Lucky Break (Lucky 3)

Rocked his world.

Not his usual way with words. They were Clara’s. But they were true.

She made her way closer and he couldn’t tear his gaze off her long, lean legs encased in hip-hugging, slimming black denim, black suede boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her long, beautiful hair, light brown with blond streaks, hung down to the middle of her back, while breezy bangs fluttered over her forehead. But it was her red mask that stood out, covering most of her face, curving seductively lower on one side. She’d wrapped a matching red scarf around her neck.

As she walked toward him in the moonlight, a strange sense of déjà vu enveloped him but he couldn’t say why. The band played “That Old Black Magic,” winding a seductive spell around him-if he believed in such things.

But even as he told himself he didn’t, he was drawn to her.

Her gaze never left his as she came up behind him. She looked him over and he did the same to her. Silky hair draped her shoulders, and though the mask covered her face, her matching lipstick drew his attention to her red mouth. She ran her tongue over her lips in a clearly unconscious gesture and every rational thought fled his brain.

“Is this the line for hot cider?” she asked through those lush lips, full, ripe and begging for him to taste.

That voice, also familiar, nudged at the back of his mind even as his thoughts were already churning with the unbelievable notion that Clara’s prediction had come true. And he couldn’t do more than nod in response.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” she asked in a teasing tone.

A wry smile pulled at his lips. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She raised her eyebrows warily over the top of the mask. “Try me.”

He shrugged. Why not? “This is going to sound corny as hell but a fortune-teller told me I was going to meet you tonight.”

She tilted her head back and laughed, a full, throaty sound that knotted his stomach and sent desire rushing through his body at breakneck speed. No woman before had ever made such an impact.

Only one had come close and he’d been too young to appreciate her.

“Tell me about that fortune-teller,” she urged.

He shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

She sidled up to him. “Then tell me about you.” Her green eyes sparkled with interest.

“I’m just a local.” He eyed her curiously, still wondering why that déjà-vu feeling hadn’t subsided.

“You’re not just anything,” she assured him flirtatiously.

That’s when he knew.

He immediately flashed back to their first meeting. “I’m just a skier,” he’d said in an attempt at false modesty. He’d wanted her to appreciate him, not the medals he’d won.

“You’re not just anything,” she’d said, those inquisitive yet knowing eyes boring into his.

The connection had been made, their bond solid from that moment on.

Jason swallowed hard and studied her now, attempting to see beyond the mask she wore to the intervening years they’d been apart. The same green eyes, those lips he’d kissed, the body he’d known as well as his own.

Blood rushed from his head to other demanding body parts as reality hit him. The woman behind the mask was Lauren Perkins and she apparently had no intention of admitting it.

Jason was curious as well as intrigued. She certainly had to recognize him.

Always up for a challenge, he decided to play along and pretend they were indeed strangers. “I appreciate the compliment,” he said, stepping closer, invading her personal space. “Despite the fact that you probably think the fortune-teller story is a corny pickup line.”

She grinned. “It’s not just a corny line, it’s the worst I’ve ever heard.”

A light burst of cold wind whipped around them and he inhaled her warm, seductive scent, increasing his interest as well as his desire.

He wondered what she wanted. And when she’d reveal herself.