The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance. Carol Marinelli

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      And how crude did that sound? Paula would be so proud of what he’d become.

      Except he remembered her having a little bit of naughty wrapped up in her nice. Maybe that’s why Mira’s outrageous behavior had bothered him so much. It struck too close to those memories he’d done his best to bury.

      Bury. Not a good word to use. Since he’d literally buried the woman he’d loved since high school. The woman he’d gone through medical school with.

      Maybe he should just do what he’d said and go to bed with Mira. Be done with it. Except she hadn’t shown up yet, and she was now—he glanced at his watch—over a half-hour late. Even knowing she wasn’t coming didn’t stop him from waiting here like a pathetic loser, going over the thousand and one excuses she might have for standing him up.

      None of them, except maybe her father becoming ill, held up. Especially since he’d just seen Mr. Dupris a few minutes earlier and had given him a half-wave as he’d strode through the entrance.

      Well, nothing to do but go ahead on up and ski back down. He might as well get some use out of his rental fee. But somehow doing it alone held no appeal any more.

      He grabbed his skis and poles and started toward the chairlifts that lay about fifty yards to his left.

      “Jack, wait!”

      A familiar voice sounded behind him. If he were smart, he’d just keep going and pretend he hadn’t heard her. But, of course, he didn’t. He turned around and all thoughts of leaving disappeared.

      Mira, in the same all-white snow outfit she’d worn the other day, hurried toward him, equipment slung over her left shoulder, her hair streaming around her shoulders. “Sorry. I thought you’d be gone by now.”

      Thought...or hoped?

      “Sorry to disappoint you.” The words were more difficult to force out than they should be.

      She frowned, falling in step beside him. “Disappoint me? I had a patient this morning and didn’t have your cell number. I tried calling your room, but you’d already left, evidently.”

      His cell number. It hadn’t even dawned on him to give it to her. And he had left early that morning, deciding to go for a walk in the crisp air to clear his head and to try to talk himself out of actually sleeping with the woman. When she hadn’t shown up, he’d thought she’d regretted that terrible—or was it amazing?—kiss they’d shared.

      Now she was here. And he was just as torn over what to do as ever.

      Catching the next flight out of Silver Pass would be the smart thing. But his coach would probably not welcome him back with open arms at this point. In fact, he might not welcome him back at all.

      Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, although what would he do with his life then? Allow it to spiral back down to dark places he’d rather not revisit? And if he sat around at home, that’s exactly what would happen.

      Regrets, he’d discovered, were a poison that didn’t quite kill.

      Two and a half more weeks.

      He could always find Mrs. Botox and be done with it. He could guarantee there’d be no emotional entanglements on his part after spending a night with her.

      So why did sleeping with Mira have to be any different?

      It shouldn’t, but he had a feeling it would be.

      “Sorry about the cell number. I didn’t even think to give it to you last night.”

      She grinned up at him. “I don’t think either one of us was doing much thinking.”

      His own smile took him by surprise. “Probably not. How is your patient, by the way?”

      “A child with an upset stomach. Judging from the stack of crumbled candy wrappers on her nightstand, I think I found the culprit.”

      “Such an exciting practice you have here, Doctor.”

      She gave a slight grimace as they arrived at the chair lifts. “I’m sure it’s not as action packed as yours, but it has its moments.” She gestured at the line of running seats that swooped by before starting their ascent. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

      “I’ve somehow gotten on them during both of my other outings, but I have to admit it wasn’t pretty.” He eyed the chairs. Mastering them certainly hadn’t been as easy as it had looked. At least with surfing he simply lay on his board and paddled out from shore. Everything was done under his own power, which was how he preferred it.

      She moved over to the bench and snapped her boots down onto her skis. “Put on your skis, and I’ll talk you through the process.”

      Once they both had their skis situated, she had him stand and move over to the line with her, handing their passes to one of the attendants. While various people got on the two-man lifts, she explained what they were doing. “We’re next. Move to the mark.”

      He shuffled with her over to a blue line painted on the ground, and they waited for the couple ahead of them to sit on a chair and be carried up the mountain. Then they moved to the second line. “Look behind you,” she said, “and keep the chair in sight. Once it gets to us, the attendant will hold it long enough for us to sit.”

      And just like that they were on, the lift swaying as it moved up over the snow. Mira snapped a protective bar down over them. He’d been so worried about his balance the last time he’d ridden up that he hadn’t even realized the safety feature.

      “Have you ever fallen off one of these?” he asked.

      “Yes, as a child.” She shifted her poles. “Did you fall the last time?”

      “Off the ski-lift itself? No. But the first time I tried to move away from the chair? Yes.” That had not been one of his better moments, and probably what had contributed to his fall down the slope itself little a while later. The one Mira had rescued him from.

      The lift continued up the long ascent, and Jack tried to settle back and enjoy the view. It was beautiful, the range of white mountains stretching out, skiers looking much smaller than they actually were, even though the lift wasn’t carrying them all that high.

      But more than the view, or the worries about getting on or off the lift, was his concern about how aware he was of the woman next to him. Like the other times they’d skied, she was decked out all in white, but her helmet wasn’t on her head yet, just the pink beanie she’d worn during their last outing on the slopes. The chair was small enough that their shoulders and arms touched, whether he wanted them to or not. And along with each bump or wobble came the memories of what they’d done in the sleigh. The way the motions of that vehicle had shifted them together until he hadn’t been able to resist her.

      This woman ramped him up, almost to the point of not caring who saw them. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to stop during that ride, and he wasn’t all that sure what had made him grab her hand just before she reached the belt on his slacks.

      Maybe the realization that once she touched him there’d be no turning back. Or was it really as simple as what he’d said, that he wanted more time? More space?

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