Whispers on the Ice (28 page)

Jordan tried her best to ignore Nick, but time and again she found her gaze wandering appreciatively over his tall, muscular form. George was right, his shoulders were enormous! Thankfully, Nick’s down-filled parka covered those wide shoulders and muscular arms and fell to mid-thigh, also covering his tempting bottom and upper thighs.

Maybe there is a God in heaven
, Jordan thought as she pulled her wistful gaze forcefully away from the impossibly handsome man. “George, I’ve got to go check on Megan,” Jordan offered as a way of escape. Her heart picked up it’s pace every time she was in the same room with Nick. Escape was her only chance of salvation.

“You let her on the ice?” George Junior asked in disbelief. “The toughest broad I know gave in? I don’t believe it.”

“She wore me down—kind of like Chinese Water Torture—I could-n’t stand her whining anymore so I tossed her butt out and told her to knock herself out. Hopefully, she didn’t take it literally,” Jordan laughed, her eyes bright, her smile wide.

“Now I know your secret—you can’t stand whiners,” George countered.

Jordan stuck her tongue out, her cheeks flushing when she saw Nick had caught her childish gesture and stood gazing intently at her, his eyes holding hers captive.

“I’ll be sure never to whine,” Nick added, his tone deep and promising, his eyes darkening a deeper blue.

Jordan’s heart started to pound wildly, her breath caught in her throat and she felt captured by the power he radiated. It took all her strength to close her eyes, breaking the magnetic pull Nick had over her and with a mumbled excuse about Megan, left the trashed room, her legs barely supporting her.

George watched her sudden retreat, baffled by her unusual behavior until he looked at Nick and saw the same dazed expression in his eyes as he continued to stare at the door Jordan had just exited through. “Nick…Nick…” George called before scooping up a small piece of Styrofoam insulation and bouncing it off Nick’s shoulder with an accurate throw.

“What?” Nick growled, looking around in bewilderment, shaking his head to clear the strange sensation he felt every time he was anywhere near Jordan.

“Welcome back, buddy,” George offered, bumping shoulders with him as he passed by.

“What?” Nick repeated, his hands spread as if asking what the devil George was insinuating this time.

“Just off in the ozone again, Nick. No problem,” George explained, starting to pick up the larger pieces of wood that littered the floor.

“Bull.” Nick argued.

George’s expression said otherwise.

“Shit!” Nick growled deeply, running his large hands through his short hair.

He had to get a handle on what was going on. This was getting entirely too weird! Why was he so drawn to this slip of a girl—no woman—he’d met only a week ago? She wasn’t anything like the typical women he’d dated. He’d always been drawn to women who laughed easily, flirted shamelessly, were loaded with curves and knew exactly what to do with them and kept the promises they’d made, even if the promise had come after tequila shooters. Nick was certain, Jordan had never even been in the presence of a tequila shooter. And figure wise, if she had one, she did her best to keep it covered. Although, he knew for a fact she had one fine ass and even the long sweatshirts she wore constantly refused to stay in place and rode up over her hips, leaving that lovely bottom free to view. And since every time she saw him, she reversed her direction, more often than not, he had a fine view of her retreating southern exposure. A view he had come to appreciate more and more each time he saw it.

“Nick, you’re slipping again,” George suggested, bumping past him again, his arms filled with remnants of what had once been the back wall. “You going to help or are you going to stand there mooning over Jordan all afternoon?””

”Screw you, Washington.” Nick growled, slipping his parka off and tossing it on to the workbench, his flannel shirt followed, landing on the mountainous jacket. “So, what’s the plan?” Nick asked, standing with his feet slightly spread, his arms spread across his massive chest, the muscles of his arms bulging.

George looked at his friend, a towering mass of muscle and good looks and shook his head in amazement. “You know, Nick, there ought to be laws to protect you pretty boys. No wonder you get girls so easy. They all think you’re gay and they’ll be the one to convert you. What a racket!”

Nick suggested George attempt a physically impossible act upon himself, threw back his head and laughed. The sound deep and husky, echoed through the building, reaching Jordan in the ice rink where she watched Megan skate happily over the ice and suddenly her heart began to race.

“Damn you, Nicholas Devon,” Jordan whispered, her arms crossing her chest as her blood began to boil. With an effort, she pushed the image of sky blue eyes and a sexy smile from her mind and returned her attention to Megan as she sped across the ice.

“So tell me, Washington. How long do we have to get this hole in the wall fixed before the boss gets here?” Nick asked, grabbing another armful of splintered and broken wooden beams.

“Not long enough.”

“Time to think positive, Georgie. Are we putting a door in or just putting the wall back together?”

“I think it would be best if it looked like it used to. I’d just as soon she not find out about this little incident.”

“Whatever.” Nick shrugged. “I’ll get the list of materials together, we’ll send your father down to get the stuff and be back together by…” Nick looked at his watch—eleven-thirty. “late tonight.”

“Other than the ‘we’ll send dad to get the stuff ’I can live with the rest of it,” George agreed, sending his father a look that stopped the protest his father had been about to make.

“Tell you what, Mr. W., we’ll go get the stuff together,” Nick offered, grabbing up a clipboard and tape measure and sticking a pencil behind his ear. “In the mean time, give me a hand with measuring this hole and then we’ll figure what all we need to make it disappear.”

George Senior positively glowed at Nick’s offer and jumped to his feet, eager to be part of the process to put the wall back together. Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all. And if all went as planned, his wife would never know about this little
accident
.

CHAPTER 20  

The next ten days passed in a blur of saw dust, loud machinery, and even louder explanations when George’s mother got back into town two days ahead of schedule and immediately spotted the, as yet painted, replacement wall. Despite George Junior’s diplomatic explanation regarding the accident, Nick’s assurance the building was structurally sound and her husband’s blood promise to never, never, touch her precious Zamboni machine again, Mrs. Washington spent the better part of the day stomping through the building and slamming doors whenever she had the chance. Everyone was perfectly aware her mood was less than cordial and they all steered a wide path around her, disappearing when necessary to insure they would survive to see the forthcoming ice show. Thankfully, Mrs. Washington’s mood was greatly improved by the following morning, thanks to a coat of matching paint that made the new and old wall blend together so nicely one had to look hard to see where the old met the new.

With three days left until the ice show, dress rehearsals were held. Final adjustments were made for music and lighting, scenery changes were timed, modified and timed again. Final fittings for costumes were completed, sequins torn off, zippers replaced, ribbons shortened, feathers sewn on, beads and bangles glued and pinned. Blades were sharpened, boots polished, and blister pads, and Band-Aids were worth their weight in gold. All in all, it was shaping up to be one hell of a show.

Nick watched the wild and frantic motion going on around him and thought the average person would get tired just watching the level of energy that surged through everyone in the building. Yet, for the first time in years he felt truly alive and the feeling confused him. There was no reason he should feel this attraction to the chaos that went on around him, and yet he felt physically drawn to the music that made the building vibrate with anticipation. There were times he could swear his name was being called, and he’d find himself standing rink side watching the skaters. The feeling was especially urgent when the pair skaters hit the ice. There was a tangible feeling of electricity that crackled in the air, like an approaching storm, and it made his blood flow faster through his veins. The sensation built in him, despite his best efforts to ignore the pandemonium surrounding him. He felt drawn to this group of skaters, as if a member of the team, and it made him crazy because there was no reason in hell he should feel any kinship to a bunch of guys in tights figure skating. And yet, he kept returning to watch the proceedings. Silently he made notes in his mind what needed to be changed or corrected to make one program flow more smoothly into the next, why a particular jump wasn’t working or, with the pair skaters, why the boy couldn’t get his partner in the air for their lift. The sudden realization he was doing this was bad, what was worse was he knew what he was doing! He knew he was right! There was no reason for him to even be thinking along these lines—figure skating was for wimps. Hockey was his game. He was no namby-pamby in tight pants and flowing shirts! Give him a stick and let him knock some ones head off any night and he was happier than a pig in the mud. So what in the world made him think he knew what the hell he was talking about now? He couldn’t say, but he
knew
he was right.

Unfortunately, he made the mistake of yelling out across the ice “You’ve got to get under her more and lift with your legs,” that drew Jordan’s attention.

Jordan’s look of surprise at the deeply intoned command soon turned to confusion. For the briefest of moments, she was sure it had been Aleksei’s voice that had shouted the command, but only Nick stood looking at her from across the expanse of ice.

Nick watched her face go from joyfully expectant to pale and annoyed when she realized it had been Nick’s booming voice she had heard. With a dismissing toss of her head, she returned her attention to the pair on the ice and stopped the music. Stepping on to the ice, she made her way to the skaters, watching as the teenage boy helped his partner back to her feet after he made an unsuccessful attempt to lift her. She was beginning to think he was never going to get this lift down consistently and began to think of alternate moves for this part of their program. It certainly wasn’t fair to his partner to suffer the constant consequences of his inability to get her up and balanced. Jordan looked at his partner, certainly small enough to be easily lifted, and shook her head in frustration.

Nick watched the small movement of Jordan’s head and could feel her frustration. Still, Nick wasn’t stupid, he didn’t have to be hit over the head with a mallet to figure out Jordan wanted nothing to do with him. He, himself, felt better when she wasn’t around. In fact, he could almost convince himself things were close to normal when he couldn’t see her or smell her perfume or hear her voice and laughter. Although it seemed that more and more frequently she interrupted his thoughts, even his sleep, the one place he’d found refuge and silence from the strange happenings that had begun after his surgery three years before.

Nick watched Jordan explain, yet again, how the lift was to be executed. He could see the girl nodding in understanding but her partner just didn’t seem to be getting it. In exasperation, Jordan explained it yet again.

Without even thinking, Nick found himself stepping on to the ice in his work boots. The slick surface felt comfortable and welcoming even without skates. Confidently he strode across the glassy surface toward the three skaters that stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You’ve got to get under her. Your knees bend, don’t they?” Nick questioned the boy, whose look was rather belligerent and said without words how he felt about hockey skaters.

“They bend just fine.”

“Then bend them and get under your partner!” Nick growled.

“I think I know a little bit more about this than you do.”

Nick looked down at the boy who, even in his skates, stood a good half-foot shorter than he did. “That’s your problem, you’re thinking instead of listening. I’m sure your partner
thinks
differently,” Nick stated, looking at the girl that still rubbed at her aching left hip. “Suppose, for half a minute, you turn off your macho teenage attitude and pay attention. With any luck, you’ll learn something and your partner won’t have to down eight Advil to sleep tonight.”

Jordan looked at Nick. A new respect for him flickered to life as he patiently, but succinctly explained exactly how the lift was to be executed. When he called her name and held out his hand to her, she realized he planned to use her to demonstrate the lift. She looked at his boot-clad feet and shook her head. “I really don’t think it’s necessary to demonstrate the lift. You’ve explained it very clearly.”

“I’ve heard you explain it to Ram-jet here several times, too, but he obviously is the type that has to
see
how it works to really get it. So, let’s show him,” Nick stated patiently, his hand still outstretched.

“Nick, I don’t know. I don’t think…” Jordan began, her voice fading to a whisper as she shook her head back and forth, her hands clasped tightly together behind her back.

“Jordan, for once, don’t think. Just trust me,” Nick asked softly, his hand still outstretched to her, rock steady.

Jordan looked from his reaching hand up into his bright blue eyes and for the briefest moment was sure they turned ebony. Closing her eyes to clear her vision, she opened them and stared into Nick’s blue eyes, filled with patience and confidence. “If you drop me, I will never let you forget it!” she vowed strongly.

“That will never happen,” Nick stated surely, watching as Jordan’s eyes widened in surprise, not knowing she had received that exact promise from Aleksei years before. Jordan swayed toward Nick, her legs suddenly weak at his words and she grabbed his hand with both of hers, allowing him to pull her before him. “Okay, kid. Watch—and learn!”

As if from a distance, Jordan listened as Nick carefully explained each step of the lift, moving her body into position as he stepped before her, his palms resting against her hip bones, his fingers curling around her hips, his touch hot against her suddenly chilled flesh. Jordan closed her eyes as the first wave of dizziness washed over her. Aleksei was there, she could feel his presence surrounding her, she could feel his hands on her hips and without any effort, she suddenly was lifted high into the air and held securely. As if the past three years had never existed, she arched into position without consciously thinking to do it. Her arms spread wide as if she was flying, her heart soaring as she felt her blood pump furiously through her veins as it had every time Aleksei had held her, either on or off the ice. She heard his voice as he instructed her on their dismount and blindly she obeyed. Her hands reached for his shoulders, her fingers wrapping around the muscles of his upper arms as he lowered her then sliding down the length of his arms and finally running her finger tips over his palms until their fingers laced together. Sighing deeply, she leaned against his body, her cheek coming to rest against his chest where she listened to the comforting, steady beat of his heart. She whispered his name on a sigh.
Aleksei
.

“Jordan?”

“Huh?” came her quiet reply. She didn’t want to leave the safe haven she’d found. It had taken her three long years, but she’d wished Aleksei back and somehow he’d found a way to return to her. Jordan promised they’d never be apart again.

“Jordan?” The voice was more insistent, different than before, a bit deeper.

Jordan felt Aleksei’s fingers slide from hers and frowned at the loss of his touch. “Come back, Aleksei.”

“Jordan!” Nick’s voice broke through the final threads of fantasy that surrounded her.

Her eyes sprang open and she realized it wasn’t Aleksei she stood before but Nick. Nick watched her eyes go dark and fill with confusion and her cheeks flush rosily in embarrassment. With a small push, she backed away from him, mumbled a small “I’m sorry”, announced there would be a ten-minute break and left the ice.

* * * * *

Cynthia Washington stood beside her son and they watched the unusual scene play out on the ice before them. Her breath caught and held as she watched Nick lift and hold Jordan above his head in a lift that looked all too familiar, as if he’d been doing it all his life, which she knew he hadn’t. Even George’s eyebrows raised as he watched Jordan and Nick perform the lift.

“This is too weird,” George muttered.

Cynthia looked from her son to the ice and back again. “What’s this about, Georgie?”

George shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Mom.”

“Try me,” Cynthia encouraged and listened as her son told her the story Nick had told him about how his life had changed on the operating table three years before. Cynthia could only shake her head in astonishment. She had learned anything was possible and never to discount love as being a stronger power than even death. “Has Nick ever seen anything on Aleksei? Any of their programs?”

“Nick thinks figure skating’s for wussies!” George snorted. “The fact that he’s drawn to Jordan and doesn’t know why is making him crazy.

Makes him a madman on the ice come hockey-time but it’s making him really edgy come downtime. I worry about him, Mom. I don’t know how to help him,” George concluded, his eyes returning to the ice.

“Georgie, I think it’s time Nick met Aleksei Rocmanov,” Cynthia stated, nudging her son toward the ice. “I’ll see him in my office,” She offered, heading through the double doors to her office and searching through her collection of videotapes of Jamison and Rocmanov. When she found the program she wanted, she popped the tape into the VCR, settled into her chair and awaited Nick’s arrival.

* * * * *

Nick sauntered into Cynthia’s office five minutes later; a frown still creased his forehead as he tried to figure out exactly what had occurred on the ice with Jordan.

“George said you wanted to see me. What can I do for you Mrs. W? George Senior on the move again?” he asked, trying to take his mind off Jordan and the strange sensations that still crashed through his body.

“No, George Senior is being a perfect angel and busy putting together programs—with any luck, he won’t staple his finger to one of them.”

Nick nodded in understanding, a small smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to help you,” Cynthia offered, picking up the remote to the VCR and handing it to Nick.

“I’m not very good at fixing electronic gadgets, did you check the batteries?” Nick suggested, surprised at Cynthia’s sudden burst of laughter.

“The VCR’s fine, Nick, and the remote doesn’t need batteries,” Cynthia watched Nick’s expression become more confused and sat forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “I wasn’t aware you were so knowledgeable regarding the intricacies of pairs lifts. If I’d known, I would have taken you off hockey skates and put you back on real skates.”

“No disrespect, ma’am, but hockey skates are
real
skates.”

“George told me you thought figure skating was for wussies.”

“Yeah, well, George has a big mouth!” Nick growled.

“Yes, I know,” Cynthia smiled. “So how long have you been an expert at pair skating?”

Nick’s look slipped from surprised to aghast. “I don’t know anything about pair skating.”

“That’s not how it looked to me just now when you were lifting Jordan as if you’d been doing it forever,” Cynthia stated plainly.