Under His Spell. Kristin Hardy

they’d be back in the frigid temperatures of late fall.

      And three-inch heels didn’t go so well with snow and ice.

      Nope, she was a summer girl at heart, happy to toss aside her tan-in-a-bottle for the real thing. Fall was for prickly people; winter was for the melancholy; spring was for the ambitious.

      Summer was for people who knew how to enjoy life.

      Ahead of her, the path curved toward the broad double doors that led into the main lodge. Ski racks flanked the wide cedar porch; come winter, they’d be filled with colorful snowboards and wide downhill skis with their bindings. Come winter, the whole area would be frosted with snow and ice, and crowded with people. She was looking forward to seeing it.

      But not before she’d gotten everything she could out of the warm weather.

      The breeze whisked at her skirt again, flipping it up as she stepped up onto the porch. Hastily she reached behind her with one hand to push it down. And, distracted for a crucial instant, caught her toe on the underside of the wooden step.

      The next thing she knew, she was pitching forward, trying desperately to hold on to the gift package and trying equally hard to avoid doing a face plant on the deck. When the door opened before her, she gave up, dropping the box and groping for the door handle as though it were salvation. The shower gift would survive; her nose might not. Somehow she missed the door anyway, though, and instead found herself doing a four-point landing on the cedar.

      “Falling at my feet again, Lainie?” The voice was lazy and mocking, and she recognized it instantly, even before she looked up to see the hand before her eyes.

      J. J. Cooper, golden-boy ski racer, finding her sprawled before him just as he had fourteen years before, on the mountain where she’d tumbled into the snow with a broken binding. Then he’d been her knight in shining armor, helping her up, dusting her off and, to her infinite astonishment, piggybacking her down the mountain on skis, his shoulders strong under her fingers.

      Was it any wonder that her twelve-year-old self had fallen madly in love with him? She’d pined, positively pined over him for the four long weeks that stretched from that Thanksgiving weekend encounter to Christmas vacation. Writing his name in her notebooks, she’d dreamily imagined how he’d look at her with those denim-blue eyes and hold her hand when he came back from his ski academy for the holidays, her grown-up high school boy.

      Of course, when he had, he’d demonstrated quite clearly that he had no interest in a skinny little kid like her. He hadn’t insulted her, he hadn’t been mean. He’d just been…oblivious. Ski god J.J. was exclusively interested in the very curvy and very grown-up blondes who buzzed around him like a bunch of flies, Lainie had thought ungraciously. He hadn’t even bothered to snub Lainie when she’d hung around, desperate for his attention. He’d barely recognized her at all, until she’d crashed before him, trying to daredevil ski in a desperate attempt to attract his attention from the inept ski bunny he was escorting around. “A little kid like you shouldn’t be up here,” he’d scolded, hauling her up like a sack of potatoes. “You could get hurt.”

      “You’re so sweet to help that poor little girl,” the ski bunny had cooed as they’d schussed off, leaving a redfaced, furious Lainie to watch them go. Clearly, J. J. Cooper had no use for Lainie.

      And from that moment forward, Lainie had had zero use for J. J. Cooper.

      She scowled and rose, ignoring the hand and smoothing down her skirt. “Well, well, well. Speed Racer. How lucky can a girl get? Here I figured you’d be in training by now.”

      He raised a brow. “Why, Lainie, I didn’t realize you kept such track of me.”

      “I prefer to keep an eye on minor annoyances. It helps me avoid them.” She dusted off her hands. “Let me guess. You’ve broken training to show up here.”

      “Considering that, as best man, I’m the host, it seemed like the right thing to do.” He leaned over to pick up her box, tucking it under his arm. “Want an escort in?”

      Lainie folded her arms and stared at him. It wasn’t fair that he’d been genetically gifted with the blond-haired, blue-eyed looks of a careless beach boy, the crooked grin of a man who didn’t sweat the small stuff, a chin and jaw only sharpened by his Vandyke. He’d also wound up with the preternatural athletic talent to be one of the top skiers in the world, a millionaire, a media darling.

      And with, of course, the preternatural ego to go with it.

      “I’m fine. Why don’t you go inside and find your posse?”

      His eyes crinkled irritatingly. “You should know I’d never bother with a posse when I have you.”

      Scorn radiated off her. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere in New Zealand embarrassing yourself on camera?” She could cheerfully have bitten her tongue the minute the words were out.

      As for J.J., he just grinned. “And here I didn’t think you cared.”

      “News bulletin,” she told him, reaching for the package he held just out of reach. “I don’t.”

      He lifted the box just a few inches higher. “But you do keep track of me. I’m flattered.”

      “I keep track of nor’ easters, too, mostly because I’m hoping they’ll go somewhere else. And if you’d give me back that box, I’d go somewhere else myself.”

      He burst out laughing. “Oh, Lainie, life just isn’t the same when you’re not around.”

      “That’s funny, life’s always the same when you’re around,” she said sweetly. “You’re nothing if not predictable.”

      That wiped away the smile. “Maybe when it comes to going fast.”

      She shook her head pityingly. “Oh, Speed, everything you do is predictable. Where do I start? Let’s see… I’m betting that your last six girlfriends—the ones for this season, I mean—bought their lipstick using euros.”

      “Give me a break. I live in Europe seven months out of the year. Who else am I supposed to date? After all, you never come to visit me,” he said with a leer.

      Lainie folded her arms. “Okay, how about the CD changer in your car?”

      “Yeah?”

      “It’s got at least one oldie disc by Lynyrd Skynrd.”

      “Lucky guess.”

      “Not a guess. Like I said, Speed, predictable.”

      It was his turn to scowl. “None of that counts.”

      “Speaking of your car, twenty bucks says you bought a new one a week after you hit the ground in Montpelier last spring.”

      “Yeah, so?”

      “You did buy a new car, didn’t you?”

      He shrugged. “Maybe. The question is what?”

      Given his image, the ultrasexy sports car would be the obvious pick. But she knew better. “The biggest mean-ass four-by-four hemi on top truck in midnight-blue metal flake.” She smiled in enjoyment. “And if they didn’t carry it in midnight-blue metal flake, you had them do a custom job for you.”

      To her infinite pleasure, his mouth fell slightly ajar.

      “Well, am I right?”

      He recovered. “You could have looked right out in the parking lot and seen it.”

      “Maybe, except that if I know you, you tucked it away in the back row.” When he was silent, she merely crossed her arms and looked satisfied. “Oh, yeah, Speed, I know you. I know you through and through.”

      And she plucked the package from his hands and walked inside.

      Chapter Two

      One thing she had to give him: he threw a hell of a party. At a glance, Lainie would