HOT ICE: Complete Sporting Romance Series

by Lily Harlem

  I liked it. A lot.

  “He looks fun,” Todd said with a slow nod.

  “Yeah, Raymond’s great.” I scrolled through the next few pictures, willing my heart rate to settle. There was Paris in the spring, the pink blossoms a dusky gray. Central Park in the fall, the trees a silvery white and a cyclist tossing up a shower of leaves in his wake. Cape Cod on a bright summer morning, Joel’s dog Rufus running along the beach.

  Finally, I came to the last picture. It was another of Gareth and Joel, and one I’d captured spontaneously although the viewer could be mistaken for thinking it was staged. It replicated a famous WWII picture of a GI kissing a girl in Times Square, tipping her back and devouring her mouth in the most unchaste of ways. My picture had been taken on New Year’s Eve when we’d been out having fun. At the stroke of midnight, Joel had grabbed Gareth, dropped him over his arm and kissed him. Camera always at the ready, I’d captured the shot—ticker tape fluttering around them, people celebrating, lights and noise bursting from the frame. But the real beauty was how they were totally lost in each other, oblivious to everything else. The kiss transported them to their own perfect time and place—a whole year of fun to look forward to, a whole previous year of wondrous times to look back on.

  A flush of envy washed over me. It often did when I looked at that shot. “So that’s it,” I said, clearing my throat. “My exhibition is a collection of portraits and landscapes, places I enjoy and people who’ve stood by me. I’m thrilled the curators at Theodore Gallery think enough of my work to want to show it to the world.”

  “You mean other than on billboards and magazines.” He set his bottle on the table.

  I laughed. “Yep, other than billboards and magazines. That’s when I’m being told what to take shots of instead of choosing my own subject.” Suddenly my words caught in my throat. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t, I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to take shots of you, obviously, that was—”

  It was his turn to laugh now. “I know what you meant.”

  His body nudged mine as his chest rose and fell. I quickly shut down the window and flipped the screen shut, tugged out the memory stick and set it and the laptop on the coffee table.

  I sat back and stared at my knees. The exhibition and Armani should be the main things on my mind right now. But how could they be when Todd Carty was sitting next to me with his big hand resting only an inch from mine?

  The pale fuzz of his sun-bleached hairs skimming up the back of his wrist and onto his forearm made me want to stroke, kiss, lick them. An image of doing so rushed through my mind. Damn, a wave of heat to my cock warned me of an impending erection. I was such a fool. Why was I even here, torturing myself like this?

  “Matthew,” Todd said.

  I turned, saw his keen, intelligent eyes gazing straight into mine. He was so close I could make out every whisker on his chin, the delicate shadow within the upper indent of his lip and each individual eyelash.

  “What?” I managed, tensing my stomach and resisting the urge to reach for him, kiss him. Just grab him and make him mine for a few sweeter than sweet seconds. Hell to the consequences. Hell to the black eye I’d no doubt get.

  “Matthew, I…” He shook his head and his eyes narrowed. He lifted his hand and cupped my cheek in his palm, his fingertips grazing my earlobe and his arm resting down the column of my neck and onto my collarbone. Jaw set tight. he said, “Fuck, I want to kiss you.”

  “What?”

  “I want to kiss you, right here, right now,” he said in a strained, dark voice.

  “But, I…?”

  “Don’t question it.” He leaned closer still. So close his lips were just a hairsbreadth from mine. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking about it, and I have to do it, now.”

  His mouth connected with mine, big firm lips pressing with both hesitation and determination. It was a close-mouthed peck, not wild, not full of movement, certainly no tongues, but one of the most sensual kisses of my life.

  I shut my eyes and rested my hand over his, showing him how much I liked having his palm on my face—the possessive, controlling hold. The heat and hardness in my groin was growing by the second, hot urgency and a gripping fist of longing.

  He pulled away.

  I opened my eyes. “Todd,” I whispered. “I’ve been trying not to think of kissing you.” I swallowed tightly. “Because I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

  “You thought wrong.” He smiled, almost shyly. “It’s taken a lot of soul-searching to admit what I want, Matthew, but now, meeting you, it’s like a key has found a lock and…” He paused and swiped his tongue over his plump bottom lip, leaving a glistening sheen. “And now I’m ready to go down a path I couldn’t before because I was too worried what people would say. But I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just want to be true to myself. Explore the person that I really am.”

  Heat was prickling up my back, nipping at my underarms. My cock was raging and my thighs painfully tense. But despite all of that I kept perfectly still, gazing at Todd, breathing in the air he was breathing out. Absorbing his words and their meaning as though they were a string of beads, each one holding a clue to what the hell was going on.

  “I like you a lot,” he murmured. “I’ve liked you more and more and I’m not talking about just being buddies.” His gaze was boring into my eyes, studying me closely. There was truth in the blue depths of his irises, the emotion behind what he was saying almost tangible. “And when you told me you were gay I was even more spellbound and couldn’t stop thinking maybe, maybe we could…” He hesitated. “You know, be together.”

  “Well, I, yeah, but…?” My words were disjointed, my brain struggling to keep up with this wonderful revelation.

  Todd likes guys. He likes me. Fuck!

  “I’ve never really been with a guy before, in fact only ever kissed one, years ago,” he whispered, stroking his thumb over my damp lips and tugging them slightly. “But I like kissing you way better than I did him and I want to do it again.”

  “Yeah,” I said, stroking my hand down his arm toward his bent elbow and touching all the compact muscle I’d been admiring at a distance. “Go on then.”

  And he did. Kiss me. This time there was nothing hesitant about it—it just felt natural and right. His tongue delved deep, his mouth was wide and his breaths were excited and rapid against my cheek.

  I opened up and let him in, adoring his malty, spiced flavor and the hot strength of his tongue as it tangled with mine. Our chins clashed, mine sharper against his, my denser stubble creating a sandpapery sound.

  “Matthew,” he gasped, breaking the kiss.

  We stared at each other, a wonderful honest connection that seemed to exclude everything, including time. Then he grabbed my head in both of his hands, drawing our mouths together in a heated, passion-infused mating that required our necks to tilt so we could get even closer.

  I drank it all up, hardly believing it was happening but enjoying every sweet syrupy movement of our kiss. Registering every taste, sound and sensation in my memory.

  He pressed forward and I was forced down onto the sofa, my back landing in the soft leather cushions and Todd’s huge body balancing above me.

  Our chests and stomachs came into alignment and still he kept kissing me—hot and dark, rich and decadent. We fed off each other and I gripped his hard, wide shoulders as I sought out the corners of his mouth and the creases of his lips.

  My balls had drawn up tight and my cock was getting ready to burst. My jeans were unforgiving and my zipper was nothing short of painful against my shaft. “Todd,” I gasped, fisting his t-shirt. This had to stop now or go considerably further. Soon the point of no return would be upon me, and once that happened, I was a stickler for finding satisfaction.

  He lifted his head, his mouth hung slack and he was panting. He flicked his attention to our chests pressed together. His nose twitched and he grunted—a deep primeval grunt that generated a forward thrust in his body, making our groi
ns collide in a hard, dizzy and impossibly sexy grind.

  “Oh fuck,” I groaned, arching my neck and squeezing my eyes shut. He was going to make me come if he did that again.

  Suddenly he was gone. He’d jumped up, his body weight, his heat, his scent leaving me in an instant.

  I was stunned.

  Shell-shocked.

  I scrabbled into an upright position in time to see him striding toward the kitchen counter. His steps were stiff, awkward, and I knew why. He too was nursing an almighty hard-on. I’d felt it for myself. Our solid, engorged cocks had just ground together in blissful contact.

  “Todd?”

  He raised his hands, sliced his fingers into his hair and shot his elbows to the sides, keeping his back to me as he dragged in a noisy, hissing breath.

  “What is it?” I asked, shuffling to the edge of the sofa.

  “Fuck, I just didn’t…” His voice was sharp, desperate.

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Didn’t think it would feel like that.”

  “Feel like what?”

  He hesitated, then, “I don’t know, just not so crazy and out of control.”

  My heart sank. He hadn’t liked kissing me. I gritted my teeth and braced my body as a shard of pain sliced through me. My heart was on the table, again. I adored Todd, fancied him something crazy. Not only Todd “Pretty” Carty, the super-talented hockey player, but Todd the guy, the man facing a whole new angle of his sexuality and just stepping into my world.

  Could I handle this? I was fresh from the beaten-up-heart shelf. What I needed was someone settled and content, confident in his desires.

  I stood, picked up my memory stick and shoved it into my pocket. Made the most of the opportunity to rearrange my cock, hoping to find a way to relieve the pressure. I didn’t.

  Maybe I could drum up my patience, stick a splint around my heart and see how it worked out. Some things in life were worth a risk, a little pain and waiting about. Was Todd one of those things?

  For a moment I simply stared at him, at the way his t-shirt stretched over his sharply angled shoulders and hugged the gutter of his spine. Then, with my limbs light and trembling, I walked over to him. Rested my hand on his back and smoothed a slow circle over his granite-hard muscles.

  He continued to stare down at his breakfast bar’s surface as though the grains in the wood held answers to the questions in his mind and the lust in his groin.

  “Todd,” I said gently. “If this is all new for you I’ll do what I can to help.”

  Silence.

  “Todd?”

  “Just go, Matthew.” He swallowed tightly and dropped his neck farther. “You’re right, it’s all new, but please, just go. I need to be alone.”

  Chapter Four

  The Internet is a wonderful thing. Or hateful, depending on how I looked at it. Much as I didn’t want to think of Todd, I still couldn’t resist checking out the games the Rangers had lined up over the next weeks.

  They had a meeting against Seattle two days after Todd told me to leave his apartment. Then trips to San Diego, Denver, Vancouver then back to Los Angeles before home to New York in a little over two weeks’ time.

  This meant he wouldn’t be around for any delicious make-up kisses, nor would he be around to bruise my emotions further. Which was for the best. We were not meant to be if a kiss had produced a such violent, emotional reaction in him and left me feeling beaten up.

  Being the masochistic bastard I was, however, I found it impossible not to watch the Rangers’ first game of the week. After popping a beer, I settled down to see them take on Seattle.

  Todd pelted onto the ice, his head low, his skates blading over the surface. His team members held their sticks aloft as they sped out behind him, greeting the jubilant crowd’s riotous whistles and hoots with waves and grins. Todd didn’t. His stick was down, the business end ready to fight, tackle and score those all-important points.

  Sitting on my sofa, ankles crossed on the table, I steeled myself and watched him play out his battle against the Seattle crew. He never once looked at the crowd, only glanced at his team to assess openings and positions then flew the puck into the back of the net—a total of five times. He was on top of his game, his skill a threat to every hockey player not on his team. I was proud of him, pleased for him. But I hadn’t worn the jersey he’d bought me, even though it was sitting on the table where I’d dumped it two evenings ago, taunting me with its vivid colors and his boldly printed name splashed across the back.

  When the game was over, I flicked off the TV and walked to the window, gulping my last mouthful of beer and staring at the Manhattan night. Below me, taxis and cars fought for road space as people traveled home after evenings out with friends and family. In the distance party boats chugged on the Hudson, lovers enjoying champagne cruises, romantic meals and slow dances.

  My aloneness was a thick woolen blanket. It had been a long time since I’d felt this way. In a city full of people, how could I feel so isolated? So shrouded and trapped in my single life. Okay, I was independent, strong, successful and had great friends, but still, there was something missing. For too many months I would have said that something was Tony, but not anymore. Now I knew it was something else. Possibly even someone else.

  But once again it wasn’t to be. I’d just have to wait for the next piece of the puzzle that was my destiny to come along. For the briefest of moments I’d hoped it was the hot hockey player I’d watched on TV tonight, who’d kissed me as though his life depended upon it. But that moment had passed so quickly it could have been a dream, a snippet of memory, an illusion.

  I turned from the window and headed into my bedroom. No, that kiss was no illusion, dream or false memory. It had been too alive and real, his taste had lingered on my lips until I’d gotten home. But Todd wasn’t that person, he wasn’t my missing puzzle piece. Once again I’d have to put on my act of bravado. Face the world as though I hadn’t had my hopes raised and dashed in the blink of an eye.

  I was alone and happy to be alone.

  Or so I would tell myself, and anyone who happened to ask.

  *****

  I wandered into the bar Gareth and Joel ran together on lower Sixth Avenue. It was late morning and there were no customers in Rizzles yet, just a delivery guy Joel was dealing with.

  “Matthew, hey, glad you’re here. Joel and I have been discussing the opening night of your exhibition,” Gareth said.

  “Yeah, what about it?” I asked, resting my butt on my usual stool at the window end of the bar.

  “It’ll be black-tie, won’t it?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged.

  “Oh, it’s got to be. Come on.” Gareth set an espresso in front of me. “Joel just got a new tux and he looks hot to trot in it.”

  Joel glanced over at the mention of his name, spotted me and lifted a hand.

  I nodded as a way of hello. “Yeah, I guess it will be. I’m leaving Theodore’s to organize the details.”

  “The invites are out.”

  “Are they? Did you get a V.I.P. one?”

  “Yeah, look.” Gareth pulled out an invitation from behind the bar. “It says formal evening wear.”

  “Then a tux will do.”

  “Mmm, you’re right. Tuxes all round. What about Raymond? Will he wear a tux?”

  “No doubt a tux with a twist.” I took a sip of the hot, strong coffee, looking forward to the much-needed caffeine kick after my restless night. Thoughts and images of Todd had rattled around my brain until the early hours of the morning, memories of that sweet but oh so hot kiss prodding my heart and my cock until eventually I’d had to jerk off in the bathroom, release some of the buildup of sexual frustration that was par for the course of being a single guy.

  “What’s up with you?” Gareth asked, putting one elbow on the bar and leaning over to look me in the eyes.

  “Nothing.”

  He pursed his lips and frowned. “You sure?”

  “Yep.�
��

  There was a pause, then, “Only last week you were talking of nothing but the exhibition and your Armani project with Todd Carty.”

  I glanced out the window at the mention of his name.

  Gareth knew me too well.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  “Nothing. We finished the shoot, that’s all. I’m due at Armani this afternoon with the final shot selection.”

  “Happy with them?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is pretty boy happy?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  Gareth held up his hands. “Sorry, I thought everyone called him that.”

  “Yeah, they do. But that doesn’t mean he likes it.”

  Gareth gave a slow nod. “Ah, so you talked about more than camera angles and lighting then.”

  “’Course we did. I’ve been working on and off with him for weeks now, catching shots in between his time on the road and practice commitments.”

  Joel stepped up behind Gareth and rested a hand on his shoulder. His dark eyes twinkled my way. “Oh, are you talking about Todd Carty? Damn, I thought you would have at least brought him here for a few raunchy photographs, Matthew, so we could have met the god of the rink.”

  “Not really the look Armani was going for,” I said, flicking my hand around the dimly lit bar before once again nursing my coffee.

  I glanced up. Gareth was still staring at me as if trying to read my mind.

  “What?” I snapped.

  He shrugged. “You tell me. I just haven’t seen that pissed-off-at-the-world face of yours for a while. It disturbs me.”

  “Where do want this stock?” the delivery guy shouted.

  Joel rolled his eyes then dashed off to supervise the boxes being unloaded into the basement.

  “Buddy?” Gareth said in a soft voice. “What happened?”

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, tasting a bitter metallic flavor that I quickly washed away with a gulp of coffee.

  He reached over and rested his hand on mine. “I’m here, we’re here if you want to talk about it.”