by Peggy Jaeger
She snapped her arm out of his grip and pushed past him.
“Tiffany, listen.”
She turned on the stairs, and gripped the handrail so tightly her fingers tingled with the effort. “No. You listen.” She pointed a finger at him, her voice hard and cubed with ice. “Understand this. I do what I want with whom I want. I’m not a child any longer that you can scold and intimidate.”
“When did I ever intimidate you?” He tilted his head to one side, his hands firmly planted on his hips.
She ignored the question. “I’m not a little girl needing your protection or guidance. I don’t run to you with skinned knees, and I don’t cry when I’m bullied. I’m all grown up now, Cole, something your thick skull still refuses to accept. If I want to go out with a man, or even spend the night away from home with him, that’s my decision. It’s my life. You have no say in it. In fact, you’re the one who told me I needed a boyfriend. So this is me, doing what you wanted. You’ve made your feelings about me crystal clear. Fine. I can accept them. I won’t get in your way, so don’t get in mine. You can go out with whomever you please, I won’t say a word. Extend me the same courtesy. Now goodnight.”
When his mouth dropped open, she whirled around and shot up the stairs, leaving him standing there.
****
Hung over, Cole made his way to the icehouse.
Alaina had plied him with strong black coffee and listened with a sympathetic ear when he came down to breakfast. When she told him where Tiffany was, he made a decision and dressed quickly.
Tiffany’s words the night before had tortured him long into the early morning hours.
What had she meant when she said she could spend the night away from home with a man? And do what? He didn’t even want to think about the implications of her statement. The idea of another man touching her drove him crazy.
Jesus, he was insane, just as she’d told him.
Insanely jealous.
After Tiffany had gone upstairs he’d walked back into the den and straight to the bar.
While he opened a beer, he asked himself what he was going to do about it. He’d already told her he regarded her as nothing more than a sister. He’d spurned every advance toward intimacy with her, throwing her words of devotion back at her, negating them. He’d denied he felt anything for her other than familial devotion. How could he possibly tell her the truth now? She’d laugh in his face.
“And I’d deserve it,” he told the empty room with a caustic laugh.
While he drank he tried to think of a way out of the hole he’d dug for himself.
By his third beer, he’d figured it out.
****
The arctic blast that slapped his face when he stepped into the icehouse helped rid his body of the last effects of the beer still in his system.
She was on the ice, moving across it with the grace, speed, and talent for which she was famous. She’d won her first gold medal to the music exploding from the speakers. On a downbeat she did a trademark bunny hop, extended her left foot forward and executed a perfect flip jump in the air. She spun a half turn, and landed flat on her right foot.
Relief washed through him when she didn’t wince or stop the routine. She’d performed this particular ice dance hundreds of times and Cole knew every move and rotation by heart.
Her hair was wound into its usual topknot, a bright blue ear warmer woven around her head. A matching blue turtleneck and leg warmers covered her, protecting her from the cold. The fur trimmed gloves he’d given her as a birthday present a few years back covered her hands.
The music slowed, a cue for her to skate backward in preparation for the next jump series, a Salchow into a toe loop. His breath stopped when she went into the jump, spun in the air, and landed perfectly, arms outstretched.
The smile shining on her face mimicked his own. Her elation wasn’t from executing the routine. She’d done it too many times in her life to be impressed by it now. No, Tiffany was glad the moves had been performed with no deficits from her recent injury.
For the last part of the routine, she did her signature spin, bending backwards, her arms outstretched above her and revolved for a full ten seconds before stopping dead on her toe pick, hands on her hips, a saucy smile on her lips.
Cole clapped when the music ended.
Tiffany’s head whipped toward him and her smile vanished. “I didn’t know I had an audience.”
“I didn’t want to stop you,” he said, acknowledging the ice cold tone and accepting it. She was still angry with him and was going to make him suffer. He deserved to.
“Why are you out here?” She skated to the barrier and turned the disc player off. “Going to yell at me for practicing too soon? Lecture me on being irresponsible with my body? Tell me I’m too stubborn for my own good?”
When she reached over for the towel lying across the wooden bench, Cole got it first and extended it to her. “No. I’m not.”
She ripped the towel from his hands.
“Actually…” He sat and pulled the thermos from his coat pocket. “I agree with what you told me yesterday.”
“What?” She eyed the steaming liquid as he poured it into a cup.
“That you know your body better than anyone. If you feel you’re ready to be back skating, then you are. Want some hot chocolate? Alaina made it without sugar.”
Tiffany sniffed at the liquid, and took a few sips. When she handed it back to him, she said, “Thanks.”
He downed the remainder. “What time do you want to head back home?”
She shrugged. “I want to practice for a while. Moira and the boys are stopping by this morning. I promised them some lessons. Is that okay?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind some skating time myself.” He grinned. “But don’t expect me to ask for any lessons. Despite being out of practice, I can still out-speed you.”
“Excuse me?” She placed a hand to her ear. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
Cole laughed out loud. “Yes, you did.”
“Care to put your feet where your mouth is, old man?” she asked with a smile that was so sweet, with just the right amount of acid in the question for good measure that his heart flipped.
“Give me two minutes to get my skates on.”
Tiffany’s gaze raked his body. “You’re a lot older than the last time you did this. Take three.” In two strides she was center ice.
He took five.
When he finally stepped through the barrier, Tiffany was waiting at the other end, arms akimbo. He glided over to her, shifting his weight between his feet.
She eyed his skates. “Well, you still have your balance.”
“And a lot more, Brat. Ready to be slaughtered?”
“Oh, I think I am. To the cross barrier and back?”
“Just like old times.”
“Not quite,” she said, with a regal lift of her chin.
“On three.”
Both went into a speed stance, bent at the waist, toe picks edged into the ice.
When Cole finished the count, Tiffany pushed off with her back leg and was halfway to center ice before he’d even begun his movement. With every ounce of energy and verve he could summon up, he shot forward, his legs gliding dangerously quick across the surface of the ice. He almost caught up to her at one point, but Tiffany pushed out with her back leg and shot like a bullet across to the other side. Before he’d reached the barrier to turn, she’d already passed him on the way back.
Cole sprinted the last ten yards, every muscle in his body on fire.
When he slammed into the barrier, Tiffany was leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest, and a small smile dancing across her face. Winded, Cole bent over, trying to capture his breath.
“Had enough?”
His head shot up. “Best two out of three,” he said through jagged breaths.
All three times she stood, patiently waiting for him.
“Admit it.” She removed one of her glove
s and examined a nail. “You’re not as young as you used to be.”
“Age has nothing to do with it.”
“You used to be able to beat me at least half the time, Cole.”
“I’m just out of practice.” His breathing slowed back to normal. Now he needed to recapture his pride.
“Maybe. Want to reconsider those lessons with the cousins?”
Her question wasn’t asked as innocently as her voice sounded. Spurred on by the emotions crashing within him, Cole straightened, and in one quick movement held her pinioned between his legs, his hands on opposites side of her body, her back splayed against the barrier frame.
Staring down into green emeralds shining with light and moisture, he was finally able to name the unusual sea churning around inside him.
His voice was hushed inside the empty arena, but the echo of his words bounced clearly and fully around them. “The only lessons that will be taken here, Tiffany Judith Lennox”—his head slowly came down to hers—“will be by you and you alone.”
When their lips fused, the heat it generated melted the frigid air surrounding them.
Longing sliced through him like a fire-heated knife. His hands wound around her waist, and he pulled her up to him, flattening her body against his. A soothing warmth he’d never known existed steeped through him at her every touch. He wanted her more than any other woman or any other thing he’d every wanted before. But it was more. More than just a simple craving. In an instant, Cole knew just how much he’d come to need her in his life. She was his lifeline, his reason for living. Tiffany was all and everything, and his heart swelled with love for her.
“Tiffany,” he murmured against her cheek, immediately returning to the mouth he coveted so thoroughly. “I…”
The words died on his lips as Alaina entered the icehouse.
Tiffany tried to pull out of his arms, but he held her in place.
“Mike’s on the phone for you,” she told Cole. “You’re needed back in the city immediately. Some big to-do about Sudan, some announcement. Here.” She handed him the phone, her smile warm, her eyes glistening.
Chapter Twelve
Tiffany drove back to Manhattan while Cole spent almost the entire time on the phone, alternating between making calls and typing on his laptop.
From the gist of the phone conversations, he needed to get to the United Nations immediately. The general council was going to make an announcement concerning the war in Sudan. Since Cole had been the primary reporter for the past two years, it was his right to cover the story.
They’d packed their bags, kissed Alaina goodbye, and taken off less than fifteen minutes after the phone call had come through.
“Do you want me to drop you at the studio?” Tiffany asked when they came into the city.
“No, the UN,” he replied, never looking up from the computer. “I’m meeting my cameraman there.”
Tiffany nodded. While Cole’s total absorption in his work, to the exclusion of paying any attention to her, might have angered another woman, it didn’t Tiffany. She, more than anyone, understood what doing a good job entailed, the total dedication to the goal, the absolute focus needed. She glanced over at him. He bit his bottom lip as his fingers jumped around the keyboard. The shock of ink black hair she ached to drag her fingers through fell across his forehead while he typed.
She loved him so much.
She’d lain awake half the night wondering how her plan could have failed so horribly. His words the evening before hadn’t been of a jealous nature, a fact that angered and confused her. Angered because she’d spent wasted hours in the company of an idiot like King, and confused at why Cole still considered her a child despite all her efforts. Finally, after exhaustion threatened to take over, Tiffany decided to forget all about her plans and just go on as usual with him. She wanted Cole in her life no matter how their relationship turned out, and she was determined in her efforts.
The kiss they’d shared in the icehouse had been surprising, wonderful, and bewildering. For all his talk of protecting her as if she were still a child, that kiss had not been meant for a child. It had been meant solely for a woman. Tiffany remembered in vivid detail the way his hot and bold tongue had gently parted her lips, as he sought refuge within her mouth. She couldn’t move and wouldn’t have if given the opportunity to. As a teenager she’d fantasized about what it would be like to be kissed by him, to be held like his lover, to be made love to by him. Nothing she’d dreamed came close to the reality of what his mouth felt like when it finally took hers, when his hard and strong hands gripped her to his body. His erection pulsed against her when he pinned her to the barrier, and for the first time in her life her balance gave way while on her skates.
“I can’t get any closer than this.” She pulled the car as close to Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza as she could. “The traffic around here is nuts.”
Cole looked up and snapped his laptop closed. “This is fine.”
With a swift, absent-minded peck to her cheek, he undid his seat belt and alighted from the SUV. He leaned through the open window, and said, “Thanks, Brat.”
With the slight wind whipping his hair askew, he was so unbelievably handsome, for a moment Tiffany’s eyes welled up.
“See you later,” she said.
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get home. I’ll have to go into the studio for editing, get my piece ready for the evening news.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have something for you to eat whenever you get there.”
His smile was totally boyish. “See ya later.” Then he sprinted across the plaza in search of his cameraman.
The sound of a car horn blaring behind her pulled Tiffany out of her musings. Two quick turns and she headed back to the apartment. She parked in her empty reserved spot in the underground garage and lifted out both their suitcases. Since they’d only been gone a day and a half, both bags were nearly empty. Once in the apartment she tossed Cole’s in his room and unpacked her own.
For the first time in quite some time, Tiffany felt lonely, all by herself in the apartment. She puttered around for a while and then called Sean. He told her to be at the Garden by nine the next morning, since the photographers were coming at ten to take the brochure pictures.
“Your costumes are all ready, lass. Betty has outdone herself. Every one fits the music and your routines to perfection.”
“I can’t wait to try them on,” Tiffany said.
“Is Cole with you?”
“No. He’s off covering a story.”
“Is everything okay? You don’t sound like your usual high and mighty self.”
Tiffany winced at the description. “I’m fine. Just feeling really tired the past few days. I think it’s because I’ve done nothing but sit around, resting my foot. This morning I skated for the first time, though.”
“And?”
“And everything is fine. No pain, no problems, no swelling. I should be back to full-skate mode by Tuesday morning.”
“Glad to hear it. Things have been quiet these past few days. Rehearsals, by the way, have been going smoothly. Marina seems to have finally gotten the idea this is the real deal. She’s been letter perfect in her routines and behavior.”
“Good.”
“Well, I’ve gotta go work out a few things with the music in the second act. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tiffany said goodbye. Noting the time, she made something small to eat, with a little extra for Cole, and settled down to watch the evening news.
His report was the lead story.
Her stepfather and Cole talked on-air about a potential peace treaty, with Cole broadcasting from a room inside the United Nations. Tiffany sighed. He was a natural on-camera. Undeniably handsome and an astute, quick-on-his-feet speaker, he’d been born to be an anchor. Her only hope was that he could curtail his itchy feet and realize it too.
The kiss they’d shared in the icehouse had confirmed Cole’s feelings for her were changing, gr
owing, and maturing. If allowed the time to develop more, she was certain they’d be lovers.
After the newscast, she took a long, hot, and soothing bath and then settled down in bed with the newest book by her favorite author.
****
Three hours later, Cole came home, exhausted yet elated by the work he’d done. A small note on the kitchen counter told him about the food Tiffany had put away for him. He was famished. His last meal had been breakfast, and he hadn’t been able to steal a moment to eat something at the United Nations. He put the dish she’d left laden with food in the microwave and then sought her out.
The door to her bedroom was ajar, the light within the room, on. Cole knocked. Tiffany was curled in the center of the bed, the covers half off her small body, sound asleep.
He took the book from her outstretched hand, dog-eared the page, and put it on her night table. Then, with infinite care, he pulled the covers up over her. Not once did she stir.
An intense stab of longing thrust right down to his soul.
What are we going to do about this, Tiff?
He bent, kissed her cheek, and turned the light out.
Chapter Thirteen
Tiffany stood on the footstool, draped in black ermine.
“It’s not too heavy, lass?” Sean asked. He stepped away from her and surveyed the effect of the fur on the costume beneath it.
“I don’t think so. It’s bulky more than anything, but the length is good so I don’t think it’ll trip me. And I get to toss it off ten seconds into the routine.”
“Okay. What about the gypsy number? Is the costume flexible enough for you to do your back flip?”
“Yes. In fact, it’s a little loose. I was wondering if Betty should take it in at the waist.”
“Don’t bother.” Sean took the multicolored costume off the hanger and held it up to the light. “Your weight’s probably down a bit due to the inactivity. Once you’re back to full speed, you’ll fill it in nicely.”
