Bound to be Dirty (17 page)

“Another reason I prefer helis.”

Lily put on her sunglasses and the headset that would let them talk to each other, and kept quiet as the engine caught, the rotor blades spun, and he got clearance from the air traffic control tower to lift off.

The helicopter vibrated, power gathering. Dax never lost that tiny thrill of anticipation and the leap of his heart when the machine's skids broke contact with the ground. He took her up and set her on course, scanning the air space and water of Vancouver Harbour, then Coal Harbour, noting the HeliJet flight from Victoria, a seaplane landing, and another taking off. Visibility was great, the sky a clear, chilly blue. After they'd flown over Lions Gate Bridge, he spoke to Lily though their headsets. “Great day for flying.”

“We couldn't have asked for better weather.”

“There's a bag beside you. I bought a couple of sandwiches. Egg salad and ham and cheese. Take your pick.”

“Mmm, nice. You remembered I like egg salad.”

Not about to accuse her again of being predictable, he said, “Hoped you still did.”

She opened the lunch bag, handed him the ham sandwich, and started eating the egg one. He'd also included a couple of fruit drinks.

In cruise flight, Dax kept his right hand on the cyclic, balanced the sandwich wrapper on his lap, and moved his left hand away from the collective periodically to take a bite.

When he flew tourists, he had to tell them about the scenery and answer questions, but his preference was to not talk when flying. Up in the sky on a day when the weather was stable, a sense of serenity came over him. Perhaps Lily shared that mood, because she spoke little, only an occasional comment about the world unfurling below them. The pristine whiteness of the snow capping the North Shore mountains; how the view from the gondolas at Grouse Mountain couldn't compare to the one from the helicopter; how nice it was to cruise above the traffic on the busy Sea to Sky Highway. Dax pointed out the controlled development at Furry Creek, a tug towing a huge log boom, a pair of bald eagles on a tall tree in Brackendale, the abandoned town of Garibaldi.

Too quickly, they arrived at Whistler, and he set the helicopter down at the heliport.

“Thank you,” Lily said as he helped her out. “That was a lovely flight.”

“My pleasure.”

He retrieved their luggage and they went into the office, where he did paperwork, then they climbed into a taxi.

Whistler sparkled with the dazzle of sunshine on snow, a ski village designed to harmonize with the natural environment. The center of town, the tourist area, was too ritzy for Dax's taste, but he did love the majestic scenery, and most of the residential areas were understated and appealing. That was true of White Gold, where they were staying. Christmas lights and decorations were still displayed at many houses.

When the cab pulled up in front of the rental cabin, Lily said, “How cute. It looks like a gingerbread house.” The peaked roof was covered with snow and icicles hung from the eaves. Shuttered windows looked like sleeping eyes waiting to open.

Dax lugged their stuff to the snow-covered porch. “I'll get the key.” He found it, as the owners had promised, tucked behind a shutter on a side window. The front door led into a mudroom. On one side, a long rectangular box formed a bench seat, and on the other wall jackets hung on hooks above several pairs of boots. Three pairs of skis and two snowboards—one big, one small—were stacked in a corner.

“Don't take your jacket off,” he warned. “It'll be cold inside. We can turn on the heat then walk into the Village and pick up groceries.”

They did both take off their boots before stepping into a living room with log walls and a sizable fireplace made of rough stones, with a basket of logs and kindling beside it. The furniture was casual and suited the room: a couch and sofa done in blue and green upholstery, comfy looking chairs, wooden coffee tables, all a little the worse for wear. Bookcases on either side of the fireplace overflowed with books, DVDs, and games. Framed photographs covered the walls. He moved closer to take a look. “This must be the couple who owns it.”

Lily stepped up beside him and they both studied a photo of a tanned man and woman a little older than them with a boy aged seven or eight. Posed with mountain bikes, they wore shorts and tees and held helmets. The woman had a baby bump.

The people who owned this house had the life he'd once dreamed of: a happy family with easy access to wilderness adventure.

“A nice-looking family,” Lily said with a hint of something—wistfulness?—in her voice. Did she too feel a moment's regret for a youthful dream they'd both outgrown?

“I like this place,” she said.

“I doubt your mom would think much of their interior decorator.”

She laughed softly, but when she answered, her voice had that same wistful tone. “No, but this is a home.” More of a home than the house she'd grown up in. She didn't have to say those words; they both knew the truth. As for him, he'd never really had a home, yet gut instinct recognized this as one.

Seventeen

L
ily gazed at her husband, so handsome and rugged in his jeans and flight jacket. Dax fit this room with its big stone fireplace and comfy, if shabby, furniture. He fit here better than in the Vancouver condo.

The room had personality and character; it looked lived in. In her parents' home, she and Anthony had learned to leave no sign of their presence. An image came into her mind, of Anthony's and Regina's living room. Her brother had loosened up since he'd married, and again since they'd had Sophia. But Lily maintained the discipline she'd learned as a child and had trained Dax to tidy up after himself. No wonder he rarely came back to a place that didn't look like a home.

He reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “I'll turn on the heat then let's go buy food. Do you want to eat in or go out tonight?”

“Let's eat in. By the fire.” Food, wine, and a crackling fire. Relaxation, if such a thing were possible when so many huge issues hung over their heads. Even if they did rekindle their love for each other and decided they wanted to make their marriage work—which was a huge
if
—could they ever find a lifestyle that worked for both of them? One that gave Dax the freedom and outdoors life he needed, yet included a real home and the children she yearned for?

“Sounds good,” he said. “Before we go shopping, you should check your bag, see if there's anything I forgot.”

He'd packed for her—which sort of annoyed her, yet she understood why he'd done it. The take-charge guy she'd fallen for had wanted to kidnap her and give her a romantic surprise. And he'd tried to be considerate: he'd given her egg salad and a spectacular flight, a real fireplace and her choice of dinner options. She wrapped her arms around his waist inside his unzipped jacket, tipped her head back, and gazed up at him. “Thank you, Dax. For all of this.” She swallowed. “For not losing hope.”

“You're welcome.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her.

This kiss, like the one they'd shared before leaving Vancouver, started out gentle, but when Dax slipped his tongue between her lips, she met it eagerly. Mmm, if only the house wasn't icy cold, how lovely it would be to light a fire and make love in front of it.

Reluctantly, she pulled away. “To be continued.”

“Count on it.” He picked up their luggage. “I'll take these upstairs.”

She followed him up a wooden staircase. The second floor had a large bedroom with an en suite, the little boy's room, a spare bedroom, and a bathroom. Dax placed her suitcase on the bed in the master bedroom and she checked the contents. He'd done surprisingly well, packing all the necessary toiletries, casual clothes, a dressy pantsuit, and one of her half dozen good dresses, this one tan and conservatively styled. Lingerie and high-heeled shoes but—she shook her head, amused—no panty hose. He had packed the lightweight, rose-colored sweater he'd once given her. Usually, she stuck with beiges and grays, but she got compliments when she wore this sweater.

Dax had also included the butterfly top Kim had given her, which she had yet to wear. It had been a birthday gift two months ago. A birthday Dax hadn't come home for. He offered, but she figured he didn't really want to and told him not to bother, she'd be working that day and then there'd be dinner with her parents. How typical of the way their relationship had gone.

Remembering something, she checked inside her cosmetics bag. Yes, her birth control pills were there. When, if ever, would she be able to toss them out?

“How did I do?” Dax's voice drew her attention.

She tried to banish the regret and focus on the hope. “Amazingly well. But if we go out for dinner and I wear that dress, I'll need pan-ty hose.”

“Oops.” Then he gave a wicked grin. “Or we could do that thing where you wear a dress and no underwear, and I play with you under the tablecloth until you come.”

“Dax!” They would never dare to do that. Would they? Had he omitted panty hose deliberately? “It's winter,” she reminded him. “No woman would go out in public bare legged.”

“Garter belt and stockings?”

She huffed. “Let's go shopping.”

But the idea stayed with her, teasing at the corners of her mind as, clasping gloved hands, they strolled the snowy path from the White Gold neighborhood into Whistler Village. She commented on how pure and crisp the air was. Dax traced a hammering sound to a red-headed woodpecker, and named the flock of tiny, chittering birds in an evergreen tree as pine siskins. They chuckled over a toddler in a pink snowsuit forming sloppy snowballs and pelting her father.

Entering the Village, they wandered past upscale stores, restaurants, and coffee shops. The town bustled with people dressed in winter wear, some carrying skis or snowboards. Everything was still decorated for Christmas: twinkling lights, holly, wreaths with pinecones, Santa Clauses, and reindeer.

Most of the clothing-store windows featured ski and snow wear but some had party clothes. A dress caught Lily's eye. In a silky looking blue and gold fabric, it was sleeveless with a deep vee neckline and a belled skirt that ended above the knees. Not as dressy as an evening gown, but prettier and more feminine than her dresses.

“Want to go out for New Year's Eve dinner tomorrow?” Dax asked.

“That would be nice, but I doubt we'd get in anywhere at this late date.”

“Don't know until we try. Whistler doesn't seem like a place where people do a lot of advance planning.”

“Maybe not. That French place we passed looked nice.”

“Let's go back and see if they can fit us in.”

Lily glanced across the street, where she'd noticed a lingerie store. “Why don't you do that, and I'll buy my panty hose?” And perhaps something sexier.

“Sure. Meet you back here.” He gave her a quick kiss then strode away.

She hurried across the street and into the boutique with its display of lacy lingerie. A smiling brunette in a low-cut red sweater greeted her. “Happy New Year. Can I help you find something?”

Lily gazed around. Normally, she bought basic underwear designed for comfort, and Dax had never complained. “I need a pretty, lacy bra in 36B, a garter belt, and stockings. And quickly, before my husband comes back.”

“Come with me. You'll want a matching thong?”

Lily followed her. “Right.” Of course she wouldn't go out in public without panties.

“Black? With your coloring, you must look fantastic in black. Or how about champagne, to match your skin? You'll look almost like you're naked.”

Black wouldn't work with the tan dress Dax had brought. Nor the blue and gold one in the shop window . . . “Champagne.”

The brunette held up a low-cut bra with lace-decorated cups. “This is my favorite. It's very flattering. Want to try it on?”

“I don't have time. It's a surprise.”

She winked. “Lucky man. He's going to have a great New Year's.”

“I hope so.”

The woman picked out a matching thong and garter belt, added sheer stockings, and quickly wrapped them. Lily paid cash to speed things up, and scurried out of the store to find Dax mounting the steps toward it.

“Hope you're okay with nine o'clock,” he said. “It was that or five thirty.”

“Nine sounds great. We can have a late lunch.”

“Get your panty hose?”

“I got what I needed.” She couldn't wait to see his face when he saw her new lingerie. Lily gestured toward the clothing store. “What do you think of the blue and gold dress?”

He turned to look. “I like it. Try it on.”

Arm in arm, they entered the store. Lily found the dress in her size and went into a changing room. When she put it on, her breath caught. She looked so feminine and, well, sexy.

“How is it?” the saleswoman called. “Is the size right?”

“Perfect. But I need shoes. Size seven.”

“I'll be right back.”

A couple of minutes later, Lily gazed at her feet in strappy gold sandals with four-inch heels. She'd never worn shoes like that, but the dress demanded them.

“Hey there.” This time it was Dax's voice outside the door. “Do I get a look?”

She spun, lighthearted, loving how the dress belled out. “Not until tomorrow night.”

“Tease,” he said, humor in his voice.

Just wait until he found out about the garter belt and stockings. She wouldn't say anything until they were eating, then she'd tell him. Maybe she'd raise the hem of her skirt and give him a peek.

“Do you have the right jewelry?” The saleswoman was back.

“I'm all set.” Her new pendant and matching earrings would suit the dress.

She slid off the shoes and unzipped the dress, reluctant to take off a garment that made her feel pretty. But even when she was back in her cable-knit sweater, jeans, and boots, she still felt attractive, with tousled hair, pink cheeks, and bright eyes. She felt healthy, happy, and hopeful. “Three very good H's,” she murmured.

Back outside, she slipped her hand into Dax's. “This was a good idea, coming to Whistler. Now what? Groceries?”

“Sure. If we're eating by the fire tonight, how about a picnic?”

“Picnic?”

“Yeah. Whatever appeals to us. Fresh-baked French bread and blue cheese.”

Like they used to do when they were young. “Yum. Greek olives, Brie, grapes.”

“Salami.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You can have the salami. I'll take, hmm, maybe rosemary ham.”

“Barbecued chicken.”

“I'm with you there. And wine, of course.”

“White or red?”

She mused. “How about pink and bubbly?”

His eyebrows went up. “Since when do you drink pink bubbly?”

“We're not doing the usual things, are we?” With a smug grin, she thought of her new dress and lacy lingerie.

“Pink bubbly it is.”

“I'm getting hungry. This is why people get fat over the holidays. Too much food and not enough exercise.”

“I don't think that'll be a problem for you. You're really slim and toned. All that running?”

“I've been doing self-defense classes too.”

“Self defense is a great idea.” He winked. “Think you can take me?”

“If I caught you off guard.” Cheerfully, she added, “I could gouge out your eyeballs too.”

He winced. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

* * *

D
usk fell early, making Whistler Village's holiday lights and decorations even more festive and magical. The temperature dropped sharply, and they speeded their pace, leaving the Village and turning onto the trail, which was lit with a ski resort version of streetlights. Their boots crunched and squeaked against the snowy path, loud in the still night, and the chill seeped through Lily's coat and sweater. “I'm so not a cold-weather girl.”

“If you lived in a place like this, you'd have the clothes for it.”

“Says you, who's never been cold in your life.” At least she'd never heard him admit to it, and whenever she touched him he gave off heat.

As they approached their rented cabin, Lily saw that Dax had left the outside light on, and their gingerbread house looked welcoming. He opened the door and they dumped their bags on the bench in the mudroom while they shed shoes and coats. Then they stepped into the living room and yes, it was blissfully warm.

“I'll get a fire going,” Dax said.

“I'll put away the groceries.” She shivered, far from warmed up yet.

“I can do that. Go take a shower or bath.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said gratefully. Toting her shopping bag, she headed upstairs.

In a couple of minutes, she was in the shower, hot water streaming over her and penetrating into chilled muscles. What a lovely afternoon it had been, like the early days when it was so easy and fun to be with Dax. Humming, she looked forward to their picnic—and hopefully the second act of the “to be continued” kiss they'd enjoyed earlier.

Warm and dry, she contemplated her clothing choices. Tonight, she wouldn't wear same-old, same-old. Deciding that the rose-colored sweater would be perfect for tomorrow morning, she fingered the delicate silk of Kim's butterfly blouse. It was almost gauzy, which made the blue– and green-shaded butterflies with their gold veining stand out beautifully. She'd have to wear something under it. Fortunately, Dax had packed the powder-blue tank George had given her, and her black yoga pants.

Once dressed, she added brown mascara and a whisper of blue eye makeup. Her mom might think she looked frivolous, but Lily didn't give a damn. Dax would approve.

On slippered feet, she hurried downstairs. Sounds met her: the crackle of burning wood, Savage Garden singing “I Knew I Loved You.” She smelled a hint of wood smoke and a rich, spicy, alcoholic scent. Dax had turned the lights off, so the room was lit only by the blazing fire.

He crouched beside it, poking at the logs. He still wore jeans but had taken off the heavy sweater he'd worn earlier. A black tee with a stylized helicopter on the back stretched across his powerful shoulders.

“Savage Garden?” she asked. They'd listened to the Australian duo in their early years together.

“From the owners' stack of CDs.” He rose and turned to her. “Wow, look at you. You're gorgeous, sweetheart.” He glanced down at himself. “And I'm seriously underdressed.”

She shook her head. “You look gorgeous too.” Dax was so striking, he couldn't
not
look great, and the faded jeans and tee with “Born to Fly” across his chest suited him.

He took two mugs from the stone hearth and handed her one. “Hot rum toddies.”

The scent was heavenly: rum, lemon, cinnamon, and a hint of something else, maybe nutmeg. She breathed it in then took a cautious sip. The bite of alcohol, the sweet-sour mix of lemon and honey, and the richness of spice. “Mmm, nice.”