In 1989, while travelling with my husband and friends, we stayed in a postcard-perfect snow covered ski resort in France called Chamonix. We were young, naïve and invincible and barely spoke a word of French. Although we’d never seen snow before this trip, after just 4 days skiing we decided to try a black run. Like I said, naïve and yes, stupid.
We scooted over the edge but it quickly became apparent we’d made a very bad decision. At this point we were laughing about how foolish we were. But with our skis, poles and enormous heavy boots, we found it impossible to climb back up the slope. We decided going down would be easier, after all how far could it be, right?
It was a very, very long way. And after what seemed like an eternity of literally sliding down the snow on our bottoms, we still couldn’t see the end. We couldn’t abandon our equipment because we needed them to haul us back up the slope. As quick as a gear change, a storm rolled in and we could tell by the aggressive hand signals and rapid fire words from other skiers we needed to get out of there ASAP.
In a matter of minutes we couldn’t see a metre in front of us. We huddled close together.
I was terrified, exhausted, on the verge of tears and stinging blisters made it excruciating to move my feet.
By the time we made it to the turnstile the blizzard was firing bullets of snow and visibility was nil. We had one shot at this. The idea was to grab onto a plate sized round disc that’s whizzing around the turnstile at a million miles an hour, quickly put it between my legs and hang on as it dragged me back up the mountain on my skis. In the previous 4 days we’d all fallen off similar devices numerous times.
This was it. If we didn’t hang on, we’d have to ride out the storm right there. I remember my fingers screaming at me as I strangled that braided metal rope all the way up. As soon as the four of us made it to the top, they shut down the lift and, with a barrage of enraged French words, they marched us to the resort. It was bloody scary, but I learnt my lesson. I only ski the green slopes now.
I drew on my extreme terror while writing my romantic thriller Extreme Limit which is set in the Canadian Rockies.
Extreme Limit - Action packed romantic thriller
Natures deadly beauty isn't the only danger on Whiskey Mountain.
There's also a killer who'll risk everything to stop Holly and Oliver.
Holly Parmenter doesn’t remember the helicopter crash that claimed the life of her fiancé and left her in a coma. The only details she does remember from that fateful day haunt her—two mysterious bodies sealed within the ice, dressed for dinner rather than a dangerous hike up the Canadian Rockies.
No one believes Holly’s story about the couple encased deep in the icy crevasse. Desperate to uncover the truth about the bodies and to prove her innocence, Holly resolves to climb the treacherous mountain and return to the crash site. But to do that she’ll need the help of Oliver, a handsome rock-climbing specialist who has his own questions about Holly’s motives.
When a documentary about an unsolved kidnapping offers clues as to the identity of the frozen bodies, it’s no longer just Oliver and Holly heading to the dangerous mountaintop . . . there’s also a killer, who’ll do anything to keep the case cold.
Will a harrowing trip to an icy crevasse provide answers? Or will disaster strike twice, claiming all Holly has left?
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What readers are saying about action packed romantic thriller - Extreme Limit:
"Complex situations, great characters, twists & turns that blew my mind! What a determined physically and mentally injured woman can accomplish. Wow! Great book!" ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Happy reader