by Lynda Aicher
She stepped up to the railing, the view across the river beautiful in a statement of urban sprawl and manmade structures. Her muscles loosened as she rotated her head to stretch her neck. Sounds of the city tinkered up from the streets below. A car horn beeped, a siren wailed in the distance, but for the most part it was quiet. Still as the weighted air managed to smother the ambient noise.
She shifted her weight to give one of her feet a break. The fringe on the hem of her dress danced over her thighs in a tickling tease. How long had it been since a man had run his fingers over her thighs in a featherlight touch like that? And was she really reduced to getting her jollies from clothing and vibrators?
Her sigh was heavy. She shifted to her other foot and lifted the free one back to twist her ankle around.
“There’s a seat over here.”
She spun around at the deep voice that shot across the balcony. Her hand flew to her chest, heart racing. “Wow. You scared me. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”
“Sorry.” His tone was low, nonthreatening. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Lost in the shadows, she could barely see the man outside of the hunched shoulders beneath his white tux shirt and sandy brown hair. He was leaning forward, forearms braced on his thighs, studying her.
Silence took over as she waited for him to say more but nothing came. He shifted then, sat back and the light from inside lit half his face in a dramatic flourish that had her breath stalling in her lungs. The best man and Glaciers’ starting center. Of course it would be him. The one guy she’d wanted to ask her to dance but hadn’t.
“I don’t want to intrude,” she finally said, stepping toward the door.
“You’re not.” He motioned to the chair next to him. Under different circumstances, she’d be hightailing it out of there with a polite dismissal. She didn’t know him outside of what others had said about him that night. All positives, including his volunteer work at a local youth shelter. Even Carter had given him a solid endorsement. Yeah, she’d asked him earlier.
She still hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
That chair, along with the quiet, looked really inviting. Add in the attractive man, and it was the best damn seat in the hotel. “All right.” Her heels clicked on the cement as she made her way to the open chair. “Thank you.” Her sigh was long and deep when she sunk into it. Dang, it was good to sit down in the silence.
It took all of two seconds before she slipped her heels off. She’d probably regret doing that when she had to put them back on, but right then, it was almost as heavenly as the musky scent of his cologne.
“I don’t know how women wear shoes like that for so long.”
She looked to him, smiling. “Mental stubbornness.” She hooked a strap on her toe and lifted the silver heel in discussion. “And these are actually pretty comfortable.”
“Really?” He shook his head. “These aren’t comfortable and they’re flat.” He extended his leg, twisting his foot to show off the shiny gloss of his dress shoe.
“And here I thought women were the only ones who tortured themselves for the perfect pair of shoes.”
His laugh rolled through the air on a faint note that almost had her leaning in to hear more of it. “The things we learn.”
“Apparently.” She nudged his arm with her elbow and shifted forward to stare at his basic black tux shoes. “And what is so torturous or perfect about your shoes?” The conversation was silly, but it was nice after hours of ducking advances and fielding personal questions about herself.
“It’s my feet more than the shoes that are the issue.”
“Got a gimp toe in there or something?” She tried to keep her smile contained, but it didn’t work very well.
The light caught the change in his expression as some of the drawn tightness dropped away. His smile was easier when he looked to her. Warmer. Her heart did a little stutter hitch that jammed her breath in her throat.
He wasn’t classically handsome. More boy-next-door that matched his easy charm and manner. A strong nose was softened by rosy cheeks and a dimple in his chin. Dark brows matched the color of his short-but-not-shaved hair, which she liked. Military-style cuts did nothing for her.
“More of a bum heel.” He extended his hand, smile widening. “I’m Scott by the way.”
Scott. Her earlier sleuthing had provided that information too. Simple and wholesome. It matched the man she was now getting to know. “Rachel.” She clasped his hand, the contact lighting her up in a rush of awareness.
“Nice to meet you, Rachel.” Her name flowed off his tongue on a soft roll that teased her ear like his laugh had. It wasn’t sleazy or filled with innuendo. Just nice with a hint of something more. He held her hand and gaze captive for a beat longer than normal before he let go.
“You too.” Was her interest reciprocated? A man like him had to have a wife or girlfriend or at least kids and an ex. That was the sad truth she’d discovered the older she’d gotten. And he was so...everything. She had to grip her hands in her lap to keep from touching him again. “So what is the best man doing out here by himself? Hiding from someone?” Smooth, Rach. Apparently her flirting skills had dried up with her dates.
His bark of laughter was sharp and harsh. “Try everyone.” He shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his face and focused on the sparkling lights in the distance. “Just needed some air.” He looked to her. “And you? Won’t your date miss you?”
Her laugh was softer than his, lighter but bitter as she thought of how long it’d been since she’d had someone who’d miss her. “I’m here with my brother and his partner.” She braced for his reaction, ready to defend her brother.
“Rock, right?” His brow furrowed. “And Carter, isn’t it?” She nodded, her muscles slowly loosening. “I’ve met them a few times. Nice guys.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “If you knew them, then why’d you ask if I was here with a date?” Had he been checking her out too?
He ducked his head, a shy smile brightening his face. “You caught me.” He shrugged, peeking at her from the corner of his eye. “So let me ask this straight out. Do you have a boyfriend, husband, significant other hiding somewhere?”
Directness. It was so much more efficient and better than sly questions hedged by a drawn-out round of verbal foreplay. “None. You?” She sucked in a breath and held it.
“None.”
Her breath released on a slow exhale that let hope spark. They stared at each other, the silent communication arcing between them in an old dance that was suddenly new. She wet her dry lips. “I’m only visiting.” Her voice was a whisper of disappointment that rushed in to douse the growing possibilities.
His smile faltered. “For how long?” He’d shifted to face her more, his shoulders open to her. The position showed off the breadth of his chest, one she wanted to explore and cuddle into.
“I leave next Sunday.” Of course she couldn’t have met him three weeks ago when she’d first arrived.
“Where’s home?”
“Atlanta.” His smile left his face then, taking hers with it.
How foolish was this? They’d barely met, yet had just determined without actually saying it that they had no chance of a relationship. Was this what her life had come to? Quick conversations of elimination? That sounded as pathetic as she felt right then.
“Yours is here then?” she asked, not wanting to make an assumption.
“Yeah.” He looked back to the skyline. “For now at least.” The last was added on a soft mumble that had her shifting closer. The lost note in his tone drew her in even more.
“You’re thinking of moving?”
A small shrug. “Not by choice.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “I should know in a few weeks.”
Now she was curious. She tucked a leg beneath her and shifted in the chair, getting comfortable. “Job transfer then?”
He puffed out a sardonic laugh. “You could say tha
t.” He focused back on the night, which allowed her to study him unhindered. There was a sadness to him, one defined in the slump of his shoulders and slack expression. She could walk away and leave him to whatever was bothering him. “What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a high school calculus teacher.” He sat back, brow arched. “What?” she asked, her smile back.
“Just surprised.” He glanced over her in a slow appraisal that had her insides twisting with longing. “You must drive those hormonal teenage boys crazy.”
She rolled her eyes, grinning. Letting her mind travel down the lustful road he’d started with his look was only asking for trouble. “I wear frumpy grandma sweaters and mat my hair down for class.”
“Really?”
The shock on his face had her laughing. “No.” She nudged his arm, her hand lingering on the warm flank of his biceps beneath his crisp cotton shirt. Pure will was all that got her to pull her touch away. “But I definitely don’t wear this to school.” She motioned to her fringe-layered dress.
He cleared his throat, cheeks tinting a darker shade of red she could just make out in the dim lighting. Her heart did another little stutter that would lead her nowhere.
“That must take a lot of patience,” he said. “Teaching teens.”
“It’s not bad.” She loved seeing their young minds open up with understanding. “It’s an advanced class, so most of the kids are there because they want to be.”
“Still, focus at that age isn’t always great.” He winked at her. “I’m sure there’s more than one boy who’s there simply to stare at you all year.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Ha!” He lifted his chin, grinning before a sadness returned to his expression. “I didn’t have time to daydream in high school.” His chin lowered and he stared at the ground. “Hockey took up every free moment. School and girls came second, in that order.”
“Do you still play hockey?” Carter had confirmed that he did, but she pretended not to know because Scott’s pro-sport status wasn’t why she was talking to him. She didn’t want him to lump her into the fan-girl group and dismiss her.
His answer was long in coming, held behind his assessing study of her. “Yeah. I do.” The hesitation was included in his voice. He didn’t trust her, or maybe it was her question. Not surprising really.
“That must be hard.” She was thinking of the constant filter he probably had to sort through with every person he met. His rough snort was followed by a low chuckle that had her rehearing her own statement. She rolled her eyes. “Well, I know the game is hard.”
“Not much gets by you, does it?” His smirk was almost juvenile.
She swung her foot out to kick him lightly on the thigh. “I meant the mistrust. You don’t know if you should believe me. Is it possible that I really don’t know who you are? That’s what you’re wondering, right?” Teaching teenagers for over ten years had honed her expression-reading skills, along with detecting what wasn’t being said.
“Do you? Know who I am?”
“You just introduced yourself to me, Scott.” Her teasing fell flat in the face of his hard look. She glanced away, unable to lie but unwilling to see if it changed his reaction. “Carter told me you played with Holden. That’s all I know. I don’t follow hockey.”
“Huh.” The low sound held a hint of amusement that lifted her hopes back up. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly in this state. You might be banned from ever returning.” The back of his fingers ghosted over her biceps, leaving a trail of goose bumps to shiver up her shoulder and over her chest. She bit her lip to hold in the longing that almost slipped out.
“Is it really that shocking?”
“I suppose not to most people.” He tipped his head. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who doesn’t like hockey.”
“There is life outside of that sport.”
“Yeah? You volunteering to show me?”
Her smile was instantaneous. “My tour doesn’t include a guided excursion to your hotel room.”
His head lilted back in a full laugh this time, the first that rang as true. Her heart constricted in her chest at its clear beauty and she desperately wanted to hear it again. Was it foolish to wish for? Definitely. Did it stop her? Not a bit.
She swore his eyes were sparkling when he looked at her. They were a light blue. At least that was her guess, given the poor lighting.
“Would you believe me if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind?”
She raised a brow. “Would you believe me if I said it hadn’t crossed mine?”
His eyelids lowered in a lazy shift that heated her blood. Awareness flashed between them again. An almost tangible arc of electricity hummed over her skin.
“What’s your last name, Rachel?” The deep timbre of his voice sent another rush through her already simmering bloodstream.
“Fielding,” she said, her answer breathy.
“And you’re...” His eyes narrowed. “Thirty?”
“Five. You’re being kind.”
He swiveled his head slightly. “Honest. And you’re single?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t watch hockey?”
She cringed. “True.” Was that a deal breaker?
“Just my luck.” His lips pressed into a thin line of disappointment. “The most interesting woman I’ve met in years is only in town for a week.”
Her heart skipped at the honesty that rang through, despite the cheesiness of his words. She set her feet on the cement, turning to him. “What’s your last name, Scott?”
His smile was a slow spread that sparked his eyes. “Walters.”
“And you’re...” She squinted at him in false study. “Thirty-two?”
“Close. Four.”
“And you’re single?”
“Yes.”
“Kids?”
His brows winged up. “No.” The emphatic note held a hint of panic that amused her. “You? I didn’t ask that.”
“Would it matter?”
She appreciated his slight pause before he responded. “I don’t think so.”
And his honesty shined through again. “No. I don’t. But I’d like them someday.” There was more than one man in her past who’d denied it was a problem, only to run when the topic of having kids came up down the road.
His nod was slow, slightly hesitant, and she let him off the hook. It was way early to be discussing future kids, but he’d started the directness.
“And you play hockey,” she went on.
“Yes.” He glanced away. “But that might change soon.”
Now her brows winged up. “Thinking of a career shift?”
“Something like that.”
He’d hinted about moving earlier and her curiosity nudged her to prod more, but it wasn’t her business if he didn’t want to tell her. Chances were, it was the cause if his low mood. “Until then, you play and live in Minneapolis?”
“Yes.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, mimicking his earlier expression. “Just my luck. The most interesting man I’ve met in years is talking about the ending before we’ve even kissed.” She swiped up her shoes and stood, hand extended toward him. “Come on. I think we should start with a dance and worry about the rest when and if it’s needed.”
He stared at her, a long perusal that had her doubting herself. With slow precision, he placed his hand in hers and rose. Heat seared her palm, sending another set of shivers up her arm. She held his gaze, head tilting back to do so. He was taller than her by about six inches, which was about perfect in her mind.
“I think we should take care of something first,” he said. A sultry heat had returned to his eyes. It tipped her warning signals, but she wasn’t sure if it was to run away or in.
She licked her dry lips, seeking moisture of any kind for her suddenly parched throat. “What’s that?”
Their surroundings faded as he lifted h
is free hand to cup her cheek. He leaned down, pausing inches from her. “That first kiss.” He gave her a moment to deny him, a moment that drew out the anticipation until she struggled to breathe.
The first touch of his lips to hers was soft yet powerful. Light and holding. Almost innocent if it wasn’t for the strike of lust that contracted her stomach and unwound in her sex. It ignited her dreams with possibilities she’d almost given up on.
Her hand flexed around the straps of her heels, the other still clutched tightly in his. Letting go hadn’t crossed her mind. He tilted his head, brushing his lips over hers again. More gentle glides that left her head spinning before he eased back.
Her eyes flickered open once she registered his departure. Okay. Wow. She was way too old and wise to be tripping over a simple kiss. Yet she couldn’t get her brain back on track after that. He stared down at her, his expression a mirror of her own jumbled emotions.
Crazy.
“Shall we try that dance now?” The rumble of his voice finally broke through her daze.
Right. Dance. Could she still manage that without stumbling all over him? It was tempting to throw caution away and suggest that room tour. If only she hadn’t outgrown that wildness about the same time she’d tired of dance clubs.
“I’d like that,” she rushed to say when he started to pull away at her silence. She clenched his hand and managed to turn toward the door. “Very much.”
His chuckle tingled over her nape in a faint rumble that had her inhaling to hold in her appreciative moan. “Me, too,” he said from behind her.
This is so unfair. She squeezed her eyes closed and forced that thought away. This was just a conversation. A chaste kiss. A dance. Everything else rushing through her mind was nothing more than a “what if.” And possibilities were magical, because they still had the chance of becoming truth.
Tonight she was consciously choosing to believe in the magic. However futile it was.
Chapter Three
