Page 25 of Breaking Away

Taking a deep breath, I make myself smile. “Thank you. And sorry. For this and—” My hand waves in the air. “All of it.”

Since we’re under a canopy, we’re protected from rain. My backpack isn’t waterproof, but it’s lined with a plasticky barrier on the inside. Considering the most precious cargo I have on me is my camera, I slip off my jacket and wrap it around my bag for extra protection.

I’m left in a thin tank-top, but my hotel isn’t far from here.

Dmitri’s eyebrows snap down. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to make a run for it.”

“Put your jacket back on.”

“No. I have to protect my camera.”

Outside, it’s not a curtain of rain but plops of droplets. Peeking my head out, one lands on my nose. I duck back to safety, thinkingUgh.

“Stay here,” orders Lokhov. “I’ll bring my car.”

I smile sweetly. “Sure.”

He towers over me. “You’re lying to me.”

Yes.But only because my hotel is literally a three-minute run from here. And because I have to leave Lokhov’s presence immediately. It was only a minute or less, but being held in his arms?—

I tamp down a shiver. It was so warm and overwhelming.

My parents used to hug me when I was little, but in my adult years it’s as if they don’t think I need affection anymore. And Tyler hugged me, but never in front of other people. Our hugs were brief and more of a precursor to sex. His crazy schedule meant never cuddling.

All of this to say, I must be reacting this way because it’s been a sad, long time since I’ve been gathered securely. Tightly. Safely.

But it doesn’t matter. I’ve just ended a relationship with my ex.

It’s so pathetic to want another man—another hockey player—holding you as if everything is okay because you’re in the arms of someone who cares enough to rescue you from getting hurt. Who yells at strangers, raising his voice to a volume you’ve never heard before. Crushing you against his chest as if actually afraid something very terrible could have happened.

And—again—it’s Lokhov.

He’d never touch me of his own volition, and only did this time as a public service act. Not the most flattering of circumstances. More pathetic, honestly.

“Go get your car,” I say conversationally to him.

He frowns. Then fiddles with the bottom of his shirt which has clung to contours I’m strictly ignoring. Looking up at his face, I almost see gears turn in his brain. His eyes survey my exposed skin. Then go back to his top. His throat gets cleared.

What’s the issue?

Vancouver is a warm city, so even in the rain, the temperature is mild. Clearly, Lokhov thought that, considering he’s not got a jacket on. Or he’s used to driving everywhere in his fancy car wearing no outerwear.

That seems to be a problem since he admits, “I don’t have a jacket for you.”

“Not an issue.”

“Take this.”

He starts taking off his shirt, which would be a gifted extra layer of protection for me if I use it to cover my head, sure, but the sight of a defined V-line inked with dark tattoos makes me run.

I literally run.

Out in the rain.

Weaving in and around people, I push to make it to the hotel in under two minutes. At the last second, before rushing inside, I glance backward.

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