’t even want to talk about it.