Breakaway

SHE NEVER SHOULD have had dinner with him, Claire thought. She’d known it the moment Max asked her out, but the combination of her bad afternoon with Frank, and the chance to get to know her new impulse hire, had won out against common sense. Also, as she couldn’t help noticing, he was hot.

So, she’d dressed up and gone to dinner.

And this was the result. Guys like Ted, who’d be too busy come ice-fishing season to give her a thought, had decided to do a little matchmaking.

For all she knew, her darling grandmother had put Ted up to it.

There were times that Claire longed to live in a nice big anonymous town like New York where nine million people didn’t know your name and didn’t care about your business. No, she thought, Mumbai, that’s where she’d go. The weather was better and most of the nineteen million inhabitants didn’t speak English, making it more difficult for her neighbors to interfere in her personal life.

She adjusted her helmet.

Apparently the people of her town were right since Max hadn’t made a single attempt to get close and personal with her after that one steamy kiss—when was it, two weeks ago? She said, “Probably a prank.”

Max rested his chin on the top of his stick. Regarded her. “You any good?”

She kept her features schooled. She’d gone to college on a hockey scholarship. Been scouted for the women’s Olympic team. She could kick his ass on the ice from here to Sunday. But he didn’t have to know that.

She toggled her hand back and forth. “Not bad for a girl. You?”

“I’ve never played hockey with a woman. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She knew it was foolish of her to care that he hadn’t asked her out again or tried to increase the intimacy after that one steamy kiss. A kiss that had been so unforgettable she had trouble thinking about anything else when he was around. While he seemed to have completely forgotten the experience.

So, she was foolish. Max wanted to play it cool. That was fine by her. But here they were on a rink, which, second to sitting in a cockpit in midair, was the place she felt most at ease. Was she good enough? Hah! She decided she was going to enjoy herself.

In Moscow at an international college championship she’d shot a puck that had been clocked at 80 mph. She said, “Let’s take it slow. I’ll try to keep up.”

Normally, she shot left, but she transferred her stick to the other hand, knowing that he was the one most likely to get hurt if she didn’t watch herself.

“Sure. What do you want to practice?”

“Let’s try some passing.”

“Okay.”

They started slowly with some soft passes, then they tried passing on the move and soon they were into hard passes, back passes, open-ice passes.

He wasn’t bad, she admitted to herself as she watched him move. He had the natural grace of a born athlete, was quick on his feet, with good skills and an easy way with the stick.

In spite of herself, she was impressed.

* * *

SHE WAS GOOD for a girl, Max thought, impressed in spite of himself. She skated smoothly, as though she’d been born on skates. Which, considering she’d grown up in Spruce Bay, was probably true. She was a little tentative shooting the puck and she sometimes stopped to scan the ice as though trying to figure out where he was and where the net was, but those were things that improved with practice.

And clearly, she liked to practice.

“What are you practicing for?” he asked, when they took a quick water break.

“I like the exercise,” she said as she skated by. “And for me shooting pucks is good stress relief. You?”

“I’m part of an emergency-services league team. I need to stay in shape. We want to win the championship game this year.”

“Since when is a pilot part of emergency services?”

“I’m also a reserve ambulance attendant. Two of my oldest friends play on the same league so they let me stay.”

“Sounds like fun.” She glanced at him. “So, you’ll need time off?”

“Yeah. But it’s months away. There’s lots of time.”

At the end of an hour they were both breathing heavily. She didn’t know when it had happened but slowly she’d let go of her control and he’d matched her. Now they were both putting a little effort into the practice and she was having fun.

When the clock showed it was eleven o’clock she realized the time had flown by. Usually by the end of practice she was fighting boredom.

Not tonight.

“That was fun,” she said.

“It was. And you are a hell of a lot better than ‘not bad.’ You could beat half the guys on my team.”

“Thanks.”

He skated up until he was standing in front of her, blocking her exit. “Want to go for a beer?”

“Is that what you do with your buddies after practice?” She removed her pink helmet, gave her head a shake so her ponytail settled down her back.

“Sometimes.”

She glared up at him. “I am not your buddy.”

Little puffs of white came out of her mouth as she said the words. She was still breathing fairly hard. This was the best workout she’d had in months.

“I know. But I can’t figure out what the hell you are. My coworker? My boss? My hockey practice partner?” He shook his head. “Not what I want you to be.” His eyes seemed to caress her face and she felt warmth all around her in spite of the cold rink.

Her heart jumped stupidly. “No?”

“No.”

There was a slight buzzing sound coming from the industrial lights above them, otherwise the world was cold and silent. She said, “What do you want me to be?”

He moved closer, so smooth on the ice she’d barely noticed. “I want to be your lover.”

Even as her heart skipped a beat, she said, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it. You act like the other night never happened.”

She felt his gaze increase in intensity. “Oh, it happened. And it’s going to happen again.”

He wrapped one arm around her, pulled her closer and kissed her.