Love Untold

Love Untold: Chapter 9

Still pressed against her, Race felt his body respond to Chrissie’s enthusiasm for the kiss.  Normally, he’d scoop her up, carry her to bed -- or whatever soft surface was available at the moment -- and proceed with make the most out of that response.  But right now...there was a reason people always talked about “wrong time, wrong place,” and this happened to be one of them.

However, he was reluctant to let her go just yet, as well.  The kiss gently evolved to something sweet and mellow, taking a few seconds to ease apart as fluidly as he’d ever done.  Like floating on a soft feather made for two...taking them both down from that high place.

He had no idea where Dena ran off to, and he didn’t care.  And he didn’t know how Chrissie would react to him when she finally opened her eyes and realized she kissed him again.  So, he was hesitant to ease back, but he had to.  He couldn’t keep her trapped in the closet until her memory came back.  That surely won’t win him any brownie points.

When Chrissie blinked her eyes open, they were dilated -- either from his kiss or the dim light of the closet, and Race chose to believe it was because of the first reason.  Those eyes.  The exact shade of blue as her sister’s and her mother’s, but whereas Dena’s always had a sparkle of mischief and craziness glinting in the corners of her eyes and the Snow Dragon’s blue depths bore a shadow of grief, Chrissie’s were like gateways to another dimension.  Blue like the summer sky, clear and pure like the waters of the Caribbean, endless like his love for her that coursed through his system...

Race remembered the first time he looked into those eyes.  He’d been in Denver at a promotional conference for his sponsor and had to stay at this cheesy, out-of-date ski resort during a Spring Break week.  Not in a very good mood because he took a fall in his last race, resulting in damage to his bike and failure to cross the finish line, and he was forced to make nice with a bunch of college kids who only wanted to get drunk and get laid, so he commandeered a stool at the resort’s bar and ordered a double scotch.  That’s when he heard a crash -- a sound he became familiar with over the last two years.  

Dolly Hill, the resort’s owner and manager, an attractive, older woman he met briefly upon arrival, stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the bar and stared down another woman that was obviously her daughter.  The same blue eyes, the same feminine curves, the same smooth complexion...the only two differences in the ladies was their age and their hair.  Mrs. Hill’s hair shone with white-gold -- a testament to her Nordic ancestry -- in a stylish up-do, but Chrissie’s hair dark, reddish curls floated around her face in a tangled, tousled mess, and Race took one look at her and her flushed cheeks and thought, Sex.

This woman would look just like that after an long, all-night bout of sheet-twisting, sweaty, shake-the-rafters lovemaking.  Her eyes glazed over big and bright, her hair curling around his fingers as he rocked into her, her skin glowing, her body vibrating...  Race had gotten a hard-on, right there on that padded stool, the glass of scotch frozen halfway to his mouth.  He watched as the mother and daughter argued furiously under their breaths, something about redecorating the hotel.  Then the one he knew he had to have balled her fists, stamped her feet like a petulant child and stomped over the shattered wine goblet on the floor to plop a luscious bottom on the stool next to him.

In a hot, sullen, throaty voice she said to the bartender, “Ricky, I need another merlot...I seemed to lost my first one.”

Race drained his glass, set it down with a decisive click and turned to her with his best, winning smile, and said, “I don’t normally kiss women I don’t know, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

She looked at him then, blinked for a sold five seconds and then smiled.  “I’d hate for you to break your own rule,” she said evenly.  “I’m Chrissie.  I’m twenty-eight, an interior decorator, I’m mortally afraid of spiders, and I throw things when I get mad.”

Race opened his mouth to make a reply, but she grabbed his