but since then, she’d started to think maybe a change of scenery would do her good. Maybe getting away from Beck’s gravitational pull would help her heal.
“I haven’t decided about that job yet. I’ve got time. They don’t need the position filled until after the New Year.”
“Don’t let him scare you off,” Mira added.
“I’m not scared,” she hedged. She wasn’t frightened of Beck, exactly. It was more the case that she was scared of herself around him. Of what she might do. Of how she might feel. She hated that, even now, her body responded to the fact that he was in the same room, breathing the same air. As she watched his big shoulders part the crowd, her stomach instantly wound itself into a Gordian knot. Despite the fact that a throng of people blocked him from her, she could still track almost every movement he made, no matter how small. She hated that her whole body seemed tuned to his frequency, a channel she couldn’t seem to change no matter how hard she tried.
Remember what it was like, she told herself, waiting for him to call the morning after. And then the week after, and then the month after. Remember the stupid messages she left, the rambling ones, trying to be cool, but failing miserably. Remember how she spent hours combing over every delicious position she’d shared with him in bed, and then worried that, somehow, she’d come up lacking. And then pretending none of it mattered at all, when, truly, she was horribly heartbroken. Knowing it was all her fault. She knew what Beck was. Local ski and sex god. Gods didn’t wind up with mere mortals like her.
“I just don’t want the hassle.” Allie wished she could be one of those immensely mature adults, the ones who could stay friends with hookups or exes, but Liam wasn’t the kind of man any woman could just be friends with. He exuded pure sexual energy. There literally was no friend zone with him and that was his whole problem. Even when they were “just” friends, she’d harbored a secret crush on the man. She saw, from the corner of her eye, that he’d been cornered by Channing. Good. Let Channing realize she was playing a dangerous game with a man who lived his life with no rules at all. Despite Allie’s better instincts, curiosity got the better of her and she found herself turning toward the couple, and staring directly into Liam’s ice-blue eyes.
Dammit.
Now he’d seen her.
A slow smile crossed his face, amused and almost a little…dangerous. The man knew his own power, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.
Look away, Allie, for God’s sake. But then she glanced away too quickly, like a rabbit who’d locked eyes with a wolf. Now he’d know he rattled her. She fiddled with the frames of her new glasses, self-conscious.
“Brace yourself. He’s coming over here,” Mira warned as she sipped at her glass of white wine.
“God, no.” The last person on earth she wanted to talk to was Liam Beck. Yet her body vibrated with the excitement of doing just that. Her body, ever her mind’s betrayer. They had never been on the same page as far as Beck was concerned, and might never be.
“Al?” he said, and she felt his baritone in the pit of her stomach, a vibration that tingled all the way down to the crease between her legs. She almost flinched a bit at the sound of her nickname. He’d called her that warmly when they’d been friends, but it took on a new meaning when he’d whispered it in her ear that weekend they’d spent together, naked on the floor of his wood lodge, tangled up on the bearskin rug, the thick wool throw on top of them. The memory of his taut skin against hers, his strong hands on her body, made heat flush her cheeks.
“Get lost, Beck.” Mira narrowed her eyes at him, flicking her black hair over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Allie cringed. Mira’s full-throated defense made her sound like she cared. She didn’t. Not in the least. Her body might, but she told herself that was just pure animal instinct. Lust, really. What straight woman didn’t lust after Liam Beck? But human beings were made of higher stuff than just base instinct, thankfully. Allie shot her friend a glance, but Mira was focused on Beck, her head tilted up, her shoulders squared. Not that the five-foot-three, part-Asian former marathon runner could do much against him, but the warning look in her eyes told Allie she’d try if she needed to.
“Is that so?” A grin split Beck’s face, as if he was mulling over a joke at her expense. He probably was. Could he see the blush? Would he know he caused it? Of course he would. He thought everything was about him. She glanced upward at his perfectly chiseled features, reminded again that he was one of the few men so much taller than her. At five-ten, she never felt tiny. Except around Beck.
“I don’t really care, actually.” Allie congratulated herself on sounding pretty even-keeled. Bored, even. She sipped her drink and deliberately looked away from Beck, using all of her willpower to drag her attention away from those powerful blue eyes. She could still feel him studying her, the attention feeling like the heat of the summer sun on her face. What did he think of her hair? Worn up in a loose, messy bun? Or her new glasses? Did he notice that she’d lost ten pounds since that ominous weekend? She knew it was silly to be so affected by two days at a lodge, but there it was. After Beck cut her from his life, Allie had trouble choking down food. She had trouble sleeping. She had trouble doing everything. But day by day, week by week, she’d gotten better.
“New glasses?” he asked her. He’d noticed. That was something.
“Yeah,” she said and nodded.
“I like them.” She beamed in the compliment and then mentally berated herself. Why did she care if he liked her glasses? His gaze flicked downward, slowly, taking in her tight cashmere sweater and skinny jeans, paired with a sky-high pair of stiletto boots. Impractical for the Aspen weather, but necessary for navigating the single scene. “You look…thin, Al.”
She heard the note of concern in his voice. As if he had a right to be concerned. Aspen was a small place, and so avoiding her for the last two months took some doing. He’d been almost surgical in his precision. So it was clear that he’d done it on purpose. So why did he care how she was now? She glanced up at him and wished she hadn’t. A little worry line etched his forehead, marring his otherwise perfect skin. He almost looked as if he truly cared. That, she knew, would be her undoing. “You doing okay?”
The air felt suddenly thin then, and she knew it had nothing to do with the altitude, even though they were perched probably somewhere around 8,000 feet high in the Rocky Mountains. She’d lived in Aspen for years, and the altitude never got to her. Her sudden light-headedness had everything to do with Beck.
“Al?” he prodded, and Allie realized she’d not answered his question. She was busy just staring at him like a fool. Her baser instincts had taken over, clearly, her body in control. But her brain wasn’t going to tolerate it for long. It hummed the truth: it was none of his damn business how she was doing. He hadn’t cared two months ago, so why should he now? He was the one who’d run away. She wanted to ask why, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“I’m fine.” There was an edge to her voice, one she hadn’t intended. Unable to handle the weight of his gaze any longer, she looked away. She tried to find something—someone—more interesting at the bar but failed. Even the moderately cute-ish bartender with the floppy brown hair and the lopsided grin who kept sending looks her way suddenly paled in comparison to Beck. His massive shoulders, the easy way he held the beer he was drinking, the bottle looking small in his huge hands, like a doll’s plaything. She looked at the bartender, even though all of her other senses were completely focused on Beck, standing less than two feet from her. She could almost feel his body heat through the T-shirt he wore beneath his worn leather bomber jacket. His defined pecs begging to be stroked beneath the thin cotton fabric. Why did he have to look so damn…delectable? She suddenly hated Beck and his stupid muscles and the caring look on his face. His just-rolled-out-of-some-model’s-bed sex appeal. Remember, he probably did. That musky, manly scent coming from him was probably just stale sex.
The thought jolted her to the present. He was a walking rabbit hole. One step too close and she’d