4. Charlotte
Chapter four
Charlotte
T he moment the uniformed valet opens my car door and welcomes me to Serenity Slopes, my shoulders drop, relaxing from the coiled tension of the last four hours. I also shiver from head to toe. It might be summer, but the temperature here is lower than I expected, and my tank top doesn’t have nearly enough coverage to keep me warm.
Leaving the keys in the ignition, Jake circles the car. His gaze drops to my chest where my nipples jut out as if they’re auditioning for a starring role. But even as my lips press into a thin line, his attention snaps back to my face. Probably, thanks to our truce.
The barest twitch of a muscle in his stubbled jaw reveals his effort. I’m unsure whether from refraining from enjoying the view or biting back a scathing remark, but either way, I can’t help the tiny thrill of satisfaction that ripples down my spine at breaking his composure. Our truce doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate making the unflappable Jake Maddingly work for it.
“Cold?” he asks, voice gruff as he circles back to pop the trunk.
I wave off the jacket he holds it out to me a moment later. “I’m fine. The lobby’s right there.”
His eyes narrow as if he wants to argue, but before he can say anything, a chilly gust barrels through the wind tunnel of a receiving area. I take the coat from him and slip it on, muttering a reluctant thank you.
“You’re welcome.” The soft response is genuine, rather than dripping with his usual sarcasm. Which only makes it harder to ignore how his unmistakable scent envelopes me, warming my blood faster than the actual jacket ever could.
Thank god, once we check in, I can unpack in peace and freshen up before throwing myself into last-minute wedding preparations with Libby. Three days of pretending Jake Maddingly doesn’t affect me will be much easier with bridesmaids’ activities as a buffer.
The marble floor gleams beneath our feet as late afternoon sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows. The breathtaking view of the mountains, their sides carved with green ribbons where the ski runs cut through the thick forest, is stunning in the golden light. In winter, I’ll bet they’re beautiful, blanketed in pristine white, but now, they’re a patchwork of wildflowers and emerald grass, dotted with the metal frames of dormant ski lifts reaching toward the cloudless summer sky.
The crystal chandelier overhead scatters diamond-bright reflections across the walls. A stone fireplace off to our left is big enough to park a car in. The whole place smells like cedar and luxury.
“Welcome to Serenity Slopes.” The front desk clerk’s smile is magazine-perfect as we approach, her blonde ponytail swinging. Her nametag reads Samantha in elegant script. “Checking in?”
“Yes, we’re here for the Bauer-Harris wedding.” I dig into my bag for my wallet. My fingers are still greasy from the salt- and-vinegar chips Jake brought but didn’t touch, a detail I’m deliberately not analyzing too closely.
His arm brushes mine as he reaches into his back pocket, the touch sending an electric zing straight to my core. I catch Samantha’s eyes widening appreciatively at the flex of his broad shoulders. A light sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten, and it’s hard to blame her for staring. His carved arms have been on display the whole drive. And I’m only human.
Jake passes over his license and credit card while I’m still hunting for mine. Samantha taps at her keyboard, polished nails clicking against the keys. “Ah, yes, I have your reservation right here. One room for three nights booked in the wedding room block under Maddingly. You’d like two keys, then?”
“Oh, we’re not—” I interject, before she gets the wrong idea.
“Together,” Jake finishes, quickly. Then he clears his throat and tilts his head toward me. “She’s got her own reservation.”
It’s true, we’re not together. But did he have to make it so crystal clear? I force a laugh and face Samantha. “Please don’t tell me there’s only one room left with only one bed.”
“Oh no,” Samantha’s quick to assure us as she bats her thick eyelashes at Jake. “Mr. Maddingly can certainly have a private room.”
The innuendo in her tone grates. But she checks him in, probably to a complementary upgraded suite based on the way she's fawning over him, while I drop my license and credit card on the counter. Then, I snatch out my phone to text Libby that I survived the drive. Next to me, Jake appears to be texting Brock.
“Here’s your ID and credit card as well as a resort guide,” Samantha says, holding them out until he reaches over, rather than setting them down on the counter. Jake slips his phone into his pocket and accepts the cards and pamphlet, seeming to notice, because this girl is making it blatantly obvious she’s interested. Her tongue darts out to run along her lower lip, and her pupils dilate as she leans toward him. I roll my eyes.
My phone buzzes with a reply from Libby. Glad to hear it! Meet us at the bar in an hour for dinner. I heart her message.
A moment later, after Samantha has processed my information, she continues. “Alright, I have you in rooms 412 and 414.” She must be talking to me, too, even though her gaze is locked on Jake alone. Her voice has dropped to a honeyed purr that makes my teeth clench. “I’ll have the bellman bring up your luggage. If you need anything at all during your stay, please call me. Err…I mean the front desk, although I’ll be here every night.”
“We’ll be sure to do that,” I reply a little too loudly.
Beside me, a low rumble sounds from Jake’s chest. A warm chuckle I’ve heard before. The tell that alerts me he’s about to say something infuriating.
“That’s very kind of you,” he drawls, leaning a hip against the counter as he shoots Samantha that famous smile. One I’d love to wipe off his face with my fist. Instead, I turn on my heels. My heart thuds against my ribs as I wait for the elevator and he joins me, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. When the doors finally slide open, I practically leap inside, desperate to escape the lobby and Samantha’s hungry gaze.
In the mirrored elevator, I can’t help myself. “Wow, that was subtle. Does being Mr. March really work that well on everyone?”
Jake’s eyes meet mine in the reflection, dark and ominous. “Something you want to say about Samantha?”
“Just making an observation.” I arch my brow, channeling my best unaffected act.
“Sounds like jealousy to me.” His voice has that gravelly quality that always makes my stomach flip.
I scoff, hoping he can’t hear how my pulse has kicked up a notch. “Please. I’ve seen your charm routine plenty of times. I’m so immune I could teach a masterclass. Though the curriculum would mostly consist of remembering what an insufferable hero-complex you have.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” He turns to face me directly, inching closer. “You walk into any room, and every guy there notices. You could have your pick of them if you wanted.”
The words hit me like a blow to the abdomen. At auditions, I’m up against actual models, bombshells whose headshots make mine look like an awkward yearbook photo taken in a dimly lit school cafeteria. Hell, the casting agent on my last show told my agent I got the part thanks to the girl-next-door-vibes they were going for. So now, to hear this from Jake of all people makes my chest tight.
“I—” The elevator dings, cutting off whatever I was about to say. Which is probably for the best, since I have no idea what that would have been.
The hallway stretches before us, all elegant crown molding and low-lit sconces with plush carpet that muffles our footsteps. Jake glances at the room numbers as we walk.
“Well, would you look at that? We’re neighbors.” He gestures between our rooms with his keycard.
“Great.” I draw out the word and level him with a look, trying to stay on the offensive. “Just try to keep it down when you invite Samantha up. Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
His eyes darken, but before he can respond, I push open my door. The room is gorgeous, rustic yet well-appointed, with a view like a postcard. Except, right now, I can’t enjoy it because there, set into the wall like some sick cosmic joke, is a connecting door.
Our rooms have an adjoining door.
My stomach does a slow somersault as I realize Jake must be discovering the same thing on his side. Sure enough, his low chuckle drifts through the not-nearly-thick-enough wall between us.
“Hey, Harris,” he calls out, his voice closer than it should be. “If you need anything, I’m right here. Every night.”
I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door, cursing under my breath at the smug tone and the way he echoes Samantha’s offer, as if to rub in the fact he’s basically man candy. “That door stays locked, Maddingly.”
“Wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise.” His casual tone holds a hint of challenge that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Though, I suppose if you ever need rescuing…”
“I can survive a luxury resort without your heroics, remember?”
“I don’t doubt it.” The words are soft, almost too quiet to hear, but they send a shiver down my spine.
Instead of responding, I head into the bathroom and crank up the shower as hot as it will go, hoping the steam will clear my head. It’s only when I spot my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and I realize I’m still wearing Jake’s jacket, that I do a doubletake. I should march right over and return it. But the smirk he’d wear if I brought it back now, along with another comment about how I could have just knocked on the connecting door, would be unbearable. Instead, I slip it off and toss it on the bed. I can give it back to him later.