Playing for Hearts (53 page)

He laughed. “Got it.”

“So … ” She inhaled swiftly. “I'll meet you outside?”

He nodded. “It's a date.”

She ducked her chin and walked away. He whistled, getting her attention, and waited until she turned back around.

“Come here,” he said.

Her brow wrinkled, and she returned to him. “Yes?”

“Someone might be watching.” He leaned closer. “You should probably kiss me, because that's what married people do.”

She glanced left and right. “We're the only ones in the hallway.”

“Anyone could walk in at any time,” he whispered.

“That would be awkward,” she whispered back.

He hovered over her upturned face. “Very.”

“So, who's going to do the kissing this time?” she said, staring at his lips. “Me … or you?”

“You,” he said.

She was close enough they breathed the same air. He could practically anticipate the taste of her, and his body reacted. He hardened and held on to his poles, to keep his hands to himself.

“When should I kiss you?” she asked.

Now. Ten seconds ago. All last night. Instead, he said, “When you're ready.”

She gave a slight nod. “I think I am.”

“That's good,” he said.

Suited up for the cold, he sweated inside his clothes. If he moved, he'd probably sway from lack of oxygen. His wife was killing him, all the while taking her own sweet time.

Dana planted her hands on his chest. “You know what, Amante Español? I think you're flirting with me.”

He opened his mouth to confirm her suspicions, when she stood on her tiptoes and captured his mouth. Lightly at first, she tested him.

He held perfectly still, letting her do what she wanted. His patience paid off. Big time.

She tilted her head, and kissed him with the passion of a woman starved for one kiss. He dropped his poles and dragged her to his body, deepening the kiss.

She moaned, letting him take her weight. He sighed in pleasure. Never wanting to end the kiss, he walked her backward against the wall. He pressed his body against hers.

Thigh to thigh. Stomach to stomach. Face to face. They fit together perfectly. Her slopes fit into his contours, and he damned the suit he was wearing.

“Santiago!” Coach Dobson pulled him away from Dana.

Juan groaned. “Shit.”

Dana's hands shook as she changed into her ski boots. She could blame it on Juan's kiss, but that would only be half the reason. Her fake husband had given her a real kiss. She shook her head — no, she'd given her pretend husband a kiss that left her weak. And majorly turned on.

Suddenly, she wanted to go outside and join Juan skiing more than she cared about the speed bump in her life schedule. She wanted to know more about the man who loved his family, protected her despite having no reason, ordered her to kiss him, and then sucked all the strength out of her until her ovaries begged for more.

She shoved her hands into her gloves, grabbed her skis, and walked through the door out into the snow. For a few minutes, she stood there, soaking up the activities. On this side of the lodge, the area was reserved for the Olympic team. Tourists and visitors were shuttled half a mile to the Yellow lift. Even though the team was comprised of twelve men, and not all of them would compete, they all practiced every day in hopes of filling the roster.

For every athlete, there were coaches, trainers, reporters, managers, and a whole network of people filling the area. She was surprised the lodge housed them all. She spotted T.T., and pushed her way over to him.

T.T. pointed over his shoulder. “He's on the ramp. Last run, and then you can talk to him.”

“Thanks.” She skied over to the fenced off area.

Not wanting to get in the way, she stayed back with the rest of the fans who'd traveled up the mountain to catch a glimpse of their favorite skier. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, she peered up the mountain. Several skiers stood around, but from her distance, she couldn't tell which one was Juan.

A blast interrupted her search. She jolted, and looked at the top of the ramp. She swallowed. The long slim board, aimed down the mountain and ending on an upward pitch, seemed impossible. No one could pay her to ski down that thing.

The skier raised his arm, crouched, and the reflective marker on the top of his helmet flashed in the sunlight. Her muscles seized, and she frantically looked around at the other skiers before returning to the one on the ramp.
Juan.

Per contract, she'd provided the needed outfits and supplies as Juan's sponsor. She'd recognize a Reese helmet anywhere. She swallowed hard.

Dana had learned to ski when she was six years old and her dad had her modeling the kids' line of winter wear. She'd attended ski bowls, tournaments, and studied durability in downhill, speed, acrobatic, aerial. But she'd never known anyone personally who flew through the air, taking a chance on their life, for what? A medal?

A louder blast from the horn elicited a scream from her before she could clamp her lips closed. Unable to move, she glued her attention on Juan. Her blood froze in her veins.

What Juan was attempting seemed impossible. When he landed — she gasped — God, if he landed, it'd kill him.

Juan reached the end of the ramp, sprang up on stiff legs laying over his skis, and soared. The crowd went silent in anticipation of the landing. Dana crouched down without taking her gaze off his flight. She wrapped her arms around her middle when he twirled. Once. Twice. And did a full turn.

“Oh shit,” she whispered.

He was too close to the ground. He'd never get his feet under him. She closed her eyes.
Please let him be all right. Please let him —

Cheers broke out all around her. She straightened, searching the end of the run for a crumpled husband.

Juan waved to the crowd and skied toward the gate. Relief left her nauseous. He was moving. He wasn't lying broken at the bottom of the hill … dead.

His smile returned when he found her at the end of the line. How dare he celebrate his jump!

“You made it,” he said, sliding to a stop on the other side of the fence.

She stared, breathing hard. Her body flashed cold and hot.

He stood in front of her looking beautiful, barely out of breath, and exhilarated beyond anything she'd ever experienced herself. She wanted to slug him.

“Hey, what's wrong?” He clipped off his skis, grabbed them, and jumped the fence.

“You!” She dug the back of her ski in the snow, turned, and skied away.

Even with just his boots on, he caught her a few yards away. She slapped at his hands.

“Let me go,” she said, pushing against him.

“Hold still or you're going to fall.” He straddled her skis and wrapped his arms around her. “Why are you angry?”

She pursed her lips and looked away from him. Tremors came from him, and she glanced at his face. She was amusing him.

“Babe … ” he said, wiping the grin off his face. “Talk to me.”

“I didn't know you aerialed.” She gave him one more push, but he remained holding her. “Is that how you hurt your shoulder?”

“No. I fell getting off the chair lift.” He pushed her stocking hat back off her forehead.

She studied him. “You're lying,” she muttered.

“Yeah.” He kissed the end of her nose. “Give me five minutes to change and grab a different pair of skis and I'll race you down the hill.”

“We're going slow.” She staggered when he let her go. “Besides, you've sucked all the fun out of spending time with you. I should leave you, and go by myself. I'm fun. What you do is plain stupid and dumb.”

He ignored what she was saying and grinned as he jogged toward the lodge. She scoffed. “Men.”

Second-guessing her decision to go to Germany if she had to watch him risk life and limb on the slope, she rubbed her gloved hands down the front of her coat. Why couldn't he do something safe like cross country or freestyle skiing?

Extreme sports were not her thing. Neither were men who risked everything for the thrill. She wanted dependability and security, and that wouldn't happen if her husband were dead. She rolled her eyes. She had to stop thinking of him as a permanent resident in her life.

Then she remembered the kisses. He'd promised her there'd be more. God, she hoped so. Maybe she'd grow bored with them, and then she'd remember their agreement was only for one month.

Someone grabbed her waist from behind. She screamed.

Juan laughed, snagging her hand and pulling her forward. “Come on. We only have a couple hours more of daylight. Let's hit the slope.”

“I thought we had to take the shuttle.” She fumbled with her pole dangling on her wrist. “I'm not allowed inside the team's area.”

He let her go, and pushed ahead of her, calling over his shoulder, “You are now.”

Dana hurried to keep up with him. The rules were clearly posted. She'd signed the papers and promised not to bother the Olympic team while she worked at the lodge. Her duty was to sell them supplies and convince them to wear the Reese brand. She eyed Juan.

The ski pants and gloves were definitely her father's brand, but the jacket came from Corbatt. She'd have to talk with him about making sure he was always present in Reese clothing, even when he wasn't practicing. She couldn't have her husband misrepresenting her father's company.

At the chair lift, Juan scooped her up and planted her on his lap when the chair arrived. She circled his neck with her arms to keep from falling.

“Juan.” She untangled her skis from his. “What are you doing, taking me down with you when you break the other arm?”

He nuzzled her collar. “I'm spending time with you, Mrs. Santiago.”

She flinched.
Mrs. Santiago?

Juan chuckled in her ear. She whipped her gaze to his face and the warmth in his eyes caused her to melt. Then it dawned on her he wasn't calling her someone else's name, but
she
was Mrs. Santiago.

She laid her head back on his shoulder and looked ahead of them to hide her reaction. For some reason he found her humorous, and she was afraid he thought this whole charade was a joke. She knew their marriage wasn't real, but thinking he thought calling her Mrs. Santiago was something to laugh about … well, it stung.

“Head up,” he said, patting her hip.

Great. She'd never dismounted from someone's lap before, and there was a ninety-nine percent chance her skis would get tangled with his, and she'd wipe out the reigning champion before he could even reach Germany.

However, she wasn't going to tell him that and have him laugh at her again. She prepared to launch, and instead of leaving his lap, he circled his arms around her waist and jumped. She leaned forward on contact, but Juan kept her standing as they glided out of the way.

“I do know how to ski.” She slipped her goggles down over her eyes. “Why don't you do your thing, and I'll do mine. I'll follow you.”

His gaze dropped to the front of her coat. “That's okay. I'll follow you, and enjoy the view.”

“You seriously did not just say that.” She joisted her pole at his stomach. “You go first.”

“Fine.” He wiggled his brows, and slid past her.

She shook her head and took off after him. Going slow and enjoying the weather, she missed him veering to the left and only realized he was playing with her when he showed up beside her.

“How old are you?” she said, raising her voice.

He grinned. “Twenty-nine.”

Jace was twenty-nine years old too. It was the perfect age for a man to settle down. She'd read that in
Cosmo
more than once. She'd planned for their wedding to be this year, because their ages matched the optimum survival rate for a successful marriage. She'd thought out every little step of her life, and look what that got her. Nothing.

Juan swooped in behind her, and placed his hands on her hips. She put her knees together to avoid bumping into Juan's skis.

“What are you doing now?” she said.

“Riding the rest of the trail down with you.” His fingers dug into her sides and pulled her tight against him. “I don't want you to get cold.”

“I'm wearing Reese clothing. I'm warmer than you are.”

“I noticed.” He veered them to the right and slowed their speed. “I've noticed a lot of things about you.”

Her curiosity got the better of her. “Like what?” she said.

“When you don't think anyone is watching, you have a tendency to nibble on your lip as if you're thinking dirty thoughts,” he said.

“Or ways to divorce you,” she said.

“No.” He chuckled. “I know your thoughts are sexy, because your eyelids get heavy — ”

“Allergies,” she replied.

“Nuh uh.” He slowed them to a stop. “You know what else I noticed?”

Pleasure filled her. Jace never talked to her this way. With him it was always business. He was more apt to impress her dad so he could climb higher within the company, than excite her.

“What?” she whispered.

“Deep down, you like me, and it's killing you to admit that you want to kiss me,” he said. “You enjoy having me around. I also think those naughty thoughts involve me, and I like that, babe.”

Her legs shook. Not only could he say the right things, but she wanted to listen to him tell her more. She wanted his opinion about all her contradicting thoughts lately and what they meant, because she had no idea half the time. Maybe she even wanted him to convince her that the right thing to do was turn around and kiss him again. Or even talk her into sleeping with him, because since she'd met him her life had been one chaotic mess that left her wanting … wanting …

She squeezed her eyes closed. “We're not married.”

“We're married,” he said.