Chapter 3 #2
"In your dreams, Parker." I move to the second snowmobile, a sleek red machine that purrs to life under my touch. "First one to the eastern ridge wins."
"And what does the winner get?" There's a playful edge to her voice that makes my pulse quicken.
"Bragging rights?"
She shakes her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Boring. How about... loser has to wear whatever the winner chooses to the charity auction next week?"
The thought of Sloane in one of the designer dresses I've imagined her in more times than I care to admit flashes through my mind. "Deal."
"Hope you like flannel," she teases, revving her engine. "Three, two, one, go!"
She takes off with a spray of snow, leaving me momentarily startled before I accelerate after her. The powerful machine responds instantly, surging forward as I lean into the first curve of the trail.
Sloane navigates the path with the confidence of someone who's been riding these mountains her entire life, taking corners with practiced ease. But what I lack in local knowledge, I make up for in competitive drive.
I close the gap between us as the trail widens, the exhilaration of the race burning through my veins. The cold air whips against my face, and I find myself laughing, actually laughing, as we speed across the pristine landscape.
Sloane glances back, surprise evident even behind her goggles when she sees how close I am. She guns her engine, pulling ahead as the trail narrows through a dense section of pines.
I follow her lead, noting the subtle way she shifts her weight before each turn. By the time we emerge into an open meadow, I've learned enough to make my move.
I accelerate hard, pulling alongside her as we race across the open expanse. She turns to me, and even through her face covering, I can see her competitive grin.
The eastern ridge looms ahead, the trail splitting, one path curving wide and gradually upward, the other cutting a steeper, more direct route to the top.
Sloane veers toward the gradual path, clearly expecting me to follow. Instead, I make a split-second decision and take the steeper route, cutting across her path with inches to spare.
Her surprised shout follows me as I power up the challenging incline, the snowmobile's engine roaring with the effort. The steeper path is rougher, requiring all my concentration to navigate, but it's shorter, and if I can make it without wiping out, victory is mine.
I crest the ridge seconds before Sloane's path converges with mine, pulling to a stop at the designated finishing point and turning to watch her approach.
She arrives moments later, cutting her engine and pulling off her goggles, face flushed with exertion and what looks suspiciously like admiration.
"You cheated," she accuses, but there's no heat in her words.
"I improvised," I correct, removing my own goggles. "There were no rules against taking the steeper path."
"I can't believe you risked that incline." She shakes her head, but she's smiling. "Most first-timers would have wiped out halfway up."
"I'm not most people."
"No," she agrees, her voice softening. "You definitely aren't."
We stand there, surrounded by the pristine white landscape, the silence of the mountains broken only by the distant rumble of the approaching storm and our still-rapid breathing.
"So," she says finally, "I guess you won."
"I guess I did." I step closer, drawn to the pink in her cheeks and the snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. "That means I get to choose your outfit for the charity auction."
"God help me." She rolls her eyes, but there's a flutter in her breath that gives her away. "Nothing backless or shorter than my fingertips, Morgan."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Parker." Though the image of her in the midnight blue gown I'd seen in a Milan boutique last month flashes through my mind.
A sudden gust of wind swirls snow around us, and Sloane shivers slightly. Without thinking, I step closer, using my body to shield her from the biting cold.
"Storm's picking up," she says, voice oddly breathless. "We should head back."
I nod, but neither of us moves. We're standing too close again, like in the locker room, but this time there's no phone to interrupt, no meeting to rush to. Just us, the mountains, and the growing awareness that something fundamental is shifting between us.
"Atticus," she says softly, my name a question in her lips.
Before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us, cupping her face with my gloved hand. Her eyes widen, then darken as I lean in, my lips finding hers in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into something far more hungry.
She tastes like mint and coffee and possibility.
Her hands fist in my parka, pulling me closer as she rises on her toes to deepen the kiss.
I slide my arm around her waist, eliminating any space between us, lost in the sensations of her mouth moving against mine, her body pressed to mine even through layers of winter gear.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, clouds of vapor mingling in the cold air between us. Her lips are slightly swollen, her eyes wide and searching.
"That was..." she starts.
"Unexpected," I finish, though it's not the right word. Because if I'm honest, I've been thinking about kissing Sloane Parker for longer than I care to admit.
She studies my face, as if seeing me for the first time. "Was it?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with years of friendship and the unspoken awareness that's always simmered beneath.
Before I can answer, a snowflake lands on her cheek. Then another. And suddenly, the sky opens up, the predicted storm arriving in full force.
"We need to get back," I say, reluctantly releasing her. "Before the visibility drops."
She nods, pulling her goggles back into place. "Race you back?"
"Haven't you lost enough for one day, Parker?"
She laughs, the sound carrying despite the rising wind. "Maybe I let you win."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Guess you'll never know." She revs her engine, taking off down the main trail before I can respond.
I follow, my mind racing faster than the snowmobile. The kiss replays in my head; the softness of her lips, the small sound she made when I pulled her closer, the way she kissed me back without hesitation.
What happens now? We have three weeks of forced proximity, a high-stakes business launch, and three years of friendship suddenly complicated by whatever this is between us.
And lurking behind it all is the uneasy knowledge that I'll eventually return to New York, to board meetings and corporate politics, while Sloane's life is firmly rooted in Hope Peak.
By the time we reach the HQ building, the snow is falling in earnest. We store the snowmobiles in the equipment shed and hurry inside, stomping snow from our boots in the lobby.
"That was..." she begins.
"Reckless?" I offer. "Getting caught in the early stages of a blizzard?"
Her eyes meet mine, and I know we're not talking about the weather. "I was going to say exhilarating" she says quietly.
The moment stretches between us, charged and fragile. Then Marcus appears, tablet in hand as always, his timing impeccable.
"Mr. Morgan, the team is assembled for dinner at Skyline Bar the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's thinking, how her fingers curl around her glass, the slight flush in her cheeks whenever our eyes meet.
After the plates are cleared and the team disperses; Brynn and Callum heading to the bar for another round, Jenna and Marisol discussing holiday decorations by the fire, Sloane and I find ourselves momentarily alone at the table.