“And baby boy’s afraid to be alone?”
“Now you’re making me feel bad.” The truth was, he didn’t want to be alone with himself right now, and he also didn’t want her where he couldn’t watch her.
She smiled and then sobered. “What’s this really about?”
“Don’t make me confess my insecurities all over again.”
“You have no insecurities. You’re the closest thing there is to a Greek god.”
“I’d be flattered if you sounded more impressed.”
“You know what they say. Pretty is as pretty does.”
He stifled a laugh.
She narrowed her beautiful eyes at him. “Is this about sex—which clearly isn’t going to happen—or are you still obsessing over Rupert?”
“Yes. Rupert, those letters, and that phone call. Also, someone got into my carry-on and, I suspect, your luggage. As for sex . . . Why are you so sure it’s not going to happen? A good-looking, sensitive guy like myself, and an overwrought opera singer like you . . . Seems possible.”
“Impossible. I’m too insecure to have an affair with a hot football player like yourself. I do hate the idea of being cooped up in a hotel for the weekend, though. More important, before she left, Mariel booked me into a spa for two nights.”
“That doesn’t sound bad.”
“Except this is a boot camp spa where they get you up at four in the morning for a ten-mile hike, then feed you nothing but radishes and water.”
“Mariel is a major pain in the ass.”
“It’s what happens to women who don’t eat.”
When Paisley found out what they had planned, she tried to wangle an invitation to join them, but Thad turned her down. “Who even knows if the place has Wi-Fi? It’s too big a risk.”
Henri wasn’t happy about his brand ambassadors slipping away from his watchful gaze, but after Thad reassured him they’d be back in time for their Monday morning commitments, Henri gave in with his customary good grace.
An hour later, Thad and The Diva were driving a rental car west toward Breckenridge.
* * *
His teammate’s multimillion-dollar, log-and-stone house had four different levels, a curved driveway, and big windows with sweeping mountain views. They unloaded the groceries they’d picked up on the way and changed clothes. When they reconvened in the kitchen, he couldn’t help but stare at her. “What’s wrong?” she said.
“You’re wearing jeans?”
“Who doesn’t wear jeans?”
“I don’t know. You?”
She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
They borrowed heavy jackets and snow boots from the back of a closet and set off on a lower trail, hoping to avoid the deeper snow. Olivia had wrapped a warm scarf around her throat and pulled a headband over her ears. Her ponytail swung across her jacket collar as her breath clouded the air.
After their busy week, he didn’t feel the need to talk, and neither did she. He enjoyed listening to the crunch of snow under their boots, the wind ruffling the aspens, and the distant sound of a waterfall. As they reached a set of icy rocks, he held out his hand, but she ignored his help and navigated the rocks with the surefooted grace of an athlete. Taking into account all her dance and movement training, he supposed she was.
As the snow grew too deep to go on, they took their time gazing out over the mountain landscape. He couldn’t remember ever being with a woman so comfortable with silence—ironic, considering her profession—and he was the one who eventually broke it. “If you feel like cutting loose with one of your favorite arias, I’d be happy to listen.”
She pulled the muffler tighter around her neck. “The air’s too cold. We’re all insanely protective of our voices.”
He’d noticed. She drank lots of water, but never with ice, and kept a humidifier going in her bedroom. She also favored some fairly disgusting herbal teas. One of these days, however, he was determined to make her sing for him. Listening to her on YouTube was fine, but he wanted a private performance.
* * *