Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) (4 page)

The snark was nothing new. Cody once joked that as a skater, Anton Belikov made a fabulous male model. At the time, she’d laughed. Not so, tonight.

There was a video from last year’s Cup of China competition. She and Cody had come in eighth; Anton and Olga, a season-low fifth, skating to Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” in ruffled yellow outfits that made them look like oversize flowers. She remembered the night well, but not because of the atrocious costumes.

Anton had spoken to her briefly backstage.

Rumor had it, he and Olga were in a fight that weekend, and Carrie assumed he’d recognized her from Amsterdam and was out for an easy lay. She’d cut him off with a withering look and he drooped away like a six-foot daffodil someone forgot to water. Not a proud moment for either of them.

Was it possible she’d read him wrong?

The last clip was an old one, set to Strauss’s “Radetzky March.” The program was classically Russian, combining powerful elements and balletic grace. But the bold, up-tempo music fit Anton’s athletic, confident skating. As he launched himself into the effortless double axel she’d seen this morning, he was strong, fast and wonderfully graceful. Not only that, his presence on the ice went beyond providing a frame for Olga’s lovely picture.

Captivated, she replayed the video three times.

He was a better skater than most thought. He was way out of Cody’s league. He was way out of hers. And through no fault of his own, he was about to lose his shot at the gold. As bad as things had been for her lately, they hadn’t been so peachy for him either.

She dialed Galina’s number, fingers striking the keys decisively. When Galina answered, Carrie wasted no words. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to stay.”

Galina snorted. “And you have decided this why?”

“Because Anton is a wonderful skater who shouldn’t miss Lake Placid. Olga left him in a terrible situation and he doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“No. He doesn’t,” she said, sharply. “Not by Olga, and not by you.”

Carrie bit her lip. The reprimand hurt, but she’d earned it. “You’re right. I was caught off guard. I...” She shook her head. “Never mind, that’s not an excuse. Please know that I’m sorry, and I’ll do everything I can to be a good partner.”

A long moment ticked by. “Yes,” Galina finally said. “I believe you will.”

“Thank you.” She paused. This might not be the right time to ask a favor, but it seemed best to have things clear from the start. “One thing I would prefer is to keep the partnership quiet, until we actually make the national team. No publicity, no press, no nothing. With everything that’s happened—”

“Say no more. The last thing Anton needs is to be at center of media circus.” Galina’s brisk demeanor was back. “Agreed. No interviews.”

Now, she stood at the window, gazing out at Moscow’s strange, dusky midnight sky. Anton deserved to compete and she wanted to give him that chance. She’d made the right decision, even if half the people in America, not to mention her own family disagreed.

But no one had to know, at least not yet. Dad’s election was in November, Russian Nationals were in December. If she and Anton failed to qualify for Lake Placid, none of this would matter. If they succeeded? They could spin it positively—a new era of partnership between athletes from former enemy nations.

Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think about it tomorrow.

She unpacked and put everything away, sliding her duffel bag onto the closet’s top shelf. The past was locked inside where it couldn’t hurt, but it was there just the same. Together, they’d arrived at one more place.

This wasn’t home. It wasn’t permanent and it wasn’t hers, but for the next seven months, it was a place to be and a reason to be here. At least that was something.

As for Amsterdam? No one had to know about that, either.

Chapter Four

When she arrived at the rink in the morning, Anton was already on the ice. He didn’t greet her, only continued to skate slow laps near the center.

The sunshine streaming into her windows just after five had awakened her much earlier than she would have liked. But after two cups of coffee and her warm-up stretch routine, she felt ready for the day. Though she’d already worked out at her apartment, it was important to get her muscles accustomed to the chilly rink, which was considerably colder than what she was used to. She went through her stretch sequence: quads, hamstring, feet, ankles, knees, abs and shoulders. She took her time, hoping Galina would arrive before she finished.

No such luck.

After a few minutes, Anton skated over and took a drink from the water bottle sitting on the rink board. His black skating pants and Under Armour shell looked painted on. Even in skintight clothes, there wasn’t a stray bump or bulge. Taking a deep breath, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and smiled. “Thank you for leaving the food. Especially the chocolate milk.”

“Galina did. But I told her you liked cocoa drink.”

His hard eyes were unnerving, though there was no reason to be intimidated. He needed her as much as she needed him. “I guess she told you I’ve decided to stay.”

“She told me. But maybe now I don’t want that. Best for you to go back to United States and I find partner here, I think. There are plenty who want to skate with me.”

The comment stopped her cold. Of course he had other options. The Russians were to pair skating what the Yankees were to baseball, and the bench was likely pretty deep. Though she was a more experienced competitive skater, she also had more baggage. Anton didn’t need her. He could easily find a young, talented partner with a bright career ahead. It was a sobering realization, that also brought a bitter bite of...jealousy?

No, no, no! This was a blessing in disguise. Now, she could leave with a clear conscience, and not have to deal with family drama or compromised national loyalty.

Right?

“Look, I understand your feelings. I was awful yesterday, and I owe you an apology.”

His voice was as cold as his gaze. “I accept. That doesn’t mean I want to skate with you.”

Her shoulders tensed. Sweat itched on her palms. Sometime between midnight last night and this moment, skating with Anton had turned into something more than a charity mission. Into what wasn’t clear, but she couldn’t simply walk away. “Look, Galina chose me because she thought we would skate well together. I agree. Our styles are similar. You skate just like an American.”

He raised his dark brows and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you going to explain or should I prepare for more insult?”

Way to go, dummy. Open mouth, insert foot.
“Okay, I realize that didn’t sound like a compliment, but I meant it as one. You’re a powerful, athletic skater. Your jumps are amazing. People talk about what a wonderful artistic skater Olga is, but your style is just as exciting to watch.”

His grim expression softened. “When we were first paired, Olga wasn’t physically strong. It made sense for me to skate to her strengths, rather than for her to skate to mine.”

Probably because everyone valued her strengths more. “But our strengths are the same. We could do programs that showcase that.”

“Programs are ready. No time to change. All you have to do is learn choreography.” His thoughts seemed far away. “It’s well-known this is Valentin’s last season. What’s not well-known is that it’s also mine. Last chance to make good on old promise.” He paused and for a split second, a smile seemed to flit across his stony features. Then his eyes shifted back to her. There was no smile. “Odds aren’t good for two pairs from same country to medal at Winter Games, but I intend to try. Are you right partner to help me do that? After yesterday, I am not so sure.”

“Look, we got off to a bad start, but we have a lot in common.” She gave a short laugh. “For one thing, we both got a raw deal from our former partners.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened between Olga and me is not ‘raw deal.’ She made rational decision about what will help her win. I support that. If it were me, I would do same thing.”

A chill ran down her spine. The sweet boy from Amsterdam was nowhere to be seen. This was a coldhearted competitor who saw nothing wrong with tossing aside a longtime partner to better his own chances. Did she really want to tie her fortunes to someone so ruthless?

Just then, Galina bustled in. Scowling, she gestured toward the ice with a pink commuter mug. “Why aren’t you skating? You have no time to stand around! Every day, season gets closer.”

Carrie held her breath, prepared for Anton to say the deal was off. Galina’s gaze shifted, like a spectator at a tennis match. Carrie’s heart thrummed as her future hung in the balance.

Still glaring, Anton put down his water bottle. He turned away and skated back to center ice. She breathed out. At least he was willing to give her a chance. Quickly, she laced her boots.

As she skated up, he offered his right hand. She took it. His strong grip closed around hers. She swallowed hard and fell into strokes beside him.

Cold air rushed across her cheeks, soothing the ache that had been constant since Halifax. The ice had always been her refuge, but she hadn’t set foot in a rink since the scandal. Not only had Cody destroyed her career and reputation, he’d stolen her sanctuary. But safe on the other side of the world, the ice welcomed her back.

Her first impressions of this place weren’t altogether fair. The lobby was nothing special, but the ice was perfect, with just enough give to provide traction for jumps and footwork. The rink was competition-sized and surprisingly well equipped, with a large screen video system, so they could watch themselves without leaving the ice. Above the balcony, vertical banners suspended from the ceiling bore skaters’ names, dates and logos of elite competitions. Anton’s name was on several.

Four laps, five laps. Forward, backward, around and around. Anton skated fast, and just as she’d always done with Cody, she let her body find his rhythm, subtly adjusting her movements. He glanced over. She met his gaze. He nodded briefly and looked away.

He’d sensed the connection too. Not much, but it was a start.

Galina’s gruff voice echoed through the empty arena. “We will not work on programs today. I only want you to become acquainted as partners. I will film to see what elements need work, especially from Carrie. You will start with the spirals.”

They glided in tandem, their bodies in spiral positions, right legs extended, toes pointed. She tried not to feel self-conscious because of the cameras. She’d been filmed before, but didn’t look forward to an in-depth analysis of everything wrong with her skating. Her status here felt shaky enough.

Lunges, pivots, turns, spins. Basic beginner moves she could do in her sleep, but all of which must be perfectly matched. As a former synchronized skater, this part of pair skating came naturally. The surprising thing was that Anton seemed to be trying to match his moves to hers, rather than simply expecting her to follow.

They progressed through the sequence of jumps, easiest to hardest. Toe loop, Salchow, loop, flip, Lutz and axel; singles, doubles, triples. Carrie’s triple toe and loop were solid, but the Salchow had always been shaky. Today, when she wanted it perfect, she swung her free leg around too soon and lost control. Her ankle wobbled on the landing, and she planted both palms on the ice to keep from falling.

“Again!” Galina commanded.

She gritted her teeth, preparing for another try. Any skater could land any jump badly but Anton was watching. Olga probably never missed.

This time, she wouldn’t either. No stupid jump—no cheating partner—would get the best of her. Moving forward and picking up speed, she timed her three-turn carefully, riding the back inside edge of her left blade. Left knee bent, bringing her right leg through and up, she sprang into the air. Her height felt good, and her arms were tight against her body to increase the rotations. One. Two. Three. Down on the right toe. Arms out. Perfect.

“Very nice,” said Galina.

Anton, skating at the other end of the rink, appeared not to notice.

They moved into the studio for the lifts. Here she would prove herself—or give them a reason to send her home.

She’d been doing lifts and throws since high school, when she’d been the flyer on the cheerleading squad. Being tossed or lifted high in the air never fazed her. But she and Cody had struggled with these elements and though she’d been fanatical about staying thin, he had dropped her more than she cared to remember. Anton was bigger, but wouldn’t tolerate an overweight partner.

Standing before the mirror with his hands on her hips and hers on his wrists, she bounced up. When she was balanced above his head, he let go with one hand and began to rotate. His grip was locked and his arm was strong, but this was solid ground and they weren’t wearing skates. One subtle shift off balance could send her crashing seven feet onto rock-hard ice.

Remembering, she tensed and clutched his hand.

Anton kept his gaze straight ahead, as the male skater must do to keep a pair balanced, but in the mirror; something registered in his eyes. He brought his free hand up, she caught it and he swung her to the floor. He’d sensed her fear, and fear was something no pair girl could afford to have.

The rink’s lower level held a small, but well-equipped gym. A large tinted window overlooked a swimming pool, and music blasted from the ceiling speakers. A tanned, muscular guy in his 40s with spiky dark blond hair, waved from across the room.

“
Zdravstvuj
Galina!
Eto navernoe tvoya novaya Americanka
.” He gave Carrie an energetic handshake. “
Menya zovut
Maxim, no vy zovite menja Max
.”

“Max,” she repeated. At least she’d gotten that much.

As Galina translated, Carrie explained her workout routine; daily cardio, then weights, Pilates and plyometrics on alternating days. Max nodded, conferred with Galina, then directed her to a treadmill. He fastened a monitor around her chest, and took notes as she jogged.

Across the room, Anton worked through a sequence of power lifts that pumped his muscles and bathed his upper body in a sheen of sweat. His shorts and sleeveless T-shirt left little to the imagination, and when he lay down to do bench presses, his shirt lifted to reveal six-pack abs Matthew McConaughey would envy.

Wouldn’t it be fine to smooth her hand across them?

A ribbon of sensation twisted and danced deep within, starting at the base of her spine and radiating out in delicious little shivers. She flicked her tongue across her upper lip, salty with perspiration. If every workout was like this, before long, she’d be in the best shape ever.

Stop drooling! He’s not yours to drool over.

Finished, Anton wiped his face and upper body with a gym towel and tossed it over his shoulder. With a curt nod to Galina and Max, but not even a glance at Carrie, he left.

When Carrie was done with her workout, Galina said, “Max wants you to keep your conditioning routine for the next week but after that, he wants to start you on power lifts to strengthen your upper arms and shoulders. He also wants you to gain weight. You need to be forty-five kilos, no less.”

Was he nuts? That was almost one hundred pounds, and Cody had screamed bloody murder if she weighed an ounce over ninety-five. She wasn’t going to argue with Galina and Max, mostly likely she’d lose anyway. Instead, she’d do as usual, and watch every bite that went into her mouth.

“Afternoons I have business responsibilities, but most days, Anton will be here to translate, except for Fridays, when he leaves early. On that day, you will have massage.”

Now this was more like it. “My reward,” she said, smiling.

Galina snorted. “Not reward. Necessity to move after five days hard training.” She pulled a CD from the pocket of her warm-up jacket. “Listen tonight to this music for short and long programs. Tomorrow, choreographer comes to start work. Be here. Seven o’clock sharp.”

Seven o’clock? This morning they’d started at eight. Clearly, there was a lot of work ahead.

* * *

Pavel, their choreographer, was a skeletal middle-aged man with a pencil-thin mustache, ballet posture and nasty breath. “The skate is fluid, elegant and understated,” he said. “A dance of fertility.”

Fertility? She shifted uneasily. Anton was less surly this morning, but fertility dancing seemed a tad premature.

“You are interpreting the thaw of the ice as winter blossoms into spring.”

Ahh, winter into spring. Conventional, but safer than fertility. Or a bride and groom, which was what Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” always brought to mind.

The short program ran a little under three minutes and contained seven required elements. The music was slow, but beautiful and haunting. As she’d laid on the couch last night listening to Galina’s CD, she pictured herself and Anton gliding gracefully together, weaving a story with their moves and expressions.

If only she was as enthusiastic about their free skate, set to music from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s
Evita
.

“Now this...” Pavel gave a rapturous sigh, exhaling stale breath. She cupped her hand over her nose, as discreetly as possible. “The beautiful, tragic Evita. Loved by all, and doomed to horrible death at tender age. Olga brought her to life like no skater I have ever seen.” He closed his eyes and softly began to sing. “
Don’t cry for me Argentina...”

Galina cleared her throat.
“Yes, Pavel. But Carrie will be skating
Evita
with Anton this season. Do you have any suggestions for her?”

Pavel stared, as though he’d just noticed her. “Why, simply to be adored, knowing that your beauty and glamor bring hope to all.” He shot Anton a fond look. “Even to Che.”

“Che?” She knew Broadway musicals, but had missed this one.

“Character supposedly based on Che Guevara,” Anton said.

The name rang a bell, but she couldn’t place it. “And he is...?”