Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (2 page)

“I wasn’t going to sleep with him. I really
wasn’t,” Belinda said, continuing her rationale for her previous
evening’s romp.

“I’m not here to judge you, Belinda. It’s
okay if you did want to sleep with him. But I thought you were
trying to restrain yourself. Trying a new tactic.” Same
conversation, different day. Belinda was no more in charge of her
hormones than the sky had the power to withhold rain. Danica’s
thoughts turned to Blake’s shoulders, and she wondered what it
might feel like to touch them.
Oh God, what’s happening to
me?
If even she couldn’t keep her thoughts focused—and she was
the least sexual person she knew—how could she expect her sexed-up
clients to?

“I know. I was. Meet them, chat, and don’t
take them home, right?” Belinda looked at her for affirmation.

“Yes.” She mulled over what Belinda had done.
What was so bad about it, really? She was attracted to a man and
went home with him. Ever since that morning, all Danica could think
about was what would have happened if she’d let Blake buy her
coffee. For the first time in her life, Danica was wondering about
that moment of impact, that instant attraction that so many could
not deny—her sister included. She wondered why Kaylie had that
level of desire and why she didn’t. She’d always thought that she
was the less troubled one. Now, after experiencing heart-pounding
excitement at the sight of Blake, she began to wonder if something
was wrong with her after all
.
Why hadn’t she ever felt this
way before?

“Well, I tried that, but he just kept
offering. He said he had this great, new CD he wanted me to
hear—and I like music.”

I like coffee
. “Do you know what
you're doing?”

Belinda rolled her eyes. “Rationalizing.”

Danica nodded. Some people would call Belinda
a sex addict. Even Danica had lost track of the number of men that
had shared Belinda’s bed in the past year. But Danica didn’t like
that term—sex addict. She felt it was a cop out. Being promiscuous
was something that seemed to drive Belinda from one moment to the
next, and Danica knew that when Belinda discovered more about
herself and gained more confidence, the need for meaningless sex
would wane.

She didn’t mean to, but she knew she was
giving Belinda the disapproving parental look that she herself
despised. Strangely, she felt the look was meant more for herself
than Belinda. How many times had her father given her that same
look for doing something whimsical instead of academic, while
praising Kaylie for her song and dance routines? She pictured him
now with his thick, dark hair, one bushy eyebrow lifted, as if to
say,
Don’t waste your time on that silliness
. She pictured
her proper mother, demure with her blunt-cut hair and ever-present
smile. She didn’t have to say a word to Danica about her behavior.
The way she’d nodded in support of her father was enough to send a
strong message: Danica was the smart one. Her father’s voice still
rang out in her mind,
There are certain expectations we have of
you that we simply cannot expect of Kaylie.

Time to wrap this session up
.

“Okay, so, next week we’ll work on learning
the downfalls of rationalizing your actions away.”
And,
hopefully, I’ll be able to think past the sexy man who gave me a
bloody nose
.

Belinda bit her lower lip and stood eye to
eye with Danica. “Do you think there’s hope for me? Or am I always
going to be like this?” Her eyes pleaded for help or some sort of
kudos, something to validate that she wasn’t looking at a mountain
that she could never climb.

Danica knew the power of positive thinking.
She patted Belinda on the back and said, “You can do anything
you’re really determined to do, Belinda. We just need to work on
some of these things. I have faith in you.”
Validation on a
paper plate. Why am I such a magnet for promiscuous people?
She
thought about it, then silently added,
Even my sister!

Blake Carter listened to the two cougars
whispering about him from behind the ski rack. He eyed them as he
walked toward the front of the store. The dark-haired one looked
vaguely familiar. The redhead flashed him a smile as he walked
past. He gave her his best over-the-shoulder glance, holding her
gaze.
Nice rack, nice ass
. He busied himself behind the
counter, counting up the receipts, glancing up when they giggled
like schoolgirls. He was playing a game, doing what he knew best.
But ever since that woman he’d hurt in the coffee shop noticed him
taking a last glance at the slinky blonde, he had actually felt
bad. He’d seen the hurt in the woman’s eyes as she stood there with
blood on her nose, and it was like his heart had softened. Ever
since that moment, those hurt eyes lingered in his mind, and now he
was having trouble seeing past them.

“They’re hot for you.”

Blake lifted his eyes to Dave Tuft, his best
friend, business partner, and the best acroskier he knew. Dave
could flip and spin on a pair of skis as well as Blake could land
women.

“What else is new?”

Dave shook his head. “So, you goin’ for it?”
He lifted his eyebrows.

“No, thanks.” Blake laughed, wishing the
woman from the café had accepted his offer to buy her a cup of
coffee. He could have made up for the sneak peek at the blonde.

“You can’t handle two?” Dave pulled an
inventory clipboard from below the counter and glanced over at the
fifty-something-year-old women. “I envy you, but I wouldn’t trade
Sally or Rusty for anyone in the world.”

“Just wait. Rusty’s what? Fifteen? Soon he’ll
be doing what I’m doing, if he’s not already.”

“Maybe, but we spend so much family time
together that I can’t even imagine it.”

“Tell me about it. When are we hitting the
slopes again? Between Rusty’s basketball and your weekly date night
with Sally, we never get to catch air together. We should take a
run, let our Kodak courage run wild.” Blake knew from experience
that if he egged him on enough, Dave would eventually relent.
Dave’s commitment to Sally and Rusty was enviable, but Blake missed
their skiing excursions.

“Kodak courage, huh?” Dave laughed. “I think
it takes Kodak courage to do what you do.” He nodded at the women.
“I’m too old and too tired to show
that
kind of
courage.”

Dave was five years older than Blake, and at
thirty-four, Blake still couldn’t imagine being too tired for sex.
He turned away from the women and leaned against the counter. He
couldn’t get the woman from the café off his mind. She was bitchy
and cold and had made it very clear that she was too good for him
when she snubbed his offer to buy her coffee, and yet, when he’d
looked into her eyes, he’d been intrigued by some kind of repressed
spark. Maybe it was just the old adage:
Everyone wants what they
can’t have
. All he knew was that for the first time in years,
he had no stirrings for the women who were so eagerly vying for his
attention, and he was pissed at having been blown off earlier.

“As much as I egg you on, dude, I gotta tell
ya, life is complicated enough. One woman—the right woman—is more
than enough for me. I have to wonder why on earth you’re so afraid
of getting married,” Dave said.

“Not afraid. Too smart to get caged.” Blake
smiled. “Come on. Whaddaya say? One more ski trip before the
season’s over?”

“You know, there are people who can help you
work through that mommy drama of yours.” Dave pulled out his cell
phone scrolled through his contacts. He scribbled a number on a
piece of paper, then shoved it into Blake’s pants' pocket. “I
looked her up a few months ago. I didn’t see her, but I heard she’s
great.”

“Hooker?”

“Therapist,” Dave said with a serious tone.
“Okay, look, it
has
been a while since we've skied. Rusty
has a game tomorrow, but how about a night run on Saturday?”

Blake eyed Dave expectantly, waiting for him
to say that he forgot he had plans with Sally, Rusty needed help
studying, or it was family movie night at their house. He touched
his pocket, wondering why Dave would have a therapist’s number,
then dismissed the thought and moved on to planning their evening
of skiing.

“What?” Dave asked.

“Hadn’t you better check with wifey first?”
Blake asked.

“Sally doesn’t care what I do. I mean, she
cares, but it’s my choice.”

Blake heard hesitation in Dave’s voice and
raised his eyebrows.

“I know you can’t understand this, Casanova,
but I actually like spending time with my family. I like the
mundane of knowing they’re there. I like coming home to the same
woman every day, knowing what perfume she’ll have on, and yes, even
knowing that Friday nights are family movie night and Sundays are
our date night.” Dave sighed. “Look, Saturday night. I’ll make it
happen.”

Blake shook his head.

“What’s that? Blood?” Dave pointed to Blake’s
elbow.

“What?” Blake looked at a smear of blood on
his elbow. “Goddamnit.” He walked toward the bathroom to wash it
off. Now the snarky woman had ruined his favorite Rossignol
long-sleeve shirt. Sure, he had too many of the same type of shirt
from every manufacturer around, but this shirt was the one his
father had mailed him when they’d opened their ski shop, AcroSki.
It was light gray, one size too small, and hugged him in all the
right places. The perfect base layer. It was his lucky shirt, and
now it was probably ruined.

Dave was on his heels. “Blood? What’s up with
that?”

“I elbowed some woman by accident at the
coffee shop. She got a bloody nose.” The woman he couldn’t get out
of his mind, with the cutest mole he’d ever seen right above her
luscious lips.

“Is that why you’re in a shitty mood?” Dave
asked.

Blake stopped walking and turned to face
Dave. “I’m not in a shitty mood. I’m just tired.”

“If this isn’t a shitty mood, then you’re a
virgin, too.”

Blake pressed his lips into a tight line and
walked away.

The bathroom was bright and, thankfully,
empty. Blake pulled at his shirtsleeve to inspect the damage. He’d
never hit a woman before, not even by accident, and the one time he
made a mistake, she bleeds all over his favorite shirt? Just his
luck. He pulled his shirt over his head and rinsed the elbow area
with cold water. The water turned pink from the runoff.

The bathroom door swung open, the
Men’s
Room
sign clear in big, bold, blue letters on the door.

“Oops. Sorry,” the redhead said with a coy
smile.

Blake feigned a smile in return. He was in no
mood for a quick bathroom romp. He’d done it before—bathroom,
airplane, even on a ski lift. Hell, there was probably nothing he
hadn’t done before, but he was not in the mood for it now.

The woman shimmied over and put her hand on
his bare back. “Want some help with that?” She leaned in close,
brushed her breast against his bare chest.

Blake steeled his stance. “I’ve got it,
thanks.”

Red reached over and put her hands on top of
his, moving it in a scrubbing motion just as he was. “I’m good with
my hands. I can probably get that right out.”

I’ll bet you are
. Her hair smelled of
roses, her shoulder and neck of Obsession perfume. Blake felt the
familiar desire pulling him toward her. He leaned back.
Behave
, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.

The woman turned and put her wet hands on
Blake’s biceps, her lips an inch from his. “My girlfriend,” she
said, running her wet index finger down his arm, “said you liked a
little fun.”

“Did she?” Blake had a hazy recollection of
the other woman from the only non-touristy bar in town, Bar None.
He cringed. Was the town really that small? Blake was torn between
his growing erection and the anger he’d felt moments before she’d
come into the bathroom.

“Mm-hmm. I thought I might meet you after
work and,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “help you
release some stress. Drinks, my place?” She planted soft kisses
down his neck.

To any other man, this might have seemed
unusual, but to Blake—who'd been intimate with too many women to
count, in too many places to remember—this was an everyday
occurrence. Something he normally thrived on. Today, all he wanted
was to clean his damned shirt and forget the woman from earlier
that morning.

Her lips moved down his chest, circling his
nipple.

“You look stressed. Maybe this will help.”
She ran her tongue down his stomach and back up again
.

Blake dropped his shirt into the sink and
turned, pressing his groin into the woman’s hips. “Maybe it would.”
Unable to withstand the sizzling heat of her lust, he gave in to
the familiar release that he’d given in to over a hundred times
before. He brought his lips to her neck, kissing and licking until
she was moaning, grabbing his ass and pulling it toward her. His
eyes lingered on the shirt. His favorite shirt. The shirt that was
stained with that other woman’s blood. His erection faltered.

Red reached for his crotch, massaging him
through his jeans, and planted quick licks of her tongue on his
neck and chest. The wetness lingered there, cool and sharp. She
unbuttoned his jeans, the tip of his erection pressed against the
waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. She slid her hand
inside the denim and cradled his balls through the soft cotton.

Blake closed his eyes, submitting to the
desire that swelled within him.
Not good enough for you?
Anger at the morning’s snub surged through him.
I’ll show you
how good I am
. He grabbed Red by the back of her head and
kissed her hard. She moaned with pleasure, her hand still working
its magic. He lifted her up and onto the counter, forcefully
reaching under her dress and pulling her thong to the side. He
pushed his pants down, slipped on a condom, and wrapped her legs
around his waist. She pulled away from his grasp, looking down at
his massive erection.