Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence. Jennie Lucas
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he glanced down at his vintage 1980s one-piece ski suit, bright blue with white and red racing stripes. He’d almost refused to wear it when she’d given it to him. Then he’d realized it was a test of sorts, and had taken it without complaint, along with the antiquated snowboard equipment, old goggles and a dark beanie hat from the resort’s lost-and-found bin.
“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.
“Right,” Gus said. “That girl has mad skills tracking down vintage stuff. I keep telling her she needs to start that business. All she needs to do is apply for a loan, but she just won’t.”
“A business?” Ares’s eyebrows lifted. He looked down at his outrageous ski suit. “You think people would actually buy outfits like this? On purpose?”
“Oh, yeah, man. Look around.”
He did, and he saw that most of the young people were indeed dressed in funky, offbeat outfits as outlandish as his own.
“Designer gear is for talentless hacks trying to buy their way into the sport.” The red-haired man considered. “Your suit is cool.”
Ares’s gaze fell on Ruby, who was standing on the other side of the bonfire. A broad-shouldered man was talking to her earnestly. “Who’s that with her now?”
The young man nodded toward them. “You know Braden Lassiter is her ex, right? They were engaged until he up and left for the National Hockey League. He plays for New York.”
Ares’s eyes narrowed. “New York?” He strained to remember anything he’d heard about Braden Lassiter, but he didn’t follow ice hockey. But he didn’t like seeing him talking to Ruby. Leaning toward her. “They were engaged?”
“High school sweethearts. Too bad they broke up. If they had a baby, man, that kid would kill it on the slopes, probably win every gold medal.”
Ares stared at them. A moment ago, flying down the mountain, he’d felt exhilarated, even euphoric. Now he felt ice in his solar plexus. What was it? Irritation? Possessiveness? It couldn’t be jealousy. He didn’t do jealousy.
Finishing his drink, Ares handed the mug back. “Thanks again.”
At least he wasn’t the only one who was annoyed. As he walked toward Ruby, he saw Braden Lassiter walking away from her with a scowl on his face. The man paused to stare suspiciously as Ares approached her.
Turning, Ruby saw him. “There you are.”
Ares jerked his chin toward the departing hockey player. “Was he bothering you?”
“Braden?” She rolled her eyes. “His team was playing in Vancouver and he had a free day, so he dropped in for Renegade Night. So of course the second he sees me with someone, he’s suddenly Mr. Twenty Questions, like he thinks he still has some claim over me.”
“You were engaged?”
“Did Gus tell you?” A strange expression crossed her face. “It was a million years ago. When he became an instant millionaire, he disappeared.”
“The bastard.”
“It was a good reminder of what money does to men’s hearts.”
The snow crunched beneath his feet. “And what is that?”
She looked up at him with big, dark eyes that gleamed against the bonfire’s flickering red light. “It makes them