Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 6

6

Isla

“ I t’s really not okay, Isla,” Laura said sternly.

“You sound like a second-grade teacher,” Isla told her best friend, who taught that grade at a posh international school in Brussels.

“Fancy that,” Laura replied. “I’m being serious. Nobody can work all day, every day.”

New business owners can . But she knew better than to say that to Laura. It wouldn’t shut her friend up, and she’d end up worrying about Isla’s ability to keep a roof over herself. Which wasn’t her intention.

“ You need to see people, Isla,” Laura insisted.

“And when you say people , you mean men .”

“Of course I mean men! You need to get back on the horse, so to speak. I don’t need to hear all the details. But you can’t let one bad apple?—“

“Roland wasn’t a bad apple.”

“Anybody who sleeps with one of your friends is a rotten apple, sweetie.”

Isla sighed. She knew Laura had her best interests at heart. The two of them had been best friends since grade school, and had lived through a lot together. Through everything, in fact. From the death of Laura’s dad, to the dissolution of Isla’s ill-fated marriage, and lots of other things in between. From the time they’d graduated from university, the two of them had never lived more than five minutes away from each other—until Isla had gone and exchanged the bustling city of Brussels for the quiet of the Three Valleys.

“So, when are you coming to visit?” Isla asked, hoping to distract her best friend from her single-minded purpose, which currently seemed to be to get Isla to start dating again.

“Just a few weeks now. The moment the kids leave on their ski trip, I’ll be there. You know that.”

“I do. And I can’t wait to show you around. You’re going to love Chamonix.” Tim’s old-fashioned doorbell chime let her know a customer had just arrived. Isla hadn’t gotten around to changing it yet, and it did add a bit of old-school charm to the studio. Maybe I’ll leave it . “I have to go, Laura. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. But in the meantime, think about what I said, sweetie.”

Isla stood up, glancing at her calendar to make sure she hadn’t forgotten any appointments. No, no appointment. Must be a walk-in. She didn’t get many of those. Tim had told her most customers used to be walk-ins, but now, probably because making an appointment online was so easy, walk-ins were few and far between.

“Hello,” she said, stepping out of her inner studio. She looked up—and up—straight into Ry Harrison’s bright green eyes.

He was as hot as she remembered him, which was saying something. As hot as in your dreams last night . She blushed, thinking of some of the things he’d done to her in those dreams, then forced her thoughts back to the present. Here’s hoping he’s not a mind reader .

“Hi,” he said. There was a bruise on his brow, over his right eye, as if something—or somebody—had struck him there. It looked painful.

“We didn’t have an appointment, did we?” Obviously not, because she wouldn’t have allowed him to make an appointment so soon after his first one. Skin needed time to heal. Then another thought struck her. “Is the design healing okay?”

“No. I mean, no, we didn’t have an appointment. And yes, it’s healing fine. I was hoping to consult you on something … if you have a few minutes.”

His eyes were clear, and he looked healthy enough other than the bruise over his eye, but people sometimes lied. She should probably check the tattoo herself.

“Yes, of course. Come inside.” She turned and walked back into the inner studio. “But first, take off your shirt and sit there. I’d like to take a quick look.”

He complied easily, and she waited until he was leaning back in the seat, once again surprised by how small her fancy chair looked when he was sitting in it. Their gazes held for a long instant, the green in his eyes darker than she remembered it. She forced herself to look down at his chest, which was a fucking work of art. Isla inhaled sharply. She never ogled her clients, no matter how beautiful their body might be. But this man … There was just something about him that called out to her. Something that made him hard to ignore.

Isla forced her eyes back to the fresh tattoo on his pectoral muscle, feeling a burst of pride at how it complemented the original one, the branch strong but supple, looking like it could withstand the harshest wind and stand tall. Like family should. Her throat tightened. She’d married Roland hoping they’d become a family, but the two of them together had never felt strong.

She ran her finger lightly over the fresh design, pretending not to notice his sharp inhale—pretending not to notice the smooth heat of his skin against her hand.

“Looks like it’s healing well,” she said, forcing her eyes back to his face. “Any tenderness?” He shook his head no. From this close, the bruise and swelling around his eye was even more visible. “Somebody hit you.”

His finger went up to touch his temple. “I was sparring with a friend and he got a lucky hit. Don’t worry, I got a few in myself.”

There was something hot about thinking of him sparring. She’d always appreciated the male form, and she could easily imagine those beautiful muscles in action. But then, there was the other side of a fight. So. Much. Wasted. Testosterone . Isla only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes. He was a client. She wasn’t about to insult him. “I can get you some ice for that.”

“It’s okay. I’ll ice it when I get home.”

Isla nodded. “So, you wanted to talk to me about something.”

A noticeable blush spread from his neck all the way to his jaw. “I … uh … I wanted to know how you would continue the design.”

Really? That’s what he’s going with? Isla forced a neutral expression on her face. “Well, I’ll be happy to give you some ideas, but I would recommend waiting at least a month before doing any more work on it.”

“Right. Yes. That makes sense.”

“You can put your shirt on,” she said.

He did so, his movements quick and efficient, and though it was a shame to cover that chest, it also made it easier for Isla to think. She waited, because there was clearly still something on his mind.

“I was also … uh … hoping to ask you out to dinner. Again.” The color on his face heightened noticeably, spreading up to his cheeks.

Now, Isla knew skin. She knew a blush was simply a physiological reaction—an accumulation of blood volume leading to the vascular dilation of the tiny blood vessels near the skin’s surface. And yet… that blush—or rather, what the blush said, namely that he wasn’t as self-assured as he appeared—tempted her. A lot.

Shit.

Isla knew she should say no. Nothing had changed since the first time he’d asked. Nothing, except that incredibly naughty dream she’d had the night before, and the fact that the conversation with Laura still resonated loudly in her mind.

You need to see people.

Maybe she did need to see people. Maybe it’d been too long since she’d had a man in her bed. Temptation rode her hard. Because maybe they couldn’t have everything—he didn’t look like a man interested in the long term—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have something good. Pleasure. Relief. An amazing orgasm or two . It’d been a while since she’d had one of those.

No. She had to say no. Because she had a lot riding on the next few months. Like making sure she could feed herself and pay Alain’s salary. That kind of thing.

“Do you like burgers?” Ry asked, obviously encouraged by her silence. “Or … vegetables? One of my friends is dating a vegetarian. I know some great vegetarian restaurants.”

Damn, but he was sweet. And hot. So freaking hot. She forced herself to stand up and take a step away from him. His eyes tracked her movement, and though his face didn’t change, she could see he already knew what she was going to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound as breathless as it did. And she was. She was so fucking sorry that they hadn’t met at a different time. Before she’d taken over the studio. Before her no more bad boys rule had come into effect.

“You’re not interested,” he said, his voice husky.

“I can’t be interested. Not right now. I’m sorry.”

He seemed to ponder her words for a long instant. “ Not right now means, I could ask again in the future?”

“If in the future doesn’t mean a week from now, sure.” Nothing was going to change in a week.

Ry smiled a wicked, devastating smile—the kind of smile that made her wish she could take her words back. “Understood. I need to wait at least eight days before asking again.”

Isla laughed, picking up her black leather jacket from the hook in the corner. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

She ran through her evening checklist quickly, making sure the equipment was all turned off and that everything was neat. She couldn’t help but smile as she took one last quick look at the gleaming surfaces before turning the lights off. She loved this place.

She ushered Ry outside, following him into the cold. By the time she’d locked the door, her hands were half-frozen. She stuck them into her leather jacket pockets, which did little to warm them. She was going to have to start wearing her puffy snowboarding jacket, or purchase a new coat. Not that she had money to buy a new coat. Snowboarding jacket tomorrow, then.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

She lived right upstairs, so she wasn’t planning on driving anywhere. But, in any case, her car was right there, parked in the street corner. “No need. That’s my—“ The words froze in her mouth as she caught sight of her small silver car. Or rather, as she caught sight of her very flat front tire. “Shit.”

By the time the word left her mouth, Ry was already leaning down beside the tire. “Do you have a spare?”

“ A spare?”

“A spare tire,” he repeated patiently, still on his knees beside her car. “I’ll help you change it.”

Damn. She’d just shot him down for the second time, and still he was willing to get down on his knees in the snow to help her. He looked downright toasty in his thick down jacket, and she envied him as the wind picked up, going right through her stupid leather jacket. How had she ever thought it was a good idea to wear this? She pushed her hands deeper into the pockets in an attempt to keep them from falling off.

“I don’t understand. The tire was fine this morning. And they’re almost new.” She paused to make sure she was telling the truth. The car was old, but she’d changed all four tires three months earlier, in preparation for her first Chamonix winter. She should remember it well, because the tires had nearly bankrupted her. “Shit. This is terrible luck.”

“Isla?” The hair on her arms rose at the warning tone that entered Ry’s voice. “This wasn’t bad luck.”

“What do you?—“

And then she saw what he was staring at.

Her back tire was flat as well. As a pancake.

Ry made his way to the back of the car and kneeled beside the second tire, his expression guarded. Isla’s mind struggled to make sense of this. Had she driven over broken glass? But for both tires to pop at the same time?—

“I don’t understand,“ she said, looking up at where Ry had been. Except he wasn’t there anymore. He’d moved closer to her. He stood to his full height, tall and broad, his head swiveling from side to side. Gone was the easy-going, charming man who’d asked her out to dinner. In a matter of seconds, he’d gone into full protector mode.

For me.

And there was only one reason he’d think she needed protection. “You think somebody did this on purpose?” Her voice rose in pitch.

Ry pointed down at a wide gash on the outside rim of the tire. “This wasn’t bad luck. This tire was slashed.”

Slashed .

The evidence was right in front of her, but none of this made sense. “Why would someone want to slash my tires? Maybe some angry teenage vandals walked down the street.” That kind of thing happened sometimes, right?

“The other cars on the street are fine,” he said, his voice low and reasonable. “It appears only your car was targeted, Isla.”

Her shoulders slumped forward. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she forced them back. This time, when she shivered, it wasn’t just with cold.

“Hey.” His hand squeezed her shoulder, his touch strong but gentle at the same time. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to get you out of the cold, and we’re going to call the police.”

“The police?” Isla asked, hating how squeaky her voice sounded. She wanted nothing but to lean into his touch, which was crazy. She couldn’t just expect this man to fix things for her.

His phone was already in his hand. “It’s going to be okay, Isla. Trust me.”

Something sharp pulled at her chest. Why was he being so kind? She shouldn’t be relying on him. She should tell him to go, that she’d figure it out herself, but she couldn’t force the words out. She listened to him speak to someone on the phone for a brief minute, then let him herd her back towards her studio. When her frozen hands shook too much, he took the keys from her in his warm palm and unlocked the door for her. And though she’d gone numb, inside and out, she couldn’t help but notice how the whole time he kept his large body between her and the street.

Ry

Isla looked tired. Beyond tired. He looked down at his watch. It was closing in on ten p.m. and she looked dead on her feet. All he wanted to do was take her into his arms and promise her that everything was going to be alright. Not that he could make such a promise. It was a fact that somebody had slashed her tires.

He’d bundled her into his winter jacket earlier, so at least she no longer shook like a leaf, which made Ry feel marginally better. There was no way she could have spent any amount of time outside in that ridiculous leather jacket. She would have been on her way to the hospital, hypothermic, by now.

The need to protect her, to keep her safe and warm, was overwhelming, even though he understood logically he had no right to feel this way. He had no claim on her. But damn, he suddenly wished he did. The wind blew right through the thin fleece he wore, chilling him. Ry blew on his hands to warm them.

Vincent, the leading gendarme who’d been called to the scene, walked up to him. “There’s nothing else we can do, Ry. I’m sorry.”

There were no cameras outside the tattoo studio, and they were no closer to identifying the culprits now than they’d been two hours earlier, but his colleagues had done everything by the book. They’d taken prints and photographs, questioned neighbors, the whole nine yards.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Ry said, looking at his colleague for confirmation.

“Not an accident. The tires were slashed with a folding pocket knife.”

Great . Everybody and their brother had that kind of knife here in Chamonix. Hell, Ry carried one on his key chain, and he bet Vincent did as well.

Together, they watched the compact car get towed by one of the local garages.

“We’re leaving now,” Vincent said, signaling to his team to pack up. “We’ll let you know if anything new comes to light.”

“Thank you, Vincent,” Ry said. He knew a team of three was overkill for this kind of incident, but the Chamonix gendarmerie took care of their own. Ry would do the same if their roles were reversed.

Isla walked up to them. “I’m sorry we wasted your evening,” she said to Vincent.

“You didn’t. It’s our job. We’ll be in touch, Mademoiselle Bernard.”

Ry waited until they were alone before speaking again. “Slashed tires are no joke, Isla.”

“I don’t have any enemies,” she insisted. She’d said the same thing to the gendarmes multiple times. “I only moved to Chamonix six months ago, and customers are happy with my work. I promise you. This has to be a mistake.” Then her mouth opened in an enormous yawn. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Come on. There’s nothing else we can do here. Let me take you home.”

The corners of her lips lifted at that. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. I wasn’t going to drive. I live right upstairs.” She pointed at the staircase on the side of the building, climbing up to the first floor.

For the second time that evening, Ry waited while she locked up the studio. It was dark now, much darker than it had been the first time they’d done this.

Isla stopped at the corner, putting her hand out awkwardly. “Well, this is me. Thank you for your help tonight.”

Ry ignored her hand, moving in behind her. “I’ll walk you up.”