Face-Off (13 page)

“N
O ONE CAN KNOW
about this.”

Taylor blinked open sleepy eyes, still heavy from last night's pleasures.

Never at his best in the morning, he ran his tongue over his teeth. Blinked a few times. Said, “Huh?”

Becky looked adorable in the morning. Tousled, her face pinker on one side where she'd slept on it, a little redness on the upper slope of her breast making him feel bad that he'd given her whisker burn.

She followed the direction of his gaze then yanked the navy cotton sheet up to hide her breasts from his gaze, which seemed kind of cruel. “I said, no one can know about this,” she repeated.

Where was the passionate, incredible woman of last night? He heard the same ice-princess tone that she'd treated him to the first day they'd met.

But underneath that, he also heard urgency and appeal in her voice and wondered what the big deal was.

It's not that he was planning to take out an ad in the
Vancouver Sun
or plaster their exploits online. And he wasn't the kind of guy who boasted in bars.

He reached over and put his hand over hers where it
clutched the sheet. “Not the first thought I had when I woke up.” He watched the pink bloom deeper under her fair skin. He leaned closer, put his lips to the soft place under her jaw where a pulse beat. “Want to know what my first thought was?”

A tiny purring noise emanated from her throat. She'd surprised and delighted him in the night. Not that he'd been sure what to expect. She was so tense and angry a lot of the time, and yet, once they'd started dancing last night and begun treating each other like actual human beings, like two people, both young, healthy and open to whatever, she'd relaxed. More than relaxed—she'd warmed to him with a speed that was both flattering and that made him wonder what her regular life was like.

Her lips began to curve even though her gaze remained fixed on the tangled bedding. “What?”

He watched her, feeling an answering tug at his own lips. “I was thinking,” he said, tracing a finger across the top of the sheet where it crossed her breasts, “I was thinking about how I'd like to repeat everything we did last night.”

Her gaze flicked up to meet his and he saw sexual heat flare, then her gaze dropped again. He loved that she seemed a little shy this morning. Not at all like the open, giving woman she'd been in the darkness.

“I don't have the energy,” she said.

He'd reached the crease where breast connected with underarm, so he tracked down, following the plump slope, dragging the sheet down with his hand. She resisted only the tiniest bit and then with a sigh let go so the sheet fell to her waist. “I bet you do.”

Her body was a perfect combination of athlete and woman, both muscular and curvy.

He leaned forward, licked across her nipple making her
sigh. “I love every square inch of you,” he whispered, licking again. “No. Make that every curved inch of you.”

She giggled and then as though she'd lost a fight with herself, relaxed against him. “Don't you have to be somewhere? Practice or something?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not for a few hours.”

“All right then. Let's fool around.”

“That sounds so seductive to me,” she said, sounding wistful rather than turned on.

“I do my best.”

“No, I mean the concept of fooling around. I hardly ever do. My schedule is packed, my diet is controlled, some days I feel more like a machine than a person.”

This wasn't anything he hadn't already noticed, and he suspected his personal mission in life was going to be to help this woman relax. “When you are in my bed, you are all woman.”

She giggled again. “I think you are very bad for me.”

“I disagree.” Then he pulled the nipple all the way into his mouth and they were both too busy to talk any more.

 

W
HEN SHE WOKE FOR
the second time, Becky stretched, feeling the delicious pull of muscles that didn't get used all that often. And her body was so toned that there weren't many muscles in that category, sadly only her intimate ones.

She looked over at Taylor who was sleeping with his mouth partly open and a shaft of light arrowing across his chin where she could see the stubble forming.

The sheet was tangled around one ankle, and one hairy leg stuck out.

While he was asleep, she indulged her urge to explore.
His body was both mystery and delight to her. Who'd have thought this big hairy jock would have such a delicate touch or that he would be so intuitively sensitive to her needs?

It wasn't that any of her previous lovers had been awful, but that Taylor was in an entirely different category. She thought that he genuinely loved women and his pleasure in her body and her mysteries and her responses only fueled her own pleasure.

Somehow, his utter lack of any inhibition lifted her own and she was able to be bold, to take chances. Normally, she saved all her boldness and risk-taking for the ice. In the past she'd let the man in her life take the lead sexually. But with Taylor she was almost forced to tell him what she liked, what she wanted, since he asked so many questions. Naturally, that opened the door for her to ask him. Once he'd even taken her hand and shown her exactly how he liked to be touched. It was one of the most erotic experiences of her admittedly limited sex life.

She traced her fingers softly through the springy hair on his chest, tracked the ridges on his belly. There was a bump on one arm—from an earlier break she assumed.

His hands were so big compared with hers, she stroked her fingers over his, then she eased the sheet down over his waist so she could really see the part that had pleasured her so last night. She discovered it was moving. Thickening and lengthening before her eyes. She glanced up swiftly to find Taylor regarding her with lazy, but nevertheless carnal amusement. “You taking advantage of me while I was sleeping?”

She grinned up at him. “Actually, I was exploring.”

“Yeah? See anything you like?”

She liked all of it. But she didn't want to feed an ego that already seemed overfed. “I was counting your scars.”

He snorted. “Take all day.”

“How did you get that?” she asked, running her fingers over the bump on his arm.

“Coming off an outdoor rink too fast. I was about ten.” He rubbed his fingers over where hers had been. “Pissed me off because it meant I missed the rest of the season.”

“This one?” She traced her finger over a jagged scar on his calf.

“Skate. Happened in junior high.”

He rolled her over, pinned her, as though suddenly tired of the game, or of her nosy perusal of his body using the excuse of scar-counting. “How 'bout you? Bet you don't have any scars, being a figure skater.”

Even though she knew perfectly well he was being deliberately provoking so she'd let him explore her body in exactly the way she'd explored his, she decided to rise to the bait. “Oh,” she spluttered, “I've got scars, buster.”

“Yeah? Let's see 'em.”

She pretended to hesitate. “One's in a very embarrassing place.”

Speculation fueled his gaze. “You don't say?” He scratched his chin, letting his gaze wander lazily over her body. “Not your breasts. I made a pretty thorough inspection.”

“Not my breasts.”

His hand started to slip over her breasts, lower to her belly. “Could I discover it by feel?”

In spite of the fact that she'd had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than she'd had in years, her body purred to life again.

His lips followed the path of his fingers and she let herself enjoy the sensations spreading over her skin.

“Here?” he murmured against her belly, running his tongue over the faint line.

She chuckled, feeling her skin vibrate against his lips. “That was appendicitis. Not very exciting, though it did get me out of a geography test in high school.”

“But not the embarrassing scar.”

“Nope.”

The exploration continued, and he was a very thorough explorer. Between them they catalogued cuts, breaks, pulled tendons and the assorted damage athletes do to their bodies.

“Aha,” he said at last. “So faint I almost missed it.” He had her flipped on her stomach and was tracing a finger over the middle slope of her buttocks where a faint scar remained.

“What happened?”

“I was seven. In one of my first competitions.” She smiled at the memory. “I was wearing this pink and purple costume with sequins that my mom made me. My hair was in ringlets, of course, and there were matching pink and purple ribbons in my hair. Everything was going great, and we had a final warm-up before the comp, and Keili Munro tripped, right into me, so we both fell, and then Russell Cartright skated into my butt.”

“Sounds painful.”

“More embarrassing, honestly.” She shrugged. “And I sure was upset that I couldn't compete. But I had to go get stitches.” She glanced back at him. “You get used to pain.”

He nodded. Rolled on his elbow and asked, “Do you ache every day?”

“Yeah, mostly. Especially when I'm training hard. My joints and tendons take a beating, I've had tendonitis in my Achilles, more sprains than I can count. It's part of the process. You?”

He seemed a little uncomfortable answering, as though
wishing he'd never brought up the subject. Finally, he said, “Yeah. But you get used to it.”

“It's part of the price of fame,” she said with a twist of her mouth. “And speaking of fame, no one can know about this.”

“Are we back to that?” He yawned widely. “What are you so scared of?”

“I'm not scared. It's…complicated.”

“You know, I always think when people say things are complicated it's because they don't want to make tough choices.”

A huge sigh escaped from her mouth. She regarded him for a long moment. “You are smarter than you look.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

He was so adorable she had to lean over and kiss him. As she did so she laid her hand on his chest and could feel his heart thump reassuringly beneath her palm. Because it felt so good, she left it there.

Maybe he was right and she was conflicted. But a person who'd devoted their entire life to one goal didn't start straying from the path because of a gorgeous face and body.

Did they?

“I have certain expectations,” she began slowly, not sure how to phrase what she needed to say.

“Uh-huh,” he encouraged her after she'd stayed silent for a while.

“One of them is that my…dating life is carefully controlled. I have a certain image.”

“Sure. You're Canada's Skating Sweetheart. I know that. Everybody knows that.” He shrugged. “It's like any nickname, though, right? It only rules your life if you let it.”

“Not exactly. I have a kind of PR machine. Sometimes things sort of get set up for me.”

“What kind of things are we talking here?”

“Dates. Men.”

“You date for public relations? You're kidding me.”

She shook her head. “Not kidding.”

“You give everything to your sport. I'm only now getting an idea of how many hours a day you put in. You eat a strict diet, you do public appearances. Don't you want one thing in your life that's for you? Nobody else but you?”

“Of course I do. But it's not that easy.”

“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?”

B
ECKY 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.

 

B
ECKY 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, was it?

“So, how are you and Dad?”

“We're fine. More than fine. Really excited in fact.”

“You guys finally going to take that cruise?” she asked
hopefully. Her folks had been talking about a cruise for years but kept putting it off, usually because of her.

Her mother laughed. “No. Not this year. Not with so much happening. The good news is for you.”

For some odd reason her stomach tightened. “What is it?”

“How would you like to go to the Grammys?”

“The Grammys? You mean the music awards?”

“Of course, those Grammys.”

“Do they want me to be a presenter or something?” It sounded like an odd request, but she did get some strange ones. The idea flitted through her head that it would be fun to present a music award, but the vision was wiped out by her mom's next words.

“Not as a presenter, honey. As the guest of one of the nominees.”

“Which nominee?”

“Cory Slater! They're calling him the next Michael Bublé.”

“I know who he is.” A slight, blond boy from Vancouver Island who was probably her age or a couple of years younger, he was the latest young male singing sensation. After putting out a debut album that had taken the music world by storm and excited way too many 'tween girls, Cory Slater was obviously going places.

“He's going to be famous, soon everyone will know who he is.”

“Why would I go as his guest? Is he a figure skating fan?”

“No. It's for the publicity. For both of you. Being seen with him will be good for your image. He's clean-cut, sings classic songs, none of that rude rap stuff. Hopefully some of your fans will start listening to his music.
We might even try to use one of his songs in one of your routines, but we can talk about that later.”

“And what do I get out of it?” Apart from yet another guy supposedly dating her who wasn't interested in her any more than she was interested in him.

“He's going to be huge. It will bring music fans to you. And it shows that you're a multifaceted young woman who knows about more than simply skating.”

“I don't know, Mom.”

“You've got a couple of months. We want you two to get to know each other a bit first. Be seen at a few public venues. Let the word out to a few key media and bloggers. They call that viral marketing,” her mom said. Becky doubted her mother would know viral marketing from Michael Bublé, but she kept her mouth shut.

“We thought this Friday would be perfect. You can go out for dinner at one of those places where celebrities are always being sighted, and then maybe out dancing.”

“No. Not dancing.” The thought of doing with Cory Slater what she'd done last night with Taylor McBride was unthinkable.

“What is it, honey? You sound tired. Are you eating properly? Taking all your vitamins?”

“Of course I am.”

“Maybe I should fly out there this weekend. It's the Morrisons' twenty-fifth anniversary party, but I could skip that. We could spend some time together. Go to the spa.”

“No. I'm fine,' she snapped a little too quickly. “You go to your party. Honestly, everything's fine.”

“Well, if you're sure. I'll send you the details about Cory Slater. He says he's really looking forward to meeting you.”

“But—”

“I've got to go. I'll call you tomorrow, sweetie.” And her mother was gone.

And Becky had a blind date set up by her parents.