Grace's Après-Ski Inferno

The lodge bar pulsed with laughter and clinking glasses, but all I saw was Grace—her lavender waves framing those wide blue eyes, catching mine across the crowd. Jax hovered too close, his hand on her arm, but she glanced my way, a spark igniting. Later, in the hot tub's misty embrace, her fair skin flushed under the stars, clothes slipping away like secrets. What started as a dare became an inferno, her soft gasps pulling me under. The après-ski crowd at the lodge bar was a whirlwind of flushed cheeks and boisterous tales from the slopes. I nursed a whiskey at the corner booth, my eyes drifting inevitably to Grace Mitchell. She stood out like a delicate flame in that sea of ruddy faces—petite, with fair skin glowing under the low amber lights, her lavender purple hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders. At twenty-one, she carried that adorable innocence, sweet smiles lighting her blue eyes, but there was a new spark there since our sauna encounter, a subtle confidence that made my pulse quicken. Jax was all over her, that cocky ski instructor with his easy grin and hands that lingered too long on her arm. 'Come on, Grace, one more shot,' he urged, his voice cutting through the chatter as he pressed a glass into her hand. She laughed, light and genuine, but her gaze flicked across the room—to me. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, the noise faded. I saw the pull, the curiosity, the thrill she couldn't quite hide. Jax didn't notice; he was too busy spinning some story about his latest black diamond run. I raised my glass slightly, a silent invitation. Her lips curved, and she excused herself with a polite murmur, weaving through the crowd toward the patio doors. My heart...