Page 5 of Ice To Meet You

I stared at him, feeling like an idiot, my blood humming in my ears. He reached up to the top of his helmet and wiggled his index fingers in the air, as if mimicking a bug. He was laughing at me, but somehow, I didn’t mind."

I giggled, and when he sent me the cheekiest lopsided grin in recorded history, my heart melted right on the spot.

This man was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. He looked like he’d done something naughty and wasn’t sorry in the least. His teeth sparkled against his olive skin, and his square, scruff-covered jaw was sharp enough to perform precision surgery. His eyelashes were thick and long, and the creases at the corners of his eyes hinted at countless smiles past.

If he was what the average Italian safety inspector looked like, sign me up for an equipment failure.

I glanced around, checking for a fairy godmother or, at the very least, a genie. Hadn’t I just wished for a snowy saviour with a screwdriver? Although screwdriver-free, this man had arms big enough to handle apiledriver and he smelled amazing. Warm and woody. Pine and … “Apple?”

I whispered it aloud; too loud, apparently, because the man cocked his head to the side.

“Come?” His brow creased slightly as he swept his eyes over my face. “Sta bene?”

His thick accent swept over me and I tried to respond, but only noises came out. “Um … uh.” My cheeks heated. Where was my basic Italian when I needed it? I’d spent an hour on the plane polishing my rusty skills on Duolingo.

“Englese?” he asked.

I shook my head, literally at a loss. Why couldn’t I speak? Say something witty? Anything. This man practically saved my life. Remaining silent was just rude.

“Non.”

At my pathetic response, his grin spread wider. “Ah, Francese.”

The way he said the word, curling it around on his tongue, made it sound almost improper. Sensual.

“Oui.”

“I love the pink ski gear,” he said, a slight tremble at the corner of his lips.

He spoke French? The Romanos had spoken French with me, too. I blinked. Every single person I’d met today spoke my language flawlessly. Meanwhile, I was out here butcheringbongiornolike it owed me money.

He swept his dark eyes over my clothes and the heat in my cheeks grew into a raging fire. “These aren’t mine. I borrowed them.”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Sure. I believe you.”

Something fizzed in my chest, and I narrowed my eyes. Fashion humiliation wasn’t on my weekend bucket list either.

“You speak French?”

He nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time in France.”

Now, it was my turn to sweep my gaze overhim. Based on his looks and confidence, he’d probably had his fair share of French women, too

Straightening in the seat, I offered him a small smile. “I appreciate the help in the queue. I wasn’t planning on skiing, and this hired equipment seems substandard.” To make my point, I extended the foot of my broken ski, wiggling it left and right.

The man hovered a hand over my thigh. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your binding looks loose. It’s only a quick ride to the next lift station. There’ll be someone there who can tighten it before you head further up the mountain.”

I bit the inside of my lip. Should I feel this deflated our ride together would only be short? Probably not. But as he checked his fancy watch, I couldn’t tear my gaze from his sleek, aquiline profile.

“We should be at the first run in about three minutes,” he said. “Meanwhile, sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

“I am,” I murmured, on autopilot.

His eyes found mine like a heat-seeking missile. Under the assault of his gaze, I executed evasive manoeuvres, staring ahead, looking up at the mountain.

And it was at that moment I remembered. I was dangling twenty meters above the ground on what could pass as a park bench. Although the man next to me was handsome and chivalrous, even I had my limits.

My stomach performed a full one-eighty, and I gripped the safety bar with both hands. “Oh lord,” I muttered, closing my eyes.

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