tend to respect them.’
‘You’re the most arrogant guy I’ve ever met in my entire life,’ Milly said with genuine wonderment.
‘I think you’ve already told me that.’ He drained his cup and dumped it on one of the coffee tables, then he stood up and flexed his muscles, watching as she uncurled herself from the sofa and automatically reached to gather his cup along with hers.
His automatic instinct was irritably to tell her to leave it, that someone would tidy it away in the morning, then he remembered that there would be no cleaner trooping along to make sure she tidied in his wake.
‘I’ll show you to your room.’
‘Feels odd to be here without the owner in residence.’
Lucas had the grace to flush but he refrained from saying anything, instead scooping up her holdall, which had seen better days, and heading out towards a spiral staircase that led up to a huge galleried landing that overlooked the ground floor.
There, as on the ground floor, soaring windows gave out to the same spectacular views of the open, snow-covered mountains. It was dark outside and the snow was a peculiar dull-blue white against the velvety darkness.
For a few seconds, Milly paused to admire the vista, which was truly breathtakingly beautiful. When she looked away it was to find his dark eyes speculatively pinned to her face.
She was here with a guy she didn’t know and yet, far from feeling threatened in any way, she felt safe. There was something silent and inherently strong about him that was deeply reassuring. She felt that if the place were to be invaded by a clutch of knife wielding bandits he would be able to dispatch them single-handedly.
‘I have no idea where Ramos was going to put you,’ Lucas told her truthfully. ‘But I expect this room will do as good as any of the others.’
He flung wide the door and she gasped. It was, simply put, the most splendid bedroom she had ever seen. She almost didn’t want to disturb its perfection by going inside. He breezed in and tossed her bag on the elegant chaise longue by the window, yet another of those massive windows designed to remind you of the still, white, glorious silence that lay outside.
‘Well?’ Lucas rarely noticed his surroundings but he did now because the expression on her face was so tellingly awestruck.
Playground for the seriously rich—this was what the lodge was. He had had zero input into its decor. He had left that to a world famous interior designer. When the job had been done, he had dispatched three of his trusted employees to give it the once over and make sure that everything had been done to the highest possible standard, no corners cut. Thereafter he had used it a handful of times when the season was at its height and only if the skiing conditions were perfect.
It was a beautiful place. He looked at the cool, white furnishings, breathed in the air of calm, noted the quality of the wood and the subtlety of the faded Persian rug on the ground. Nothing jarred. In the bowels of the lodge, there was a comprehensive spa and sauna area. He’d used that once.
Now, he had an intense urge to take her down there and show it to her just so that he could see that expression of awe again, even though, regrettably, the lodge was not his as far as she was concerned. For the first time in living memory, he had an insane desire to brag. Hell, where had that come from?
‘It’s amazing.’ Milly hovered by the door. ‘Isn’t it amazing? Well, I guess you’re used to this, but I’m not. My entire flat could fit into this bedroom. Is that an en suite bathroom?’
Amused, Lucas pushed the adjoining door and, sure enough, it opened out to a bathroom that was almost as big as the bedroom and contained its own little sitting area. He wondered what the interior designer had had in mind when she’d decided on sticking furniture in the bathroom.
‘Wow.’ Milly tiptoed her way to the bathroom and peered in. It was absolutely enormous. ‘You could have a party in here,’ she breathed in a hushed voice.
‘I doubt anyone would choose to do that.’
‘How can you be so blasé about all of this?’ She was too busy inspecting her glorious surroundings to look at him but she was acutely aware of his masculine presence next to her. ‘I mean, do you teach lots of rich people? Is that it? You’re accustomed to places like this because you’re in them all the time?’
‘I’ve been to a number of places along these lines...’
Milly laughed that infectious laugh that made him want to smile. ‘Must be a terrific anti-climax when the season’s over and you have to return to your digs.’
‘I cope.’
Suddenly exhausted after a day of travelling and the stress of finding herself out of a job, then back in one, Milly yawned behind her hand and wandered over to her holdall, which was not the quality of bag that should have adorned the chaise longue.
‘I’ve talked about myself all night,’ she said sleepily. ‘Tomorrow you can tell me all about yourself and your exciting life working for the rich and famous.’
A minute later she closed, and after a few seconds’ thought locked, the bedroom door behind him and began running the bath. The ridiculously luxurious bath that was so big and so deep that it was almost the size of a plunge pool.
She wouldn’t have believed it but she was having an impossible adventure and—okay, admit it—was so transfixed by Lucas that there had been no room in her head to feel sorry for herself.
She wondered what he did when he wasn’t playing ski instructor to rich adults and their kids. Did he while away his summers in the company of wealthy socialites? He was good-looking enough to be a gigolo but she dismissed that idea as fast as it entered her head because she couldn’t imagine that he could be that sleazy.
He’d said didn’t sleep with married women and she believed him. There had been a shadow of repugnance when that suggestion had been mooted.
But he was a man of experience, from the way he had talked about the women he dated, in the casual voice of someone who was accustomed to getting a lot of attention and to dating a lot of women.
She thought about her own circumstances. When it came to experience with the opposite sex, she was wet behind the ears. She had never really been the kind of teenager who had become swept up in boys, in make-up, in short skirts and mini bottles of vodka at house parties. Maybe if she had had a mum; maybe if she hadn’t been raised by her grandmother. She adored her grandmother, but she could reflect back and see that the generation gap had not been conducive to giggly conversations and experiments with make-up.
Nana Mayfield was a brisk, no-nonsense woman with a great love of the outdoors. Widowed at the age of forty-five, she had had to survive the harsh Scottish winters in unforgiving terrain and she had thrived. That love of the great outdoors was what she had brought to the relationship with her granddaughter and Milly had grown up loving all things to do with sport. She had followed sport on TV and had played as many sports as she could possibly fit into her school timetable.
Of course, she had been to parties, but hockey, tennis, rounders, even football, and later as much skiing as she could possibly do, had always come first.
And so the stages of infatuation, the teenage angst and disappointment, the adolescent broken hearts
