Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Then, the weather changes.
One minute, the sun is shining, and the next, the sky is a seething mass of dark, angry clouds. Visibility drops drastically. So does the temperature when the sun disappears, and my heart plummets with it. Oh, this could be bad.
"Stay close!" Adam yells over the wind, his voice barely audible. He jumps over a ridge, taking some air, speeds around a bend, and disappears from my view. I follow, struggling to keep up with my basic wedge turns.
But it's too late. A sudden gust of wind catches me off guard, sending me tumbling sideways. I lose my balance, my skis cross, and I go down. Hard. Head first. I slide, out of control, my world a blur of white. Finally I come to a stop in a deep drift of powder snow, off-trail and alone.
I'm disoriented; my head spins. My vision dark despite the gleam of whiteness surrounding me. I try to sit up, spit snow from my mouth. Then, I feel it. A sharp pain shoots through my ankle, and I yelp. I’m not too cold yet, but the fall has dislodged one of my gloves and both of my skis, and I can feel the snow quickly seeping in. My ski poles are, simply, gone.
Panic is waiting on the edge of my thoughts, waiting for me to let it in, but I push it away, pulling my glove back on and feeling around the snow drift for my skis. I grab one, pulling it close, swallowing down the sob that threatens to escape.
And then, through the blinding snow, I see a figure. A dark figure is moving towards me, digging his ski poles into the snow and moving uphill. Oh god, last thing I need right now is ‘the Abominable Snowman’.
It should be impossible, but it’s not…because it's Adam, and I’m rapidly coming to learn nothing is impossible for him.
He reaches me, the lower half of his face covered to protect against the snow, but his eyes blazing with concern. "Elowen," he yells above the wind. “Are you okay?”
"I... I think my ankle is twisted," I manage, my teeth starting to chatter.
He doesn't hesitate, working silently, having already made a plan as soon as I’d gotten the words out. In minutes, he’s found my missing ski and one of my poles, and he helps me clip the skis back onto my boots. Then he helps me to stand, cursing when I cry out from the pain, but we both sag from relief when I manage to keep my feet and shuffle the skis in the snow a little. Nothing is broken. Just really, really sore.
Adam produces a length of nylon rope from somewhere on his person, and then he’s tying us together. It’s awkward with just three poles and one of my legs at half capacity, but we make it down the mountain at a snail's pace. At a few points I dramatically tell him to leave me to die, but he huffily reminds me that we’re at a ski resort, and help would come eventually. It just so happens that Adam Valmonte is faster than the rescue service, and by the time the bright red of their uniforms comes into view, we’ve almost made it back.
The resort’s rescue team bundles me in a shiny blanket and shoves a warm drink into my hands, insisting I sit on a sled to be dragged the last few meters down. By the time we reenter the resort, I’m shivering hard, and Adam all but carries me inside.
After I promise him that my ankle is just sore and not truly twisted, Adam bypasses the medical center, the lobby, and, to my surprise, the elevator that leads to my floor. He takes a private elevator, one that leads to the penthouse suite, and the surprise cuts through the exhaustion.
“Uh?” I ask.
All I get back is, “Shh.”’
The penthouse, as expected, is enormous and mind-boggling in how luxurious everything is. My own suite is incredible, but Adam’s makes mine look like a truckstop motel room. I’m pretty sure this place could host royalty.
He leads me into a stunning bathroom, steam billowing from a large, sunken stone tub. I recall him speaking to staff on his phone before we were even back inside, and it hits me that he must have requested this to be ready for us.
For us. A bath. Oh…shit.
Instantly I shrug out from under his arm, biting the inside of my mouth so I don’t make any sound when I put too much weight on my sore ankle. I take a few steps back, out of the bathroom, breathing so fast that it’s hard to speak.
“Adam, what is going on here?”
"You need to get warm," he says as if it’s the most obvious thing on earth. And, to be fair, it probably is, but…Startled, I respond somewhat unromantically.