CHAPTER TWELVE

HER CHEEKS FLUSHED PINK. WHATEVER persuasion he’d managed with his talk about indulging the senses, seemed to have had an effect. His mind swirled with interesting possibilities, many of them X-rated. Though he shouldn’t get his hopes up. She’d admitted she had no experience with sex. But if she wanted to learn, he was happy to teach.

“Okay,” she said. “Most people don’t know this about me, but I started my career in ice dance. I haven’t ice danced for a long time. But I’d like to this week.”

“Ice dance.” He hoped he didn’t sound disappointed.

“Yes!”

Whatever Tabitha wanted, she should have. He leaned back in his chair. “Splendid. You can teach me.”

“Oh. I hadn’t really planned on that.”

He spread his hands. “You need a partner, don’t you?”

“I would if I were going to perform, which I’m not. I thought it would be fun to experiment with moves that’s all.”

“If you’re going to do it, you should do it right. Consider it an exchange. You show me what you know; I show you what I know. About passion. On the ice.”

After dinner, they walked along the harbor, back to the car. The sun had set, but there was still time for a drive along the coast. “We could drive up to Horseshoe Bay. It’s not far, about thirty miles. There’s a park that looks out over the water. I discovered it the first night I was here. I know you would like it.”

She pushed her hair back behind her ear, thinking. Then she shook her head. “Not tonight. I had a nice time though. Dinner was amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Was the restaurant a place you discovered while you were exploring?”

He nodded.

“You’re lucky your coaches give you time to do that.”

“I give myself time. But they understand enough about what I need and don’t force me into a box. Not that I would go there.”

She laughed. “Peter is all about the box. I love him dearly, but he’s never given me much leeway to do things my way.”

“He agreed for you to come here.”

“Yes, he did.”

She sounded sad. Was she having doubts after less than a day? “Do you wish he hadn’t?”

“Not at all. But this wasn’t a good time to leave LA. My mom and sister are in the middle of moving. They insisted they didn’t need my help, but I feel guilty anyway.”

“You care a lot about them.”

Tabitha nodded. “Even if they make me crazy sometimes. They’ve sacrificed so much for my skating. What about your family? Are they back in Russia?”

“My father lives in Moscow, my mother is British and returned to London after they divorced. He sent me off to boarding school when I was eight, and I’m not close to either of them.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s the CEO of an international oil and energy company. He travels the world making deals.”

“Honest ones?”

“I see you’ve heard about me.” He looked away. “My father’s interest was making money, and he’s been very successful at it.”

“Must be nice.”

“In some ways.” He paused, then decided to tell her the rest, before she heard it from someone else. “It’s how I was able to stay in skating, even though the federation stopped funding me after my suspension.”

She frowned. “Couldn’t you have found other ways? Like teaching in off-season camps, or skating in shows.”

“No one would have hired me to teach, or skate in shows. I’ve never been much of a role model.”

She stopped to gaze out over the harbor. He stood beside her and rested his elbows on the concrete ledge. “And your mom?”

“My mother was a well-known model back in the 1980’s. Vanessa Townsend.”

“I’ve heard of her. Does she still model?”

“No. Now she collects wealthy husbands. I see her every year or two. My parents have their lives, I have mine.”

“Sounds lonely.”

It was, and though he didn’t like being pitied, he didn’t have the sense that’s what she was doing. She was observing, and she was right. Lonely described his childhood well. He’d grown up with everything and with nothing. But then, so had she, just in reverse. There was no reason to feel defensive. “I’ve made a family for myself,” he said. “My friends, my coaches. Ilya is more like a father than my real one.”

“How did you end up working with Ilya? And with Anton? I thought he was a pairs coach.”

“He is. But after I completed my suspension, none of the top coaches wanted to take me. Anton was willing, so I came to Lake Shosha. I thought it was a step down, but it was the best thing that could have happened.”

“Sometimes it turns out that way. There weren’t a lot of coaches eager to take me, other than Peter. It’s been a good match.”

This surprised him. He would have thought American coaches eager for a beautiful, talented student like Tabitha. “Why didn’t the top coaches want you?”

“I was in my teens and still not established as a top skater. I think a lot of them felt it was too late for me. But I worked my tail off and proved them all wrong. Speaking of which, I’ll be working my tail off tomorrow. It’s a been long day. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

She offered that brilliant white smile he’d seen on so many magazine covers. As gorgeous as it was, seeing it in person made him realize something he never had. The smile never reached her eyes.

The next afternoon, Anton and the Canadian jump guru they’d brought in kept him busy on one end of the rink. On the other, Tabitha worked with Misha to perfect the opening moves of Antigone. Even as he tried to focus on the quad Lutz/triple toe combination, he was aware of her.

Sensing his distraction, Anton frowned. “Do we need to find another place to work?”

His easy-going coach had been cool since Tabitha arrived. Not that it was Anton’s place to say she couldn’t train with Misha, who was her choreographer as well as Daniil’s. As long as their sessions didn’t take away from Misha’s sessions with the Lake Shosha skaters, who wouldn’t even arrive until next week, there was no conflict.

“No, it’s fine,” Daniil said, though the mournful Antigone aria was getting on his nerves. He forced his concentration back to where it belonged. After four consecutive perfect combination jumps, everyone seemed satisfied. Anton and the jump coach left. Daniil was tired after a long day’s practice, but the prospect of working with Tabitha gave him a second wind.

As soon as she and Misha wrapped up, he skated down to her end of the rink.

“I’m ready for my first ice dance lesson.”

She threw him a look. “I’m not sure what I can show you. Ice dance isn’t something you can pick up in an afternoon.”

“I know,” he said, slightly annoyed. “But I want to learn. Can you show me how to skate with a partner?” He held up his arms and swayed back and forth, to mimic a couple waltzing.

“Skating in hold is difficult even when you know what you’re doing. If our blades get tangled, we both go down.”

“Okay, okay. We start with something simple. I know there are different dances with set patterns. You could show me some of that.”

“I guess.” Then she nodded. “Sure, why not? Can you twizzle?”

“Adrian put them into some of my free skates.” He demonstrated the traveling one-foot spin as she watched, then nodded her approval.

“Not bad. But the real trick is synching it with me.”

Synching with her was what he’d had in mind from the start

She looked down at her phone, which was connected to the rink’s sound system, and scrolled through her music playlist. “Another thing that’s different is that ice dance is tied to the rhythm of the music. That was a habit I had to unlearn when I started to skate singles, which is all about free style moves.” She stopped scrolling and cued up a choice. “I’ll show you the blues pattern dance. It was one of my favorites.”

She skated out to the center, while he remained at the boards, happy just to watch. The music began with a scorching minor key guitar riff and settled into a solid 4/4 cadence. She glided along the edge of the ice in a curving pattern, kicking out her free leg in wide graceful swings. She leaned deep into her edges, just as he’d seen her do at the practice rink in Chicago. Her fluid movements segued from the swinging kicks, to Choctaws, and, twizzles.

When she’d finished, he applauded. “Now I see where your sexy edges come from. That skate was slower than what we do since you don’t have to pick up speed for jumps.”

“Right. With dance, it’s about precise footwork and how the partners skate together. The basic moves are things you know, like Cross Rolls and Choctaws, but what’s difficult is putting them together, and keeping time with me. Want to watch again?”

He could watch her all day but he learned best by doing, even if he did it badly. “Why don’t you break it down for me, just one little move at a time, so I can try it too?”

They started with Forward Cross Rolls, stroking down the long boards, hands clasped. They skated slowly at arm’s length, to keep their blades from colliding. After they’d practiced a few times around, she stopped him. “You’re not going deep enough on your edges. And you’re sticking your butt out.”

“I am not!”

“You are. I’m watching.”

“You’re watching my butt?” He grinned. “Or maybe you’re still curious about dance belts.”

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “I’m watching what you do wrong.”

“Then I should watch your butt, so I can see what to do right.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re impossible!” She laughed. “Again! Pelvis tucked.”

This time, he was more conscious of his posture, and took care to lean deeper on the outside edge of his blade, as she did. After a few more times around, he seemed to have it. “When do we try with the music?”

“When you can stroke with me on the beats, as I call them out.”

“I thought this was like ballroom dance, and the man led.”

“It is. But first, the man has to know what he’s doing.”

She took his hand again, and his mind flashed back to when he was ten and skating with Natasha Smirnova, the most beautiful girl in school. He’d been kicked out of hockey practice for fighting with one of his teammates. His coach and his father assumed a week of figure skating class would be enough humiliation to bring him into line. Little had they known he’d take their punishment and use it to change his life.

They pushed off together, skating with a soft bend in their knees, free legs extended behind, leaning deep on their edges. She called out the crosses, and he brought his foot around to the front, matching her strokes as best he could.

Skating with a partner was harder than he’d realized. Elite pairs made it look easy, but it wasn’t enough just to know how to do the moves. He had to match his moves with hers, execute them at the same time, while being careful not to swing his leg out too wide and kick her. His every movement affected her, just as hers affected his. It was impossible to forget she was there.

After a few more times around, she deemed him ready for music. After a successful run of this, she smiled. “I’m impressed. Are you ready to try it in hold?”

He’d been ready all day.

She positioned them side by side in a shoulder hold, hands clasped ballroom-style out front. “In competition, there wouldn’t be so much space between our bodies. In practice, it’s more important for us to not end up on top of each other,” she said.

“On the ice, that would not be good.” Off the ice was a different story. Her tight little smile suggested she’d guessed what he was thinking, but he kept the comment to himself.

“Concentrate not just on mastering the move, but on our connection,” she said.

His focus shifted from his body and movements to hers, and how she felt in his arms. Tabitha was tall for a figure skater though still more petite than the average woman. Her strong muscular legs gave her power, which she blended with a dancer’s grace. He shifted his gaze from the ice to her elegant profile and rosy complexion, free of make-up. For the first time, he saw the light freckles that dusted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

His hand, placed between her shoulder blades, touched warm skin in the scooped back of her leotard. He spread his fingers wider, and she shifted into his hold. There was less space between them now, and he was aware of the tempting contours of her upper body. She wasn’t stacked—most skaters weren’t—but her slinky black practice clothes hugged every curve.

The scorching blues guitar swirled around them, and the female singer’s voice took on a desperate edge. Tabitha’s laser focus seemed to stray from what was in front of them, to Daniil moving in tandem beside her. Her eyes darted in his direction. Her grip tightened around his hand. Her body rocked in a sensuous rhythm that had sprung to life on its own.

One-two, three-four. One-two, three-four.

Feeling it too, he smiled, and leaned in, matching the sway of her body. Lost in the moment, he surrendered to the music and the subtle seduction of their dance. Locked into the give and take of shared movement, they glided together, picking up speed. The chilled air rushing over his cheeks was no match for the heat building inside.

Click.

The tell-tale sound of metal against metal brought him back. Their feet had collided, and their blades had tangled. He felt the resistance. Still in hold, they wobbled, as sweat prickled their joined hands.

She tensed and sucked in a breath. He bent his skating knee lower, and brought his free foot down to the ice, to keep them balanced. She followed, and they glided forward on both feet, righting themselves. Tabitha released a jittery laugh. “Yikes, my bad.”

He realized she’d swung her free leg too far, and her blade had nicked the inside of his. It was the mistake he’d feared making.

“Thanks for keeping us upright.”

“Ne za chto.”

“What’s that mean?”

“No problem.”

They continued to skate the cadence. It was the best way to get past a fall, or an almost-fall. Stay on the horse, as Yuri Bogdanov used to say. Only now, Daniil sensed that Tabitha’s attention was focused on her skating. Right where it should be—and his, too.

But when the song was over and they skated off, he went right back to admiring her toned body, and soft skin, dewy and glowing from skating. As she fiddled with her phone to pause the music, his gaze crept upward to her face. Without the polished perfection of make-up, she looked young and innocent. Vulnerable, too. But most of all, real.

He smiled. “I never noticed you have freckles.”