Page 13 of Consequences of Their Wedding Charade
How long must it have been since she’d had time off? Ages. When her dad had died quite suddenly, her mother had been plunged into the sort of pervasive depression that had cast a cloud over every aspect of Jess’s life. Her social life had been put on hold because making sure her mother was okay had demanded most of her spare time. Holidays of any sort had not just been put on hold—they’d been relegated to the deep freezer, from which they hadn’t emerged to see the light of day.
Now, she felt like a kid in a sweet shop. She explored the hotel from top to bottom, marvelling at the subterranean labyrinth of steam grottos and saunas, practically enough for each guest to have his or her own. Then there was the indoor pool, carved out to mimic an underground lagoon, complete with a wall of cascading water and a jacuzzi.
There was a comprehensive gym and a Michelin starred restaurant, as well as two further casual dining areas, two bars and a spa, which she peeked into. It smelled of sandalwood and eucalyptus.
By the time she’d ordered room service, she’d forgotten all about the stresses that had been plaguing her over the past few weeks and months.
Her bedroom suite was the last word in luxury, with a sitting room that managed to be comfortable yet scarily perfect and an en suite bathroom with a bath the size of an Olympic swimming pool, in which she luxuriated for a ridiculous length of time.
There were floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere, a clever bit of design that allowed you to look out at the snowy wonderland, an unimpeded vista of white.
The following morning her phone pinged, and she smiled when she read Curtis’s text saying that he would be waiting for her in Reception.
Breakfast in bed and then a day on the slopes before the ceremony the following day at the groom’s parents’ ski lodge, which was apparently more than big enough for the party of nearly a hundred people, a string quartet, a sprawling buffet and all the other stuff that was part and parcel of an aristocratic wedding.
Since she had only ever attended three weddings—none of which were fancier than the local church and, in one case, a marquee on the village green, which had been brilliant—Jess couldn’t wait to see how the other half celebrated.
But for now...
She felt an illicit thrill at the thought of seeing Curtis. Forgotten were the edge-of-seat nerves and the back and forth wondering what she was doing.
She’d only bought one new thing for the trip and that was her ski outfit—a reckless splurge but when next would she be in a position like this?
At a little after nine she headed down to Reception, having fully togged up for the day ahead.
Outside the snow was freshly fallen so she was looking forward to some grippy turns and a smooth ride down the excellent pistes. She knew that sometimes the cushion of snow could be powdery enough to make her feel as though she was floating and nothing was more magical.
He was there.
They matched. All black. Her heart thumped as she strolled towards him.
She felt exposed in the ski outfit, which clung to her like a second skin. Had he seen her in anything that hadn’t been baggy? Yes, surely so, but in the past few months she’d slimmed considerably and never had she been more conscious of her figure.
Looking up from his phone, Curtis inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing on her as she sashayed towards him.
Because no other word could describe the sexy motion of her hips. Her legs went on and onand onand where the heck had she got that outfit? It contoured a body that men’s dreams were made of and his legendary fondness for petite blondes disappeared under a haze of lust that leapt out at him and sent a charge of high voltage electricity racing through his body with mercurial ferocity.
He hardened, his body’s immediate response, yet one that he could not remember having ever experienced in his life before with such urgency. When it came to the game of seduction he wasalwaysthe one in charge. This time, however, his body was calling the shots and it was infuriating.
What the hell was going on? This woman was his closest female friend—hisonlyfemale friend! He’d never subscribed to the homily that a man couldn’t be friends with a woman without sex rearing its ugly head. He’d always known that he had far too much self-control for that sort of indiscriminate response to ever hold sway.
He knew he was staring but he couldn’t seem to help himself and his mouth was dry.
And the rest of his body was making him wonder whether he’d ever had an attack of plain old-fashioned lust.
Black outfit, zip running from waist to neck, outlining the most perfect breasts he’d ever seen. Breasts that were much more than a handful and those shapely legs encased in tight black and tucked into white boots.
Her sunglasses were propped on her forehead, as his were.
‘Ready?’ he half croaked, spinning round on his heel because, despite the two sets of thermals and the trousers, he was very much afraid that she might catch sight of his rampant erection.
‘Can’t wait,’ Jess carolled. She looped her arm through his. ‘Tell me how your evening went,’ she encouraged when he failed to say anything further. ‘I did wonder whether I should text you to find out whether you were in one piece...’
‘As you can see—’ he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t risk prolonging his rampant response ‘—I don’t do overindulgence when it comes to alcohol. The plan today—’ he could hardly detach his arm but the weight of hers wound through his was just adding to his mental disarray, so focusing on a businesslike discussion of the day ahead seemed a good idea ‘—is some skiing and then a quick lunch. I have work to do after lunch, so you are free to do your own thing. At six, we’re going to John’s chalet for a pre-wedding dinner. It’ll be informal. No need to dress up.’ He had a pang of nostalgia for her uniform of baggy clothes, which had always been so good at concealing her figure. ‘You’ve lost weight.’ He deviated sharply from the conversation he had had in mind, and cast a quick glance across at her.
‘A bit.’
‘Hope you haven’t joined those women who think that eating anything that isn’t raw or can’t be grown in a vegetable patch is a crime...’
