Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence

“Perfect,” she’d said when he’d come out of the dressing room, her eyes twinkling with glee. “You’ll fit right in.”

And somewhat to his surprise, he had. The other ski instructors participating in Renegade Night were mostly in their twenties, both men and women, all of them fit and reckless. Even with Ares’s height and broad physique, no one had looked at him twice. Not with two Olympic athletes joining them, Star Valley locals who’d won medals in ski jumping and downhill skiing. And also some famous hockey player, apparently. They were the local heroes. No one had looked twice at Ares in his thick goggles.

It was disconcerting. But also strangely liberating.

Anonymity meant privacy. It meant freedom. That kind of invisibility was exhilarating and new.

Even as a boy in Greece, Ares had been constantly under a microscope, the only child of Aristedes and Thalia Kourakis, the glamorous, fabulously wealthy Greek society couple. His mother was famous for her beauty, his father for his ruthless power, and both of them for their tempestuous marriage, a five-year battle that had ended in a ten-year divorce.

And if they were merciless to each other, they’d been even more so to their only son. They’d used him as a pawn, first in the marriage, then in their divorce, in the court of public opinion. Ares had been recognized, and fawned over, wherever he went, if not for his appearance, then for his family’s wealth and name.

Appearance was what mattered. His parents had taught him that well, spending almost no time with him, leaving him in the care of nannies as they tried to outdo each other by buying him ridiculous gifts. The gifts always came with strings. Like on Ares’s ninth birthday, when his father had bought him a Brazilian aerospace company. As Ares had blinked in confusion—he’d dreamed of a puppy—his father had added casually, “And in return for this amazing gift, I expect you to report on the activities of that whore you call a mother.”

Now, as Ares felt the ice-cold wind of the Idaho mountain whip against his face, he realized he’d never had the chance to cast off his name and everything that came with it—fame, power, yes, but also darkness.

He felt strangely free. Strangely alive.

“Why are you just standing there? Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” Ruby said gleefully.

Ares looked at the beautiful, unexpected woman beside him in the snow. Her cloud of dark hair tumbled beneath her pink hat, knit with a red flower. Behind her, he saw the distant torches of the last skiers, as lovely and mysterious as fairy lights.

He wasn’t tired. At all.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to do far more than kiss her.

Looking at him, Ruby’s expression changed. Her smile slid away. She looked almost…afraid.

“Come on.” Turning on her snowboard, she took off down the hill. She was reckless, jumping moguls. She was a force of nature. Unstoppable.

Ares watched her. He’d possessed many women in his life. He’d taken them as his due. But for the first time, he’d met one who didn’t seem overly impressed either by his money or his appearance. She accepted him—or not—only for himself. For his actions. For his words. For his skills.

He could hardly wait to win her into his bed.

Chasing her, Ares turned the snowboard down and flew.

She reached the bottom of the mountain first. A roaring bonfire crackled in the middle of a snowy field, next to an icy creek. Around it, young people who’d already finished skiing laughed together, holding steaming mugs.

Ares unlatched his snowboard. Lifting his goggles to his ski cap, he straightened, stepping out in the snow in his borrowed boots. Someone he didn’t know handed him a copper mug.

“Here, man. This’ll warm you up.”

Pulling off his gloves, Ares stuffed them in his pockets and took the mug. “Thanks.”

“I’m Gus.” The red-haired man, who had a lumberjack beard, did a double take. “Nice snowsuit.”

Ares scowled, suspecting mockery. But the other man’s eyes were sincere. So he said, “Thank you.”

“Ruby picked that out for you, right? You’re her friend’s cousin or something from up north?”

“Hmm,” Ares said noncommittally. Sniffing cinnamon and clove, he took a tentative sip from the copper mug. He tasted mulled wine, hot and infused with spices. Sighing in pleasure, he took a bigger gulp.