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.
She had the distinction of being the one girl in Vermont Tyler O’Neil hadn’t kissed.
In the background she heard the phone ring. Heard Christy pick it up and answer in her pitch-perfect professional voice. “Snow Crystal Spa, Christy speaking, how may I help you?”