“Yes, you. Remember all those times you badgered me for a kiss?” she asked. He did. It had been a game for him since that first meeting. He’d wanted her, but she was out of his league. A classy woman—even at seventeen—who wouldn’t give him a second glance. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him. He’d teased her relentlessly, invaded her personal space and kept clamoring for a kiss. “The last time I asked I thought I spooked you,” he said, getting to the heart of the reason why he was really sitting with Lindsey Collins, who, despite her request for a kiss, would more than likely not end up in his bed this evening. He’d pushed her in Sochi. Had goaded her into agreeing that she’d kiss him if he beat his world-record time, and still she hadn’t. Not that he’d ever really expected her to fulfill her end of the bargain. To him it had seemed like a simple little bet. Something to push her, because it had been ten years of flirting and it had seemed ridiculous to continue playing that game.
