Page 29 of Hat Trick

“Live alittle.”

My gaze shoots to his. “What?”

Marshall releases my hand to shove our footwear beneath the bench. “You promised me an adventure. This is the first step.” With his knuckles, he edges our shoes farther beneath the bench. “Think positive and we’ll begood.”

His logic is so optimistic. “Have you always thought the best ofsociety?”

“Nah.”

He was in foster care, you dummy. Of course. And now I feel like a complete idiot. “Marshall,I—”

“It’s in the past, Gwen. Now show me how well youskate.”

The subject change is as subtle as an elephant rumbling along Boston’s ritzy Newbury Street. Not that I should be surprised. We’re still learning each other, trying to get beyond the outer shells we show the world. Everything else takestime.

Pushing to my feet, I give one last glance to our bench and then straighten my shoulders. Marshall is right. I promised him an adventure, and it’s past time that he getone.

“I should probably let you know,” I start as I penguin-walk over the narrow gravel pathway to where the rink awaits, “you may have to save me today. I’m not the best skater, but I figured you’d be willing to step in and make sure I don’t land on mybutt.”

The blade of my left skate hits the ice, and I make a show of wobbling my knees and pinwheeling myarms.

I’m notdisappointed.

I feel Marshall’s big body swoop in behind me, his arms hooking under mine, catching me just as I would have face-planted on theice.

His warm breath sends shivers down my spine as he skates us out of the path of traffic. “Youokay?”

“Yes.”

His forearms inadvertently squeeze my breasts together, thanks to our position, and it’s with a gust of disappointment that I realize Marshall is setting me upright and then shiftingback.

“I might fall again.”Put on a show, girl. I straighten my knees—a skating no-no—and hold out my arms, palms facing down. “You should keep holdingme.”

Marshall gives me a slow onceover. “Youwon’t.”

My gaze jerks to his. “What?”

“Fall,” he says, folding his arms over his big chest. “When did you learn how toskate?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkingabout.”

Marshall pushes off his left leg and approaches me. When he’s within arm’s length, he surprises me with a finger to my waist. To an inexperienced skater, that one touch would rock their world and kill theirbalance.

Instinctively, I tighten my core and clench my thighs—I don’tbudge.

The wide grin on Marshall’s face might as well be my alert system that I’ve given myselfaway.

Busted.

With a palm to his hard chest, I give him a little push to move him aside and then slide one skate in front of the other at a leisurely pace. I wait for him to catch up before admitting, “When Golden Lights Media hired me, I went allout.”

“What do youmean?”

I shrug. “Literally, in every capacity I tried to make myself indispensable to my boss. Walter’s a hard-ass but he’s a fair hard-ass, if that makes sense. From the moment I started, it was pretty clear to me that he’d offered me the job because of mybreasts.”

Marshall’s pace slows and I circle around to facehim.

“Your . . . breasts?” His voice is low, dangerous, and entirely too sexy for my mental well-being.

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