Chapter Twelve
One second, Wyatt is pressed against me, the feel of his hands on my skin electric, and the next, he’s across the pool, hauling himself out of the water. Inch by glorious inch is exposed as he pulls himself onto the edge, water splashing around him as he stands.
When he said he knew what was on every part of him, I didn’t expect this. No space is untouched apart from his face, neck, hands, and feet.
The man is a literal walking piece of art I want to study, major in, and become an expert on.
My heart races, feeling like it might burst, as I sag against the side of the pool. I’m transfixed, watching him go, stuck in the water like a vat of glue, unable to do anything but stare, my mind complete mush.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he storms toward the door, his bare feet slapping with each step like booming drums inside my ears. The door closes behind him, the pool area becoming eerily silent as I blink at the spot where Wyatt disappeared. My legs shake with a mixture of adrenaline and arousal pumping through my veins. A gentle breeze against my clit would cause me to detonate.
He barely touched me, barely grazed where I’d teased him about a tattoo, yet I felt more alive than I ever have in my entire life. And then his thigh. Oh, to all the sexy tattooed-covered gods above… Hockey players on Team USA don’t have muscles like that.
So then, what the hell happened? I was there. I’m not blind. He wanted me.
He told me.
I kick out my feet, letting myself sink into the pool, the water submerging me as I shut my eyes and hold my breath. Why is he fighting this? I know what he did. He tried to turn it around, tried to prove that I couldn’t handle what he could give me.
But he is wrong.
So damn wrong.
My mouth opens, and bubbles rush out as I scream, the sound muffled by the water. I’m frustrated. Not only do I have the world's worst case of blue balls, I have no idea what to do about it. He’s only made my attraction worse.
Sure, at first, it was superficial. Months of teasing here and there just to get a rise from the uber-stoic and professional Captain Grant. But now I’ve seen behind the curtains he keeps shut tight.
The worry in his gaze when we landed, the chivalrous side of him carrying my bags, the protectiveness of him wanting to take the bed by the front door. The fact that every tattoo on his sculpted body means something to him and is not just a generic drawing that lacks emotion.
He’s piqued my curiosity, unlocked this need to know him in a way that’s more than the man who flies my plane.
Discomfort lodges inside my chest, and it’s not because I’ve been submerged for a while, pushing my lung capacity to its limits. It twinges and sort of reminds me of when I was younger and was…
Holy shit. It’s a sensation I haven’t felt since my mom passed away, when my dad stopped uttering the word ‘no.’ It’s a sensation I get every time I can’t stick a landing on the ice. It’s how I feel when I don’t get something I desperately want.
God, I really am a brat.
I’m laughing as I break through the surface, gulping in air and panting at the night sky. I’m determined, as determined as I am when I’m skating.
Wyatt Grant, I’m coming for you.
The fire crackles in the hearth, the blazing flames matching my gaze as I stare into it. He should have been back by now. He left the pool area what feels like hours ago, yet I’m here alone.
I was looking forward to this, the loud popping, snapping, and hissing from the logs as flames dance across it. I was meant to be hypnotized by the movements, getting lost in them, watching them, completely unaware that I haven’t blinked for hours. But every time my eyes drift toward Wyatt’s clothes, that I grabbed, sitting neatly folded on the end of the bed, my jaw ticks.
Is he fucking kidding me? Rather than come back and face me, he’d rather walk around in wet swim trunks?
Or is he walking around in a fluffy white bathrobe?
“Pippa,” I chastise, shaking my head to dislodge the image of Wyatt, standing in a robe, his tattooed calves on display, the top gaping open, hinting at his ink, his dirty blond hair damp from the water… “Goddammit.”
Pushing off the sofa, I pace the small kitchenette, glancing at a clock on the wall, the hands slowly ticking closer to midnight. Where the hell is he? Is he honestly too chicken shit to come back that he’d rather what? Sleep on a sun lounger when it’s freezing cold outside?
With a snarl, I dart over to my purse and dig around for my phone. Jabbing a finger at the screen, I lift it to my ear, barely needing to wait as Evan answers on the first ring.
“Hello?” he asks, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“You were wrong.”
“Wha—?” There’s a rustle from the other end of the phone, and then, “Pippa? Where are you?”
“Copper Ridge Lodge and Spa.”
“Where’s that?” he asks. “Wait, you better not be taking time off practice, you slacker. We’ve got a competition in less than three weeks.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I growl. “We had to divert. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“You better be,” he teases, but the words only serve to aggravate me further, making my nostrils flare as I suck in a breath.
“We both know you could use the extra time alone to practice, Evan.”
He huffs incredulously down the line. “Okay, what crawled up your ass, Ice Princess?”
“Don’t call me that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Then don’t act like a bitch,” he retorts. “What happened?”
“You said Wyatt wouldn’t be able to say no if I pursued him,” I say, my mood souring more as embarrassment coats its oily slime over my skin.
“You didn’t…?” he asks, skepticism thick in his words.
I bristle, hating how exposed I feel. “Y’know what? Fuck this. I shouldn’t have called. I’ll see you tomorrow—”
“No, Pippa. Don’t go,” he says, the sympathy in his voice almost as bad as the humor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.” I can hear his inhale, like he’s getting ready to dole out some advice. “I need you to walk me through it.”
I resume pacing the ground floor as I relay the events from today. By the time I’m done with every last detail, Evan is quiet, a first for my friend who thrives off other people's drama. “So yeah, you were wrong. I took your advice, saw an opening, and went for it.” I sigh, feeling deflated and exhausted. “This is what I get for thinking about something other than skating. For thinking that his kindness after my freakout meant something more than it did. I should have just let him order a car to drive me to Colorado.”
“No, babe, you did the right thing by not driving. That storm was fucking crazy,” Evan placates, and I’ve got to admit it helps. “You were in shock from what sounded like one hell of a flight, so there’s no wonder you didn’t want to travel for hours just to get here. I’d have done the same thing.”
I huff a laugh that doesn’t hold any joy. “Except Wyatt’s avoiding me.”
“Really? Where is he now?”
My eyes dart to the door. Moths are the only thing trying to get through it right now as two bump and bang against the window, following the light from indoors. “No idea.”
Flopping onto Wyatt’s empty bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Evan clucks his tongue, and I can almost picture him shaking his head in disappointment when he says, “That poor bastard.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s so into you that he can’t even trust himself to be around you.”
I snap upright, a tension headache forming between my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Think about it, babe. From what you’ve told me, he’s this big, professional-as-hell guy, and you’re…you.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I huff.
Evan groans. “You’re the daughter of one of the richest men in America and, by default, the heir to that fortune. You’re also a star athlete with her sights set on the Olympics. And you’re drop-dead gorgeous, to boot.”
“Thanks for the recap. If I ever need someone to ghostwrite my autobiography, I’ll let you know,” I deadpan, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I forget how clueless you are,” he mumbles. While I should be offended, I don’t have the energy. “Pippa, that man lives and breathes aviation, if that tattoo you said he has is anything to go by. And he’s employed by your father. He’s probably thinking if you two do the no-pants dance and get caught…”
My jaw grinds together as the residual frustration in my blood starts to bubble. “Evan, you were the one who said what daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him , and now you’re all if your dad found out… ” I say, lowering my voice to sound more masculine.
He snorts, and I swear I can see him wave his hand dismissively. “I’m fickle. You know this about me.”
“You have been no help,” I whine, hanging my head.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” he says. “Listen, there’s clearly something there. I told you I could feel it, and I’m hardly ever wrong when it comes to sexual tension. So I don’t think you should give up.” He pauses. “And I don’t think you want to give up on it either. Give him an incentive.”
“I’m not pimping myself out to him, Evan.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says, his voice tight. “I mean, if he’s going to cross the line with you, give him a reason to. Right now, I bet he thinks you’re bored or something, stuck in a hotel with nothing around for miles… Make him see that the Pippa he flies every weekend isn’t the Pippa you really are. Show him the Pippa few people get to see, the one I’ve come to know and love. Show him you’re not the spoiled brat willing to jeopardize his career for a quick fuck.” He chuckles to himself. “Or don’t. If you just want no strings attached, tell him that. Maybe a one-and-done is what you both need to get over this little infatuation you have.”
I chew on my lower lip, staring at a rug on the floor. Evan yawns, long and loud in my ear. “And with my new words of wisdom, I’m going back to sleep. See you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper before hanging up and tossing my phone to the bed. The glow from the fire has dimmed since my call, so standing, I walk toward it and bend down to open the latch, reaching for a log before throwing it inside. Embers scatter around it, the fire coming back to life as I stand and dust off my hands.
Rounding the bed, I sit on the end, eyes going back to the door, willing Wyatt to walk through. One and done. Maybe that’s all we need. It’s not like I want a relationship with the man. I find him interesting and want to get to know him more, but that doesn’t mean I want to be tied to him.
Besides, I have the U.S. Championship and the Olympics to focus on, not relationship drama. But a girl has needs, and unfortunately, it appears those needs only want him.
My eyes get heavier with each blink until, eventually, they close completely. When I wake, the sun is shining, and the side of the duvet is folded over me, but I’m still alone. Sitting up, my gaze darts around the room, landing on the sofa at the bottom of the bed. The blanket that was draped over the back is now folded and sitting on top of a pillow. The new shirt and underwear the concierge brought for me are missing, and in their place is a folded piece of paper.
Scrambling, I grab it and tear it open, my heart thrashing as I read, Miss Cartwright. I’ll meet you on the plane. Wyatt.