Walker had once thought that Eva skating was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but now he knew better. Eva smiling, her flame-red hair curled against his pillow, her cheeks flush, her eyes dark with desire—all for him—that was the most beautiful thing. A hundred, a thousand, a million more nights of Eva in his bed, and he’d never get tired of this view.
“You talk a good game, forty-six,” she teased, “but I still haven’t gotten my hot cocoa.”
He rolled back on top of her, pressing a kiss to her creamy shoulder. “I tried, princess, but someone was too horny to wait for the milk to heat—”
“Don’t even try it.” Eva rolled her eyes. “You were kissing me under the mistletoe again! What did you expect?”
She teased him with another kiss, the hot, wet press of her lips making his dick throb. He pulled back, sweeping the hair from her eyes, grateful for the storm that raged outside. The wind howled against the windows, coating the glass in sleet, the entire city already buried under a thick blanket of snow. But in here, the fire roaring at the foot of the bed, Eva stretched out beneath him, everything was warm and soft and fucking perfect.
Walker looked at the angel in his bed and wondered what it would be like to stare into those fiery amber eyes every night, and for once, he didn’t want the sun to come up. He wanted the night to last forever.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her thumb sliding over his eyebrow. “This one goes straight when you’re concentrating.”
Walker smiled, but he didn’t trust his voice. In a scratchy whisper that felt much more like a confession than an answer, he said, “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond, just crashed down against those lush lips. She gasped, parting her lips, her velvet tongue sliding out to meet his.
He’d been doing his best to keep it in check, but everything inside him was trembling, terrified.
Because for so long, hockey had been his life. His passion. Aside from his family, hockey was the sole reason he bothered getting out of bed in the morning.
But for the first time since he’d put on skates as a kid, he was feeling like there might be room for something else in that stone-cold heart of his.
And that—more than his knee injury and the nightmares from the car wreck and his dead old man and all the other bad shit in his life—scared the hell out of him.
It meant that she had something on him. A weapon.
Whether she realized it or not, Eva Bradshaw had the power to obliterate him, and there wasn’t a damn thing Walker could do about it.
He broke their kiss, pulled back again just to look at her.
“Walker,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. The skin between her brows creased. “Where are you?”
He buried his face in her neck, inhaled her sweet vanilla scent.
“Come back,” she said, arching her hips against him, everything about her slow and soft and fucking delicious. Despite the hot mess of his heart, Walker was rock hard for her again, already reaching for another condom on the nightstand.
“I’m here,” he finally said, meeting her eyes. Eva arched her back, and Walker slid between her thighs, settling into the spot that was quickly becoming his favorite place in the world. “Right here.”
“Yes. Right… God. Right there,” Eva sighed as Walker rolled his hips, burying himself deep inside, watching that sexy blush creep up her neck again. Eva ran her hands down his back and he slid his fingers into her hair and kissed the corner of her mouth, remembering that day on the ice when she’d promised to teach him how to skate backward, hard and fast enough to go back in time.
Walker closed his eyes, melting into her.
He didn’t want to learn how to go back in time anymore. He just wanted to freeze it.
“Eva, I need to say something.” It was burning him up inside, the words clawing their way up his throat, desperate for release. Eva stared into his eyes, unblinking, her own filled with a fragile hope that made his heart pound. “I think I’m… I” Just tell her, asshole. Tell her how you feel.
God, he wanted to. Just three words. But as much as he felt it inside, as much as he looked at her and felt his heart catch fire and knew the whole damn truth of things, he just couldn’t make the words come out.
What if she freaked out? What if she turned away? What if she put that ice wall up between them again, locking him out completely?
Or worse, what if she did nothing at all?
Walker could handle losing a game, losing a shot at the Stanley Cup. He could handle 250-pound gorillas on skates chasing him on the ice with fire in their veins and murder in their eyes. He could handle the bone-crushing, teeth-breaking, blood-spilling falls that came with every game.
Lately he’d begun to wonder if he might just be strong enough to handle the possibility of never recovering enough to get back on the active roster.
But he knew without a doubt that he could not handle Eva’s rejection, no matter how much the words were eating him up inside.
He closed his mouth, shook his head, held his breath.
And in the deathly quiet that followed, Eva’s eyes glazed with tears.
“McKellen offered me a job,” she blurted out suddenly.
“McKellen… what? Really?” Walker sat up in bed, leaning back against the headboard.
“Full time. Salary, benefits, the whole package,” she said, but something in her voice was off.
“That’s… a good thing, right? Full time—”
“In Saint Paul.”
The bedroom tilted sideways.
“McKellen’s flying us out there next month to check things out,” she continued. “He’s offered to cover my relocation expenses, help us find a place, get Gracie set up at school.”
“You’re leaving?”
Eva shrugged. “I haven’t accepted officially yet.”
“Yet?” Walker tried to hang his hopes on that word, but his heart was hammering in his chest, his mouth dry.
“It’s a good offer, Walker. I’d be crazy to pass it up.”
“You’re leaving.” Now, it wasn’t a question. It was a bomb, dropped from the sky and blowing him to bits. He was blindsided.
No, Eva had never promised him forever. Hell, they hadn’t even talked about what their relationship was or wasn’t, where it would go after their sessions ended. Walker had just figured they’d cross that bridge when they got there.
But now they’d never get there. That bridge was being relocated to another state, and she’d never even thought to mention it—not during their training, all those hours they’d spent together on the ice. Not at the hockey game. Not over chicken finger subs and pizza and wings in her cozy kitchen. And not when he’d held her in his arms, tearing himself apart inside as he struggled to find a way to tell her how he felt about her.
Eva. His ball-busting, fire-eyed, take-no-bullshit, Olympic-medalist skating coach. His ice princess. She was leaving Buffalo. Leaving the Tempest.
Leaving him.
“When… how…” Walker’s head was spinning, and he jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to get his bearings. Trying to avoid looking at her. “How did this all come about?”
Eva ran her fingers along his arm, but Walker pulled away. He didn’t need her soothing touch. He needed her to tell him that she wasn’t taking the job.
“McKellen mentioned it that first day,” she said. “But it wasn’t a sure thing. We had to see how things went with… well, to see if I’d be a good fit.”
The rest of the puzzle pieces slammed into place, and he finally met her eyes. Him. They had to see how things went with him. To see whether Eva was the kind of coach who could kick his ass and get results. The kind of coach McKellen would want on his staff.
“I was your guinea pig,” he said. “Because hell, Eva, if you can fix a fuck-up like me, you must be a goddamn miracle worker. Right?”
“It’s not like that, W
alker.” Eva sat up in bed, level with him now, not even noticing or caring that her bare breasts spilled out over the sheets. Typical Eva, never backing down from a fight. “This is a good opportunity.”
“There are other opportunities,” he said. “Other… reasons.”
She looked at him expectantly, and for a brief instant, he wondered if she wanted him to talk her out of it. Wondered if he even could.
Tell her how you feel.
But he couldn’t. The hurt inside him was so unexpected, so raw.
“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner,” she said firmly, “but I’m not sorry for making a good career move. For wanting a better life for my daughter.”
“You can do that here,” he said, but he knew the words were meaningless.
“The opportunity is in Minnesota. I told McKellen I’d consider it, and I have.”
Hope flickered once again in his chest. “Are you still considering it, or is this already a done deal for you?”
Eva lowered her eyes, and there was his answer. His final answer.
“But what about our sessions?” Walker asked. “What if I don’t make the cut?”
Walker held his breath, and he realized he was waiting for her to reassure him, to insist that of course he’d make the cut. He’d grown to need that from her, and it damn near killed him. He was weak without her. Lost.
Still, he waited for the words. Don’t be ridiculous, forty-six. Of course you’ll make it. The team needs you. You’re strong. You’re kicking ass. Stop worrying.
But when Eva spoke again, it wasn’t with encouragement or promises of things to come. “McKellen already likes what he sees in me. He knows I’m qualified for the job.”
Whether you make the cut or not.
Eva didn’t say the last part out loud, but she didn’t need to. The words hung in the air between them, sharp as knives. His gut ached.
He shoved aside the sheet and blanket and hauled himself out of bed, yanking on a pair of sweats and an old Tempest hoodie. He wanted to toss her ass out, but there was no way he’d send her out in the storm, no matter how pissed he was.
Best he could do was camp out on the couch, get the fuck away from her.
“So it’s like that?” she said, words suddenly full of fire. “You’re just storming off? We can’t even talk about this?”
“You made your decision. Didn’t think it was important enough to tell me about, so forgive me if I don’t think it’s important enough to keep yakking about now.”
Her eyes flashed with hurt, but Walker didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Couldn’t spare another thought for her feelings without turning himself inside out in the process, and he was done doing that.
In fact, he was done with her completely. On the ice and off.
“You know what, Eva?” he said. “I’ll call McKellen in the morning, let him know he can have you now. Far as I’m concerned, we’re through.”
“What? We still have a few weeks scheduled.”
“Sorry. Not interested.”
Red rage crept across Eva’s chest, up her neck, into her cheeks.
She exploded out of bed, tearing off the blankets and stomping over to meet him, fingers jabbing his chest. “You’ve got people bending over backward—I’m bending over backward—trying to help you get back on the team, and you pull shit like this?”
“Save your self-righteous bullshit, Eva. You weren’t helping me. You were helping yourself.” He knocked her hand away from his chest. Didn’t want her touching him again. “You said it yourself—I was your meal ticket.”
“Walker, that was a joke. Give me a break.”
“But it wasn’t, that’s the thing. Because McKellen offered you the job, and you used me to prove yourself.” He yanked a pillow and blanket from the closet and slammed the closet door shut, rattling the walls.
“You can’t honestly tell me that’s what you’re pissed about,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter what I’m pissed about.”
“So this is how you deal with your shit? By shutting down and shutting me out?”
“Call it what you want, Eva. I’m done talking.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” There was fire in her eyes, the same he’d seen that first day on the ice. Every day on the ice. Every time he pushed her buttons. Every time she pushed his. Only now, the fire wasn’t turning him on. It was destroying everything in its path.
He leaned in close, his lips against the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “No one, apparently.”
He pulled back just in time to see the heartache in her eyes, his own heart cracking right down the middle. He wanted to see things from her perspective, to be happy for her, to see that this was a good thing. But all he could see was Eva walking out the door, leaving him. Just like his father had left him. Hell, his mother left, too—not on purpose, but the end result was the fucking same.
Everyone Walker loved went away.
He never should’ve let this happen.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, all the fight in her gone. Her eyes glazed with tears, dousing the fire that had burned so hot.
But the damage was already done.
Walker looked at her with all the coldness he could muster, ignoring the gaping wound in his heart, ignoring the voice urging him to drop his shit and crawl right back into bed with her.
Yeah, maybe there was a time Walker would’ve wanted to talk things out, to find a way to make it work, to compromise. For a little while, Eva had almost made him believe he was still the guy who could open himself up, still the guy who could put his heart on the line no matter the risk.
But all that guy ever got was left behind.
Fuck that guy.
He looked at her once more, then turned away, heading for the door. “Soon as the roads are clear tomorrow, I want you gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I don’t know how you cook anything in this shoebox of a kitchen, Eva.”
Eva’s mother Francine set her grocery bags on the counter, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I’m pretty resourceful,” Eva said cheerfully, biting back the rest. Raging at her mother was all part of the vicious cycle, the negativity her mother thrived on, and Eva was no longer interested in feeding that particular monster.
She had her own monsters to deal with.
Returning her attention to the pot of gravy on the stove, Eva stirred, her thoughts drifting right back to their prison, trapped by images of Walker Dunn storming out of his bedroom. Walker Dunn, his eyes full of hurt and rage as she told him about the job. Walker Dunn, his house empty and cold when she left the next morning.
In the three days since the fight, she’d tried texting him, tried calling, tried looking for him at the arena, hoping he’d cooled off, hoping they could get back to their sessions. Hoping they could get back to each other.
But it was as if he’d totally vanished from her life, taking her heart right along with him.
She wasn’t sure if he’d called McKellen—Eva hadn’t heard anything from her future boss—but she couldn’t even think about that right now. Her body was going through the motions—Christmas Eve dinner, checking on the turkey, stirring the gravy, sneaking pieces of ham to Bilbo Baggins—but her mind was back in that bedroom, trying to find a way to redo the whole night. A way to get back to Walker.
“An electric range?” Francine’s shrill voice yanked Eva back to the moment. Her mother clucked her tongue, making a face as if it was the first time she’d been in the kitchen, the first time she’d made that tired old comment. “Gas cooks much more evenly. But I guess I can make it work—I always do. Did you manage to pick up the whole wheat flour like I asked?”
“Yes, mother. I did manage it.” Eva whirled around, brandishing her wooden spoon, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was done letting her mother use words like a weapon, done cowering before the woman who’d barely spared them a single hug growing up, the woman who’d done nothing but complain about
how inconvenient Eva’s skating dreams had made her life. “It’s on the second shelf in the cupboard,” she said, without heat. Without anything.
She asked Marybeth to take over in the kitchen, and headed into the living room where Gracie and Uncle Nate were watching Christmas Vacation. The movie was a Christmas Eve tradition she and Marybeth had started years ago, and normally Eva loved watching it, loved cracking up at all the Griswold family antics. But now, even that seemed tainted.
Gracie lit up when she saw her mama, crawling into Eva’s lap to snuggle. “Where’s Walker?” she asked innocently. “I made him a Yoda gingerbread cookie.”
Eva pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes. “He can’t come today,” she said. “He’s with his own family.”
Her voice broke on the last word. Family. For so long, the word had meant something clear to Eva: Marybeth and Nate. Gracie. Bilbo Baggins. They were her family. But over the last couple of weeks, she’d started to think of Walker as family, too.
Then she fucked it all up.
Gracie reached forward, plucking the snow globe from the end table, giving it a shake. She’d always been fascinated with it, just as Eva had—their fairytale princess dancing over the ice, catching snowflakes on her tongue.
But now it hurt to look at.
Eva closed her eyes. She knew she didn’t handle the whole McKellen thing right—knew she should’ve told Walker sooner, no matter what their off-ice relationship was. And when she finally did tell him, she totally botched it. Got defensive, shut down in her own way just as she’d accused Walker of doing.
She was devastated. That was the only word for it.
Because after years of holding herself back, of refusing to allow herself any kind of closeness or intimacy with a man, of barely even going on dates, she’d opened up her heart and fallen in love with Walker.
And worse, she’d let herself believe, hope, that maybe he felt the same way. That maybe what she and Walker had together was real, despite all the logic and warning signs. That maybe he would want her enough to fight for her, to sit down with her and hold her hand until they figured out a way to make this work. A way that they could both follow their dreams and still come home to each other.
Naughty Or Ice Page 17
