Love and Other Games (26 page)

"We had to hurry and call in a lot of favors. They only got here about two minutes before the competition began. The magazine paid for their tickets and housing," he said, hoping she wouldn't be angry with him at the next part. "I had to promise Joe we'd get an exclusive photo shoot in exchange. I hope that's ok."

She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears as she hugged her mother, who had tears streaming down her own face. He'd seen Lia naked, but this was the first time he'd seen her completely laid bare. The way she looked at him then nearly knocked him off his feet. She'd been right, the torch had brought them both the best luck they could have ever asked for. It'd brought them together.

"Sorry to interrupt," Del said. "But I need your answer on something right away, Lia."

Lia fluffed her youngest brother's hair, laughing when he grimaced. "What is it?"

"I'm working on a book deal for you and it's gone to auction."

"That sounds great," Lia said, pausing. "What does that mean?"

Del waved her hand dismissively. "Only good things for you. But there is a downside. It's for English rights in America and the UK. I love you to death, darling, but your English is nowhere good enough for writing a book."

"Oh," Lia's face fell.

Brandon's heart pounded painfully in his chest. "Sounds like you need a co-writer. Possibly someone with journalism experience and tons of writing awards to prove it?" he asked hopefully.

Del smiled knowingly at him. "I thought you might volunteer. It will take a while," she warned. "Possibly a year or longer."

Brandon looked at Lia, who bounced on her toes, waiting for his response. A year of working side by side with the bravest, most amazing woman he'd ever met? He could handle that.

Brandon smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ana Blaze

“She’s not doing any press on Monday.” Amy shook her head even though she was arguing over the phone. “No. Not even a quick five minutes. Well, you heard wrong. Look, Mike, I told you she can’t give you any time on Monday. Do you want a slot on Thursday? Because she needs a break.”

Hearing a chuckle behind her, Amy turned to find Robin Cartwright, assistant coach for Amy’s figure skating sister and Amy’s closest friend. She made a face and pointed at the phone before noticing that Robin was wearing a dress and carrying another.

Curiosity spurred her to hurry Mike toward the decision they both knew he was going to make. “So, I can put you down for 1:25 on Thursday or you can give up the slot. They’re going fast, Mikey.” She grinned. “Great! See you then. Remember, you can bring a photographer but it comes out of your fifteen minutes.” She hung up before he could start arguing again.

Robin laughed. “So Lexi is actually having a press-free day?”

Amy shrugged. “Dad thinks the press will get her too worked up. He wants me to keep the days before all her competitions completely clear.”

“Since when does the press get to Lexi Peirce, Princess of the Ice?” Robin’s voice always went up three octaves when she added the nickname the press had given Lexi.

“It doesn’t. I think my dad read some autobiography where an athlete claimed that all the interviews made him freeze or something. You know he’s always been superstitious, but lately … ”

“Olympic-sized?” Robin offered.

“Yeah. You could say that. Watch, Lexi will probably try to sneak out and find the reporters anyway. Then I’ll get to face the angry mob I told couldn’t see her.” Controlling an almost eighteen-year-old skating star was not exactly a breeze.

“All the more reason for you to have some fun tonight.” Robin held up a silky black dress.

“Sorry, I should finish getting the schedule updated and—”

“Blah, blah, blah. If Lexi can have a day off, you can have a night off. Stop and take a look around. You’re in Switzerland, the Olympic village—home to thousands of hot athletes—is just down the street, and I know about a party just outside the village that can’t be missed. You’re going to put on this dress, find some lip gloss, and come out with me.”

Amy glanced at the dress again and shook her head. “There’s no way I’m fitting into your dress.” Robin was a former figure skater herself and had the petite and willowy figure to match. She and Lexi could probably share clothes. Unlike her tiny blonde sister, Amy displayed her father’s Scots roots. She wasn’t really heavy, just sort of sturdy. At least she’d gotten the thick red hair that matched.

“That’s why I bought a dress in your size. Your cleavage is going to be epic in this dress.”

Amy’s boobs popped up a full cup at age thirteen. It had already been pretty clear to her that her little sister, Lexi, was the one who’d inherited their mother’s skating talent, but the arrival of her breasts had finally cleared things up for everyone else. She’d stopped getting up at five in the morning for trainings and started focusing on school instead. Still, she always found it bizarre when skater-types mentioned her bosom in wistful tones. If they had her body, they’d almost certainly lose their sport.

Amy took another look at the dress. It was gorgeous. Audrey Hepburn would have worn it … well if Audrey Hepburn was busty she’d have worn it. “It would be a shame to let that dress go to waste.” She grinned. “Okay, I’m in, but I can’t stay out too late. I have a lot of work to get done tomorrow.”

***

“Are all Olympic parties this loud?” Amy took a sip of her drink and frowned at Robin. Someone, she had no idea who, had rented a large house and set it up like a club just outside of the Olympic village so they didn’t have to follow any of the rules and restrictions the Olympic Committee insisted on.

“More like all good parties period. You seriously need to get out more. Party while you’re still young and hot.”

Amy smirked. Robin had gotten in plenty of trouble with the tabloids during her Olympic run a few years ago, but Amy didn't mention that. Hell, Robin might be right. In fact, she was probably right. Amy was so focused on school and helping her father take care of Lexi that she barely even dated. Still, this wasn’t exactly her scene. The DJ was playing a mix of dance music heavy on bass and volume, and the rather inebriated crowd was getting rowdy. When she saw a girl who looked about Lexi’s age take off her top and swing it in a circle over her head, Amy started eyeing the exit.

“I think I’m about partied out for the night. Do you want to head back to the hotel?” She had to lean close to her friend and nearly yell to be heard.

Robin rolled her eyes. “We just got here. Finish your drink. Grab another and let’s head to the dance floor.”

She shook her head and leaned in again. Then she saw him. Twenty feet away stood the best looking man she’d ever seen: tall, blonde, chiseled. Amy blinked hard, half expecting him to disappear. Instead he came closer. Their eyes met and her stomach flipped. Butterflies. Electricity. Silly hormones. Whatever it was, it was happening. And, now that it was, she knew that it had never happened before.

He smiled slowly, like he was surprised to see her, and closed the distance between them. Touching his chest with one finger, he bent down and spoke directly into her ear. “Erik.” He straightened up and tapped his chest again.

Amy mimicked the gesture. “Amy.”

“Amy.” He repeated her name and grinned before leaning down again. “Dance with me, Amy.”

At her nod, he plucked the cup from her hand, set it on the bar behind her and took her hand.

Amy let him lead her to the dance area. She gasped when he immediately tugged her body against his. Clearly Erik had not learned the dance rules taught at St. Francis High School. He didn’t leave room for air, much less a holy presence.

She should probably pull away a little; maybe move his hands off her hips and into a slightly more neutral location like her waist. But a glance at the crowd around them made that seem silly and prudish. Still, Amy kept her hands on his arms, a couple inches above his elbows, unsure of where exactly she was meant to put them when dancing like this.

Erik laughed and brought one of her hands to rest on the back of his neck. She was surprised to find that she could reach it. He had to be four or five inches over six feet tall. “Relax,
skjønn
, just dancing.”

So her nerves were showing. Great. Also, what was a
skjønn
? Probably a nerd. What was she thinking? Amy Pierce did not sexy dance with gorgeous men. If he tried anything fancy—like a spin—or even just turning—she’d undoubtedly end up flat on her face.

He placed one large hand at the small of her back and guided her hips to move with his. Amy shivered and tried to keep up.

The music shifted to something a few beats per minute slower. She was doing it, sliding her body in time with his. Biting her lip, she took her hand off his arm and placed it at his waist. Good god, the man had abs of steel. That wasn’t just a selling ploy. Abdominal muscles could be hard enough to cut glass and she’d just found living proof. Of course he was obviously an Olympic champion, not exactly a normal person, but still. Wow.

He said something. She barely made out the murmur of his deep voice over the music, but it still sent a shudder down to her core. She looked up and smiled. He smiled back so she must have guessed the right response.

A couple songs later, she was in a trance. A man that tall ought to be gangly, but he wasn’t. Erik moved with grace. He led well and, even more shocking, Amy let him. Her hips followed the circles and undulations of his with increasing ease. He spun her body around and pulled her back against his chest. She laughed. It was fun. Robin was right. She absolutely needed to do this more often.

His words were hot against her ear. “What is so funny?”

She turned in the circle of his arms and leaned back to meet his gaze. “Hard to explain.”

His hand inched south. He was definitely more in the ass region than the back region. If only she were bold enough to try the same maneuver on him. The giggles held strong.

He arched an eyebrow and grinned, revealing a dimple. Amy’s knees went weak. A dimple? Seriously?

Erik clasped her hand tightly and tilted his head towards the bar area before leading her off the floor. “Would you like a drink?”

She’d had two, her normal limit, before they’d danced but Amy nodded. One more should be okay. It was a party after all and a rare one for her.

Being inordinately tall apparently helps get a bartender’s attention, because he ordered their drinks with ease and had a cup in each hand a few moments later. He passed one to Amy, took her hand and walked to the connecting lounge area. “It’s quieter here. Now you can tell me what’s funny.”

Amy stepped back, leaned against the wall and took a sip of her drink. It was quieter, but still a bit loud for talking. The bass from the music in the other room made the floor vibrate beneath her feet. As though nerves and lust weren’t making her knees shaky enough on their own. There was a couch, but it was already occupied by a couple who clearly required less privacy while making out then she did. “It’s just that I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You don’t like to dance?”

“No. I mean I’m no good at it.”

He looked skeptical and, coming closer, leaned down. “I liked dancing with you. The way you move is … good.”

Her cheeks were hot. “Thanks.” She ducked her head, glanced to the side. Dancing was actually easier than talking. She spotted a t-shirt with Quatchi, one of the mascots from the Vancouver Games in 2010 and pointed. “Quatchi is my favorite. I’m still trying to get a hold of one of the official pins.” Yup, she was now talking about Olympic pin-trading, a popular tradition but hardly a sound topic for flirtation. Where was she going to go with this? Ooh, let me tell you about my rare French fries pin.

Erik looked where she pointed. “
Søt.
Cute.” He moved in, his cheek brushing against hers before her whispered in her ear. “You are cuter.”

“Oh.” She flattened her palm against the wall, resisting the urge to stroke his cheek. Damn, he was pretty. His eyes were blue, but she was close enough to see threads of green too. He had sharp cheekbones, a patrician nose, and full lips. And now she was staring. Great. Way to play it cool. “You’re … umm.” Cute? Try hot enough to scorch her fingertips from across the room. “You too.”  Amy took another big swallow from her cocktail. You too? Ugh. A lamer response hadn’t been spoken aloud since Baby announced that she carried a watermelon in
Dirty Dancing
.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh outright. “I will guess. You are … American.”

“Yeah. I’m from South Carolina. It’s in the south.” Hence the name South Carolina. She should really suggest they dance again.

“American Amy.” He brushed a piece of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I would like to kiss you.” Erik paused for a moment, maybe waiting for a response and then leaned in.

They couldn’t kiss. Could they? She knew nothing about him. Amy pressed her hand against his chest. “What’s your event?”

“I fly.”

Okay, that was weird. Was he high or just nuts? Her concern must have shown on her face.

He laughed. “I’m a ski jumper.
Teamet Norge.
” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I fly with skis.”

Amy nodded. That fit. He had that type of confidence. “Cool.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I would break a lot of bones.”

“That happens sometimes.” He closed his hand around hers and squeezed. “Do you want to dance more?”

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

Erik’s eyes grew big. His pupils darkened. Yeah, she was surprised by her words too. Her mouth grew dry waiting for him to say something and she licked her lips. He stroked the length of her neck, tucked two fingers beneath her chin and angled her face upward. If he didn’t make a move soon she’d have to do it herself. Her heart raced. Her breath came in weak puffs and she pulled her gaze away from his to look at his mouth.

“Your cup.”

“What?” She frowned, but he was already taking her drink away.

He deposited both their cups on a small side table. “I want your hands free.”