Page 6 of One Weekend in Vienna

“Hey, what are you doing?” I move over to where she’s struggling to unsnap the collar.

She frowns up at me. “I’m trying to get this thing off so I can do up my skates. It’s a bit snug.”

I put my hands over hers, noting the chill of her fingers. “It’s freezing out here. You can’t take off your coat.”

“It’s Vienna, of course it’s freezing. And it’s just for a minute. I need to get my skates done up.”

I shake my head. “Sit down.”

“What?”

Her whiskey-colored eyes reflect the twinkling lights above and I squeeze her hands before grabbing her gloves. “Put these back on and sit down.” I point to the bench.

Her expression turns mutinous. “Max…”

I drop to one knee, waving my hand in a flourish. “I got this, Anna. Sit down.”

I hear a sigh before she drops to the bench. “I don’t need you to tie my skates. I just need to take off this marshmallow someone thought might make a good coat.”

I unzip one of her boots and my groin tightens. I didn’t think this through. Quickly, I pull it off and hold her ankle as she wiggles her foot into the skate. My hand circles her ankle and even though the arctic air should freeze any and all of my body parts, clearly my blood runs pretty hot because my cock seems to think we’re naked in a bed and I’m gripping her ankle for an entirely different activity than the one we’re presently engaged in.

I stand as she pushes her skate down to the mats in front of the benches and then lift her leg, holding it between my knees to lace.

“Too tight?” I ask and I could be asking about my lacing technique or my pants at the moment.

“No, although I’m surprised you’re comfortable with me holding a blade this close to your …” A faint blush darkens the pink in her cheeks as if she’s just realized what she’s said. She waves vaguely at my thighs.

I huff out a laugh that’s somewhat strangled. I’m not in the least worried about the damage her skates could do to me, even though I’ve seen some pretty bad blade injuries. No, the deepest cut she can give me is a little higher up, if the way my heart skips at the wry twist of her lips is any indication. Don’t get me wrong,Anna is gorgeous and if this thing, whatever it is between us, was just physical I’d be able to deal with it.

But being around Anna is like that feeling when you smash a one-in-a-million-goal at the top-left corner that no one saw coming. It’s the game where your career hits a thousand points. It’s getting so close to the Cup you can taste the champagne sprayed on your face – anticipation, victory and love all rolled into one.

I’ve never called it what it was because no one would believe me. No one would believe that I could fall instantly, deeply, obsessively in love with someone after ten minutes.

I didn’t believe it for a long time. Lust, for sure. If it were that simple, I could have walked out the door that night with half a dozen beautiful women.

I didn’t. And in the two years since we met, my mind always goes to Anna. Felix and I don’t meet on the ice all that often, given that our teams are in different conference divisions, but whenever we do it adds an element to the game to see Anna behind the glass.

To see her watching me. I know she does. I feel it, just like I do right now, her eyes on me while I focus on tying her skates.

Touching her like this, closer than we’ve ever been since that first night is the sweetest torture anyone could dream up for me. Holding her ankle only makes me want to slide my hands further up her limbs, memorize the curve of her thighs and feel the sweet heat between her legs despite the deep chill in the air.

“Let’s move please, the wind has shifted direction.”

Ernst’s deep voice startles me, and I finish her laces off with a sharp bow, checking to make sure nothing hangs over her instep.

“Hockey skates?” I ask as she stands wiggling her ankles.

“What else would I be wearing?” She straightens her jacket and heads to the ice surface, stepping on perfectly with a practiced glide.

I follow her. “Just figured you for a toe-pick kind of girl.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Of course you did.” She does a neat pivot, the beautiful curve of her muscles looking strong as she faces me, skating backwards. “I’m not a figure skater.”

And because I’m a glutton for her kind of punishment I grin. “But you can skate?” I put enough doubt into my question to enjoy the way her shoulders snap back in offence.

“Just try to keep up, hockey boy.”

A primal spark explodes in my chest at the teasing look she throws my way while skating away. I speed up, admiring the sharp precision of her cross-overs and I wonder if she’s showing off because she wants to challenge me or impress me.

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