again. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t go down the mountain.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “You were my bit of fun last night, Carter. We’re not friends and I—”
“I don’t see that you have any friends here right now. Not trying to be mean, but it’s obvious—even to this bit of fun—that you need someone.” He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check. “I’d like to think over the years I’ve at least showed you I’m not a total loser.”
“I never think of you that way,” she said, turning to face him.
He saw something in her expression that he’d never glimpsed there before. It was something more than fear, and if he had to define it, he’d say it looked a lot like disappointment.
“I’m scared, Carter. I can’t go down that damned mountain, because every time I’ve taken the ski lift up there I freeze. I’m fine showing kids what to do in their lessons, but I can’t go down a big slope.”
His anger instantly cooled. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Lindsey was afraid? It didn’t jive with the bold, fearless woman he’d always known. She’d been throwing herself down the toughest, fastest runs since she’d been ten, or something. She’d gone over sixty miles per hour routinely, and now she was afraid?
“Okay, fair enough,” he said. “But we’re going to get you over your fear.”
She shook her head and took another slip of her hot chocolate. “I don’t think so. You’re sweet to suggest it, but let’s face it, the only thing we’ve ever had between us is an adversarial—”
“We have more now. We spent the night in each other’s arms.”
“That was sex,” she reminded him. “You always act like sex is just a physical thing. Nothing emotional there.”
“Was it for you?” he asked in a low, deceptively calm voice.
“Wasn’t it for you?” she countered.
She gave nothing away. Why was he surprised? This was Lindsey Collins, and she never let him have an inch.
* * *
LINDSEY DIDN’T WANT to talk about her fears with Carter. In fact, the only thing she wanted was a distraction. God knew he provided her with that.
“I’m sorry I feel like I’m not myself this morning. That’s why I left. I can’t explain it very well, not even to myself.”
“What can’t you explain?” he asked, pinning her with his penetrating blue-gray gaze.
“Last night, until the moment you arrived at my table, I was looking at my future and trying to figure out what my next move would be.” She sighed. “Last year at this time I was gearing up for a gold medal and setting my future, you know?”
“I do know. But things changed.”
“They did, and I ended up here in the bosom of some good friends and in the valley where I first learned to ski and started my world-champion path. I thought this was the place to press the reset button, but it didn’t work out that way. I couldn’t handle the slopes... I mean, not even the kiddie ones at first. Even now they still scare me.”
She tried to stop talking, but the words were just flowing out of her as though they wouldn’t be stopped. She’d needed to share this with someone, and Carter, as unlikely as it seemed, was the one person she was finally able to do it with.
“So the reset didn’t work,” he said, tracing the rim of his mug with his finger.
An image of him doing that exact same thing to her nipple popped into her head and made her squirm in her chair. Dammit. She never thought of sex this way. But Carter had changed her.
“No, it didn’t. I have seen a therapist and he suggested it was because reset means I can go back to where I was and that maybe somewhere in my brain is the thought that I don’t want to go back there.”
He nodded. “My therapist has often said that, for me, I have to keep moving forward. Once I master a skill, I need to find a new one.”
“That’s interesting... Does he have a theory why?” Maybe there was a clue in Carter’s problems that could lead her to a solution of her own.
“He does, but it’s very personal.” There was a glimpse of the real man. The one he kept hidden behind a curtain of sexy charm and outrageous dares.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “Didn’t mean to pry.”
“I brought it up. Just throwing it out as an option.” Resting an elbow on the table, he turned to face her. “I want to help you get back on the slopes. It will be a way for me to make up for any part of your crash.”
“I told you that wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but I need to do this. Plus, and if you repeat this to anyone I’ll deny it, but when you ski it’s like magic. I love watching you on the slopes, and I’d hate to never see you ski again.”
“Why would you deny that?” she asked, touched more than she wanted to be.
“Because I’m a bad-boy snowboarder and I’ve got a reputation to preserve,” he said with a wink.
“Well, far be it from me to ruin that for you,” she quipped. But deep down inside the freedom she’d felt last night was starting to fade. It made her wistful and wonder how she was going to achieve what had seemed so possible last night. How could she change her life?
“You won’t,” he said slyly. “So let’s see... How’s the knee? Have you taken any runs?”
Lindsey shook her head. She thought of how she sometimes brought her skis here and sat as though she’d just taken a run, even though she clearly hadn’t.
Who the heck was she trying to fool?
“My knee is fine. No runs. I mean, I’m teaching the classes, so I am on the bunny slopes with my kids, but that’s not really skiing.”
“Not for you,” he said.
“No, not for me. But why do you care? I mean, really. Not that BS about feeling guilty about my crash—the real story.”
He leaned in close and shrugged. “Maybe I sense that’s the only way you’ll let me see you again.”
He was right, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. “We’re on a committee together, Carter. We will have to see each other again.”
He took a sip of his hot chocolate. “I expected better—more from you than this.”
She held the same high expectation for herself. “I’m sorry. I think the combo of too much to drink, a very sexy encounter and confusion left over from last night are making this morning difficult.”
“You
