His name is Rolf. At first, I thought he was Swedish. Turns out he's German. He has a perfectly good sense of humour buried under that stone face of his, but it's pretty damned dry and sarcastic. He thinks of himself as serious, mostly because, when he decides he wants something, he doesn't stop until he gets it.
For a while, he went after every medal and cup in alpine skiing. Then he had to take over his father's world-renowned sporting goods conglomerate. He brought that back from the brink of disaster. Then his kid brother--who is actually his half-brother because his dad fooled around on his mom--started badgering him to bring a defunct ski hill back to life as an training facility for elite winter athletes.
Rolf liked the challenge that represented, so he's going after it. Their father purchased Whiskey Jack Ski Resort fifteen years ago and it was promptly wiped out by an avalanche, so he has his work cut out for him.
One building still stands. It's a closed up ski chalet called Blue Spruce Lodge. That's where Glory comes in.
Glory is a closet romance writer from Seattle. Her father buys the lodge and drags her kicking and screaming to help him renovate and run it. She is so not interested. I'll have more on her in another post, but Rolf, the arrogant Viking, makes her go through with the deal. She wants to throat-punch him from the first moment they interact.
Except he also kick-starts her imagination after a year-long bout of writer's block. It came on during her mother's lengthy and unsuccessful battle with cancer, but as Glory looks around Blue Spruce Lodge, she begins to believe she can write again. The only problem is, she's bumping into Rolf at every turn.
Here's the back cover copy for On The Edge. An excerpt follows, but you can read the first two chapters here.
The champion meets his match…
When Glory Cormer’s father introduces her to ‘their’ new business partner, she’s appalled. Viking-like Rolf Johansson exudes the same alpha-intimidation that jocks used to torment her through high school. After nursing her mother the last several years, she’s trying to break out of her shell and secretly pursue a writing career, but Rolf insists she go through with the rotten deal her father struck with his brother to renovate an old chalet.
Rolf envisions this mountain as a world-class resort for elite athletes and other jet setters. As a downhill champion and owner of a world-renowned sports equipment empire, he knows what it takes to get what he wants. Nothing will stop him, especially not a hotheaded wallflower who turns the ice in his veins to lava.
Here's one of my favourite scenes.
Glory has just made Rolf a coffee at the espresso bar, trying to be nice to him because he's their top-paying guest. She's been staring at him a lot, too, but for research purposes. He thinks she has a crush and that it needs to be nipped in the bud:
~ * ~
Rolf looked into the top of
his mug. The foam heart made his own shrink and harden.
These flirty touches of hers,
accompanied by hopeful smiles and eagerness to please, were piling up and setting
off alarm bells. He was the full package. He knew that. She was hardly the
first woman to eye up his looks, standing, and fortune, then make a play for a
piece of it. He had an ex-wife who had
taken a piece.
Maybe he owned a little
responsibility for the way she was leaning in. He had cast one or two glances
that she might have construed as interest. That was his dick doing his thinking
and he needed to yank a halt on that as much as her. It was time to make clear
that coffee art, and pillow chocolates, and inspiring quotes on the bottom of
emails, didn’t affect him.
Drawing a breath, he went
straight to the heart—pun intended—of the matter.
“I don’t know what you think
might happen between us, but it won’t.”
She jolted like she’d caught
a spark of static electricity. Her hand paused where she was writing something
on a clipboard and she lifted her strawberry-blonde lashes, taken aback.
“I beg your pardon?” Her
voice was so thin he barely heard it.
He bit back a sigh and
licked his lips. “You seem to be making an effort to catch my attention.” He
nodded at the foam heart. “I just want to be up front, so there aren’t any
misunderstandings. I’m not interested.”
Maybe that was harsh, but he
wasn’t someone who danced around, avoiding the hard jobs.
Her eyes widened even more,
growing wounded and embarrassed. Pink bled into her face so deep, her freckles
disappeared. Her bottom lip started to quiver before she bit down on it. Her
brow pleated and her eyes began to gloss.
He set his back teeth, not
having planned to make explanations, but maybe he needed to dial this back a notch.
“We work together—”
“No, we don’t! You treat me
like I work for you.”
He cocked a brow at that.
Well, yeah. He was paying for a room and all.
“I’m trying to be nice.” Temper was gathering around her
like storm clouds, making her voice grow loud and strident. “Not that you would
know what that looks like. You think I’m coming on to you? You can’t even change
your own toilet roll! You don’t get Valentines for that, you asshat. Making
hearts with foam is so basic, it means I’m not even trying. But if you don’t
like the way I’ve made your coffee, fine.”
She grabbed his mug and
threw it into the bar sink where it bounced out and clattered to the floor,
sending coffee exploding all over the walls, counter, and floor.
Adrenaline shot through him
in reaction to the violence, sending a jolt of aggression into him that pushed him
onto his toes, determined to grab control of a situation that was in full
tailspin.
“Get a grip. This is a work
environment.”
“This—” her hand flung above
her head to indicate the lodge “—is a prison sentence. In Siberia. One where Herr
Rolf rules. Do you know I’m supposed to be in Paris with my mom? Instead, I’m stuck here with a prick
who goes out of his way to make me feel shitty about myself. Not interested? Fuck
you, Rolf. Fuck you and your brother’s dog, too.”
She spat the words. Her whole
body shook and her eyes showed white around fiery green centers.
“Are you done?” he bit out, dousing
her tantrum with the unmoved ice in his veins.
“So done.”
“Great. Can I get coffee?”
“Help yourself.” Except she
didn’t say ‘help.’ It sounded a lot more like ‘Gofuckyourself.’
She walked out, and he heard
Devon say, “You tell him, girl.”
“Oh, now you want to act
like we’re friends? Screw you, Devon.”
“Hey!” Devon said, but Glory’s
footsteps clomped away.
Rolf became aware of the
fact that music had been turned down in the kitchen. Everyone in the vicinity
had gone quiet to listen.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He walked around the bar, dropped
a towel on the spill, rinsed his cup, and helped himself to a regular coffee
from the brew of the day. He walked back to his office through the kitchen,
telling the kid in the dish pit to clean up behind the bar. Safety first.
Then he closed the door to
his office with a firm hand and sat down to work, telling himself he had
accomplished what he meant to. Maybe it hadn’t been elegant, but it was done. All
was right with his world.
The coffee gave him gut rot.
The coffee gave him gut rot.
~ * ~
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