Game On Box Set: Time Out\Her Man Advantage\Face-Off\Body Check Read online

  The cheesy dance music came on again, and the coach ordered him to move. He put a foot forward, stumbled into the woman in his arms, knocked them both off balance.

  With a hiss of annoyance she pulled away. Turned to her coach. “I thought he was taking lessons.”

  “I did take lessons. But they were on dry land. With women who didn’t hiss and spit every time I touched them.”

  “Tsch,” said the coach. “Enough. Both of you.” She came forward. Looked up at him. Her face was square and uncompromising. “We have only a few weeks to get you in shape. We will work.” She glared from one to the other. “Together.” She backed up. “Places.”

  Reluctantly, Becky came close to him again. Her clear gray eyes drilled into him. “You knock me on my ass and I will sue you. Do you even know how much this body is worth?”

  Had she meant her words as a sexual dare? He doubted it, but suddenly all he could think of was that hot, lithe body wound around his, and that smart-ass mouth too busy kissing him to throw out insults.

  He grinned down at her. “I bet it’s worth every penny.”

  Her mouth opened, and, as their gazes connected, heat shot between them. Then she shut her mouth and gave him a smile women had been passing down since Eve. “Trust me, you will never know.”

  Just knowing he’d flustered her a little bit made him feel better, and this time when he put his arm around her waist and her hand in his, he concentrated on moving with her and the music. He’d never been one for dancing, but he was a born athlete and there wasn’t a sport he couldn’t pick up. He found that waltzing on ice wasn’t all that hard once he relaxed.

  His partner was a big help. She was already a dancer and she had a way of sort of floating along with him so that even his missteps didn’t seem to count.

  By the end of two hours, he was gaining confidence. He could guide them in a circle, waltz backward and forward. Okay, it was slow and he’d given up trying to keep up with the music, but he was feeling that he might be able to pull this thing off without humiliating himself.

  “All right,” Irina said. “No more for today. Becky can’t be late for her gym coach.”

  Wow. A gym coach. He wondered how many hours a day she practiced and decided it was probably more than him so he didn’t want to know.

  “We will work on choreography,” Irina said. “And then we will begin working on the lifts.”

  His head shot up. “Lifts? What lifts?”

  “Does no one tell you anything? You will lift Becky over your head. It is part of a simple routine but the crowd will like it.”

  Horror spread through him. “Lift her over my head?” He gulped. “What if I drop her?”

  “Then I have you killed,” his dance partner informed him before heading off the ice.

  2

  “I CAN’T DO THIS. I can’t.” Taylor sat slumped in a chair at the pub above the rinks. He’d bumped into Jarrad who had cheerfully offered to buy him a beer. But there wasn’t enough beer in Canada to drown the feeling of dread in his belly. “I have to lift this girl over my head. All I can see is me dropping her and her splatting on the ice like roadkill. And there go my chances of getting into the NHL.”

  “Not to mention you’ll have killed or maimed one of Canada’s sports icons. Becky Haines’s fans will tear you apart.”

  “Appreciate the pep talk, bro. Thanks.” He took a huge gulp of beer. And almost spat it out when the Woman He Most Didn’t Want to Waltz With (on ice or off) walked into the pub.

  Jarrad must have seen his eyes bug out of his head for he turned to follow his gaze.

  “She’s cute,” Jarrad said in a low voice.

  “She’s a pint-sized skating devil,” he replied.

  Becky hadn’t seen him yet. Maybe he’d be lucky and she’d miss him. He slumped lower in his seat.

  At the bar she put in an order, then flashed a smile of thanks when the bartender handed her a drink. Long and sparkling, with a chunk of lemon hanging off the rim.

  She turned and scanned the room and he transferred his attention to his beer. He knew the second she saw him, he felt her go still, almost heard the wheels turning in her brain whether to acknowledge him or not.

  She obviously went with yes, because he saw her move toward him in his peripheral vision. He wished for one moment that he had Jarrad’s vision issues so he wouldn’t have to see her.

  He raised his head. Feigned surprise. “Becky. Hi.”

  She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, stylish boots. Her hair was loose and she wore makeup. She was prettier than he’d believed possible.

  For a second they stared at each other. He couldn’t think of one thing to say.

  His brother’s voice broke the silence. “Becky Haines. Jarrad McBride. I’m a big fan.”

  The smile she had for his brother was friendly and easy. None of the ice chips that he was offered.

  “I’m a fan of yours, too,” she said as they shook hands. “I’ll never forget the game against the Islanders when you scored that hat trick. I cheered so loud I was hoarse.”

  “Please, join us,” Mr. Charm said.

  “Thanks.”

  She sat down and then Big J joined the mutual admiration society, rhapsodizing about her silver-medal performance at the winter Olympics.

  “Why don’t you two get a room?” he muttered.

  “Pardon?” Becky said.

  “He said, ‘You should have a gold medal hanging in your room,’” Jarrad hastily said.

  “Hmm.” He could tell she didn’t believe it. She’d probably heard him fine. Jarrad was giving him the don’t-be-a-tool look, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. This woman got under his skin and made him snarly.

  Jarrad offered her the dish of peanuts even though it was right there on the table. She shook her head.

  She’d already drained half her drink. “Can I get you another?” his brother asked as if he was suddenly a waiter.

  “Sure. Mineral water and lemon.”

  “I can’t get you anything stronger?”

  “I never drink alcohol when I’m training.” She glanced pointedly at Taylor’s half-finished beer.

  He immediately drained his glass. “I’ll have another pint.” Even though he usually only drank one. He waved the empty mug in the air. “An even half dozen should do it. Thanks, bro.”

  Jarrad shook his head and ambled off to the bar.

  He gestured to Becky’s nearly empty glass. “So, you don’t drink?” He pointed to the peanuts she’d refused. “Don’t indulge in junk food.” He shook his head at her. “Do you do anything for fun?”

  “Fun?” She looked at him as though she’d never heard the word before. “Do you have any idea how tough the competition is in my world? The tiniest training error, the second of distraction makes the difference between a medal and falling flat on my ass during a competition. No. I don’t drink. And I don’t eat half the foods I love. Like ice cream and chips. I can’t remember what it feels like to sleep in as long as I like, or have a whole day with nothing to do but laze around. I don’t have a team who will cover for me if I flub up on the ice. I’m it. A lot of people rely on me. So no. I don’t drink or snarf down peanuts in a bar.”

  He felt stupid. Why had he been trying to provoke her? He understood discipline, admired it, though she probably wouldn’t believe him.

  Her edge was just so sharp around him. And he found he wanted to soften that hardness a little bit, especially if they were going to be stuck rehearsing together for weeks.

  He glanced at her, caught her looking at him with contempt and wondered how they were ever going to get through this.

  When Jarrad returned with the drinks, she smiled at him, much more warmly than anything Taylor had ever seen sent his way.

  They chatted for a while about nothing much. Jarrad was a lot better at making conversation than he was and soon had Becky giggling at some of the exploits he’d got up to in L.A. Which sounded a lot more fun than anything Taylor ever did.