Coming next week is Daisy Prescott’s new second-chance romance, Crazy Over You. I love Daisy’s feel-good romantic comedies and so excited to give you a sneak peek at this second standalone installment in the Love With Altitude series.
About Crazy Over You
My savior isn’t prince charming.
I’m not that lucky.
He’s my worst nightmare.
He’s my one-night stand from two years ago.
And he doesn’t remember me.
What happens on vacation doesn’t always stay on vacation. Especially in a place like Aspen. I moved to the mountains for my dream vet job. I never expected to run into the man of my dreams. Again.
I never thought I’d see her again.
My Cinderella didn’t leave me a shoe to find her.
Not that I’d need random footwear to recognize her.
Her kiss is something I’ll never forget.
Work hard. Play hard. I’m paid to be a nice guy on the slopes, but what I do in my off time isn’t always about making good choices. That’s the fun of living in a ski town. I stay while the women come and go.
“I was okay until the top of this run. I survived the road of certain extinction with rocks on one side and death on the other. Figured I was safe. Then I hit the top of this section and too much adrenaline hit me. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not this kind of girl.”
His shoulders lift with amusement. “Not what kind of girl?”
The kind of girl who would notice the drop in his voice and how the words come out sounding less like a question and more like hopeful lust. I wonder if women create fake reasons all day long to meet cute ski patrol on the mountain. How far would some women go?
All the way. They’d go all the way.
They’d do whatever it takes to meet a cute guy.
“No, not that kind of girl. I should’ve stayed with the blue runs. I’m comfortable with blue. Blue is a great color. The sky, the ocean. They’re both blue. And water. Like snow.”
His shoulders shake. “Thanks for the science lesson.”
“Stop laughing at me. I could’ve died.”
“Not on my watch. I haven’t lost a skier yet. I woke up in a good mood this morning, so I know today’s not the day to have that record broken by a beautiful woman who likes to take risks.”
My cheeks heat, but I let his compliment slip away without commenting. Is this all part of the snow bunny and skier dance? Or is he distracting me with praise?
“I don’t suppose there’s a way off this side of the mountain that doesn’t involve the words black or diamond?”
“Sadly, only one. Do you need the toboggan?”
Oh, hell no.
I duck my chin. I can feel the giant pom-pom on my hat droop forward. “Maybe.”
“I have another solution.”
“Does it involve further humiliation?”
“No, of course not. I can ski you down to the lift. You’ll have to go back up to get to the village, but you’ll have your choice of green and blue runs down to Fanny Hill. Or I can call for the toboggan …” His words trail off as he grabs the radio strapped to his chest.
Images of him skiing with me in his arms flash through my mind. “You’d carry me?”
He releases a surprised chuckle. “I would if necessary, but I’m thinking you’ll ski down with my help.”
The picture of him lifting me into his arms as if I weigh nothing and the two of us swooping off into the distance fades.
“How?” I peek at his profile.
“I’ll ski and you’ll hold onto my pole.”
Mara, do not make this dirty.
He shifts to stand and holds out his hand. “Think you can manage that?”
“You want me to trust you with my life?” I eye his glove, but don’t reach for it.
“I do. I’m more than qualified.” He points a gloved hand to the cross emblem on his sleeve. “See? Want a list of my credentials?”
I remain sitting. “Shouldn’t you have a St. Bernard with a barrel of whiskey around its neck to revive me?”
“First of all, my dog’s a Norwegian duck tolling retriever mix, and Fern’s too young to drink. Second, St. Bernards carry brandy.”
“Get a lot of ducks up here needing rescuing?”
“Only chicks.” He fights a grin and a dimple of suppression reveals itself on his left cheek. Dimples are the sprinkles on top of chocolate cake, and his reminds me of someone.
I narrow my eyes at his bad, and pretty sexist pun. Since he literally holds my life in his hands, I decide to stick to the safe subject of canines.
“You have a work dog? Like an avalanche dog?” I accept his hand to be lifted up.
“Not like. Is. Hardest working member of ski patrol.” He lets go of my hand to position my skis.
“I don’t suppose you have a flask in your backpack?” I gesture at the black bag I’m pretty sure is filled with first aid supplies.
He shakes his head. “Not even a thermos of cocoa.”
I finally meet his kind eyes. The irises are a surprising light, warm caramel brown with darker brown near the edge. They remind me of crème brûlée. Chocolate cake might be my favorite, but I wouldn’t kick a nice crème brûlée out of bed.
His eyes are also vaguely familiar.
Series reading order
Each can be read as a standalone