in his winter-white hair, the thinning of his face. Heavy lines bracket milky blue eyes that have dulled with age as he turns his gaze back to the Polaroid. Christ, I don’t want to burst his bubble, but no way can I let him sign over his life’s work. I’m not just his grandson, I’m his power of attorney, in charge of his affairs and sworn to keep his best interests at heart.
“When can I meet her?” I ask.
His head lifts, and for a brief second I catch a sparkle of something in his eyes—a reminder of the youthful man who was as sly as he was strong. He briefly shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, the sparkle is gone. His face pulls into a sad grimace when he says, “She’s on vacation, in St. Moritz. Won’t be back for a week.”
Of course she’s on vacation in St. Moritz. Why wouldn’t she be, considering Granddad owns numerous hotels and chalets in the Alpine resort town? I spent a lot of days on the slopes during my school breaks and holidays, and a lot of nights working the bar. Like I said, Granddad wanted me to understand the value of hard work.
“Is she staying in one of your hotels?” I ask, holding no punches.
“Enough with the questions, son.” He climbs to his feet to refill his glass, but his nonanswer says it all. She’s staying in one of his hotels, and he likely footed the bill for the whole trip.
I dig my phone from my front pocket and do a quick search for Summer Love. I scan all the social media sites and come up with nothing. How can a woman in her late twenties have zero online presence? I’m on Instagram and Twitter, even though I rarely post, but I at least have an account. She has nothing. I guess she’s smart enough not to leave a trail behind after she cons people out of their money.
Agitated, I push from the bookshelf and pace. This. This is the reason I don’t get emotionally involved with women. Between my father, and my grandfather, I’ve seen enough “aunts” come and go over the years to realize it’s not the men themselves these women want. It’s what they have in their bank account. My own mother was no different.
Christ, is there not one decent woman left in the world, one who cares about love, life and people over money? If she’s out there, she’s certainly not traveling in any of my social circles. Not that I’m looking to settle down. I prefer a revolving door, sex for sex and no commitment. Those are the rules I live by, rules that protect me. But right now I have much more important things on my plate. Things like worrying about my grandfather’s state of mental health and exposing Summer Love for the fraud she really is. I will not stand back and let her cheat my family out of millions.
“How long will it take for you to draw the papers up?” Granddad asks, settling himself back into his leather chair, that hint of a spark back in his eyes. “I want to surprise her when she returns.”
I scrub my chin, a stall tactic as my mind races, a plan forming in the depths of my brain. I lift my eyes to his as the idea takes shape, becomes lucid. It might be ludicrous, but extreme situations call for extreme measure. “It will take about a week,” I inform him. Just enough time for me to go to St. Moritz, seduce Summer Love and take her to her knees.
Summer
“HERE GOES NOTHING,” I say, unable to hide the nervous edge in my voice as I look at the towering ski hill and wonder how I’ll get down it without breaking my damn neck.
“It’s just the bunny hill,” Amber says, as she tugs at her glove with her teeth, adjusting it around the cuff of her coat. “You’ll be fine. You did great during the lessons.” She nudges me to set me into motion, and I nearly tip over in my sturdy ski boots. Oh yeah, hurtling down the mountain on two waxed-up sheets of plastic is going to be so much fun, especially when I can’t even stand in my damn boots. Amber points to the ground. “Now get those skis on so we can catch up to Cara.”
I glance up to see Cara skiing toward the gondola, and resist the urge to throw my pole at her as she effortlessly glides across the snow. I love my girlfriends, I really do. They both grew up in the Hamptons and were best friends when I met them at Harvard. They brought me into their small circle when I arrived alone and nervous my freshman year—my first time being away from my father, and our Brooklyn apartment—and we’ve all been tight ever since. I’d do anything for them, which is why I’m currently standing at the foot of a very big ski hill in St. Moritz, one tumble away from concussion...or worse.
I glance around at all the other mountains. “Can we go tobogganing instead?”
“No,” Amber says, then slips her booted feet into her skis and snaps them in place.
“Why did I let you two talk me into this when I could be relaxing on a Caribbean beach?” I mumble as my breath turns to fog in front of my face.
Amber laughs. “Because our entire trip here was free.” She winks at me. “Compliments of your boyfriend.”
“James is not my boyfriend,” I say, and plant one hand on my hip, even though I know she’s teasing. It’s just that James is generous, and exceptionally good to me, always trying to lavish me with gifts and trips to show his gratitude for my care. Odd really, considering he’d gone through a slew of doctors, firing them for one reason or another. He took an instant liking to me, but I flatly refused this trip when he suggested it. My God, I still have so much to do to build my practice, and my new website was recently hacked. I cringe to think of the picture on display, that of my face sitting on top of a fake—naked—body. How mortifying. Thankfully Dan, the guy I hired to fix it, was able to wipe all the info from my site until he can get the picture down, so future clients won’t associate me with it. I should be home dealing with all those things. Then again, I can answer Dan’s questions from here as easily as I can from New York. So when James pushed, and pushed—even at ninety, the man is damn stubborn, his mind still sharp as a scalpel—and the girls begged me to say yes to this trip of a lifetime, I finally caved. I’ve been under so much stress lately—trying to build my practice, working part-time at the geriatric clinic and taking on private patient care for the extra money—that getting away was just what the doctor ordered, and since I’m the doctor...
“He’s my patient,” I say and stop to consider his ill health. I hated to leave him, especially after his last bout of pneumonia, but he assured me his grandson James was moving back home and would be there to care for him in my absence. Still, I asked a colleague to check in on him once a day.
“I know, I know, now come on. Let’s go pop your cherry. Like sex, skiing is fun once you get used to it.” Laughing, she takes off toward Cara, who is waving us over from the gondola line. I glance over my shoulder and consider sneaking back to the lounge. It’s only ten in the morning, but hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right? I exhale a defeated sigh, about to join my friends for my death ride, but stop when out of my peripheral vision I catch a movement, the shadow of a man running toward me. Catching me completely off guard, he grabs me from behind, and lifts me clear off the ground.
“Ohmigod,” I cry out as strong arms tighten around my waist, practically squeezing the air from my lungs. “What do you...” My words die an abrupt death when he spins me around, going faster and faster until I’m dizzy and completely disoriented. My brain wobbles inside my head, and I briefly close my eyes as he laughs, his breath warming the side of my face.
“About time you got here,” he says.
What the hell?
When he finally stops twirling me, and my feet are on solid ground again, I slowly turn around, my breath catching in my throat when I come face-to-face with the hottest guy I’ve ever set eyes on.
“I...um...think...”
I struggle to find my words when he steps back, and blinks thick lashes over gorgeous blue eyes that could melt the panties right off my hips, despite the cold temperatures here in the Swiss Alps.
“You’re not—” he begins,