CHAPTER THREE
Derek Foster studied his reflection in the mirror, deciding ultimately, as he always did, that he was pleased with what he saw. His body was trim and muscular, full of youthful energy and enthusiasm, as was befitting the type of build that Mount Shangri-la Lodge's ski instructor should have. Besides being just tall and handsome, he decided that he liked the way his wide, flaring shoulders made the velvety material of his soft, dark-colored shirt strain across his rippling muscles. Carefully cultivated and professionally styled, his thick black hair was worn fashionably long; not so long, however, as to make him look effeminate, but long enough to give him the kind of rugged individualism that women found so attractive. Threads of pure white licked like bleached flames throug
