Shannon let her head drop back, savoring the sensation of Caroline’s mouth between her legs. Caroline’s tongue flicked over her clit and Shannon grabbed her hair to keep her there. Faster and faster Caroline flicked, sucked, and licked driving Shannon out of her mind. Her orgasm started soft like the water cascading over her face but climaxed like Niagara Falls, rushing over the edge. She didn’t know if
• 36 •
Descent
she screamed, whispered, or was completely quiet and really didn’t care.
If anyone heard her she would be happy to accept the consequences.
The sound of her own voice echoing off the marble walls in the shower of Room 454 in the Chateau Brodale brought Shannon back to the present. Her body felt as it had that time long ago. Her breathing was rapid, her pulse racing, legs weak, head spinning. She pulled her fingers from between her legs and collapsed on the seat at the end of the enclosure. Catching her breath, Shannon realized what was missing.
Her body was satisfied and full, but because she was alone in the shower, she was empty.
v
The van pulled into the winding drive of the Gite Sur la Bonne Piste, a quaint bed and breakfast located at the base of Mount Brome, or Mont Bro as the locals called it. The house was typical Canadian style with a wide front porch, large windows framing either side of the massive oak front door, and three dormer windows peeking out from the high-pitched roof. The drive was crushed granite and crunched under Caroline’s shoes as she walked to the back of the van to retrieve her bike case.
Rarely did she let anyone carry her bike, preferring to handle the oversize hard case that contained her livelihood herself. The case was fairly easy to maneuver despite its awkwardness, but she depended on its contents that could not easily be replaced. Caroline extended the handle on the black carrier and pulled it behind her up the narrow walkway.
The sign on the front door read Come In in bold cursive burned into a wooden plank. It felt odd not to knock upon entering a house that was not her own, but she reminded herself this was a B&B as she moved into the large front room.
The room was decorated in rustic style with antiques, handcrafts, and paintings giving the room, a cozy, lived-in feel. She had her choice of staying at one of the local hotels but preferred the privacy of the B&B to the noise and commotion she knew would exist in the hotels hosting the other riders.
• 37 •
JuliE CaNNoN
A stand in one corner of the foyer was filled with colorful umbrellas while a coat rack was mounted on the wall to her left. The hardwood floors gleamed up at her while the thick wool runner muffled her footsteps.
“I’ll be right there,” a strong female voice said from the room to her right, and Caroline set her bike case directly under a picture of a snow-covered mountain. As corny as it seemed, the house smelled like fresh-baked cookies.
“Hello, you must be Caroline. I’m Beatrice. Welcome to the cottage,” the woman said practically in one breath.
“Yes, I am, thank you.” Caroline took the hand offered to her.
“Well, come with me and we’ll get you checked in and settled in no time. Just leave your stuff by the door. Michael will bring it up to your room promptly. You’re one of the riders?” Beatrice nodded toward the large case.
“Yes, I am.” Caroline repeated her earlier answer. “You have a lovely place here.” She followed Beatrice across the room. The craftsmanship of the woodwork was evident in the crown molding at the ceiling and on the winding staircase that led to what she assumed were the rooms upstairs.
“Thank you. Michael and I had been thinking of turning the house into a B-and-B for years and in 2002 we took the plunge. It’s our dream come true, you might say.”
Caroline could hardly imagine transforming your personal home into a type of rooming house where you have to make breakfast for everyone every day, make sure the bathrooms were clean all the time, and where strangers roamed through your house of their own free will as a dream come true, as Beatrice phrased it. To her, it sounded like a pain in the ass that could very easily turn into a nightmare.
Within ten minutes she was in her room, her luggage at the foot of the bed, her bike case against the wall by the closet. Shaking off the memories of Shannon that had dogged her for the past few days, Caroline unpacked, put her clothes neatly into the tall dresser in the corner, and the contents of her backpack on the small desk. She inspected her safety gear for any damage that might have occurred in transit. She brought with her one helmet, one chest guard, two pairs of shoes, a pair of elbow and knee pads, and assorted bike shorts, shirts,
• 38 •
Descent
and socks. If she damaged or lost anything else, she could replace it from any one of the numerous vendor stands that would fill the expo area at each event.
Reaching for her iPod, her attention was drawn to a magazine lying neatly at the right hand corner of the desk. It was the program for the race, and Caroline’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the image that adorned the cover. She didn’t need to read the caption that identified the rider as Shannon Roberts—Babe of Brodale. She was soaring over a jump with at least five feet of air between her tires and the rocky ground beneath. Her face was set in concentration, legs bent at the knees, elbows flexed, riding high in the saddle as she accelerated into the jump.
Caroline couldn’t help herself and she opened the first page of the magazine. There would be more pictures of Shannon inside and she wasn’t disappointed to see her on the second and fifth page as well. But it was the back cover that made her knees weak and the glossy pages shake in her hands. Shannon was standing in front of her bike, feet crossed at the ankles, arms across her chest. Her mouth was formed into an almost smirk but had just enough smile to be beguiling.
Her bike shorts fit her like a second skin, slim hips with strong, muscular thighs jutting out below them. Caroline knew those calves were rock solid; at least they were years ago, and they looked like they had only gotten firmer. Her fingers tingled as she remembered how smooth the skin was and how the hard muscle quivered under her touch. Mussed blond hair reminded her of how it looked after she ran her hands through it. Or grabbed it to hold Shannon’s head and mouth tight to her.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she exclaimed louder with each word. She had allowed Shannon to get to her again. And this time it was a simple set of pictures. What would it be like when she saw her in the flesh?
Something told her it wouldn’t be long before she would find out.
• 39 •
• 40 •
Descent
ChaPTER FivE
Caroline tossed the magazine on the bed and ducked into the shower—a cold shower. She knew Shannon would be featured in any material advertising the race. Not only was she one of the best downhill racers in the world, she was the media darling of the circuit. The cameras loved her, she always had a quip for the reporters, and she made absolutely no secret that she preferred to spend her off hours with the female groupies versus the male. Shannon Roberts was the draw at every event.
The fact that Shannon received all the attention didn’t bother Caroline. In fact, she was glad it wasn’t her. Where Shannon’s talent came naturally, Caroline had to work hard for everything she had. She needed to focus before each race, preferring a few hours of solitude to the massive throngs of fans clambering for her autograph. She had a reputation for being aloof in the days leading up to the race but relaxed and approachable after.