On His Knees. Cathryn Fox
his lips, showcasing perfect white teeth as he grabs a fistful of hair, and takes another measured step back to give me space. My gaze slides downward, lingering over broad shoulders that fill out his ski jacket nicely, to jeans that cradle his package to perfection. I study the curved outline of an impressive bulge. I’ve not been with many men, but my guess is this guy won the man lottery in more ways than one.
Stop staring at his crotch, already.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. My gaze jerks back to his as he holds his hands up, palms out, a nonverbal gesture that communicates his mistake. “I thought you were someone else.”
Still wobbly from the spin, I widen my feet to brace myself, and reach for something to hold on to before I face plant in the snow—in front of the hottest guy on the planet. I stumble a bit, and once again his arms are around me, invading my personal space and securing me to his firm body. Only this time we’re face-to-face. And oh, what an incredible face he has.
I lift my chin until we’re eye to eye. Damn I wish I was the someone he was looking for. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I say, surprised I can form a coherent thought as my lust-hazed mind struggles to work.
“Who says I’m disappointed?” he asks, his rich, low baritone curling through my body and arousing all my neglected girly parts. I take him in, my shaky gaze going from unruly dark hair that I want to run my fingers through, to a sculpted jaw covered in a light dusting of stubble—stubble that would leave burn marks on my naked body, if I ever found myself beneath him in bed.
And oh, how I want to.
His grin is back, doing the most ridiculous things to the needy juncture between my legs, when he says, “I’m Tate, by the way.”
Tate. The perfect name for the epitome of male perfection. As I think about that, wind gusts around us, blowing my hair across my face. I catch a few strands in my mouth. I sputter a bit, and swat at them with gloved fingers. How attractive must that look to him? Ugh.
He holds his hand up again and cocks his head. “Mind if I...”
Our gazes latch, hold, and the air around us charges with enough electricity to keep the gondolas running in a black out—for a month straight. I take a breath, work to keep it together, but everything about this man reminds me I’m a woman with needs, which shatters my ability to present composed.
“Please,” I say quietly. He pauses for a split second, like that one word means something entirely different, then he’s back in the moment, his rough fingertips brushing my cheek, lingering a second too long, before he pulls the strands free and tucks them into my hat.
Come on, knees. Keep it together. Just because six feet of sex-in-ski-jacket is touching you, doesn’t mean you have to weaken.
“I... I’m...”
Okay, Summer. You’re a Harvard educated physician. Find your words, already.
He angles his head, those astute blue eyes moving over my face, assessing me, as my body flushes. Heat curls through me and climbs up my neck. No doubt turning my cheeks a darker shade of pink. Will he think my flesh is wind-burnt, or will he realize it’s my body’s way of telling me it needs to get laid? Right now. By him.
I inhale, and little lightning bolts of electricity zing though my body when I catch his scent. Sun. Outdoors. One hundred percent hot male. Every bone in my body wants him. I honestly can’t ever remember reacting so strongly to the opposite sex before, but this guy, holy hell, he has me rethinking my stance on one-night stands. Or maybe one-week stands. Something tells me one night wouldn’t be enough to sample everything he has to offer. My mind races, the vision of him warming my currently chilled body beneath the sheets stirs the desire within me. I hadn’t planned to have a vacation fling when I arrived here two days ago, but now...
“Summer,” I say on a breathless whisper.
Tate frowns, and glances at the snow-covered hill. Then he turns back to me and gives me a look that suggests I’m a snow bunny with little going on upstairs. “Could have fooled me.”
“No,” I say. “That’s my name.” I don’t bother telling him my last name. While on vacation, I just want to be Summer, not Doctor Love. Ironic really, since Doctor Love can’t find love. But seriously, when guys find out I’m a doctor, it somehow intimidates them, scares them off. Just once in my life I want a guy to look at me as a woman—the way Tate is looking at me right now. Although there is something about him, something confident and powerful that says he wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone or anything. A fine shiver moves through my blood and settles deep in my core at that thought.
He takes my gloved hand in his bare one, and shakes it. “I know it’s probably a little late for a proper introduction,” he says, that sexy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth again.
I lift my chin. “You mean because of the groping?”
He laughs, and the sound awakens all my dormant parts. “I’m not sure I’d call it groping.”
“Then what would you call it?” I ask, surprised at my flirting. I was never very good at it.
He looks up to the left, like he’s thinking, then gives me a wink. “Maybe copping a feel?”
This time I laugh, but then I mentally kick myself for missing my chance to cop my own feel when he had his arms around me.
“I really am sorry.” He frowns. “I shouldn’t have touched you.” The sincerity edging his voice relaxes me.
“Don’t worry.” I give a wave of my hand to dismiss the incident. “I’m not going to report you.” Not only because it was an honest mistake, but because I damn well liked it.
He blows out a relieved breath. “Good. I need this job.” He lets go of my hand, and it falls to my side.
I glance at him again, admire his too longish hair, and athletic frame. “Ski instructor?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I would have thought...” My words fall off as I let my gaze travel the length of his long, hard body. What would it feel like to have all two hundred pounds of him on top of me, or better yet, beneath me?
“Would have thought what?” he asks, his voice snapping me back to the present. God, girl, get it together. You’re acting like a sex-starved idiot. While that description might be fitting after meeting Tate, I certainly don’t have to act it.
“You’re just so fit and athletic.” Head tilted, I hold my hand out, wave it down the length of him. “I mean you look like a professional. Not that I know what a professional skier looks like,” I say. “This is my first time on a slope.” I glance toward the bunny hill, catch sight off all the children conquering it. “Those kids are going to put me to shame. Honestly, I don’t even really like heights. Couldn’t even look out the window during the plane ride.”
Okay, Summer, stop rambling.
“You’ve never skied before?”
I shake my head. “You seem surprised.”
“It’s just that...” His eyes narrow as they move down my body, a slow inspection that sparks something low and needy in my stomach. “You’re so fit and—”
“You can’t tell that,” I blurt out, and glance at my puffy white coat and snow pants. “I look like a big marshmallow.”
He grins, takes a small step closer, his scent once again surrounding me as blue eyes lance mine. “I love marshmallows.”
Omg, he’s flirting with me, too.
“And I would have thought you were a ripper, given your top-of-the-line gear,” he says.
“Ripper?”
“Ski slang for an accomplished skier.” He nods toward my clothes. “You’re dressed