Slope of Love (Love in Bloom: The Remingtons)

Smashwords Edition, Copyright 2013, Melissa Foster

ISBN: 9781310003363

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This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

SLOPE OF LOVE

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2014 Melissa Foster

V1.0

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover Design: Natasha Brown

WORLD LITERARY PRESS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

“TRACES OF KARA is psychological suspense at its best, weaving a tight-knit plot, unrelenting action, and tense moments that don’t let up and ending in a fiery, unpredictable revelation.”

—Midwest Book Review

“[MEGAN’S WAY] A wonderful, warm, and thought-provoking story…a deep and moving book that speaks to men as well as women, and I urge you all to put it on your reading list.”

—Mensa Bulletin

“[CHASING AMANDA] Secrets make this tale outstanding.”

—
Hagerstown
magazine

“COME BACK TO ME is a hauntingly beautiful love story set against the backdrop of betrayal in a broken world.”

—Bestselling author Sue Harrison

THE MUSCLE ON the side of Rush Remington’s jaw bunched as he glanced out the window at the snow that had been falling since the plane touched down in Colorado. Rush didn’t need much to be happy—a snowy slope, a set of skis, a daily dose or two of protein powder, and a little time with his best friend. The ski team equipment had been shipped separately and had already arrived at the Colorado Ski Center, where he and a few other Olympic ski team members were teaching ski workshops this week. Rush pulled two duffel bags from beneath his seat. One was packed tight with protein powder, movies, and gummy bears—his best friend’s go-to snack—the other stuffed to the hilt with his clothes.

He dug his vibrating cell phone from his pocket—another text from Jayla. He and Jayla Stone had been best friends for more than fifteen years, and this was supposed to be
their
week to hang out. He eyed the reporters waiting by the entrance of the lodge before stealing a look toward the back of the van, where Jayla sat beside Marcus White, pretending to rummage through her purse for something. Rush knew that she was really avoiding making eye contact with him because of Marcus. The only thing in that damn purse was a man’s wallet—because
women’s wallets are too bulky
—her keys, personal products (wrapped in tissues and hidden in a zippered pouch because
they’re embarrassing
), and probably a few empty bags of gummy bears.

He read the text from Jayla.
Cute reporter. Blonde. Red coat.

At six foot two, with a shock of dark brown hair, an ever-present tan, perfect teeth, and an insatiable appetite for exercise, the media—and women—loved Rush, but today he was in no mood to smile for the camera.

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. A year ago he’d have scoped out the hot blonde, scored by midnight, then forgotten her name by the next morning when he and Jayla met for breakfast. She’d have teased him about adding a notch to his belt or some other random shit, and then they’d have hit the slopes. A year ago he was a totally different guy.

He texted her back.
If she’s not made of powder, I’m not interested. Just wanna ski.

In a week, the competitive ski season would be over, and Rush could have all the women he wanted without worrying about them messing with his head and, in turn, screwing with his ability to win. But getting laid by some random woman wasn’t anywhere on Rush’s agenda. Rush had planned on revealing to Jayla that he finally realized he was truly, madly, and infuriatingly in love with her. Now his plan was shot to hell, and he had no interest in doing anything other than making it through the week and coming out on top of the North Face Competition, the last race of the season.

He didn’t have to look at Jayla to know that her eyebrows were drawn together and she was reaching for that empty bag of gummy bears, hoping to find just one more to calm her nerves. Or to know that Marcus fucking White was eyeing every move she made.

Rush followed the other members of the ski team who had volunteered to teach the ski workshops off of the van. Cliff Bail and Patrick Staller looked like they had just walked out of
Skier
magazine with their strong physiques and dirty-blond, sun-streaked hair. They checked out the female reporters as they headed for the resort with Kia Lyle and Teri Martin on their heels. Rush hung back, hoping the reporters would get their fill of interviews with his teammates and give him a break. He inhaled the crisp, cold mountain air, kicked the blanket of fresh snow with the toe of his boot, and surveyed the grounds of the place that he’d call home for the next week. The majestic three-story stone and cedar lodge was set against the backdrop of snowcapped mountains. Curvy slopes carved wide white paths through the trees, snaking from the mountain peaks to the valleys below, and it took his breath away.

Reporters and cameramen were on him seconds later, shoving microphones in his face and snapping photos.

“Rush, do you have anything you’d like to say to your fans?”

Rush answered the male reporter without breaking stride on his way into the lobby, with a serious look in his eyes and a practiced media-worthy smile. “I appreciate their support, and they can count on me to be ready for the next Olympics.”

He wondered if they’d even caught his last words as Jayla stepped from the van and every camera turned in her direction. Since winning two Olympic gold medals, Jayla had been hounded by the press even more than he had. Nothing beat a hot female Olympic medalist. Having been friends with her for years, he was thrilled for her success, though he couldn’t ignore the ego slap at being cast aside by the press. He didn’t blame them really. Jayla was America’s sweetheart, the new face of Dove, and the best damn role model young girls could ask for.

The Olympic ski team had been sponsored by leading ski manufacturers and clothing manufacturers. After winning his Olympic golds, Rush had secured several of his own sponsors, ranging from sunscreen manufacturers to energy drink manufacturers, and since winning her Olympic gold medal for the downhill event, Jayla had also received sponsorships from hair care and beauty product manufacturers.

“Dude, you a statue? Let’s go.” Marcus pushed past Rush, carrying a leather bag thrown over his shoulder.

America’s sweetheart and the new girlfriend of this asshole
.

“Three bags. Over there,” Marcus snapped at the twenty-something bellboy who looked like he’d just come from a day at the beach, with his long sun-streaked bangs covering his eyes and tanned face.

Rush gritted his teeth to keep from giving him a two-fisted lesson in manners.
Asshole.
He and Marcus had trained together for the last three years. At the Olympics two years earlier, Marcus failed to qualify to compete in the medal rounds while Rush had gone on to become one of the few men to win Olympic medals in all five disciplines: gold in the slalom and giant slalom, and silver in the Super-G, downhill, and combined. Marcus had been a prick before Rush won, and he’d turned into a prick extraordinaire ever since. And for the last three weeks, he’d monopolized every second of Jayla’s time—a harsh reminder that Rush had waited too long already, and he needed to tell Jayla how he felt about her before she and Marcus got in any deeper.