Page 44 of Off the Edge

He laughed some more, and the rhythmic motions moved the both of us. And now he found that amusing too and his laughter grew, until his abs scrunched, his leg slipped off my shoulder, and his body threatened to vibrate me off him. I climbed up again, pinning him under me, and now he stilled, going serious.

Tomorrow, we’d dance against each other as competitors for Olympic gold. The rhythm dance first, to qualify, then the free dance two days later. If I knew him like I believed I did, his free dance would be magnificent. Cam had always excelled at emotion on the ice. Few could beat him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, maybe a little concerned too. And that was my fault. “Actually, don’t tell me. No thinking, remember?”

“I was thinking how magnificent you are.”

“You used that word?”

“I did.”

“Magnificent?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that, just dropped his head back to blink too quickly at the ceiling. “Damn.”

His throat moved, and I shifted upward to lay a gentle kiss there.

He looked down. “You’re the only one who’s ever thought I was worth noticing.”

“That’s not true. You’re at the Olympics.”

He swallowed, and said, “You taught me I could do this, that I could be magnificent. Before you, everyone thought I was a joke. Maybe I did too.”

I shifted up his body, braced both elbows either side of his chest, putting us kissable close. I searched his eyes, their blue so electric and alive, even under the artificial apartment lighting. How anyone could think him a joke was beyond my understanding. Everything about him was remarkable. “You’ve proven them wrong.”

“Have I?”

I frowned, but he saw and smiled.

“Shit, ignore me. We’re having a great time. No thinking, right?” His voice shook a little.

I brushed his lips with mine, teased my tongue in, and felt him relax under me. His hands came around my back, sweeping up my spine, and his legs locked in, trapping me close. The kiss deepened, and would have gone further, had his phone not vibrated in his coat pocket across the room.

“Leave it,” I mumbled, trying to chase the kiss and get it back.

His fingers dug in, then raked down my back. I pulled away a little, just to breathe. His touch made me ache all over, but in a good way.

His phone rang again.

He flopped his head back. “I have to get that. I was supposed to be at press huddle like . . . half an hour ago.”

It was likely the same press Q&A I’d been scheduled to appear at, and was also late for.

He tilted his head down and smirked. “Can I use your shower real quick?”

“Only if I can join you.”

His grin brightened, then he laughed the idea off. “If you do that, we’re not leaving this room for the rest of the afternoon, and I’ll be in so much trouble. They already have it out for me.”

Mention of his drug testing had me turning my face away. Guilt soured my insides. I pushed up, sat back on my heels, over him, and allowed myself one long look at him lying there. Tattooed perfection. A story on his skin that I wanted to trace with my tongue and fingers. He was too beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How was I supposed to resist? How could I keep doing this? It would ruin him. I shouldn’t have pulled him back in. I should have kept things cold.

“I’m sorry,” I said it too sharply as I climbed off.

“Why? The stupid disciplinary panel thing’s not your fault.” He swung his legs off the couch, grabbed his trousers off the floor, and headed for the bathroom, bare-assed and distracting. I stared after him, long after the bathroom door had closed and the sounds of the shower running filled the small apartment.

I couldn’t be the reason he didn’t succeed at the Olympics. I couldn’t hold him back. But I was.