Hold me harder, say yes.
We stand there for a while and though my neck has started hurting because this is pretty damn awkward, I’d stand here all day if it meant I got to be this close to her. From time to time, one of her hands will move, or she’ll edge a fraction of an inch closer with her feet. She’s stopped shaking, but now she’s breathing as hard as she ever has been after a hard practice or a flawless performance.
It takes a long time, but finally she’s pressed up against me from shoulder to knee and she’s holding me as tightly as I’m holding her.
“Beck?” Her voice is a whisper, a near-silent plea. Tell me what you need.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll skate with you tomorrow.”
Girl sure knows how to break a man’s heart. I’m so happy I feel like everything’s just gone fireworks inside, and that’s the exploding, fracturing, rupturing sensation in my chest. Probably not a heart attack. Christ, if I had a heart attack and died right now, I bet Jubilee would resuscitate me just to have the pleasure of murdering me herself.
Don’t die, Hughes, don’t do it.
But I don’t. Nope. I kiss her again behind her ear and then straighten out my neck because it’s kinking pretty good right about now, and then I rest my chin on the top of her head while I squeeze my eyes shut, and squeeze her, too.
I have to force my voice casual and hope it doesn’t crack when I say, “Okay.”
Because that’s no big deal. Except it’s everything, frigging everything, and I’ll be content with that for a very long time. If she’ll just skate with me. Be my partner, my ice princess. Let me hold, support, and protect her—when I’m not tossing her into the air and across the ice, or doing what we do best, side by side.
“Hey, Beck?”
Will I ever get sick of hearing her call me Beck? I don’t think so. And I hope not. It’s the best feeling, that happy little kick. “Yeah?”
She takes a deep breath, the way she does right before she’s about to start a jump, with the same rushing exhale too. She’s getting ready for something, and it’s big. I love that I can see it coming even as I’m scared of what it might be.
“You, um, wouldn’t want to have dinner with me, would you?”
I look to the ceiling in her apartment, and same as in our suite in the village, the ceiling’s blank and white, making it the perfect place to project all the things I want from her, want with her. A future, maybe, and that’s going to start right here, right now, with dinner. And she’ll be mine on the ice tomorrow. That’s where we’ll start and we’ll see where we end up.
“Sure I would.”
Epilogue
Three years later
Beckett
“Beck, have you seen my snowshoes?”
Jeez. Will the woman not take a break? The fact is that I have indeed seen her snowshoes . . . as I was hiding them in the dryer.
Just as I’m about to shout an entirely made up answer, Jubilee swings around the doorframe and comes to a stop about a yard away from where I’ve got my feet propped up on an ottoman and am, ugh, reading.
“Did you hear me? Have you seen my snowshoes? I could’ve sworn I left them in the rack by the door when I came in yesterday, but they’re not there anymore.”
She’s all ready to go in some leggings, a vest zipped over a turtleneck, and her thick, shiny ponytail is sprouting from the top of her head, drifting over her headband. Her boots are all laced up, and she’s fricking adorable. Now if I could just get her to sit down instead of buzzing around like some lunatic penguin . . . No, wait, penguins don’t fly. Which is beside the point.
“I, uh, haven’t seen your snowshoes . . .” In the past ten minutes. “Why don’t you come sit with me? I made a fire and everything. It’s awfully cozy.”
As if to confirm my assessment, Tai rolls over and offers her belly for rubbing and Randy huffs. The dogs are taking up a bunch of room on the couch so they’d have to shove over to make room for Jubilee, but they’d do it. Grudgingly. They were my Christmas present from Jubilee last year, and they’re the best dogs. Even if she likes to tease me about how it’s hard to tell us all apart because our hair’s the same. Which, to be fair, is kind of true if you see us all from the back while we’re sitting on the couch. It’s not my fault we all look awesome.
Jubilee’s dark eyes narrow and her mouth thins into a line. “I don’t want to sit down. I am going to be doing plenty of sitting in the very near future. What I’d like to do right now is go tromping through the woods while I still can.”
She has a point, but I’m still not thrilled about it. We already went cross-country skiing this morning, and took a skate on the pond after lunch. I feel like that’s probably enough for the day. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but surely if anyone can understand that, it’s Jubilee, Lieutenant Colonel of Paranoia, though she’s settled some over the past couple of years, since I’ve managed to stay alive even after she admitted that she loved me. Took me three months after the first time she asked me to dinner to get her to let me kiss her, but then the physical stuff continued like a snowball. It wasn’t even a month later that I finally—finally—got to do my thing properly, and show her exactly how awesome I am at sex. Pretty awesome.
But back to dissuading my beautiful and talented but impossibly stubborn wife from taking a hike. “And what happens if you go into labor in the middle of the woods, huh? I know you’re a tough girl, but no one wants to snowshoe while they’re in labor. Especially if your water breaks. Then you’d be wearing, like, underwear-cicles.”
I didn’t think it was possible for her to look any more annoyed, but I was wrong. Her capacity for being irritated with me is impressive. Now suspicion’s been added to the mix, with a tilt of her head and her eyes like slits now. “You took them, didn’t you?”
Shit.
“Would I—” The way she plants her hands on her hips silences me.
“Would you take my snowshoes and hide them? Yes, yes you would.”
I can’t really argue with that since I did, in fact, take them. Also, if I lie about it and imply that it must be that she can’t remember because of pregnancy brain fog, she’ll just tear apart the house looking for them and once she’s found them will murder me in cold blood. The dogs don’t need to see that. Also it would be a real shame to leave our unborn child fatherless.
“Fine, I did, okay? But only because you’re like eleven months pregnant and I want you to be safe.”
And here come the eye roll and the heavy sigh. “Beck . . .”
I hold up my hands in surrender, because she’s right. I know she’s right. I just can’t feel it in my gut. All I do is worry about her, and the baby. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be some paternalistic assmuffin, okay, and I’ll tell you where they are, I just . . .”
It’s strange, this tightness in my chest, the rioting in my stomach. The programs we used to skate together were far more dangerous than anything she’s done since we found out she was pregnant, and I didn’t worry about her when we were competing. I mean, I did, but only in a way that made me careful and attentive. Not in a way that made me go off the deep end. Whereas Jubilee, who is usually the worrier, has been almost blasé about the whole thing. Growing a person inside me? No bigs. Ten million things that could go wrong and hurt me or the child I’m carrying? Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.
I’m glad one of us hasn’t lost our senses, but I’m really more comfortable when she’s the one being paranoid. Lucky for me, she’s been kind about this, too. Which is further demonstrated by her shaking her head, but untying and toeing off her boots before unzipping her vest and tossing it on a chair. Instead of making the dogs move, she climbs in my lap, taking the book out of my hands.
She flips the tome to see the title and gives me that oh, Beckett look. I grab for it, but she holds it out of my reach and I’m sure not going to dump her on the floor to get it back.
“Why are you reading this? I thought I told you to stop re
ading this.”
It’s one of those Everything You Need to Know About Pregnancy and Labor books, and it’s true, she had told me to stop reading it after I spent weeks waking her up with the trillions of things that could go wrong.
“You did.”
“And did you listen to me?”
It’s now my turn to glare, though I’m nowhere near the professional she is. I do, however, beat her when it comes to gritting words out from between my teeth. “No.”
Still holding the thick volume of doom and death away from me, Jubilee drops a kiss on my forehead and then pushes off my lap and heads toward the fire where she deftly slips aside the screen and tosses the book onto the flames.
I’d protest, but that’s not going to do me any good. Some things I will go to the mats for. My wife is one of them. Her health, her safety, her happiness. Last year when her injuries started piling up and she wasn’t recovering from the stress fractures in her feet or her knee pain, I suggested it might be time for us to throw in the towel. To which she promptly replied with an instruction to go fuck myself. But when she shorted a double axel and fractured her wrist a few weeks later . . .
That was a hard time. For both of us. And then the woman told me just because she couldn’t compete anymore didn’t mean I couldn’t. Wanted me to find another partner. Uh, no. So I told her to go fuck herself. It’s possible we should clean up our language before the baby gets here . . . After the swearing, though, I told her I wouldn’t. Because I meant it when I said that it doesn’t matter what she can do, and it doesn’t matter what I can do, it only matters what we can do. And we couldn’t skate anymore. Not at the level of competition we were used to anyway. Bound to happen sooner or later, although we’d both been hoping for another shot at the SIGs.
It took a few more weeks of convincing, but we packed it in. Left Daphne to be fought over by pairs who want a shot at what we have. Bought a little house in Upstate New York that backs up to conservation land including a pond. We’re not far from a rink and we’ve already started coaching. It’s a good life. And Jubilee hardly ever throws my things into the fire.
“Really? I was reading that.”
She smiles at me and puts her hands on her hips, framing her belly. I’m sometimes impressed she can still stand upright, given that she looks like there’s a watermelon under her shirt. “Now you’re not. You need to stop driving yourself crazy.”
I wait for her to amend it to crazier, but she doesn’t. Instead, she walks over and drapes herself over my lap again, reaching out a hand to rub Tai’s still-upturned belly. After a minute, Jubilee sculpts her hand around my jaw and strokes her thumb over the scruff on my cheek. It makes the loud freaking-out voices a little quieter. It also makes Tai snort indignantly because she’s no longer being petted, and somehow Randy starts snoring louder. “You said it yourself. I’m going to have the baby any second now, so there’s no use reading up on pregnancy anymore. And if you can manage not to pass out, you’re going to be great while I’m in labor. Plus, you’re going to be an awesome dad. Really, you’re going to be wonderful. You already are wonderful.”
When Jubilee is earnest, it kills me. Like knocks - me - on - my - ass kills me. So I kiss her, and rest a hand on her stomach where the baby’s been kicking lately. Yep, there’s a kick. More like a push since there’s not so much space anymore. Over the gut-clenching panic floods a warm, sappy feeling. I love her, she loves me too, and now we get to start a whole new adventure together.
Jubilee lets out a tiny gasp against my lips, followed by a huff of a laugh. “Hey, Beck?”
“Yeah?”
She pulls away slightly, enough so I can see her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “I think I just had a contraction.”
Oh, shit.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Eileen, Tiffany, Titi, Jaime, and the rest of the SMP Swerve team. A special shout-out to my cover designers, who rocked this series. I’m so proud that the models on my covers look like the athletes that they are.
I am grateful to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for helping to bring this series to life and believing that I could manage this schedule. Let’s never do this again.
Thanks as always to AJ, who reads all the things—your stamp of approval gives me the confidence to put my words out into the world. And to Teresa, who was even more helpful than usual because of her figure skating expertise.
For MTS, LG, KO, and EH. Whether you read my books or not, I know you’ve got my back. Thank you for supporting me during this crazy ride we call publishing. And to JG, whose workouts have helped keep me sane throughout these deadlines.
For those of you wondering if the song Jubilee and Beckett skate to for their final performance exists—it does! “Scottish-Baroque Fantasy” by Steve Schuch is one of the most magical pieces of music I’ve ever heard.
Thank you to my family, who are very proud of me, even if they don’t always know what for.
And, thank you to my readers and reviewers for enabling me to tell stories for a living. I couldn’t do this without you.
About the Author
Tamsen Parker is a stay-at-home mom by day, USA Today bestselling erotic romance writer by naptime. Her novella Craving Flight was named to the Best of 2015 lists of Heroes and Heartbreakers, Smexy Books, Romance Novel News, and Dear Author. Heroes and Heartbreakers called her Compass series “bewitching, humorous, erotically intense, and emotional.” She lives with her family outside of Boston, where she tweets too much, sleeps too little, and is always in the middle of a book. Aside from good food, sweet Rieslings, and gin cocktails, she has a fondness for monograms and subway maps. She should really start drinking coffee.
You can sign up for email updates here.
Also by Tamsen Parker
The Snow and Ice Games Series
Love on the Tracks
Seduction on the Slopes
On the Edge of Scandal
Fire on the Ice
On the Brink of Passion
The Compass Series
Personal Geography
Intimate Geography
Uncharted Territory
True North
Due South
The Cartographer
Camp Firefly Falls Continuity
In Her Court (2017 Season)
Love, All (2018 Season)
Standalone Novels
School Ties
His Custody
Short Stories and Novellas
Craving Flight
Looking for a Complication
(originally published as part of the For the First Time anthology)
Needs
(originally published as part of the Winter Rain anthology)
Anthologies
Rogue Desire
Rogue Affair
Rogue Hearts
Exposed
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Tamsen Parker
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and even
ts portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ON THE BRINK OF PASSION. Copyright © 2018 by Tamsen Parker. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Mimi Bark
Cover photographs: couple © Guryanov Andrey/Shutterstock.com; snowflake © style-photography/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-15345-6 (ebook)
First Edition: March 2018
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
On the Brink of Passion--Snow & Ice Games Page 17
