watch, reminding him, “Thrill Seekers closed at eight. It’s now almost nine.”
“It’s been great talking with you too.” His gray eyes laughed at her.
Eve didn’t return his laughter. For some unknown reason, she’d wanted to scare him off any and all adventures. She didn’t know why, but she’d felt a compulsion to do so. Like Taylor, she always went with her gut. “If you’re not in any big hurry to end your life, take all the time you need to make up your mind.”
“No hard sell?” Sloan strolled across the room to an armchair and made himself comfortable. He picked up a skiing magazine displayed on a side table and thumbed through it. “Thought you’d want my business. I expected you to be more persuasive.”
Eve stared after him. The man didn’t understand business closed. He lived life on his own time, and didn’t care whether he inconvenienced others.
Seated now, McCaffrey looked at home among the shadows, his body as solid as the brick wall at his back, a poster boy for fitness. Sadly, he was slow to comprehend that a physique honed for baseball differed greatly from a body ready for downhill. On the mountain, even the most athletic of men discovered muscles he’d never known existed.
“I never push a client to kill himself,” she finally answered. “Once you sign up, there are no refunds.”
He slouched deeper in the chair. “You ever skied La Grave?”
Eve shook her head. “I’m not a thrill seeker.”
“Yet Taylor is. Are you the postman’s baby?”
She’d heard that question a thousand times. It hadn’t bothered her until Sloan McCaffrey asked it. Suddenly prickly, she reached beneath the counter for a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. She sprayed and wiped down the glass countertop, then picked her words carefully.
“Taylor inherited the sporting gene. I have the business sense. I travel with her to scout out locations so I can convey the risk factor to clients. I don’t own equipment, nor do I ever plan to hand my life over to a mountain, wild rapids, or the deep blue sea.”
“Not an ounce of daredevil in your soul?”
“I play it safe.”
“I want to play with Taylor.” Sloan tossed down his magazine, then rose from the leather chair. He crossed back to her, his shadow on the wall big and imposing and once again touching hers. He had an easy roll to his hips. His expression was smug. “How much?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. His gray T-shirt separated from his jeans, and Eve caught the number three tattooed over his groin.
Sloan caught her checking out his tat. “A warning to women,” he explained. “Three dates and I’m gone.”
“What if the woman you’re dating has a ‘two’ tattoo rule?”
“Makes it easier on me.”
Eve rolled her eyes. She’d met a lot of men through Thrill Seekers. None were as arrogant and into themselves as Sloan McCaffrey. The man was an ass.
“La Grave will run you ten grand.” She drew an information packet from a drawer behind the counter and handed it to him. “Inside you’ll find a list of equipment as well as names of several insurance companies who offer high-risk policies. Be sure your travel insurance is fully paid up prior to departure. You might want to increase your life insurance as well. The hotel will require that you leave a next-of-kin address and your medical insurance details at the reception desk before you head up the mountain. Makes it easier on Taylor.”
Sloan extracted a check from his black leather wallet and wrote it out for the required amount. He slid it across the counter to Eve. Their fingers brushed, the tips sparking, as if they’d both scuffed their feet across the carpet, producing static electricity.
He looked at her strangely.
She dropped her gaze.
Drawing her hand back, she slipped the check into a bank bag, then shook her head disbelievingly. “The price men pay to be with my sister.”
“Obviously I’m not the first.”
“Nor will
“It’s been great talking with you too.” His gray eyes laughed at her.
Eve didn’t return his laughter. For some unknown reason, she’d wanted to scare him off any and all adventures. She didn’t know why, but she’d felt a compulsion to do so. Like Taylor, she always went with her gut. “If you’re not in any big hurry to end your life, take all the time you need to make up your mind.”
“No hard sell?” Sloan strolled across the room to an armchair and made himself comfortable. He picked up a skiing magazine displayed on a side table and thumbed through it. “Thought you’d want my business. I expected you to be more persuasive.”
Eve stared after him. The man didn’t understand business closed. He lived life on his own time, and didn’t care whether he inconvenienced others.
Seated now, McCaffrey looked at home among the shadows, his body as solid as the brick wall at his back, a poster boy for fitness. Sadly, he was slow to comprehend that a physique honed for baseball differed greatly from a body ready for downhill. On the mountain, even the most athletic of men discovered muscles he’d never known existed.
“I never push a client to kill himself,” she finally answered. “Once you sign up, there are no refunds.”
He slouched deeper in the chair. “You ever skied La Grave?”
Eve shook her head. “I’m not a thrill seeker.”
“Yet Taylor is. Are you the postman’s baby?”
She’d heard that question a thousand times. It hadn’t bothered her until Sloan McCaffrey asked it. Suddenly prickly, she reached beneath the counter for a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. She sprayed and wiped down the glass countertop, then picked her words carefully.
“Taylor inherited the sporting gene. I have the business sense. I travel with her to scout out locations so I can convey the risk factor to clients. I don’t own equipment, nor do I ever plan to hand my life over to a mountain, wild rapids, or the deep blue sea.”
“Not an ounce of daredevil in your soul?”
“I play it safe.”
“I want to play with Taylor.” Sloan tossed down his magazine, then rose from the leather chair. He crossed back to her, his shadow on the wall big and imposing and once again touching hers. He had an easy roll to his hips. His expression was smug. “How much?” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. His gray T-shirt separated from his jeans, and Eve caught the number three tattooed over his groin.
Sloan caught her checking out his tat. “A warning to women,” he explained. “Three dates and I’m gone.”
“What if the woman you’re dating has a ‘two’ tattoo rule?”
“Makes it easier on me.”
Eve rolled her eyes. She’d met a lot of men through Thrill Seekers. None were as arrogant and into themselves as Sloan McCaffrey. The man was an ass.
“La Grave will run you ten grand.” She drew an information packet from a drawer behind the counter and handed it to him. “Inside you’ll find a list of equipment as well as names of several insurance companies who offer high-risk policies. Be sure your travel insurance is fully paid up prior to departure. You might want to increase your life insurance as well. The hotel will require that you leave a next-of-kin address and your medical insurance details at the reception desk before you head up the mountain. Makes it easier on Taylor.”
Sloan extracted a check from his black leather wallet and wrote it out for the required amount. He slid it across the counter to Eve. Their fingers brushed, the tips sparking, as if they’d both scuffed their feet across the carpet, producing static electricity.
He looked at her strangely.
She dropped her gaze.
Drawing her hand back, she slipped the check into a bank bag, then shook her head disbelievingly. “The price men pay to be with my sister.”
“Obviously I’m not the first.”
“Nor will
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