The Billionaire Athlete’s Christmas Fling - Leslie North Page 0,11

voice high and clear. She had a natural talent.

Maybe tonight wasn’t a good night to break the news. There would be plenty of time tomorrow. For now, she wanted to listen to her daughter sing and share in the joy Lindsey brought to life.

5

Tana stood in the middle of Chase’s driveway, looking up at the luxury family house he called home. It was really something else. Huge picture windows dominated the front of the log home, and all of it looked like it had been lovingly maintained for as long as it had been on the property. The place looked almost new.

The front door was painted a deep forest green complimenting the natural exterior. The door swung open, and Chase stepped out. Crap. She’d meant to go knock like a normal person, and here she was, staring at his house from the driveway.

“Hey,” he called out. “Did you need a ride somewhere?”

After how well yesterday’s ride went? “No, I’m good.” Tana smiled, trying to project warmth and gratefulness as she was about to reject his kind offer. “I actually came to talk to you.”

Chase grinned, and desire heated the core of her. She’d already been warm from her ski lesson and the walk to Chase’s house, but now she felt like she’d curled up in front of a crackling fire. No. No. That was not the kind of feeling she was supposed to entertain.

Chase stepped out on the porch and held open the door. “Well, come on in then. Heat’s getting out.” He winked. The teasing gesture felt so natural Tana had to swallow a belly laugh.

She hurried onto the porch and went inside, Chase right behind her. The high-ceilinged foyer was bright with natural light streaming down from a skylight. Tana caught a glimpse of the house beyond—a wide-open living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked like the ones she’d noticed in front. And a leather couch that looked so soft it practically begged her to take a nap.

Tana spun around, knocking into Chase, her hand going to his chest. Hard and muscled. She jerked back, heat rushing to her cheeks. She hadn’t realized he’d stepped closer.

He put out a hand to steady her. “Did you remember an errand you have to get to?” His teasing smile made her want to melt into the floor. “Because your car should be okay, but if you liked mine better—”

“No, no.” She caught her breath, taking a step back. His teasing wasn’t doing anything to ease her nerves or help her focus. “I came to talk to you about your offer to give Lindsey ski lessons. She can’t. Take lessons from you, that is.” Her nerves were messing with her brain and any chance at coherent thought.

Chase pushed a hand through his hair. “Oh, didn’t you know?” A hint of sarcasm laced his voice. “I was a professional skier. I’m probably overqualified to teach her, so you don’t have to worry that I don’t have the skills.”

“I also have the skills. I am an instructor.” It sounded a little defensive, which was not how she’d meant to sound. An old fear beat behind her rib cage, somewhere near her heart. “I could teach her anything she needs to know about skiing, but she won’t be learning. She can’t.”

“She can’t? Why not?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Because she has a neural weakness in her right leg.” Tana felt the same ache in her throat that she had five years before when the issue had first been diagnosed. “Her doctors have never been able to find an explanation for it, but what it means for Lindsey is that her right leg will always be weaker than her left leg. If she pushes herself too far, it’s hard to bear weight on it the next day. Skiing would be too risky.”

Chase blew out a breath. “Well, first off, I didn’t even notice a weakness.” He straightened his back and met her eyes. “I can understand why you’d be nervous. I really do. I just have a different perspective on what it means for Lindsey.”

Tana’s mouth went dry. I know my daughter better than you. She cleared her throat and pressed on, determined to at least hear him out. “I’d love to hear it if you have the time.”

“I’ve got my own injury.” Chase shrugged. “The one thing I hated most after it happened was all the people who wanted to tell me what I can or can’t do. I had more than enough people telling me