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  “Explain to me why you can’t tell your PR machine to shut down on this one issue. To leave you to live your private life in peace.”

  “Because I don’t get to manage everything.”

  “Sounds like you don’t get to manage anything.”

  She spluttered with indignation. “You don’t understand. How could you possibly know what it’s like to be me?”

  He appeared interested in her sudden outburst. Pushed an arm behind his head and regarded her. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like to be you?”

  7

  BECKY ROLLED OFF Taylor’s bed, suddenly needing movement to help her formulate her words. She paced, not realizing or not caring that she was naked, “My parents gave me everything. Our entire lives from the time I was three revolved around my skating.” She glanced at him. “I was a natural. The tiny tots figure skating class got me hooked. I loved everything about it. The slippery ice, the sparkly costumes.” She made a wry face. “The applause. The teacher was pretty well-connected with the skating community and she talked to my parents.”

  “You were three?”

  “Yep. Of course, there was no guarantee that what she thought she saw was really there. But my parents were pretty thrilled with the idea that their little girl was special. So they sent me to more classes and then the private coaching started when I was five.”

  “You have to start young.”

  “I can’t even tell you how much money my parents have invested in me. In skating, and in tutors so I stayed caught up in school. And the time they’ve spent driving to rinks when it’s still dark out, cheering me on in every competition. Our family holidays all revolved around my competition schedule.” She shook her head. “It’s been crazy. So, now that it’s all finally paying off, I feel like I owe—” She stopped herself. “No. Not owe them. I think they’ve earned the right to help manage my career, even—”

  “Nobody has the right to manage your love life,” he interrupted. “Only you.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said again.

  “The hell I don’t. You think I don’t have natural talent?”

  She laughed. “Of course I do.”

  “It runs in my family. Sure, Jarrad got it first, but I got plenty of my own.” He grinned suddenly, slyly, very much the younger brother. “I’m faster than him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. He can shoot harder and his aim’s probably a bit better, but I’m faster. It’s my gift.”

  “Cool.”

  “But here’s what I’ve noticed, and maybe because I watched Big J go through it I saw it clearer than most. When you have talent, a lot of people want a piece of that. It’s a dream. Maybe my kid’s the next Gretzky. And they see the headlines and the money and the celebrity life for their kid and they get hooked too.

  “And you don’t think coaches are looking for the future champions? And agents? All those people who want to help a talented kid, they aren’t a bunch of philanthropists, you know.”

  “Of course I know that. But if you’re saying my parents want me to succeed because they want money and fame, that’s simply not true. Or fair. You don’t even know them.”

  “I know what they’ve done to you. You’re what, twenty-four?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Twenty-three and you have to go out with whoever they tell you to?” He gazed up at her, the usual humor absent. “Honey, that is way out of line.”

  “I— They love me.”

  “I believe you. Doesn’t mean they know what’s right for you. I’m only saying, maybe you don’t have to pay them back for all those skating lessons with your life. Maybe being Canada’s Skating Sweetheart doesn’t mean that everybody in the country owns you, either.”

  “I think—” At that moment her cell phone shrilled. She dug it out of her bag, giving him a very delicious view of her backside. She pulled out the phone. Went completely still for a second and shoved it back in her bag.

  “You didn’t answer. Hmm. Another guy?”

  “No.” A slight flush mounted her cheeks. “Your coach?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Good old mom and dad?”

  “Oh, shut up. Okay. Maybe I let them have more influence than I should. I’ll think about it.” She began to search for her clothing. Stepping into panties, finding her dress on the floor. “I should get going.”

  “I could buy you breakfast.” He rolled out of bed, came to stand behind her, kissed her bare shoulder. Then glanced at the clock. “Or lunch.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got stuff to do.”

  She was stepping into her dress and when she had the shoulder straps on, he pushed her fumbling hands away and zipped her up, enjoying the smooth line of her back, the sad reverse of the moment when he’d first unzipped her.

  “Can I see you again?” he asked.

  Her body went momentarily stiff. He probably wouldn’t even have noticed had he not been standing with his hands resting on her shoulders.

  Suddenly she turned. Gave him a bright smile and reached up to kiss him. “Of course you’re seeing me again. Practice. Tomorrow.”

  Then she grabbed her shoes, her bag and ran lightly down the stairway.

  He followed at a more leisurely pace. “Wait. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Oh.” She stood rooted to the spot beside the front door where in some foolish attempt to stamp his own personality on the condo, he’d installed a pop machine. It was obvious she’d forgotten she didn’t have her own wheels.

  “I could get a cab.”

  “Please let me drive you home. I promise not to beg you to see me again or embarrass you in any way.”

  She squinted her eyes at him as though suspecting a trap. “Promise?”

  “Yep. We’ll talk about the weather. Have you noticed that it rains all the time here?”

  A hint of a smile appeared. “Okay. Thanks.”

  So, she was going to make this difficult was she? Deny them both a fully satisfying relationship because of some bogus PR crap about whom she could date.

  Putting aside the fact that he thought he was good dating material, he suspected he was going to have to get rid of whatever pretty boy they’d set up for her.

  He flexed his fingers as though about to don his skating gloves. There was nothing Taylor enjoyed more than a challenge.

  * * *

  BECKY THREW OFF LAST night’s clothes and jumped into the shower in a mix of so many moods she wanted to smack her head against the shower tile to try to knock some sense into herself. Her body still hummed with repletion, and little phrases uttered, images caught, flashed through her mind making her hot all over again.

  Then there was the real life she was trying to live. The one where she had a public persona, responsibilities, where her romantic life was taken care of by a PR department that included her parents, but which certainly left her a lot freer to concentrate on her skating career.

  Or life. Maybe that was the problem. Skating had become her entire life.

  When she emerged from the shower the land-line phone was ringing. She ran for it. Checked call display eagerly. When she saw it was her mother, an absurd sense of disappointment hit her. Gagh. What was wrong with her? Did she seriously think Taylor was going to call her within half an hour of dropping her off? After she’d pretty much blown him off, making it clear she wasn’t available.

  This, a voice in her head chided, is why it was better not to get involved with men. Unfortunately, the voice sounded a lot like her mother’s.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, picking up the phone.

  “Hi, baby. I called earlier, where were you?”

  She hated lying. To anyone. But especially to her mom. “I was in the shower,” she said, which was true. Not when her mom had called, but she hadn’t exactly told a whopper.

  “Oh, you must have got an early run in. Good for you. You are so dedicated.”

  Well, not answering wasn’t lying either, w