***
“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 p
retty 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.”
“Oh.” Oh!
He strode back, placed his hands on the wall beside her head and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Two
Amy woke with a groan. Still blinking open her eyes, she rolled onto her side and reached for the Smartphone she always kept on her bedside table. Her fingertips found something gooey instead. She sat up, wiped her hand on the blanket and frowned at the sticky wooden nightstand. A yogurt had spilled. It was absolutely not hers. Not the yogurt. Not the nightstand. Not the room.
Amy was always groggy when she first awoke and drinking didn’t help. Her memories of the previous night came back in a series of flashes: Her friend, Robin, stopping by and begging her to go out. A party in the athletes’ village. A sexy black dress. An even sexier man. Blue eyes. Big Hands. A deep voice whispering in her ear in a language she didn’t understand. A bag of condoms in red, white and blue foil wraps.
Oh. My. God. She couldn’t have … could she?
She glanced down at the narrow bed. She was alone, but her lack of clothes made it pretty clear that she hadn’t been that way all night. It was temporary insanity. Olympic fever. It had to be. Amy didn’t do casual hook ups.
“Hey.” A voice coming from across the room startled her and she shrieked, clutching the sheet over her bosom as she searched out the speaker.
A young man with short black hair and a vaguely Celtic-looking tattoo on his upper arm sat cross-legged on the bed across the room, flipping through a magazine. He was definitely not the man she remembered from the night before. That man was tall and had dark blonde hair. “Who … umm—” This was officially the absolute, most mortifying moment of her entire life. It far and away beat out the time she left the girls’ bathroom at school with the back of her skirt tucked into her ugliest granny panties.
He laughed. “I’m Tommy. I came by to see Matias, but they were headed out. Qualification jump.”
Amy nodded. “Right. Because he … skies.” She couldn’t imagine he was any good if he went out partying the night before a competition. She concentrated for a moment and came up with his name: Erik. The guy with the big hands and the sexy voice was named Erik and he was a skier. If the giant flag tacked to the ceiling was any indication he was a Norwegian skier.
He was a Viking. She’d had Viking sex. That certainly explained the soreness in places she didn’t know she had muscles.
“I stuck around to see if you wanted to go get some breakfast.”
Once the ball got rolling, her memories slid into place hard and fast. Still, she had to ask. “Do we know each other?”
“We would by the end of breakfast.”
Was he flirting? One night of insanity and she already had a reputation? “I don’t really do this sort of thing, so if you could leave and let me get dressed … ”
“You don’t eat?”
Her cheeks were burning and unshed tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “I don’t hook up with random strangers. I’m not going to hook up with you, so—please—just leave.”
Tommy laughed. “You misunderstand me. I’m here for Matias. He’s my boyfriend.” He grinned. “Most of the time. These ski jumpers … they’re a little … what’s the word? Diva?”
“Oh.” Amy nodded, unsure of the correct response.
Tommy stretched as he climbed off the bed and walked over to one of the small chest of drawers. He rummaged through the middle drawer and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Erik said you might need something to wear. Matty’s stuff is a little smaller.”
“I couldn’t.” Amy shook her head. “I’ve never even met him. I … ” She froze as another memory popped into her head. “He ripped my dress.” She said it with a mix of wonder and indignation, though she was pretty sure she’d suggested it herself when the zipper had snagged. Oh yeah, that part was coming in clear. They’d finally made it back to his room. He’d lifted her up, pressed her against the wall and kissed her until she was dizzy. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered the way he curled his tongue around her nipples.
“Nice.”
“What?” Amy blinked, startled out of her reverie.
“Ripping off each other’s clothes. It’s hot.” He placed the clothes on the foot of the bed. “You sure you don’t want to go for breakfast?”
She nodded.
Tommy shrugged and headed towards the door.
“Thanks—for the clothes. I’ll return them.”
He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Please don’t. I hate that shirt on Matty. It makes him look like a girl.”
Amy was left nodding again as she watched him close the door. Finally alone. She lifted a pillow to her face and let loose the shriek she’d been holding back. One. Two. Three seconds of release and it was time to get busy.
She located her clutch first and was glad to find that, unlike her dress, her phone, cash and cards had survived the night unscathed. She found her bra on the floor near the door and her panties under the bed and proceeded to get dressed.
The infamous Matais might be smaller than the Viking she’d gone home with, but he was still clearly much taller than Amy. She cinched the drawstrings at her waist, rolled up the legs of the sweatpants and hoped they would stay on until she made it back to her hotel room. The t-shirt, which featured pink writing that she couldn’t read, was snug across her breasts but covered a lot more than her torn dress would have. Which was good, since she had no idea where her coat was.
Fuck. She must have left it at the party. Stupid hormones. No guy could be hot enough to justify wandering around with no coat in Switzerland during February.
The memory of licking his abs made her knees tremble. Maybe he’d been almost hot enough to warrant coatlessness.
She pulled her phone out and tapped on Robin’s photo.
Her friend answered on the first ring. “Hey, hot mama. How are—“
Amy cut her off. “Please tell me you can come find me. I think I left my coat at that party and now I’m about to march through the athletes’ village wearing last night’s heels and borrowed sweatpants.”
Robin chuckled huskily. “I’ve got your coat. I grabbed it when I got mine. You must have been very distracted when you left.”
“Oh-thank-god.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll bring your boots and coat. But you owe me details … lots and lots of details.”
Amy groaned and, peeking out the window, helped Robin figure out which dorm she was in. “Just hurry. Please.”
***
“Oh yeah, I’m feeling real sorry for you.” Robin rolled her eyes. “Poor baby, left with the hottest guy at the party to have wild monkey sex.”
“Viking sex.”
“Ooh—even better.” Robin leaned across the table they were sharing in the cafeteria. “Do they circumcise in Norway?”
Amy’s face was on fire. She tried to cool her cheeks with the palms of her hands as she glanced quickly from side to side. “Robin!”
“I’m just curious.” She said with a mischievous smile.
“Can we talk about something else—anything else?”
“No. I want details. Steamy Viking sex details.”
“I was temporarily ins
ane and now I’m eternally embarrassed. That’s it—the whole story.” She frowned. “Oh. And he ditched me this morning. I woke up with an entirely different stranger. There. Now it’s the whole story.”
“In bed with you?” Robin’s eyes looked as though they might burst out of her head, bounce off the table and roll across the room.
“No. He was sitting on the other bed and he was fine. Helpful actually. But who just leaves a woman alone in their room? And who stays up partying all night when they have an event the next day?” Once the absolute mortification she’d woken up to had dulled a bit, she’d been struck by how inconsiderate he’d been. Being ditched stung her pride and her feelings too. It was foolish and she’d never admit it aloud, but she’d thought they’d had a bit more of a connection. Not that they’d done much talking.
Robin frowned. “Maybe he forgot he had the thing in the morning and then didn’t have time to leave a note?”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “Lame.”
“Or maybe—”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done and I’m going to try really hard to pretend it never happened. I have too much work to do anyway. I’ve got about fifty new requests for time with Lexi in my inbox. I’m only going to be able to make like three of them happy.” Amy wasn’t at the Olympics to party. She was there for Lexi. It’d be best if she focused on that.
“Ah.” Robin gave a sympathetic nod before lifting her coffee and taking a sip. “There’s still something I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Exactly what happened to your dress last night?”
Amy groaned. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”
Robin choked on a chuckle and bit her lip. Her eyes were wide with mirth.
“What?”
She giggled.
“Oh come on.”
“Something about bone. You’re the dog with the bone or you had a dog with a … ” Robin shook her head apologetically as her shoulders began vibrating from laughter.
Love and Other Games Page 21
