cheeks turned a little pinker. The same thing happened every time Tyler O’Neil smiled at a woman. He radiated energy, and the combination of dark good looks, masculine vitality and casual charm proved an irresistible combination.
“It’s going great.” Christy leaned forward, giving him the full benefit of her green eyes and cleavage. “We’re busier than last year, and Kayla and I have been working out some great ski/spa promotions. Anytime you fancy a massage, let me know.” She flirted easily, naturally, as most women did when they were around Tyler.
Brenna was hopeless at flirting. She didn’t have that way of looking, that way of smiling—but most of all, she didn’t have the clever words.
Christy used words like a rope, throwing them out, using them to draw him in like a wild horse being broken.
Watching the show, Brenna felt as if her heart were being squeezed in someone’s hands.
She was about to melt away quietly to the meeting room when Tyler caught her arm.
“Did you hear the forecast?” His eyes gleamed with anticipation and she nodded, reading his mind.
“Heavy snow. Good for business.”
“Powder day. Good for us. What about it? Deep snow, backcountry and just the two of us making tracks the way we used to when we were kids.” His voice was a soft, sexy purr and she felt her knees weaken as they always did when she was this close to him.
She consoled herself with the fact that this was something she shared with him that Christy couldn’t. She might not be able to flirt, but she could ski. And she skied well. She was one of the few people who could almost keep up with him.
Ellen was right that they’d skipped classes.
On one occasion, her mother had been called down to the school, but the tense atmosphere at home in the aftermath of that confrontation had been worth it for those few blissful hours spent alone with Tyler doing what they both loved best.
But there was no skipping anything now.
They both had responsibilities. “I’ll have to get in line. We have a waiting list of people willing to pay good money to ski powder with you.”
His smile faded. “Lucky me.” He let his hand drop and turned back to Christy, who had somehow managed to apply another layer of gloss to her lips in the short time Tyler’s head had been turned.
She smiled, giving him the full effect. “I expect you’re looking forward to skiing the hell out of those slopes. I watched a replay of your medal-winning run the other day on TV. You were unbelievably fast.”
Knowing it was a sensitive subject, Brenna glanced quickly at Tyler, but his expression didn’t change. There was nothing in that wickedly handsome face to suggest this situation was difficult for him.
But she knew it was. It had to be, because Tyler O’Neil had lived to race.
From the moment he’d strapped on his first set of skis, he’d been addicted to the speed and adrenaline of downhill. It had been a passion. Some might have said an addiction.
And then he’d fallen.
Thinking about that day made her stomach turn. She could still remember the gut-wrenching terror of waiting to hear if he was dead or alive.
The whole family had been there to support him while he raced, and because she’d been working for Jackson in Europe, she’d been there, too. They’d stood in the grandstand, watching skiers hurtle down at brutal speeds, waiting for Tyler. Instead of beating them all and ending the season triumphant, he’d fallen and ended his downhill career for good. He’d spun, twisted and crashed heavily before sliding down the near vertical run and slamming into the netting. Like all skiers, he’d had falls before, but this one was different.
There had been screams from the crowd and then the murmur of anticipation followed by the dreaded stillness and the breathless agony of waiting.
Trapped in the crowd, Brenna had been unable to do anything but watch helplessly as he’d been lifted, seriously injured, into the helicopter. There had been blood on the snow, and she’d closed her eyes, breathed in the freezing air and begged whoever might be listening, please let him live. And she’d promised herself that as long as he survived, she’d stop wanting the impossible.
She’d stop wanting what she couldn’t have.
She’d stop hoping he’d return her feelings.
She’d stop hoping he’d fall in love with her.
She’d never complain about anything ever again.
As she’d waited for news along with the rest of his family, she’d told herself she didn’t care who he was with, as long as he was alive.
But of course that promise, made in the scalding heat of fear, hadn’t been easy to keep. Even less so now, when they worked alongside each other every day.
She’d witnessed his frustration at being forced to give up the racing career he loved. He hid his feelings under layers of bad-boy attitude, but she knew it hurt him. She knew he ached to be back racing.
He was a gifted athlete, and it made her sad to see him standing on the sidelines or coaching a group of kids. It was like watching an injured racehorse trapped in a riding school when the only place he wanted to be was on the track, winning.
She hadn’t made a sound, but he turned his head and looked at her.
He had the O’Neil eyes, that vivid, intense blue that reminded her of the sky on the most perfect skiing day. A knot of tension formed in her stomach. A dangerous lethargy spread through her body. Neither Jackson nor Sean had this effect on her. Only Tyler. For a moment she thought she saw something flicker in those blue depths, and then he gave her a slow, lazy smile.
“You ready, Bren? If I’m going to die of boredom, I don’t want to do it alone.”
No matter how bad the day, Tyler always made her laugh. She loved his wicked sense of humor and his indifference to authority. If he did something, then it was because it made sense to him, because he believed in it, not because it was laid out in a rulebook.
As someone who had grown up with the rulebook stuck in her face, she envied his cool determination to live life on his terms. He had a wild streak, but his downhill skiing career had fed his desire to duel with danger and provided an outlet for that excess energy. How he would have used that wild streak had he not been a skier had been the subject of endless speculation both in the village and on the world-cup circuit.
He threw a final smile in Christy’s direction and strolled toward the meeting room, six foot three inches of raw sex appeal and lethal charm.
Brenna followed more slowly, giving herself a lecture.
It was the beginning of the season. She had to start as she meant to go on—being realistic about her relationship with Tyler.
He saw her as “one of the boys.” A ski buddy. Even on the rare occasion she dressed up and wore heels and a tight dress, he didn’t look in her direction. Which might not have been quite so galling had it not been for the fact he looked at almost every other female who crossed his path.
