‘You can ski here?’ As soon as the words left her mouth, Lex realised what a stupid question that was. Of course people could ski—it was a ski-lodge. She waved her words away. ‘I mean, won’t the slopes here be a bit tame for you? In the car, you mentioned that you take a skiing holiday every year, and I can’t imagine you doing anything other than the hardest, steepest slopes. What do they call them again—black runs?’
‘Why do you assume that I’m good at it?’ he asked, amused.
‘Because you have an athlete’s body.’ And because she couldn’t imagine Cole being anything but good at things. He was one of life’s golden people, both sporty and intellectual. She couldn’t see him tolerating failure at anything. He liked control too much to allow that to happen.
‘If we get enough snow, I could teach you to snowboard tomorrow.’
Lex shook her head. ‘I have the grace and balance of an elephant with an ear infection.’
He laughed. ‘You can’t be that bad.’
She really was. Lex looked down at his big hand on her thigh—he’d pushed his jersey up to find bare skin—thinking how tanned his hand looked on her pale skin. It was wide, with long fingers ending in short, clean nails. She had a thing about hands, men’s hands in particular, and she approved of Cole’s.
She especially approved of where he’d put them on her body. They’d made love twice already and, as much as she’d love to indulge in round three, they needed to rest and recuperate, and they needed sustenance. Lex thought about getting up and getting some food, but she was so comfortable sprawled across him.
She recalled Cole’s statement about him remembering this house. ‘Your father did extensive renovations to this house. It can’t possibly look the same, so I’m wondering what’s tickling your memory.’
He looked up at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling of the room. ‘I feel like I recognise that wall, the fireplace, the slate floors.’
‘Did you come here with your father as a child?’
Cole shook his head. ‘My father only bought this property about ten years ago and I never went anywhere with my father.’
Lex heard the thread of ice in his voice, a great deal colder than the snow falling outside. ‘“Never” is a strong word,’ she murmured.
‘But accurate,’ Cole said, seemingly unaware that his grip on her leg had tightened. He wasn’t hurting her but the tips of his fingers sank deeper into her flesh. ‘My father and I didn’t have a relationship. At all, ever.’
Lex skimmed her fingers up and down his bare arm. ‘I know how it feels to have a parent who disappoints and lets you down.’
Cole scooted down the couch and rested the back of his head on the couch. ‘Oh no, my dad was a great father. Involved, interested, present.’
‘But—’
‘Just not to me,’ Cole clarified.
‘I don’t understand,’ Lex replied.
Cole lifted his hand off his head to push his fingers through his hair. Since she’d done the same earlier, his waves were more pronounced than normal. ‘I have an older brother: his name is Sam. He’s older by seven years. My father adored him and worshipped the ground he walked on. My parents divorced when I was three or four and I went with my mum, Sam stayed with my dad. Our lives separated from that point onwards.’
They’d split up their family—one child for you, one child for me? To Lex, it sounded so cold and calculated. She’d do anything and everything she could to keep her sisters together, to be a family, but Cole’s parents had casually ripped his apart.
‘How was your relationship with your mum?’
She hoped it was great and that, unlike her, he’d had one parent he could rely on.
He rolled his shoulders. ‘Not bad, I guess. She was there, physically. She fed and clothed me and did those things that mums were supposed to do. I went to boarding school when I was thirteen and, from then on, I only saw her a couple of times a year.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She died when I was twenty,’ Cole replied in a flat voice.
Lex winced. ‘I’m sorry.’
Cole shrugged. ‘Sadly, I didn’t miss her that much. She was pretty distant and emotionless, to be honest.’
Lex grimaced. He made it sound as if he’d been raised by a robot. Joelle had her faults but the last thing she could be called was emotionless. ‘So how often did you see your father? He must’ve had visitation rights.’
Cole’s expression tightened. ‘He had them, but he never used them. I don’t think I made this clear...from the moment my parents split up, I never had any contact with my father. No calls, emails or visits.’