2. Cici #3
The first sip was cold and crisp. Outside, snow battered the windows. Inside, the fire snapped quietly and painted warm light over the sharp lines of Todd’s face.
We sat on opposite ends of the couch at first.
Very mature.
Very reasonable.
Very temporary.
“You always this calm?” I asked.
“No.”
“That is the first dishonest thing you have said all night.”
He looked into his glass. “You think I’m calm?”
“I think you look like a man who could negotiate with a hostage taker and still remember to tip the valet.”
His gaze flicked to mine. “That’s specific.”
“You have a specific energy.”
“What kind of energy do you have?”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Currently? A woman who drank Prosecco, ate stolen fries, and made questionable elevator choices.”
His smile came slowly. “Questionable?”
“The night is still young.”
“That sounds like cautious optimism.”
“It sounds like self-preservation.”
He leaned back, one arm stretching along the back of the couch. He did not touch me, but his hand was close enough that I noticed every inch between us.
“What are you preserving yourself from?” he asked.
Men like you, I thought.
Out loud, I said, “Bad decisions.”
“Am I one?”
I should have said yes.
I should have said absolutely.
I should have finished my champagne, thanked him for dinner, and gone back to my room like a woman with sense.
Instead, I studied him.
The strong jaw. The mouth that rarely gave too much away. The light brown eyes that seemed to catch details I wanted hidden.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said.
His gaze dropped to my lips, then returned to my eyes.
That tiny movement changed the whole room.
Nothing happened.
Not really.
He did not move closer. I did not set down my glass. The fire kept burning. The storm kept raging. Somewhere below us, stranded travelers kept complaining about flights that would not leave until the sky allowed it.
But the space between us altered.
It became charged.
Aware.
Alive.
Todd set his champagne on the table.
My eyes tracked the movement.
His hand was large. Capable. In a way that annoyed me because I did not want to find his hands interesting.
Then I looked up and found him watching me watching him.
Caught.
Heat climbed my neck.
He did not smile.
That was worse too.
A smiling man gave you room to pretend. Todd did not.
He just looked at me like he knew the exact second my thoughts had become inappropriate and had no intention of rescuing me from them.
I placed my glass beside his.
The small clink sounded loud.
“This is a bad idea,” I said.
“Probably.”
“You are supposed to disagree.”
“I could.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because you would know I was lying.”
My laugh came out softer than I intended. “You are very annoying.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I bet you have.”
His mouth curved, as if remembering.
I shifted toward him before I could talk myself out of it. “You are not going to tell me anything about yourself, are you?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because tonight doesn’t need that.”
I should have disliked that answer.
I did not.
Maybe because I understood it.
I did not want his résumé. I did not want his history. I did not want the weight of real life pressing in from every side.
I wanted this.
A storm outside.
Champagne neither of us needed.
A man I would never have to see again after Aspen.
A man who had no reason to know my secrets.
Todd’s voice dropped. “You are thinking too hard.”
“I tend to do that.”
“About everything?”
“Mostly about men who invite me upstairs for champagne.”
“I asked for an hour.”
“And look how that turned out.”
He glanced at the bottle, then back at me. “We still have time.”
My stomach dipped.
His hand moved slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. His fingers brushed a strand of hair back from my cheek. Lightly. Barely there.
I stopped breathing anyway.
“You have freckles,” he said.
I blinked. “That’s your line?”
“It was an observation.”
“It sounded like a line.”
“If it were a line, I would have made it better.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
I laughed, and the tension broke just enough for both of us to breathe.
Then it came back stronger.
His fingers were still near my cheek. His gaze moved over my face, and the humor faded into something quieter. Something steadier.
I knew that look.
I also knew I should run from it.
Instead, I leaned in.
Just a little.
Todd met me halfway.
His mouth touched mine with a restraint that lasted less than one heartbeat.
Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and the kiss changed.
It deepened.
I made a small sound I would deny under oath, and he answered by pulling me closer until my knee pressed into the couch between us and my hand landed against his chest.
Solid.
Hot.
Real.
So much for one hour.
Todd broke the kiss first, but he did not let me go. His forehead rested near mine, his breathing rougher than before.
“Cici,” he said.
Just my name.
Nothing else.
It sounded like a warning.
It sounded like a choice.
I should have chosen my room. My common sense. My carefully ordered life.
Instead, I curled my fingers into his shirt and kissed him again.
Because the sky was closed.
The night was ours.
And whatever happened next could stay in Aspen.