Bound by the Italian's Contract(56)

                If not? So be it. She couldn’t think any other way and remain sane.

                Once she focused her thoughts on installing her program in Luciano’s new facility, this hurt needling her heart would ease. At the least she wouldn’t have time to dwell on herself, she thought as he wheeled the ATV under the lodge’s porte cochere.

                With the sun at their backs, the pale pink marble columns turned a warm apricot. An attendant rushed to help her off the ATV, but Luciano was quicker, swinging off and offering his hand to her. She stared at the strong hand that had touched her in places no other man had with warmth and passion, well aware that refusing it was an insult.

                But her pride rode strong in her now, and she needed to strike independence, if only in a small way.

                “Thanks, but I can manage,” she said, and got off on the side opposite of Luciano.

                His lips drew into a thin line. “Very well. I’ll leave you to find your room.”

                He swung back onto the ATV and revved the engine, shooting off like a rocket. She hadn’t intended to hurt his feelings, but judging by his actions, she had.

                She stood there a long moment until she could no longer see him, then strode inside the lodge, trying not to feel sorry for her actions and failing. Spite was something she never felt, but Luciano brought emotions and feelings out in her that she’d never experienced before. This one she didn’t like.

                When she saw him again, she’d apologize. That was all she could do at this point.

                She hurried inside, but instead of seeking her room, she walked to the therapy pod. Before she chased up the design team, she wanted to have another look at the space without Luciano. He had a way of muddling her thoughts and she needed a clear head for this. If she wanted changes made to the submitted plan, it would have to be decided today.

                Without Luciano’s presence, the therapy pod appeared far larger. She walked the space, envisioning how each area would look and function. One certainly worked hand in hand with the other in regard to therapy, a fact she’d leaned early in her training.

                Nothing appeared off, yet she couldn’t shake her sense of unease. What caused it?

                She stepped around the wall into the last area, which boasted a turret-like charm to it, and smothered her surprised gasp with a hand pressed to her mouth. A man sat in a wheelchair, his back to her.

                Her chest tightened. She instantly recognized the impressive width of broad shoulders and the arrogant cant of his head.

                “Julian,” she said softly.

                He wheeled the chair around and flashed her that winning smile. “I see my brother was successful in contracting you to rehabilitate me. You’ve wasted your time.”

                So he was a hard case, just as Luciano had told her. “He hired me to establish my therapy program here,” she said, hoping that would ease the former athlete’s resentment. “I could use your help.”

                Instead of responding to that lure, Julian spun the chair around and returned his gaze to the mountains. “I suppose he chose this pod for that?”

                “He did.”

                “Groomed pistes for the cripples,” he said, his tone mocking again. “Oh, wait, you prefer the term ‘alternative skier.’”

                “Bitterness doesn’t become you, Julian,” she said.