Sisters In Love Part 1

Sisters in Love.

Snow Sisters.

Love in Bloom Series.

Melissa Foster.

Chapter One.

The line in the cafe went all the way to the door. Danica Snow wished she hadn't taken her sister Kaylie's phone call before getting her morning coffee. Living in an overcrowded tourist town could be a major inconvenience, but Danica loved that she could walk from her condo to her office, see a movie, have dinner, or even stop at a bookstore without ever sitting in a car. Every minute counted when you lived in Allure, Colorado, host to an odd mix of hippie and yuppie tourists in equal numbers. The ski slopes brought them in the winter, while art shows drew them in the summer. There was never a break. Every suit and Rasta child in town was standing right in front of her, waiting for their coffee or latte, and the guy ahead of her had shoulders so wide she couldn't easily see around him. Danica tapped the toe of her efficient and comfortable Nine West heels, growing more impatient by the second.

What on earth was taking so long? In seven minutes they'd served only one person. The tables were pushed so close to the people standing in line that she couldn't step to the side to see. She was gridlocked. Danica leaned to the right and peered around the ma.s.sive shoulder ahead of her just as the owner of that shoulder turned to look out the door. Whack! He elbowed her right in the nose, knocking Danica's head back.

Her hand flew to her b.l.o.o.d.y nose. "Ow! Geez!" She ducked in pain, covering her face and talking through her hands. "I think you broke my nose." Each word sent pain across her nose and below her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Let me get you a napkin," a deep, worried voice said.

Two patrons rushed over and shoved napkins in her direction.

"Are you okay?" an older woman asked.

Tears sprang from the corners of Danica's closed eyes. d.a.m.n it. Her entire day would now run late and she probably looked like a red-nosed, crying idiot. "This hurts so bad. Weren't you looking where-" Danica flipped her unruly, brown hair from her face and opened her eyes. Her venom-filled glare locked on the man who had elbowed her-the most beautiful specimen of a human being she had ever seen. Oh s.h.i.t. "I'm...What...?" Come on, girl. Get it together. He's probably an egomaniac.

"I'm so sorry." His voice was rich and smooth, laden with concern.

A thin blonde grabbed his arm and shoved a napkin into his hand. "Give this to her," she said, blinking her eyelashes in a come-hither way.

The man held the woman's hand a beat too long. "Thanks," he said. His eyes trailed down the blonde's blouse.

Really? I'm bleeding over here.

He turned toward Danica and handed her the napkin. His eyes were green and yellow, like field gra.s.s. His eyebrows drew together in a serious gaze, and Danica thought that maybe she'd been too quick to judge-until he stole a glance at the blonde as she walked out of the cafe.

a.s.shole. She felt the heat of anger spread up her chest and neck, along her cheeks, to the ridge of her high cheekbones. She snagged the napkin from his hand and wiped her throbbing nose. "It's okay. I'm fine," she lied. She could smell the minty freshness of his breath, and she wondered what it might taste like. Danica was not one to swoon-that was Kaylie's job. Get a grip.

"Can I at least buy you a coffee?" He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair.

Yes! "No, thank you. It's okay." She had been a therapist long enough to know what kind of guy eyes another girl while she was tending to a b.l.o.o.d.y nose that he had caused. Danica fumbled for her purse, which she'd dropped when she was. .h.i.t. She lowered her eyes to avoid looking into his. "I'm fine, really. Just look behind you next time." Not for the first time, Danica wished she had Kaylie's flirting skills and her ability to look past his wandering eyes. She would have had him buying her coffee, a Danish, and breakfast the next morning.

Danica was so confused, she wasn't even sure what she wanted. She chanced another glance up at him. He was looking at her features so intently that she felt as though he were drinking her in, memorizing her. His eyes trailed slowly from hers, lowered to her nose, to her lips, and then settled on the beauty mark that she'd been self-conscious of her entire life. She felt like a Cindy Crawford wannabe. Danica pursed her lips. "Are you done?" she asked.

He blinked with the innocence of a young boy, clueless to her annoyance, which was in stark contrast to his confident, manly presence. He stood almost a foot taller than Danica's impressive five foot seven stature. His chest muscles bulged beneath his way-too-small shirt, dark curls poking through the neckline. He probably bought it that way on purpose. She glanced down and tried not to notice his muscular thighs straining against his stonewashed denim jeans. Danica swallowed hard. All the air suddenly left her lungs. He was touching her shoulder, squinting, evaluating her face.

"I'm sorry. I was just making sure it didn't look broken, which it doesn't. I'm sure it's painful."

She couldn't think past the heat of his hand, the breadth of it engulfing her shoulder. "It's okay," she managed, hating herself for being lost in his touch when he was clearly someone who ate women for breakfast. She checked her watch. She had three minutes to get her coffee and get back to her office before her next client showed up. Belinda. She'd love this guy.

The line progressed, and Adonis waved as he left the cafe. Danica reached into her purse to pay for her French vanilla coffee and found herself taking a last glance at him as he pa.s.sed the front window.

The young barista pushed Danica's money away. "No need, hon. Blake paid for yours." She smiled, lifting her eyebrows.

"He did?" Blake.

"Yeah, he's really sweet." The barista leaned over the cash register. "Even if he is a player."

Aha! I knew it. Danica thrust her shoulders back, feeling smart for resisting temptation.

Chapter Two.

Danica sat across from Belinda Trenton, desperately trying to focus on her client's latest issue instead of the pain she felt every time she sniffled or blinked. It hurt, but her nose hadn't blossomed into a swollen mess, so she was pretty sure it wasn't broken. Belinda chewed gum like a cow chews its cud. Her eyeliner was reminiscent of Madonna's style from the eighties. Her dark hair was long and thick, pinned up in the very front with a pet.i.te barrette, leaving s.e.xy tendrils hanging past her silver-rimmed gla.s.ses. She looked like a vixen librarian. The tops of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s plumped out of the low-cut T-shirt she wore, and her black skinny jeans looked more like a second skin than a layer of clothing. She bounced her stiletto heels as she spoke. Blake would love you, Danica thought, before quickly chiding herself for being snarky.

"I wasn't going to sleep with him. I really wasn't," Belinda said, continuing her rationale for her previous evening's romp.

"I'm not here to judge you, Belinda. It's okay if you did want to sleep with him. But I thought you were trying to restrain yourself. Trying a new tactic." Same conversation, different day. Belinda was no more in charge of her hormones than the sky had the power to withhold rain. Danica's thoughts turned to Blake's shoulders, and she wondered what it might feel like to touch them. Oh G.o.d, what's happening to me? If even she couldn't keep her thoughts focused-and she was the least s.e.xual person she knew-how could she expect her s.e.xed-up clients to?

"I know. I was. Meet them, chat, and don't take them home, right?" Belinda looked at her for affirmation.

"Yes." She mulled over what Belinda had done. What was so bad about it, really? She was attracted to a man and went home with him. Ever since that morning, all Danica could think about was what would have happened if she'd let Blake buy her coffee. For the first time in her life, Danica was wondering about that moment of impact, that instant attraction that so many could not deny-her sister included. She wondered why Kaylie had that level of desire and why she didn't. She'd always thought that she was the less troubled one. Now, after experiencing heart-pounding excitement at the sight of Blake, she began to wonder if something was wrong with her after all. Why hadn't she ever felt this way before?

"Well, I tried that, but he just kept offering. He said he had this great, new CD he wanted me to hear-and I like music."

I like coffee. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Belinda rolled her eyes. "Rationalizing."

Danica nodded. Some people would call Belinda a s.e.x addict. Even Danica had lost track of the number of men that had shared Belinda's bed in the past year. But Danica didn't like that term-s.e.x addict. She felt it was a cop out. Being promiscuous was something that seemed to drive Belinda from one moment to the next, and Danica knew that when Belinda discovered more about herself and gained more confidence, the need for meaningless s.e.x would wane.

She didn't mean to, but she knew she was giving Belinda the disapproving parental look that she herself despised. Strangely, she felt the look was meant more for herself than Belinda. How many times had her father given her that same look for doing something whimsical instead of academic, while praising Kaylie for her song and dance routines? She pictured him now with his thick, dark hair, one bushy eyebrow lifted, as if to say, Don't waste your time on that silliness. She pictured her proper mother, demure with her blunt-cut hair and ever-present smile. She didn't have to say a word to Danica about her behavior. The way she'd nodded in support of her father was enough to send a strong message: Danica was the smart one. Her father's voice still rang out in her mind, There are certain expectations we have of you that we simply cannot expect of Kaylie.

Time to wrap this session up.

"Okay, so, next week we'll work on learning the downfalls of rationalizing your actions away." And, hopefully, I'll be able to think past the s.e.xy man who gave me a b.l.o.o.d.y nose.

Belinda bit her lower lip and stood eye to eye with Danica. "Do you think there's hope for me? Or am I always going to be like this?" Her eyes pleaded for help or some sort of kudos, something to validate that she wasn't looking at a mountain that she could never climb.

Danica knew the power of positive thinking. She patted Belinda on the back and said, "You can do anything you're really determined to do, Belinda. We just need to work on some of these things. I have faith in you." Validation on a paper plate. Why am I such a magnet for promiscuous people? She thought about it, then silently added, Even my sister!

Chapter Three.

Blake Carter listened to the two cougars whispering about him from behind the ski rack. He eyed them as he walked toward the front of the store. The dark-haired one looked vaguely familiar. The redhead flashed him a smile as he walked past. He gave her his best over-the-shoulder glance, holding her gaze. Nice rack, nice a.s.s. He busied himself behind the counter, counting up the receipts, glancing up when they giggled like schoolgirls. He was playing a game, doing what he knew best. But ever since that woman he'd hurt in the coffee shop noticed him taking a last glance at the slinky blonde, he had actually felt bad. He'd seen the hurt in the woman's eyes as she stood there with blood on her nose, and it was like his heart had softened. Ever since that moment, those hurt eyes lingered in his mind, and now he was having trouble seeing past them.

"They're hot for you."

Blake lifted his eyes to Dave Tuft, his best friend, business partner, and the best acroskier he knew. Dave could flip and spin on a pair of skis as well as Blake could land women.

"What else is new?"

Dave shook his head. "So, you goin' for it?" He lifted his eyebrows.

"No, thanks." Blake laughed, wishing the woman from the cafe had accepted his offer to buy her a cup of coffee. He could have made up for the sneak peek at the blonde.

"You can't handle two?" Dave pulled an inventory clipboard from below the counter and glanced over at the fifty-something-year-old women. "I envy you, but I wouldn't trade Sally or Rusty for anyone in the world."

"Just wait. Rusty's what? Fifteen? Soon he'll be doing what I'm doing, if he's not already."

"Maybe, but we spend so much family time together that I can't even imagine it."

"Tell me about it. When are we hitting the slopes again? Between Rusty's basketball and your weekly date night with Sally, we never get to catch air together. We should take a run, let our Kodak courage run wild." Blake knew from experience that if he egged him on enough, Dave would eventually relent. Dave's commitment to Sally and Rusty was enviable, but Blake missed their skiing excursions.

"Kodak courage, huh?" Dave laughed. "I think it takes Kodak courage to do what you do." He nodded at the women. "I'm too old and too tired to show that kind of courage."

Dave was five years older than Blake, and at thirty-four, Blake still couldn't imagine being too tired for s.e.x. He turned away from the women and leaned against the counter. He couldn't get the woman from the cafe off his mind. She was b.i.t.c.hy and cold and had made it very clear that she was too good for him when she snubbed his offer to buy her coffee, and yet, when he'd looked into her eyes, he'd been intrigued by some kind of repressed spark. Maybe it was just the old adage: Everyone wants what they can't have. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he had no stirrings for the women who were so eagerly vying for his attention, and he was p.i.s.sed at having been blown off earlier.

"As much as I egg you on, dude, I gotta tell ya, life is complicated enough. One woman-the right woman-is more than enough for me. I have to wonder why on earth you're so afraid of getting married," Dave said.

"Not afraid. Too smart to get caged." Blake smiled. "Come on. Whaddaya say? One more ski trip before the season's over?"

"You know, there are people who can help you work through that mommy drama of yours." Dave pulled out his cell phone scrolled through his contacts. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper, then shoved it into Blake's pants' pocket. "I looked her up a few months ago. I didn't see her, but I heard she's great."

"Hooker?"

"Therapist," Dave said with a serious tone. "Okay, look, it has been a while since we've skied. Rusty has a game tomorrow, but how about a night run on Sat.u.r.day?"

Blake eyed Dave expectantly, waiting for him to say that he forgot he had plans with Sally, Rusty needed help studying, or it was family movie night at their house. He touched his pocket, wondering why Dave would have a therapist's number, then dismissed the thought and moved on to planning their evening of skiing.

"What?" Dave asked.

"Hadn't you better check with wifey first?" Blake asked.

"Sally doesn't care what I do. I mean, she cares, but it's my choice."

Blake heard hesitation in Dave's voice and raised his eyebrows.

"I know you can't understand this, Casanova, but I actually like spending time with my family. I like the mundane of knowing they're there. I like coming home to the same woman every day, knowing what perfume she'll have on, and yes, even knowing that Friday nights are family movie night and Sundays are our date night." Dave sighed. "Look, Sat.u.r.day night. I'll make it happen."

Blake shook his head.

"What's that? Blood?" Dave pointed to Blake's elbow.

"What?" Blake looked at a smear of blood on his elbow. "G.o.dd.a.m.nit." He walked toward the bathroom to wash it off. Now the snarky woman had ruined his favorite Rossignol long-sleeve shirt. Sure, he had too many of the same type of shirt from every manufacturer around, but this shirt was the one his father had mailed him when they'd opened their ski shop, AcroSki. It was light gray, one size too small, and hugged him in all the right places. The perfect base layer. It was his lucky shirt, and now it was probably ruined.

Dave was on his heels. "Blood? What's up with that?"

"I elbowed some woman by accident at the coffee shop. She got a b.l.o.o.d.y nose." The woman he couldn't get out of his mind, with the cutest mole he'd ever seen right above her luscious lips.

"Is that why you're in a s.h.i.tty mood?" Dave asked.

Blake stopped walking and turned to face Dave. "I'm not in a s.h.i.tty mood. I'm just tired."

"If this isn't a s.h.i.tty mood, then you're a virgin, too."

Blake pressed his lips into a tight line and walked away.

The bathroom was bright and, thankfully, empty. Blake pulled at his shirtsleeve to inspect the damage. He'd never hit a woman before, not even by accident, and the one time he made a mistake, she bleeds all over his favorite shirt? Just his luck. He pulled his shirt over his head and rinsed the elbow area with cold water. The water turned pink from the runoff.

The bathroom door swung open, the Men's Room sign clear in big, bold, blue letters on the door.

"Oops. Sorry," the redhead said with a coy smile.

Blake feigned a smile in return. He was in no mood for a quick bathroom romp. He'd done it before-bathroom, airplane, even on a ski lift. h.e.l.l, there was probably nothing he hadn't done before, but he was not in the mood for it now.

The woman shimmied over and put her hand on his bare back. "Want some help with that?" She leaned in close, brushed her breast against his bare chest.

Blake steeled his stance. "I've got it, thanks."

Red reached over and put her hands on top of his, moving it in a scrubbing motion just as he was. "I'm good with my hands. I can probably get that right out."

I'll bet you are. Her hair smelled of roses, her shoulder and neck of Obsession perfume. Blake felt the familiar desire pulling him toward her. He leaned back. Behave, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.

The woman turned and put her wet hands on Blake's biceps, her lips an inch from his. "My girlfriend," she said, running her wet index finger down his arm, "said you liked a little fun."

"Did she?" Blake had a hazy recollection of the other woman from the only non-touristy bar in town, Bar None. He cringed. Was the town really that small? Blake was torn between his growing erection and the anger he'd felt moments before she'd come into the bathroom.

"Mm-hmm. I thought I might meet you after work and," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "help you release some stress. Drinks, my place?" She planted soft kisses down his neck.

To any other man, this might have seemed unusual, but to Blake-who'd been intimate with too many women to count, in too many places to remember-this was an everyday occurrence. Something he normally thrived on. Today, all he wanted was to clean his d.a.m.ned shirt and forget the woman from earlier that morning.