A Little Too Close – Madigan Mountain Read Online Rebecca Yarros

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
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I would have traded my wings for a single night with her.

“Once,” I agreed.

She grinned and walked away.

11

Callie

* * *

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I muttered as the lift climbed the smallest slope at Madigan. It was silent, and not the kind of quiet that was sporadically interrupted by skiers below on an average day—the kind of silence that made me feel like we were the only ones on the slopes, period.

Because we were.

“You can’t take the action shots you want to without knowing how to ski,” Weston argued next to me, his goggles on his forehead. The early morning sun was behind us, so those golden flecks in his eyes weren’t as obvious, but I could still see them as he smiled at me.

“Sure you can. I take pictures of weddings all the time, and yet I’ve never gotten married. Experience isn’t necessary to capture something,” I countered.

When he suggested we do this last night, I told him he’d lost his mind.

Then he presented me with skis, poles, boots, bindings—the whole lot—and I wavered. He’d even gotten me shorter skis so I’d have better control, as he called it. No one had ever put that kind of care into anything for me before.

Usually, when someone tried to coax me out of my comfort zone, I shoved them fully out of my immediate surroundings. But there had been something in his eyes, a boyish excitement, that I’d been unable to deny.

Or maybe it was just that he’d completely left my brain addled after he devoured me in the helicopter like I was his dinner and dessert. The man had a tongue that should have been declared a national treasure. Monuments should have been built. Monuments that only I would have access to, but still.

Don’t get possessive. I’d repeated that phrase in my head every few minutes for the past twelve or so hours, and yet it wasn’t helping.

Weston was just my roommate. A roommate with a godlike tongue and hands that were made for giving out orgasms like candy, but still…just my roommate. At least in his eyes. Here I was, crushing so hard on the man that I had clipped myself into long, aerodynamic sticks and was about to hurl myself down the mountain just to see him smile.

But he’d promised me I’d be able to do other things I knew would leave him smiling. Even if it was only once, I’d get to have Weston in my bed.

“But think of how it will change your perspective when shooting,” Weston said.

Crap, what were we talking about? Skiing. Right. I needed to pull my head out of the orgasmic bliss he’d left me in yesterday and concentrate.

“I somehow doubt you’re going to teach me to backcountry ski in a morning,” I teased.

“Oh, no, we’re strictly bunny-skiing this morning.” He motioned to the empty slope beneath us as the lift neared the end. “But if you understand how the skier’s body is moving, you’ll be able to anticipate for your shots. You’ll know what angle you want to be at. You’ll be able to tell me exactly where you want me to fly so you can capture what you want.”

“I’d like to capture you,” I muttered. This was never going to work if I couldn’t concentrate on anything but his voice, his hands, his…everything.

He reached toward me, gripped the base of my neck, and tilted my head, swooping in for a hard, fast kiss that left me stunned and a little more than turned on. “Concentrate,” he whispered.

Then he lifted the bar as we approached the end of the lift.

“I’m going to fall off this stupid thing.”

“No, you’re not.” He lowered his hand to my waist and gripped. “Just trust me.”

I did. That was the only reason I was up here at eight o’clock in the freaking morning on a Monday. We’d dropped Sutton off at school a half hour ago, and now I was getting ready to land on my ass in front of the sole liftie up here, who had the nerve to wave to us as we approached certain doom.

“One, two,” Weston started, pulling me closer. “Three. Stand.” We stood, but my skis never touched the ground. Weston held me anchored to him, holding me to his side, well off the ground as he skied off the lift effortlessly.

“That’s cheating,” I muttered as he set me down at the top of the bunny slope.

“Maybe it was just an excuse to get my hands on you.” He winked.

The. Man. Winked.

“Who are you?” The serious guy I’d written our contract for—on the lines—would never have winked.

He simply laughed in response. “Okay, so this is just the bunny bowl.”

“More like the slaughterhouse,” I muttered.

He rolled his eyes. “And as you can see, we’re the only ones up here. There are no children to roll over, no adults to petrify, no one to bear witness to whatever happens.”


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