‘There they are.’
Now Tamsin saw it. A flicker of colour high on the mountain. As she watched the flicker became a glow then a tiny jewel-like thread of colour trailing down the slope.
The moon emerged from behind clouds to illuminate the imposing outline of one of Europe’s most famous peaks. Its cool brightness intensified the scene’s magical quality.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the ribbon of rainbow colours descending in swooping curves through the silver gilt night. She’d never seen anything like it. Excited murmurs in a dozen languages buzzed in her ears and she found herself grinning, rapt in the spectacle.
Her spine tingled as a clear chorus of voices rose. A cluster of people, many in traditional Ruvingian costume, waited on a flat area beside the hotel.
The singing stopped and in the silence Tamsin heard the whoosh of skis. The stream of colour descended to the clearing, resolving into dozens of skiers, each holding a coloured lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.
‘They skied that slope with no hands?’ The mountain was notoriously dangerous.
‘It’s tradition,’ said a woman in cherry red ski clothes and scintillating diamonds. ‘Didn’t you know?’
Tamsin shook her head, her gaze on the lead skier. Alaric. Her knees gave a little wobble as she took in his proud, handsome face and his easy grace as he slid to a flourishing halt. He handed the basket to a blonde who curtseyed and blushed. Each skier delivered a basket and was rewarded with a goblet.
‘Mulled wine,’ said the woman beside her.
There was a bustle as Alaric stepped out of his skis and headed purposefully through the crowd. It parted before him and Tamsin wondered what it would be like to have that effect on people.
His progress wasn’t entirely easy. Others moved towards him, all women, she noted, frowning.
No wonder he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. He didn’t even have to search them out!
Some smiled, others greeted him and still others reached out to touch. A twist of something sharp coiled through Tamsin’s stomach as she watched a beautiful redhead kiss him on the cheek.
Tamsin’s sense of not belonging rushed back full force. Why was she here? Companion indeed! This was a farce.
‘Your Highness.’ The woman beside her bobbed a curtsey then Tamsin forgot her as she looked up into eyes like midnight. Black hair flopped roguishly on his brow and his lips curved in an intimate smile that sent shivers of longing scudding through her.
‘Tamsin.’ He lifted the silver goblet in his hand. She had a moment to notice its intricate design, then the scent of spiced wine filled her nostrils and its sweet pungency was in her mouth.
Heat exploded within, surging through her blood. An instant later it exploded again as she watched Alaric lift the goblet to his lips, turning it deliberately to drink from the same place she had. His eyes held hers as he tilted it and drank. Not a sip like hers but a full bodied swallow.
Fire sparked across Tamsin’s skin at the blatant sexual message in his eyes. She told herself it was an act.
Yet a crazy part of her wished the message she read in his stare was real. She must be losing her mind!
Seated at a quiet table by a window overlooking the resort, Tamsin tried to relax. It was impossible with Alaric, like a sleek, dark predator, on the other side of the table.
The taste of spiced wine was on her tongue but it was the taste of him she remembered. Why couldn’t she get that kiss from her mind? Heat flooded her cheeks as she sought for something to say, convinced his brooding eyes read too much of her inner turmoil.
‘Tell me about the night ski. Is it an old tradition?’
Alaric settled back in his chair and stretched his legs. Tamsin shifted as they brushed hers.
‘Since the seventeenth century. The locals have re-enacted it ever since.’
‘Re-enacted what?’ Maybe if she focused on this she wouldn’t react to his lazy sensuality.
‘It was the worst winter on record. Avalanches cut the valley off and crop failure meant the villagers were starving. In desperation some young men set off through near blizzard conditions to get supplies, though everyone believed the trek doomed.’ Alaric’s voice was as dark and alluring as the rest of him. Tamsin felt it curl around her like the caress of fur on bare skin.
‘Fortunately one of the avalanches also brought down rock and opened a new route out of the valley. Weeks later they returned with supplies. Ever since the locals have commemorated the feat, and the salvation of the village.’
‘And the wine?’ She couldn’t shake the idea there’d been hidden significance in the way he’d shared that goblet.
‘Just to warm the skiers.’ His eyes gleamed.