Game On Box Set: Time OutHer Man AdvantageFace-OffBody Check

by Jill Shalvis

  “Explain to me why you can’t tell your PR machine to shut down on this one issue. To leave you to live your private life in peace.”

  “Because I don’t get to manage everything.”

  “Sounds like you don’t get to manage anything.”

  She spluttered with indignation. “You don’t understand. How could you possibly know what it’s like to be me?”

  He appeared interested in her sudden outburst. Pushed an arm behind his head and regarded her. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like to be you?”

  7

  BECKY ROLLED OFF Taylor’s bed, suddenly needing movement to help her formulate her words. She paced, not realizing or not caring that she was naked, “My parents gave me everything. Our entire lives from the time I was three revolved around my skating.” She glanced at him. “I was a natural. The tiny tots figure skating class got me hooked. I loved everything about it. The slippery ice, the sparkly costumes.” She made a wry face. “The applause. The teacher was pretty well-connected with the skating community and she talked to my parents.”

  “You were three?”

  “Yep. Of course, there was no guarantee that what she thought she saw was really there. But my parents were pretty thrilled with the idea that their little girl was special. So they sent me to more classes and then the private coaching started when I was five.”

  “You have to start young.”

  “I can’t even tell you how much money my parents have invested in me. In skating, and in tutors so I stayed caught up in school. And the time they’ve spent driving to rinks when it’s still dark out, cheering me on in every competition. Our family holidays all revolved around my competition schedule.” She shook her head. “It’s been crazy. So, now that it’s all finally paying off, I feel like I owe—” She stopped herself. “No. Not owe them. I think they’ve earned the right to help manage my career, even—”

  “Nobody has the right to manage your love life,” he interrupted. “Only you.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said again.

  “The hell I don’t. You think I don’t have natural talent?”

  She laughed. “Of course I do.”

  “It runs in my family. Sure, Jarrad got it first, but I got plenty of my own.” He grinned suddenly, slyly, very much the younger brother. “I’m faster than him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. He can shoot harder and his aim’s probably a bit better, but I’m faster. It’s my gift.”

  “Cool.”

  “But here’s what I’ve noticed, and maybe because I watched Big J go through it I saw it clearer than most. When you have talent, a lot of people want a piece of that. It’s a dream. Maybe my kid’s the next Gretzky. And they see the headlines and the money and the celebrity life for their kid and they get hooked too.

  “And you don’t think coaches are looking for the future champions? And agents? All those people who want to help a talented kid, they aren’t a bunch of philanthropists, you know.”

  “Of course I know that. But if you’re saying my parents want me to succeed because they want money and fame, that’s simply not true. Or fair. You don’t even know them.”

  “I know what they’ve done to you. You’re what, twenty-four?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Twenty-three and you have to go out with whoever they tell you to?” He gazed up at her, the usual humor absent. “Honey, that is way out of line.”

  “I— They love me.”

  “I believe you. Doesn’t mean they know what’s right for you. I’m only saying, maybe you don’t have to pay them back for all those skating lessons with your life. Maybe being Canada’s Skating Sweetheart doesn’t mean that everybody in the country owns you, either.”

  “I think—” At that moment her cell phone shrilled. She dug it out of her bag, giving him a very delicious view of her backside. She pulled out the phone. Went completely still for a second and shoved it back in her bag.

  “You didn’t answer. Hmm. Another guy?”

  “No.” A slight flush mounted her cheeks. “Your coach?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Good old mom and dad?”

  “Oh, shut up. Okay. Maybe I let them have more influence than I should. I’ll think about it.” She began to search for her clothing. Stepping into panties, finding her dress on the floor. “I should get going.”

  “I could buy you breakfast.” He rolled out of bed, came to stand behind her, kissed her bare shoulder. Then glanced at the clock. “Or lunch.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got stuff to do.”

  She was stepping into her dress and when she had the shoulder straps on, he pushed her fumbling hands away and zipped her up, enjoying the smooth line of her back, the sad reverse of the moment when he’d first unzipped her.

  “Can I see you again?” he asked.

  Her body went momentarily stiff. He probably wouldn’t even have noticed had he not been standing with his hands resting on her shoulders.

  Suddenly she turned. Gave him a bright smile and reached up to kiss him. “Of course you’re seeing me again. Practice. Tomorrow.”

  Then she grabbed her shoes, her bag and ran lightly down the stairway.

  He followed at a more leisurely pace. “Wait. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Oh.” She stood rooted to the spot beside the front door where in some foolish attempt to stamp his own personality on the condo, he’d installed a pop machine. It was obvious she’d forgotten she didn’t have her own wheels.

  “I could get a cab.”

  “Please let me drive you home. I promise not to beg you to see me again or embarrass you in any way.”

  She squinted her eyes at him as though suspecting a trap. “Promise?”

  “Yep. We’ll talk about the weather. Have you noticed that it rains all the time here?”

  A hint of a smile appeared. “Okay. Thanks.”

  So, she was going to make this difficult was she? Deny them both a fully satisfying relationship because of some bogus PR crap about whom she could date.

  Putting aside the fact that he thought he was good dating material, he suspected he was going to have to get rid of whatever pretty boy they’d set up for her.

  He flexed his fingers as though about to don his skating gloves. There was nothing Taylor enjoyed more than a challenge.

  * * *

  BECKY THREW OFF LAST night’s clothes and jumped into the shower in a mix of so many moods she wanted to smack her head against the shower tile to try to knock some sense into herself. Her body still hummed with repletion, and little phrases uttered, images caught, flashed through her mind making her hot all over again.

  Then there was the real life she was trying to live. The one where she had a public persona, responsibilities, where her romantic life was taken care of by a PR department that included her parents, but which certainly left her a lot freer to concentrate on her skating career.

  Or life. Maybe that was the problem. Skating had become her entire life.

  When she emerged from the shower the land-line phone was ringing. She ran for it. Checked call display eagerly. When she saw it was her mother, an absurd sense of disappointment hit her. Gagh. What was wrong with her? Did she seriously think Taylor was going to call her within half an hour of dropping her off? After she’d pretty much blown him off, making it clear she wasn’t available.

  This, a voice in her head chided, is why it was better not to get involved with men. Unfortunately, the voice sounded a lot like her mother’s.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, picking up the phone.

  “Hi, baby. I called earlier, where were you?”

  She hated lying. To anyone. But especially to her mom. “I was in the shower,” she said, which was true. Not when her mom had called, but she hadn’t exactly told a whopper.

  “Oh, you must have got an early run in. Good for you. You are so dedicated.”

  Well, not answering wasn’t lying either, w
as it?

  “So, how are you and Dad?”

  “We’re fine. More than fine. Really excited in fact.”

  “You guys finally going to take that cruise?” she asked hopefully. Her folks had been talking about a cruise for years but kept putting it off, usually because of her.

  Her mother laughed. “No. Not this year. Not with so much happening. The good news is for you.”

  For some odd reason her stomach tightened. “What is it?”

  “How would you like to go to the Grammys?”

  “The Grammys? You mean the music awards?”

  “Of course, those Grammys.”

  “Do they want me to be a presenter or something?” It sounded like an odd request, but she did get some strange ones. The idea flitted through her head that it would be fun to present a music award, but the vision was wiped out by her mom’s next words.

  “Not as a presenter, honey. As the guest of one of the nominees.”

  “Which nominee?”

  “Cory Slater! They’re calling him the next Michael Bublé.”

  “I know who he is.” A slight, blond boy from Vancouver Island who was probably her age or a couple of years younger, he was the latest young male singing sensation. After putting out a debut album that had taken the music world by storm and excited way too many ’tween girls, Cory Slater was obviously going places.

  “He’s going to be famous, soon everyone will know who he is.”

  “Why would I go as his guest? Is he a figure skating fan?”

  “No. It’s for the publicity. For both of you. Being seen with him will be good for your image. He’s clean-cut, sings classic songs, none of that rude rap stuff. Hopefully some of your fans will start listening to his music. We might even try to use one of his songs in one of your routines, but we can talk about that later.”

  “And what do I get out of it?” Apart from yet another guy supposedly dating her who wasn’t interested in her any more than she was interested in him.

  “He’s going to be huge. It will bring music fans to you. And it shows that you’re a multifaceted young woman who knows about more than simply skating.”

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “You’ve got a couple of months. We want you two to get to know each other a bit first. Be seen at a few public venues. Let the word out to a few key media and bloggers. They call that viral marketing,” her mom said. Becky doubted her mother would know viral marketing from Michael Bublé, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “We thought this Friday would be perfect. You can go out for dinner at one of those places where celebrities are always being sighted, and then maybe out dancing.”

  “No. Not dancing.” The thought of doing with Cory Slater what she’d done last night with Taylor McBride was unthinkable.

  “What is it, honey? You sound tired. Are you eating properly? Taking all your vitamins?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Maybe I should fly out there this weekend. It’s the Morrisons’ twenty-fifth anniversary party, but I could skip that. We could spend some time together. Go to the spa.”

  “No. I’m fine,’ she snapped a little too quickly. “You go to your party. Honestly, everything’s fine.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. I’ll send you the details about Cory Slater. He says he’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetie.” And her mother was gone.

  And Becky had a blind date set up by her parents.

  8

  “HOW FAR APART DO YOU want us to be for this section?” Taylor asked. They’d been practicing a couple of hours on a small piece of the dance routine. They hadn’t started lifts yet. He wasn’t nearly ready for that. But he was starting to feel pretty comfortable with the dance steps. Irina might come off as scary but she was a good coach once he got used to the accent and the way she barked orders. He began to realize it was her way of speaking, not that she hated him as he’d first assumed.

  “That’s my job,” Becky informed him tartly. “Basically, I do most of the work. You stick to your moves and don’t screw up and we’ll be fine.”

  He threw up his hands. “Okay, boss.” She was right, of course. She was doing the bulk of the ice dancing while he faked a couple of Fred Astaire moves and then did a few lifts. The lifts terrified him. He’d skated a few times with trophies over his head, and some of them were heavy, but he’d never tried to carry an actual living person. What if he dropped her?

  He was having nightmares at the thought.

  That’s when he wasn’t dreaming about her in entirely different ways.

  Not that any of those dreams were coming true either. Since their one night of fun he’d kept things strictly business. If there was a pulse that beat between them when their bodies touched, she couldn’t blame that on him since at least half the heat was coming from her.

  If their eyes sometimes connected for too long, or their hands stayed clasped a few seconds more than strictly necessary, he didn’t figure that was all him either.

  He didn’t think one time was going to be enough for either of them. But he could wait until she knew that as well as he did.

  He might not wait patiently, but he’d wait.

  And then they started the lifts.

  Irina showed him what he had to do. He would lift Becky and she’d arrange herself like Ginger Rogers spinning around a ballroom dance floor with Fred. All he had to do was hold her up and skate in a circle.

  They practiced first in a gym. It wasn’t too bad and she didn’t weigh much.

  Then they moved to the ice.

  He prepared to lift her, she skated to him and he grabbed her, but didn’t lift. “I can’t do it. What if I drop her?”

  “Do not drop her,” Irina said, at her fiercest.

  “You won’t drop me.” Becky looked at him, giving him an understanding smile. “If I start to slip, I’ll cling on like a monkey. Hey, I trust you.”

  Somehow, her confidence rubbed off on him. He took a breath. Figured even if something happened he could angle his body to take the fall. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  She skated up to him, he caught her in his arms, lifted her. She was so agile, so strong. He felt her move, changing position, felt their bodies align, let his skates lead him in circles, trusted her, trusted him, trusted them together.

  The last part of the move was her sliding slowly down his body to land on the ice, where she’d spin away. But they hadn’t got to that part yet. All he had to do was let her slide down his body.

  Relief spilled through him as they made it through the lift, and then she was sliding down, into his arms. When she reached the ice, her arms wrapped around his neck and her body snug against his, she gave him her generous smile. “You didn’t drop me.”

  “I didn’t drop you.”

  And because the relief was so enormous, and she was so sweet and the imprint of her body was a reminder of everything they’d done together, everything he wanted to do again, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  A sharp intake of breath, part warning, part sigh, and then she melted against him, kissing him back with all the pent-up longing he’d hoped she suffered.

  “Tsch!” Irina burst out.

  He ignored the coach. “Come out with me tonight,” he murmured against Becky’s lips. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll take you somewhere where no one will know you. A dark, secret place where the paparazzi never go.”

  “Your place?”

  “No. My favorite pool hall.”

  Her laughter bubbled. “You’re asking me to play pool with you?”

  “I am.” He figured she had enough idiots asking her for fancy dates. Anyone could see she was a physical kind of woman who didn’t want to sit around all night eating a bunch of crap that wasn’t good for her athlete’s body.

  “I’ve never played pool.” She sounded interested.

  “Excellent. I’ll teach you. I�
��m a very good teacher.”

  He moved in closer. “A very good teacher.”

  “We are talking about pool, right?”

  He grinned at her wickedly. “What else would I be talking about?”

  She shouldn’t go, Becky knew that on every level. A date, even as non-date as playing pool sounded, could give the man the wrong idea, plus she had her set-up date the following night with Cory. She needed to look her best.

  But rebelliousness kicked in. Why shouldn’t she have some fun just for herself? Who was she hurting? Besides, she reasoned, the more time she spent getting comfortable with Taylor, the better their routine would turn out to be.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’re on.”

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT she’d expected. A pool hall, she supposed, with slit-eyed characters betting large sums of money on sinking some ball into some pocket.

  In fact, Taylor drove her to a neighborhood pub in Kitsilano named Jason’s. Jason’s had been around for forty years and if there’d been an update in decor during that time the redecorating was too subtle to notice.

  Downstairs were big TV screens showing several sports at once, scarred wooden tables that were about half-full. The clientele was a combination of university students and locals, some of whom looked as if they’d been coming here since the place first opened.

  Taylor led her up a flight of wooden stairs and there was a single pool table sitting under lights.

  One more TV screen played up here, and a quartet of students battled it out noisily over a dartboard.

  Becky put down her bag and approached the table. Her life had been so narrowly focused on one sport that she’d never even held a pool cue, never mind tried to hit a ball. She had no idea what she was doing.

  Taylor, however, had clearly misspent a lot of his youth around pool tables. He pushed some coins into the slot, set up the balls in a triangle and removed a cue from the wall.

  He explained that she had to shoot the white ball into the triangle and break it up. Sounded easy enough.

  He bent over and she liked the easy way he moved, shivered a little when her mind flipped back to their night together when he’d taken her with the same easy athleticism he now turned to a pool table.