Just In Time: An Alaskan Nights Novel (4 page)

“Prove it.”

The pulsing beat kept up around them as Avery took his challenge to heart. She lifted her arms again and his gaze traveled the familiar paths of her long, lithe frame. The pert fullness of her breasts peeked over the edge of her gown, and Roman imagined peeling it off her with infinite slowness.

As the music reached its final chorus, she tilted her head back, her eyes closed to the music, and Roman felt himself pulled into her orbit.

Why had he ever left it?

Happy shouts filled the room as the entire crowd finished off the dance. Roman could only thank the magical power of an oldie-but-goodie that no one was focused on him and what had to be a besotted haze covering his face.

“You all right, Roman?”

The moment shattered as Walker slapped him on the back. Roman didn’t miss the dark glare Sloan shot Walker, who was oblivious to his new wife’s distress.

Suddenly inspired, he reached for Sloan as he turned to Walker. “I’m fine, buddy. And I’m getting my dance with the bride.”

Sloan went willingly into his arms as the band moved into a slower number. Not nearly as torchy as the Etta James song, but one designed to slow down the room.

Sloan laid a hand on his shoulder as he clasped her hand. “I swear he’s completely oblivious sometimes.”

The thought flitted through his mind to play dumb but he respected Sloan way too much for that. “I’d say his timing was impeccable.”

Other than the subtle tightening of her hand in his as Roman moved her into a turn, her expression stayed neutral. “I don’t know about that. You were dancing with a beautiful woman. I’m not sure you needed your best friend’s interference.”

Roman ratcheted up his smile. The megawatt version he used for the press. “Yet here I am, dancing with another beautiful woman.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, my last dance partner had to be dragged onto the floor, so I’m not sure that’s a ringing endorsement.”

He watched several emotions flit across her face before she settled on whatever it was she found acceptable. “I realize there’s a lot of history there. But you both have a chance to make the best of the here and now. Isn’t that worth something?”

It was worth more than something, but Roman was damned if he’d say so.

He’d blown his chances a long time ago, and no matter how badly he wanted Avery—or how badly he missed having her in his life—he’d made his choice years ago.

And there was no getting around it.

“Come on, Mrs. Montgomery. I’m a rolling stone and you know it. Hell, you interviewed me, and I believe said as much in your article.”

The delight she found in his use of her new name faded quickly, along with her smile. “That was a few years ago. And it certainly was before I knew you.”

“Don’t look so upset. And for the record, you were correct in your assessment.”

“No, Roman, I wasn’t.” She held his gaze, an apology flickering clearly in the depths of hers. “I was horribly presumptuous and out of line, waxing poetic when I should have reported what was told to me.”

He wasn’t sure why the article had stuck with him, when it had been long forgotten by others. And he found it even more curious that it was his best friend’s future wife who had written it.

One of the odd circles of life, he supposed.

But despite the reason, the article had stuck with him, Sloan’s words haunting him for their strange measure of truth.

But when you dig down deep and pull away the layers, it’s hard to understand what truly motivates Roman Forsyth. He’s at the top of his game, the pinnacle of a hall-of-fame career, yet this reporter couldn’t help wondering why the depths of his vivid green eyes hold a tinge of sadness.

Pulling himself from the memory, he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on her most special of days. “You weren’t horribly presumptuous, you were one hundred percent truthful. There’s a big difference.”

“Well then, I’ll try for presumptuous once more and then I’ll drop it.” She made a quick cross over her chest. “Promise.”

He could hear the song winding down, the last, lingering strains floating over the room. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Don’t miss out on something because you think you can’t have it. I almost made that mistake and if I had, I wouldn’t be here today.” She was on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his cheek. “So just think about it.”

Walker swooped in before the last notes faded, pulling his new wife away, but Roman didn’t miss the somber light in her vivid blue eyes.

Nor did he miss the small smile she sent his way before turning into Walker’s arms.

•   •   •

Julia propped her stockinged feet on a folding chair and lifted her glass of champagne toward Sophie and Mary. “To a very successful day.”

Their town hall showed the evidence of a good time had by all, and they’d said good-bye to the last of the revelers a short while before.

And then made the unanimous decision to break into a bottle of Dom Perignon Julia had saved for a special occasion. Her dearest friends clinked their flutes in turn and each sat back with a satisfied smile on her face.

Sophie’s gaze turned speculative. “I had a few moments where I thought things might not go off as planned, but everything did fall into place beautifully.”

“Sloan’s mother is”—Mary coughed—“unique.”

“She’s a grizzly bear.” Sophie let out an indelicate harrumph. “But I saw a few moments of real genuineness so I suppose she’s not all bad.”

“I saw her tears when Sloan and Walker exchanged their vows.” Julia let her thoughts drift to the ceremony. “I suspect she means well; she simply doesn’t know how to show it.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the diplomatic one.” Sophie took another sip of her champagne. “You know, as mayor and all.”

Mary let out another cough but Julia didn’t miss the grin she hid behind her hand.

Or the quick wink she shot Julia when she came up for air.

Sophie missed all of it as she reached for the champagne bottle they’d set between them on another folding chair. “What is it about a wedding?”

“The promise—” Mary sighed.

“The passion,” Julia added at the same time.

“Are you sure you’re talking about the bride and groom?”

Julia heard the not so subtle notes of innuendo lacing Sophie’s words. “Of course. They looked so happy.”

“I meant Avery and Roman. Did you see the way the two of them looked at each other?”

“It’s electric. Just as it always was,” Mary added.

Julia understood their need to talk about it. Heck, she’d been more than happy to talk to her friends about their grandsons’ romances, but something felt off and she couldn’t quite define why. “That was a long time ago. I’m just glad the two of them can be in the same room together.”

“But the way they look at each other.” Sophie’s tone was persistent. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it?”

It was hard to miss, but she’d be damned if she’d discuss it.

Her grandson had made some poor choices with Avery. Oh, she’d never begrudge him his opportunity to pursue his dream, but she also knew the pursuit had come with a price.

And Avery had borne the payment.

“Come on, girls. They have a lot of history there. It doesn’t mean anything more. He’s headed back home in a few weeks and our girl’s still glowing from her trip to Ireland.”

A merry twinkle lit Sophie’s eyes. “Sounds like she had a wonderful time there. And the phone lines have been burning up ever since. Maybe it’ll kick Roman’s butt into gear and he’ll do something about her. It’s clear he still has feelings for her.”

Julia wasn’t sure why the words were so irritating, but she resisted the urge to say anything. Roman and Avery didn’t need their interference. In fact, they’d both be far better off if they were simply left alone.

She hadn’t missed the speculative gazes and whispered comments that had floated around the room all day. And the denizens of Indigo had turned practically purple holding their breaths and craning their necks watching them dance near the end of the wedding.

It was no one’s business, but all anyone saw was hearts and cupids floating around their heads.

And it worried her.

From the earliest age, Roman and Avery had been compatible, their friendship easy and genuine. It hadn’t shocked her when that friendship turned to something more in high school.

Nor had it shocked her when her grandson left a few short years later in pursuit of his dream.

He’d spent his life under a veil of missed opportunity; his grandfather dying before he was born and his own father dying when he was a child. She’d known—even if he’d never overtly said it—that he wasn’t going to let his life go unfulfilled.

Roman had a dream and it hadn’t been rooted in a small town in Alaska.

Even if the woman he loved with all his heart was.

A
very slipped out of her heels as she walked across the parking lot of the Indigo Blue. The July night had grown cool, but the purple twilight above her ensured no one could forget it was actually summer.

The midnight air swirled around her and she hovered in that delightful stage between drunk and sober.

Comfortably numb
, she’d heard it referred to, and it fit.

Shouts still echoed around town, several of the wedding revelers headed to Maguire’s for a nightcap or the diner for more fun, but they were all far enough away that she was blessedly free from making small talk. Susan had declared the hotel bar closed for the night, and Avery was determined to enjoy what was left of a quiet evening.

The front doors slid open at her approach and she walked into the hotel, the familiar lobby welcoming her home. She’d lived here for almost two years now—had worked here for nearly fifteen—and the sense of belonging she felt every time she entered the large structure that dominated the end of town never failed to strike her with a jolt of surprise. It had been a strange sort of comfort, knowing she was always welcome at the Indigo Blue, despite the failure of her relationship with the proprietor’s son.

Even more comforting was knowing Roman’s mother and grandmother continued to love her anyway.

Several of the wedding’s out-of-town guests sat around the lobby in small conversation groups. Although she’d declared the bar closed, Susan had left complimentary waters and soft drinks in a cooler in front of the bar and a bottle of wine in each guest’s room. Avery saw several people had taken advantage of the hospitality as they wound down from the revelry of the day.

The urge to stop and check on them was strong, but she willed her feet to keep on moving toward her apartment. She’d been up since five, doing last-minute prep work for the hotel before firmly morphing into her role as bridesmaid.

Her apartment was on a small corridor off the lobby and she headed that way, fumbling in her clutch for keys.

“Avery.”

Awareness skimmed over her skin, and her fingers shook as she closed over the cool metal. On a small intake of breath, she turned away from the door.

“Roman.”

“Did you enjoy the wedding?”

“It was a beautiful day.”

His bow tie hung haphazardly around his neck and the top button of his shirt was undone. The awareness humming in her veins amped up another few decibels as she took in the column of his throat and the light growth of beard on his jaw.

How did he manage to look like he’d just walked off a photo shoot at midnight, after a full day of revelry?

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Hmmm?” She tried to focus on his words and not his large, tantalizing form as he moved closer toward her.

“I asked you if you enjoyed yourself.”

“Of course I did.” She brushed the question off.

“Liar.”

“I am not. Besides, what wasn’t there to enjoy? Two of my closest friends had a beautiful day and they threw a mighty fine party to seal the deal.” A small hiccup punctuated her words. “And the wine was delicious. It wasn’t quite your quarterly delivery of the mother lode, but it was damn good.”

Roman had sent a quarterly shipment of some of the world’s finest wines, the crates arriving with alarming regularity, starting the first year he received a seven-figure contract. Although she’d resented the large boxes that Mick delivered from Anchorage, she’d never been able to resist what was inside. Rothschild. Screaming Eagle. And on one rare occasion a case of Petrus she still hadn’t had the courage to drink beyond one bottle.

“I know you like wine.”

“I like lots of things. Doesn’t mean I need you to buy them for me.”

“It’s a gift, Avery. That’s all. Besides, I have it on good authority from my grandmother you’re not the only one who enjoys the wine.”

Avery couldn’t resist offering up a small smile. “Your grandmother is sitting in the lobby waiting every time Mick brings in a shipment.”

A lazy smile spread across his face as he moved in another step closer. “I’ll just bet she is.”

Electricity hummed between them, sparking each time their gazes met, despite the silence that closed around them in their deserted stretch of hallway.

She really should be over
this
.

Over him.

It had been years, and enough was enough.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me all day.”

“I wanted to see the girl I remember.”

A sigh floated up from deep in her stomach, full of lost opportunities. “That’s all she is, Roman. A memory.”

“I don’t know.” He moved forward and Avery wanted to move back. Wanted to raise some measure of resistance. But comfortable and numb and a raging case of curiosity had her standing still.

“I think she’s still in there somewhere. That sassy girl who told me I’d never make the big leagues if I didn’t get better on the boards. And who made me practice my debate skills so I wouldn’t look like an asshole on TV.”

A long-forgotten image flashed through her mind. The two of them sitting in Susan’s living room, practicing for their debate class.

“Do you really want to look like a Neanderthal doofus tomorrow? Come on, all we’re debating is if Pearl Jam is worthy of the title of best grunge band ever.”

A light flush of red crept up his neck. “No one wants to hear what I have to say. And for the record, they suck ass.”

He’d been playing with her hand, distracting her as she tried to convince him to practice for debate class. Although his large fingers felt divine as they kept swirling over her palm, she tugged her hand away. The low clench in her stomach every time she got near him—or thought about him or looked at him—was hard enough to fight when he
wasn’t
touching her.

And those damn swirls on her palm were
way
too distracting.

“Then convince me of it.”

“Of what?”

“Why Pearl Jam sucks.”

“I don’t know
why
they suck. They just do.”

“Nope. Not good enough.” She stood, trying to put some distance between them. Her feelings for him had been overwhelming and she needed some distance from time to time.

“I’m going to say something and all you have to do is respond.” His crossed eyes and folded arms only had her more desperate to make her point. “You think people won’t make fun of you when you’re in the big leagues if you can’t put two words together? Because they will.”

“The big leagues are a long way away.”

She hoped so. God, how she hoped so, but even she knew he was special on skates.

She
knew
it.

And she’d have known it even if there weren’t scouts up here every month or so watching him play.

So she forced bravado into her tone and dangled the bait he could never resist. “That’s probably a good thing since you need a lot of practice. And you still can’t do shit in the crease because you act like a girl when you get slammed against the boards.”

The light of battle sparked in his green eyes and he sat up straighter. “I kicked ass in Fairbanks last week.”

“You got lucky with that goal. Your
only
goal.”

His deep voice grew heavy with anger. “They had it out for me the entire game. The asshat defenders wouldn’t let me move.”

“Excuses, excuses. Just like your crappy debate skills.”

“Pearl Jam sucks. How will talking about it make me a better speaker?”

While their teacher was trying to make the class fun, she knew Roman had a point and he was just stubborn enough to ignore the lesson as it had been assigned. “Fine. What do you want to debate about then?”

“The Metros’ defense.”

Avery waved a hand. “Have at it.”

“Have at what?”

“Debate the Metros’ defense for me. Tell me why it’s the best.”

“It just is.”

She hit him on the side of his head, the chance to touch him too wonderful to resist. “Listen to my question and then answer it. Teach me something.”

Her words hovered in the air between them for a moment as his dark pupils expanded. He reached for her hand—the one she’d used to swat at him—and his thumb rubbed over her wrist.

“Fine. I’ll teach you something.”

The nerves in her wrist tingled under his hand, and she wondered why she never noticed before—not once in her whole life—how sensitive her arm could feel.

With a quick exhale, she forced her attention back on their conversation.

And her goal of ensuring Roman wouldn’t flunk their debate class and miss the spring formal.

“Roman.” Her voice sounded funny in her ears when she finally spoke. “Many say the New York Metros have no shot at the Stanley Cup this year and even more say their defense isn’t playing to their full potential.”

“I disagree, Ms. Marks.” His thumb flicked again and she forgot to breathe.

“Ave?”

“What?” The remembered flush that suffused her body was replaced with the reality of an adult Roman standing before her.

“You look a million miles away.”

“I was just remembering your high school debate lesson.”

“Why Pearl Jam sucks?”

Her mouth dropped. “You remember?”

“Sure I do. I think about it every time someone shoves a microphone in my face.”

“It was just a dumb debate subject by a teacher desperately trying to make class interesting.”

“As I recall, you were the interesting part. But the lesson buried underneath ended up being important, too.”

“What lesson?”

“Listen before you respond.” A broad grin split his face and she sensed he held something back.

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“No, not nothing. What?”

“I was so horny that night. I thought you’d never shut up about that stupid class and let me kiss you.”

The urge to cuff his head like that long-ago study night filled her but she kept her hands at her sides. “Men. One-track minds.”

“Only for the good memories.”

“I find it hard to believe an unfulfilled hard-on was a good memory.”

That same look—the one that had darkened his gaze so many years before—rose up and edged out the laughter in his eyes. “You have no idea.”

•   •   •

Those notes of unfulfilled longing that had dogged him as a teenager grabbed him as if they’d never been sated.

One look at her and all the grown-up self-control he’d gained since actually growing up vanished.

And he wasn’t kidding about the Pearl Jam debate lesson. It did come to mind every time a reporter shoved a microphone at him. You’d think he’d be used to it after all this time, but that memory—and the desperate need he’d had for a crazy, sassy slip of a girl—hadn’t ever faded.

“Since you keep avoiding my question, I’ll answer it instead. I thought today’s ceremony was beautiful. I’ve never seen Walker so happy, and I think Sloan is the perfect match for him. And if one more person asks me how long I’m staying I may leave a swath of bodies along Main Street.”

“Everyone is very concerned with how long you’ll be here.”

“I think they’re hoping for the love equivalent of a hat trick.”

Avery’s eyes widened as his words registered. “Well, we need to ensure everyone knows that there’s one love match that won’t be happening.”

Roman wasn’t sure why but the quick refusal stuck in his craw. With deliberately lazy movements, he leaned against the doorjamb of her apartment. “Why say anything?”

“This town is crazy about love. You know that. And now that the grandmothers have two of you married off, you know they’re not going to stop. This town loves seeing its bachelors settle down.”

“We’re grown-ups, Avery. I think you and I are more than capable of making up our own minds.”

“They can be persuasive.”

He couldn’t resist. The lightly hissed words—as if she were afraid of drawing the devil out of his lair—hovered in the air. With a streak of devilish amusement of his own, he snaked out a hand and grabbed one of hers in a tight grip, pulling her forward. “So can I.”

Without giving her a moment to think about it, he wrapped his other hand around her back and pulled her in for a kiss. A light “oomph” of surprise was the last thing he heard before their lips met.

She stiffened for the briefest moment—whether it was to fight him or run from him, he didn’t know—before she made the clear decision to stay. The lithe, supple lines of her body went soft under his fingers and Avery took the last few steps into him.

And then he feasted.

The memories of her that had haunted him for years fled with the reality of having her in his arms again. The soft cavern of her mouth and the erotic play of tongues both took him back and moved him firmly into the here and now.

And as her tongue wrapped around his, drawing him deeply into her mouth, he realized that the memories he’d carried were of a girl. The woman in his arms was real, and so much better.

As if he needed any further evidence of that fact, her curves spilled into his hands as he shifted his grip from her back to her waist. With his other hand, he skimmed his fingertips up the side of her body, brushing ever so lightly against the side of her breast.

A light moan whispered through her lips and he did it again, satisfied when her breathing hitched at his touch.

She’d always loved when he touched her breasts and had grown more demanding about it as they’d learned each others’ bodies. Each other’s rhythm. On some level he couldn’t define, it was gratifying to still know where to give her pleasure.

And how to make her moan.

So many things had changed in the time he’d been gone; he reveled in the sensation of knowing that they still fit.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when her hands came up hard against his chest.

“Roman—”

“What?” He marshaled his resources and skimmed his fingers once more over her torso, using his thumb to put additional pressure over the fullness of her breast.