Melody Anne - Baby, It’s Cold Outside

The kid next to him starts to speak, but Mr. Hottie holds up a hand, stopping him. He nods and the kid leaves us alone.

“Why do you say that, darling?”

Holy Jesus on a stick, the man has a British accent.

And cue the wet panties.

“I’m a bit of a klutz.” I cringe and pull my hand out of his grasp. “But my friends are making me learn to ski. I’m your two o’clock.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Grace. I’m Bax.”

“Bax?” I ask with a frown. “Did your mother not like you or something?”

Bax laughs, showing off a gorgeous smile, with one tooth just barely crooked in the front. His chin is covered in stubble, and I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching up and plunging my fingers in that thick blond hair that I can now see has flecks of gold and copper running through it.

“It’s short for Baxter, which is my last name.”

“Well, that’s nice, but we’re not sixteen. What’s your first name?”

He cocks a brow and tilts his head, watching me closely and then says softly, “Jacob.”

“Much better,” I reply with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Jacob while we work together?”

“No, darling, I don’t mind.”

If he keeps calling me “darling” in that accent, I might jump him in the snow.

“Okay, well, I’m ready when you are.”

“You look like you’re walking out before the firing squad,” he laughs as he shrugs into his coat.

“I feel like it.”

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t let you get hurt.”

He opens the door and ushers me out ahead of him.

“First, we need to walk over to the rental shop to get you some boots, skis, and poles.”

“I’m glad I get poles,” I say with a laugh. “Balance isn’t my strong suit.”

He chuckles, and as I look up at him, my foot slips on a patch of ice and down I go, whoomp, flat on my ass.

And so it begins.

Jacob squats next to me and takes my hand in his, helping me to my feet.

“I warned you.” I laugh. “You might want to just go ahead and put the paramedics on standby. My ass likes the ground more than my feet.”

He whispers something under his breath about my ass, but before I can ask him to repeat it, he says, “I’ve never met someone yet whom I couldn’t teach to ski.” He winks and keeps my hand tightly in his as he guides me into the rental shop. “Once you get the hang of it, you’ll love it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply with a smile. Jacob motions to the clerk behind the counter.

“Hey, Bax! What can I getcha?”

“What size shoe do you wear, love?”

“Eight,” I reply.

“She needs boots, skis, and poles, Evan,” Jacob tells him. “I’ll be her instructor today and tomorrow.”

Evan grins.

“Is that right?”

“Should I ask for a different instructor?” I ask and nudge Jacob’s arm with mine, teasing him.

“Nah, Bax’s as good as it gets.” Evan slides boots over and Jacob lifts them easily.

“Can you grab my stuff for me from the back?” Jacob asks Evan.

“Sure thing.”

When Evan leaves to fetch Jacob’s gear, Jacob leads me to a bench where he helps me wriggle my way into the boots and fastens them.

“They’re going to feel tight, but that’s okay. We don’t want you slipping around in there. That’s how ankles get broken.”

“Thank God for protecting my ankles.”

Jacob chuckles and supports my calf in his hand as he guides the other foot into the boot. His grasp is firm, warm, and sends electricity through me.

I wonder what it would feel like if he touched my bare skin?

Hmm . . . a naked Jacob. It’s not a bad thought in the least.

I lick my bottom lip, watching his mouth move as he tells me about bindings and wax and things that I just don’t understand or, frankly, give two shits about.

“Understand?”

“Sure.”

“Did you even hear what I was saying?”

“Sure,” I say again.

“What did I say?”

I frown and watch his deep green eyes as they smile down at me.

“You said something about bondage and hot wax.” I bite my lips to keep from grinning as he tosses his head back and lets out a full belly laugh.

“Not exactly.”

“My apologies.” My voice doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. I haven’t flirted this openly in a long, long time, and it’s damn fun. Jacob is a hottie, and there’s no ring on his finger, so why not?

Maybe a fling with a ski instructor isn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Come on, Grace, let’s get you on the snow.”

“This is the part that scares me.” Suddenly, the flirty is gone and is replaced by gargantuan butterflies and dread.

“Hey,” he says and cups my chin in his hand, making me meet his gaze. The zing from his touch travels down my breasts, my spine, and directly to my core, and I suck in a breath and feel my eyes go wide. “I promise. I’ll take care of you, darling.”

“Okay,” I whisper and discreetly fan myself as he stands and turns his back to me, slipping his feet into his own boots, but I notice they aren’t ski boots.

“Why do I feel like I have a storm trooper’s boots on?” I ask as I follow him out of the rental shop and into the snow. Jacob has my skis balanced on his shoulder. I have a pole in each hand, stabbing the snow and ice as I walk beside him. “These poles are great. I should walk with them everywhere.”

“I can’t believe you’re that clumsy, Grace.”

“Oh, I am. Always have been. It’s not a big deal.” I shrug and take a deep breath of cold, fresh mountain air. “I think my parents named me Grace as a cruel joke. God, it’s beautiful up here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Cunningham Falls.”

His head whips around to stare down at me and his eyes narrow with renewed interest. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, my friends bought me these lessons as a gift.”

“Why would they buy you ski lessons if you have no interest in skiing?”

“Because we’re all taking a ski trip to Aspen in a few weeks for a girls’ weekend away, and they think I need a head start so I can flirt properly with the hot Aspen ski instructors without needing medical attention.”

“So you’re all going to hit on ski bums?”

“No.” I wave him off and laugh. “Cara and Lauren just got engaged, so it’s really a bachelorette weekend. I probably won’t actually hit on anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Why aren’t you wearing ski boots?” I ask instead of answering him.

“Answer the question.”

“You answer mine.” I stop walking and throw him a mock glare, making him grin.

“I can’t be on skis if you’re on skis and need me to help you. I’ll be on skis with you tomorrow.”

“How long have you been doing this?” And really, how well can this pay? Jacob looks to be in his thirties. Is this his career?

“You answer my question first.”

“I don’t even remember what we were talking about,” I reply and begin to stomp away when he crowds me and tilts my chin back with his free hand.

“Don’t lie to me, love. That’s one thing I won’t have. There’s no need of it.”

“I’m not a good flirter,” I whisper and watch his breath come in and out in soft puffs.

“Could have fooled me,” he replies with a grin. He leans down and kisses my forehead, then quickly resumes walking to a wide, clear area.

“Where are we going?” I pick up the pace, my short legs in the heavy boots trying with all their might to keep up with his long strides.

“Over here.”

“The ski lifts are over there.”

“You’re not getting on a lift yet. Maybe a little later.”

“Well, this is boring.”

He sets my skis on the snow and motions for me to step into them. “Keep your balance with your poles and click your boots into the bindings. Good girl. See? You’re a natural already.”

“And you’re full of the blarney,” I reply in a horrible Irish accent.

“That’s Ireland, darling. I’m from London. Okay, first thing’s first.”

“You never answered my question,” I interrupt him.

“Which one is that?”

“How long have you been doing this?”

He props his hands on his hips and squints his eyes in thought. “I’ve been skiing since I was four, but teaching since I was sixteen, so I guess almost twenty years.”

“They have a ski hill in London?”

“There are many ski resorts in Europe, darling.”

I shrug and watch as he walks away from me, his ass looking spectacular in those black ski pants. God, what he must do to a pair of jeans.

Did I just growl? Shit, I hope not.

“Okay, first we’re going to start with the snowplow.”

“The plow hasn’t been through here?” I glance around, looking for a big tractor. “If you plow the snow away, what will we ski on?”

“No, darling,” he laughs, pinching his nose between his thumb and finger. “The snowplow is how you’re going to slow down or stop when you need to.”

“Oh, okay.” I keep a death grip on my poles, determined not to fall. “How do I do it?”

“You’re going to point your toes in.” He demonstrates and I follow suit.

“This will make me stop?” I ask with doubt lacing my voice.

“It will.”

“What next?”

“Put your poles up.”

“No, they’re helping me stay standing.”

“Grace, put your poles in front of you so I can pull you and you can snowplow for real.”

“I’m good where I am.”

“Grace.” His voice is firm but tender. “You won’t fall.”

I raise the poles and watch my feet.

“Head up. You have to watch where you’re going.”

“I’m not going anywhere right now.”

Jacob moves to me and tilts my head up. “You have to watch what’s around you when you ski. Your feet are fine. They’ll go where your toes are pointed.”

“Okay.”

He moves directly in front of me and grips the poles.

“Keep your skis parallel for now and in a moment, move into the snowplow to slow down.”

He walks backward, pulling me. My eyes widen and I let out a squeak, but amazingly, I stay upright.

“Beautiful, Grace.” He grins and watches my form. “Okay, point your toes.”

I follow his direction, and just like he said I would, I stop.

“It worked!”

“Of course it did. Okay, now we’re going to go over here where there’s a bit of a slope and you can try it for real.”

I nod and firm my chin. I can do this.

“After you loosen up,” he says. “You’re too stiff. If you do fall, you’ll get hurt. This is fun, darling. Keep your hips and arms loose.”

I take a deep breath and shake my arms and hips, and suddenly, my skis slip and I feel myself start to fall, but strong arms wrap around me, holding me up.

“Maybe not that loose, now,” he says with a laugh.

And for the next hour, he shows me how to walk sideways, stop, take the skis on and off, and all of the other simple things I’ll need to know.

“Okay, I think I’ve mastered this.” I sniff, my nose drippy from the cold air. “I love the cold.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it feels good to have cold cheeks and to breathe in the chilly air. I love living here.”

“Well, then, this sport is perfect for you.”

“You’re a good teacher, you know.”

He takes a glove off and pushes his hand through his hair and I suddenly ache to be the one to do that for him. The man has seriously touchable hair. “Of course, it takes one to know one.”

“You’re a teacher, are you?”

“Aye, I am,” I reply in a horrible Scottish brogue.

“I’m not from Scotland, love.” His green eyes dance with laughter as he shakes his head at me. “What do you teach?”

“I’ve taught fourth grade for close to six years.”

“Did you skip school today to hang out with me?” He helps me snap off the skis and leads me to the chairlift.

“No, I had meetings this morning, and the rest of the day off. Are we going up the chairlift now?”

“Yes, but just the bunny hill today, I’m afraid.”

“I’m okay with the bunny hill. I work with ten-year-olds every day, so I’ll be among my people.” He helps me get situated on the lift. “How did you choose this for a career?”

He frowns, and looks like he’s about to admit something to me, but he shakes his head and says, “I have always loved the snow. My family took many winter holidays and those were always my favorites.”