Reckless Engagement

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU know I don’t do swimsuit work.’ Katrien handed back the folder her agent had passed to her.

Hattie Fisher sighed. ‘You’re limiting your options. And this assignment—’

‘Yes, the money’s good.’

‘The advertising agency asked for you specially, you know.’

‘I’m flattered that they want me, but I’ll pass on this one, thanks.’

‘I don’t have anything else for you at the moment, until that shampoo commercial you’re booked for.’

‘That’s okay. I could do with a break.’ Katrien quashed a tremor of anxiety. She’d had to pull out of her last assignment when she got the flu and now here she was with only one confirmed booking in view. Modelling work within New Zealand was limited, and although in the past she’d flown to Australia at the drop of a hat, and sometimes further afield, she’d promised Callum to limit her overseas assignments. But she had her savings, and maybe it was time she took a holiday.

‘Skiing?’ Callum looked doubtful, stirring sugar into his coffee. Katrien had phoned his office and suggested meeting for lunch at their favourite downtown café. ‘Do you think that’s wise when you’re just getting over the flu?’

‘Mountain air’s healthy, they say. And there’s a special deal going at Whakapapa, with accommodation at the Chateau.’

‘Well, at least you’d be comfortable, in a decent hotel.’

More than decent, Katrien thought. The wonderful old hotel offered luxury on the ski fields. ‘With all the rumbling Mount Ruapehu’s been doing in the last couple of seasons, I guess they have to get as many people down there as they can.’ The volcano had created havoc by spreading ash on the snow and many tourists had been frightened away by the danger of eruptions, although others had enjoyed the thrill of watching the mountain throw fire and rocks into the sky. The ski fields had not opened on schedule and the operators had lost a lot of money.

‘You’ll get cold and wet,’ Callum fussed. ‘Suppose you have a relapse?’

‘I’ll be careful, and with the proper gear I won’t get cold—or wet.’

‘I wish I could come with you, but the bank wouldn’t look kindly on a request for leave right now.’ He was a senior bank executive and his job was much too important for him to go on holiday at a moment’s notice.

‘I wish you could come too,’ Katrien assured him, disturbed to find that it was a lie. ‘But you don’t ski, and it’s only for a week. You’ll hardly know I’m gone.’

‘Not true. I’ll miss you every day.’

Katrien gave him an absent smile. ‘That’s sweet. I’ll miss you too.’ Surely it was the aftermath of her illness that had caused this odd lethargy of her emotions. When she was really over it the warm, loving feelings would come back. She reached out for his hand and his fingers closed around hers. ‘I love you,’ she murmured.

His clasp tightened and a flush came into his cheeks. He raised her hand to his face and pressed his lips into her palm. His voice muffled, he said, ‘And I love you!’

Her heart contracted, shrinking. Gooseflesh chilled her arms. She looked away, and was relieved when Callum lowered their joined hands to the table. Feeling guilty and bothered, she let her fingers lie slackly in his grasp. ‘I’ve already made a booking,’ she told him. ‘I leave tomorrow morning.’

‘That…’ He cleared his throat. ‘That was quick.’

‘Once I’d made up my mind—’ Katrien shrugged.

‘Yes, well… You’ll be packing tonight, then?’

Katrien forced herself to look at him regretfully, apologetically. ‘I’ve got a lot to do.’

‘When you get back…’ Callum smiled hopefully.

‘I’ll be fully recovered then,’ she promised. ‘As soon as I’m home I’ll let you know.’

The ski slopes were magnificent, the snow glinting like spun sugar in the wintry sun. Tiny figures zigzagged down the mountain, far below the adzed peaks veiled in snow and a drift of lazy cloud.

Looking forward to joining them, Katrien idled up the slope in the chairlift, the cold air numbing her nose even as the sun warmed her cheeks. She raised her eyes to the mountain top, and found herself speculating on what drove men like Zachary Ballantine. Going up with the object of skiing down again with the wind in her face and the snow sliding away beneath her skis was one thing. Climbing laboriously over sheer rock faces and across treacherous ice fields and skirting hidden crevasses with the sole aim of reaching the top was another, totally alien concept.

Her first skiing lesson had been during a photo shoot for a travel magazine. She’d been playing the part of a beginner—and played it convincingly because she was. Later she’d paid for more lessons, partly because she’d found it enjoyable and a challenge, and partly because she figured it might be a useful skill to add to her portfolio, just as it was handy to be able to sit on a horse without falling off. It had paid off. She’d gained a couple of assignments modelling winter sportswear on the strength of her ability to provide genuine action shots on skis.

The chairlift deposited her at the intermediate slope, a level at which she was quite confident now.

The snow was already crisscrossed with the marks of those who had gone before her. As she adjusted her goggles and took off, someone far below in a red jacket wavered, fell and landed in a flurry of snow, then picked themselves up again. The snow swished under her skis as she gathered momentum, her knees bent, her body perfectly balanced, the stretchy fabric of her bright pink body-hugging ski pants allowing her freedom of movement.

By the time she’d made the run a few times she was exhilarated. She’d taken a tumble once but had landed unhurt and untangled herself to complete the course with ease. The rest of the time she’d skied smoothly and well.

On her last run of the day down the milky incline, she saw a blur of dark blue and bright yellow to one side as another skier swooped past.

A man, slim-hipped, broad-shouldered, and skiing with such speed and grace that she couldn’t help but admire his style. Surely he belonged on the uppermost slopes where the real experts hung out.

When she reached the end of the run she found herself looking around for him, but there was no blue and yellow ski suit in sight. She caught a bus back to the hotel and had an early meal and a leisurely hot soak, gave her skin a thorough moisturising treatment to combat the effects of sun and wind, and retired to her bed with a book, later slipping into a dreamless sleep.

The next day she decided to go to the third level and think about testing herself out on it. If the run looked too difficult on close inspection she could ride down again to the familiar, less difficult slopes.

The summit appeared much nearer from where the chairlift left her this time. Today no cloud obscured the peak, and there was no sign of its recent volcanic activity. It looked remote and beautiful and unattainable. She remembered that in Maori legend the mountain was a woman, squabbled over by her jealous lovers, the other mountains nearby. One, Taranaki, had retired in dudgeon to the coast and now reigned there in splendid isolation. His rival Tongariro remained nearby, occasionally huffing and puffing his displeasure in clouds of volcanic steam.

Katrien watched a couple of skiers take off and gather speed while she stood by, still a little uncertain.

Deciding to have a cup of coffee first, she turned away from the ski field to the nearby café, leaving her skis with all the others leaning against the building before going in.

She was sipping coffee and contemplating the ski run when she heard the voice. ‘Thanks a lot.’

That was all, but it brought her head whipping round, in time to see the back of a blue-and-yellow-clad figure disappear through the doorway. Tall, dark-haired.

No, she told herself. You’re imagining things.

But she had hastily clattered her half-finished cup of coffee back into its saucer and was on her way to the door before she even realised what she was doing.

She’d look silly retracing her steps, so she kept walking out onto the deck.

He was bent over, doing up the buckles on his boots. She watched fatalistically until he’d straightened. And then he looked up and saw her.

‘Mr Ballantine,’ she said.

His surprise showed only in a faint lifting of his brows, an even fainter glint of light in his eyes. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘…Katie.’

‘It’s Katrien,’ she told him. ‘Katrien Cromwell.’

He nodded. ‘Katrien.’ The name left his tongue like a caress, giving the ‘r’ a slight burr so that it sounded exotic and foreign.

‘I saw you yesterday,’ she told him, ‘on the intermediate slope, but you seemed too good to be on that level.’

‘I did a cross-country run yesterday, then made my way down the mountain.’

‘I guess you have a lot of experience.’

Something changed in his eyes. He looked at her, standing there in her pink ski suit, her hair loose about her shoulders since she’d pulled off her hat when she entered the café. ‘Some. How about you?’ he asked.

Katrien wrenched her eyes from his and looked down the slope. ‘I came up here today thinking I might try this run but…I’m not sure I’m quite brave enough.’

‘Is your fiancé with you?’

She had to look back at him then. ‘He wasn’t able to get away. And anyway, he doesn’t ski.’

His mouth tilted up at one corner and he gave a brief nod. ‘I see.’ There was a small silence. ‘If you like, I’ll go down with you.’

‘I wouldn’t like to hold you up. I don’t suppose you want to spend your time nursing along a bunny skier.’

‘You’re no bunny,’ he argued. ‘You looked pretty competent yesterday.’ At her surprised look, he added, ‘I recognise the…outfit.’ He cast a glance over the figure-hugging stretch pants and the fleecy-lined shirt under her open jacket. ‘So…shall we go?’

It was a challenge, pure and simple. He waited for her to make up her mind whether to accept it, or to walk away and return to the less exciting lower slopes.

She stepped onto the snow and retrieved her skis.

The sound of their skis gliding on the slick white surface was like tearing silk. Katrien’s hair streamed behind her, the momentum of her downhill flight dragging it back from her face. She had left the café in such a hurry she’d forgotten to retrieve her woollen hat.

Zachary was a blur of blue and yellow at her peripheral vision, a couple of times swooping away in a half loop, then coming back to stay at her side, moderating his speed to hers.

‘Okay?’ he shouted at her once, and she risked a look at his face, saw his white smile, and smiled back.

‘Okay!’

When they reached the end of the run she fluffed the stop and ended up in a jumbled heap, laughing.

Zachary offered a gloved hand and helped her up. ‘How was it?’

‘Wonderful!’ She brushed snow from her arms and body, and he reached out to flick away flakes of white from her hair.

His hand touched her cheek, and even though he still wore gloves, she felt a tingling awareness that stopped her smile and made her veil her eyes with her lashes. A flash of unease assailed her, and she tried to step away, forgetting she was wearing skis.

She would have toppled again if he hadn’t caught at her arms. ‘Steady.’

‘Thanks.’ She was breathless, not only from the run. ‘And thanks for bringing me down. I might have chickened out otherwise.’

‘I don’t think so.’

She glanced up and into his eyes, uncertain what it was she read there.

Then he looked away up the slope and said, ‘Want to try again?’

Why not? After the thrill of that descent, the thought of returning to the easier slopes seemed very tame. She nodded. ‘Yes. But this time you don’t need to wait for me.’

They shared a T-bar back to the top, holding on and standing side by side while little puffs of their steamy breath mingled in the frosty air.

Zachary waited for her to go first. She was halfway to the bottom when she heard a shout from behind and then two young men, whooping in feigned panic, went flying past, much too close for comfort. A quick look sideways showed her a third, about to cannon into her. She took evasive action and he careered on down the slope, but Katrien lost control and went sliding and skidding to the edge of the run, hitting her head painfully on a hidden rock under the snow and landing in a tangle of skis and poles, one of which went flying from her hand.

‘Katrien!’ Zachary slid to a stop beside her, clicked his boots from his skis with his poles and knelt to grip her shoulder. ‘Are you hurt?’

The white world gradually steadied. ‘Banged my head,’ she said. ‘But nothing’s broken.’

He swore. ‘Bloody fools, they were all over the place. Keep still. Where did you hurt your head?’

She put a hand to a tender, sore lump, and winced.

Zachary swore again. ‘Let me see.’ He bent over her, stripped off his gloves, and gently parted her hair. ‘Mmm. That’s a nasty bump. Are you feeling dizzy at all?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Not really?’ He frowned and shifted his hands to either side of her face, lifting it so he could study her.

‘I mean, it’s gone now. I’m all right.’ Except for the way her heart was hammering away.

Another skier slid to a stop nearby. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Hang on,’ Zachary requested of the man. Turning to her, he said, ‘We can get medicos up here if you might be concussed.’

‘I’m sure I’m not, honestly.’

He studied her again, then nodded to the would-be Samaritan. ‘We’re okay, thanks.’ The man gave them a wave and carried on downhill.

Katrien scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it to the bruise.

‘You should wear a hat,’ he said.

‘I took it off in the café and forgot it.’

‘Why didn’t you say so?’ He looked irritated. ‘If I’d known you had one with you I’d have made sure you put it on.’

She’d been afraid he might change his mind about accompanying her if she held him up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve spoiled your run again.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I have another five days.’

Had he opted for the same cut-rate package that she had taken? ‘I haven’t seen you at the hotel.’

‘I’m staying at a friend’s private lodge.’ He paused. ‘Were you looking for me at the hotel?’

Katrien blinked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

Zachary studied her face consideringly. ‘Never mind. Do you think you can stand, with my help?’

‘Yes.’ She could probably manage without it, but she didn’t fancy floundering round trying to get her balance if she was wrong. She manoeuvred herself into position, then stood up slowly while he steadied her. His hand remained on her waist and he was looking down at her with a slightly amused, knowing expression.

‘Thank you,’ she said tightly. ‘I can manage now.’

He didn’t move and she cast him a fierce glare. ‘I know I seem to have made a habit of looking to be in need of rescuing when you’re around, but it wasn’t deliberate. And I certainly didn’t come up the mountain with the intention of waylaying you.’ She was appalled that he might have thought so. ‘I don’t find climbers that fascinating, and anyway, in case you’d forgotten, I’m engaged to be married.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ he said. ‘Had you?’

Katrien drew a deep, furious breath. ‘No!’ She’d done nothing that could be construed that way, she assured herself.

She stiffened against his light hold and put a hand behind her to tug at his wrist, but that was a mistake, making her body curve towards his just as he bent his head and increased the pressure of his hand on her waist against her ineffectual resistance. And said softly, ‘Could I make you…forget?’

His voice, his face were those of the man in her dreams, and for a second she imagined that this was another night fantasy. Tongue-tied, she was possessed of a great curiosity. The air around them seemed stilled, waiting.

But when his mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers, she jerked away, assailed by a sudden shaft of familiar fear. ‘No!’

‘Okay,’ Zachary said easily, releasing her. He picked up the pole she’d lost and handed it courteously to her. ‘Only that isn’t the message I’ve been getting from you.’

She looked up from pushing her gloved hand through the loop on the ski pole to see him regarding her with quizzical enquiry. Flushing, she realised he was right. Somehow in her mind he’d got mixed up with the larger-than-life figure who had dominated her dream life since adolescence. It wasn’t his fault that she’d been giving out confusing signals. She was confused herself.

‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘you remind me of someone I…met a long time ago.’

‘Not your fiancé?’

Katrien shook her head.

‘Does he know about this…someone?’

‘There’s nothing to know.’

‘Nothing?’ He gave a short, breathy laugh.

Katrien looked at him angrily, and he said, ‘I’d say your fiancé has a problem on his hands.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ she said emphatically. ‘You don’t understand.’ Not that there was any need for him to do so.

‘Does What’s-his-name understand?’

‘Callum,’ she said. ‘He has nothing to worry about, and excuse me, but it’s none of your business.’

‘Maybe it isn’t. But I tell you what—if I were engaged to you and saw you looking at another man the way you look at me, I’d be worried all right. I’d be doing something about it.’

‘Like what?’ she shot at him without thinking.

He looked thoughtful. ‘You probably don’t want to know.’

Violence? Her lip curled with scorn. ‘Of course, you rugged mountain men are so physical!’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘We are.’ His hand reached over, so casually, and cupped her chin, turning her face towards him. And then he leaned down and kissed her thoroughly, his lips exploring hers, parting them, mastering her with a flair and panache that he hadn’t learned on any mountain slopes.

Anchored by her skis, hampered by the ski poles looped to her hands, she could hardly move. Pure panic fought with the hot sweep of passion that sent the blood racing in her veins and made her lips pliant and shamefully eager under his.

Someone swished by with a whoop of laughter and someone else whistled shrilly across the snow. Katrien made a protesting sound and tried to tear herself from Zachary’s hold.

He lifted his head and looked down at her. ‘If I were your Callum,’ he said, ‘I’d be very worried.’

She pulled herself away, keeping her balance with some difficulty, and trying to breathe normally. ‘That was…’

‘Wonderful?’ he suggested as she hunted for words.

‘Unfair!’ she snapped. ‘Contemptible.’

His lips pursed. ‘I didn’t think my technique was that bad.’

He was laughing at her. ‘You had no right to kiss me!’

‘I didn’t notice you complaining.’

‘I’m complaining now!’

Zachary laughed. ‘After the fact.’

‘I could hardly do it before—I didn’t know what you intended.’

He gave her a level look. ‘You had a fair idea,’ he drawled. And added, ‘You wanted to know, too.’

About to deny it, she hesitated, and then clamped her teeth together. She had wanted to know—to know what he would do in Callum’s place, what it would be like to be kissed by him. She’d almost invited him to do it.

Mortified, she turned away from him. ‘Thank you for stopping. I’ll be fine on my own now.’

But he paced her all the way, then followed without comment as she made for the chairlift going down. ‘Is your head aching?’ he asked her.

‘No. It’s just a bump.’

‘If you feel unwell—’

‘I’m not unwell. But I think I’ll stick to the easy run after this.’

A chair arrived and she stepped forward. ‘If that satisfies you,’ he taunted quietly, standing aside as she took her seat and the safety bar came down in front of her.

Katrien stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, and the chair lifted her into the air and carried her away from him.

She was in the hotel lounge bar, having a brandy after dinner and chatting with two American girls, when she saw Zachary come in, dressed in cords and a chunky natural wool sweater. He looked around the room, found her and gave her a nod, then approached the bar.

Katrien forced her attention back to her companions, but was aware of Zachary getting his drink and then crossing the room to them.

When he stopped before their table she had to look up and acknowledge his presence.

‘Hello, Katrien.’ He pulled her woollen hat from a back pocket and dropped it on the table. ‘I thought you might be missing this.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, staring at it.

‘May I?’ he asked politely, including the two Americans in his enquiring glance.

‘Oh, sure!’ One of them moved her chair over to make room for him to take the empty fourth at the table.

Katrien introduced him, and watched him charm the girls with his smile and stories of the mountains. But when she had finished her brandy and made to go he put down his glass and stood up. ‘Nice meeting you,’ he told the American girls, and followed Katrien from the room.

In the foyer he said, ‘I hoped to talk to you.’

‘What for?’

Taking her arm, he drew her over to where a couple of armchairs were placed at either side of a low table.

Reluctantly she sat down, and he took the other chair, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. ‘To apologise,’ he said, ‘for imagining you were deliberately putting yourself in my way. And for the kiss…though it’s hard to say I’m sorry about that. I enjoyed it too much.’

He wasn’t the only one, she thought guiltily. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Apology accepted. I guess…you couldn’t be blamed for wondering if I was pursuing you. I suppose women do.’