Bound by the Italian's Contract(5)

                She’d immediately liked the boisterous Italian who took great pleasure needling and teasing his champion older brother. And the world had gloried in the upstart’s daring exploits on the slopes, expecting Julian to set new world records, breaking those set by his father and Luciano despite his undisciplined ways.

                But rumor had it Julian had kept his slot on the Italian team only because of his brother’s lead position. Whether that was true or not she never knew. One month after the World Cup, Julian had broken his neck in a tragic ski accident and ended up bound to a wheelchair for life.

                “Julian is lucky to be alive,” she said and meant it.

                He gave an abrupt nod, jaw snapping taut. “My brother doesn’t think so.”

                “I’m not surprised. Paralysis is difficult for average patients to cope with. It tends to devastate top athletes.” And Julian had been a new star on the horizon. “Recurrent bouts of depression are understandable in cases such as his. That is why adaptive skiing works,” she said. “It boosts confidence both on and off the slopes, strengthens physical ability and agility, and provides a means to broaden social skills.”

                “Unfortunately Julian has gained less than desirable results with alternative skiing and given up the effort,” he said. “Even more troubling, none of the therapists I’ve hired have a program as individualized as yours. He needs your help, Caprice. I believe he will respond to any challenge you put before him.”

                She blinked, his effusive praise at odds with his earlier criticism of her plans for her lodge. “Wait a minute. If you believe my program is that beneficial, then why are you hesitant to finance the renovation of Tregore Lodge?”

                “It is too small a facility to sustain a program of your scope.”

                A fact she couldn’t deny. Still, the lodge was hers and she could expand in time if she wished. “It’s all I can manage.” All she could afford.

                “Alone, perhaps.” He pushed to his feet and paced before the windows, his stride gracefully masculine. “You need to expand your scope. What you have envisioned has global appeal. Run with it.”

                He couldn’t be serious. Just the idea of taking her program into the world market had her head spinning. She didn’t want to run something that huge.

                “You’re talking incorporation and I want none of that,” she said.

                “Why?”

                “I want the lodge to remain controllable, and I can do that by keeping it family oriented,” she said.

                He tapped one long finger on the side of his glass and studied her so long that dread lay like a lead ball in her stomach. “You want to police every aspect of your program. That’s why you balk at courting the après-ski set. The expansion would be too great and you would have to delegate, to trust others, and you can’t do that.”

                She stiffened, disliking that he thought her that intractable. “My reputation is on the line here. I don’t want to slap my name on programs around the world, even if I personally train every therapist I hire. There is more to it than technique. The personal connection I strive to achieve with clients is what makes my program unique.”

                “Are you sure you aren’t equating small with safe?” Luciano asked.

                “I simply want to renovate my lodge into an alternative ski facility and launch my program,” she repeated. “That’s why I need a backer.”