Dying To Play. Debra Webb
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He leaned toward her again, close enough she could make out the shadow of his beard beneath the skin along his jaw. “I remember you were pretty hot stuff on skis when you and Amy were on the racing team at CU.”
His praise, not to mention his choice of words, sent a rush of warmth through her. Guy Walters thought she was hot stuff.
“Do you still race?”
The question banished the warm fuzzy feeling like a bucket of cold water on a campfire. “No.” She picked at a thread on her sweater. “I gave it up a couple of years ago.”
“Too bad. You were really good. Why’d you quit?”
There was that word again. She looked away. Why had she given up something she’d loved so much? “I guess I got interested in other things.” It sounded lame, but then, excuses usually were.
“I know Amy really misses it.”
The words jerked her from the brink of her self-pity pool. Amy Walters had torn ligaments in both knees after a spectacular fall during a race shortly before Cassie left the team. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, remembering how her friend had laughed with joy as she flew down the slopes. Cassie had always admired Amy’s daring, and her sense of humor. She had a little green troll doll she pinned to her jumpsuit for good luck. She loved to play practical jokes of people, and had once filled an opponent’s ski boots with shaving cream. “Is she able to ski at all anymore?”
“She probably could, but when the trainer told her she’d never race again, she hung up her skis for good. I guess it hurt too much to give up her dream.”
At least Amy had a dream, Cassie thought. All she had were fleeting interests and her fantasies of Guy. She turned to look out the window facing the slopes. If someone had hung a sheet behind the glass, it wouldn’t have looked much whiter than it did now. No one was going anywhere for a while, why should they? They had food and drink and a nice warm fire. It was the perfect romantic setting.
With the wrong man.
She popped the last strawberry into her mouth and bit down hard. As if Bob was the right man.
“This is good champagne.” Guy tipped the last of it into her glass. “I’m glad we didn’t let it go to waste.”
He turned back to the fire and she risked looking at him again. Maybe the champagne wasn’t the only thing that shouldn’t go to waste this weekend.
He turned around and caught her staring at him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No. Nothing’s wrong.” She suppressed a smile. In fact, everything was suddenly very right. For once in her life, she was going to follow through on a fantasy and make it reality. She was going to seduce Guy Walters, or die trying.
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