Page 93 of Born of Ice

I whimper. Damn it. Before I can help myself, I whimper but at least he didn’t see it, already making the first loop.

He skates around, stretching as I tell him and with each new exercise, he flies up to me, kisses me and goes to the next one.

Who is this man? I keep watching him and not recognizing the person from the one that barreled through my front door a mere month ago. But then I look at myself and realize he’s not the only one who’s changed.

He’s not the only one who no longer wears the scowl as his favorite makeup and permanent emotion and it’s both frightening and elevating.

I’m healing and even if—when—he leaves, I’ll at least have that. I’ll be grateful for that.

“Please tell me it gets harder because I’m not even breaking a sweat yet,” Exton says as cocky as he can.

“Baby, that was a warmup. Now give me a nice backward slide.”

He does it with a breeze, but it’s a breeze of a hockey player not a figure skater.

“Too easy,” he announces, and I shake my head.

“Except that’s not how we do it. Come here.” I point to the spot in front of me and he slides right up.

“Miss Monroe, I didn’t know you’d get kinky on the ice so fast,” he says, again with that smirk because in my position his crotch is right in my face. I lift my hand and slap him on his sweats-covered dick.

Exton yelps as I scold him. “No goofing around during practice, Mr. Quinn.”

“Ohhh, you’re asking for it, Miss Monroe.”

“What are you gonna do about it, baby?” I taunt him with his own comment, and I see those nostrils flare right before he’s about to leap on me and I stop him with my hand. “Get back in position, Exton,” I command once again, and to my utter surprise and undiluted pleasure, he obeys, halting himself as he comes right back to me.

I smile a winning smile and place my hands on his hips, turning him around so he’s standing sideways to me and slap his ass as hard as I can.

“What the hell?” he yelps again and take another doze of pleasure at that.

“This ass? It needs to be tucked in. We don’t show it off to the world, we keep our hips and all the rest tucked in.” I use my hands to right his position and this seasoned hockey player almost tips over.

“Easy, huh?” I taunt him some more and catch a glimpse of a whole other kind of fire ignite in his eyes.

The Exton that everyone knows kind. The competitive kind.

“Soft knees, A-frame, shoulders down and your hands in front of you as if you’re pushing on the ice with them and hips tucked in.” I swat his ass again. “Now, go again and give me a nice backward slalom.”

“Backwards what?”

“Slalom.” I sigh when there is no recognition on his face. “Keep your feet together, push, and twist your hips so your legs make a sort of half-moon motion, backward.”

“That’s what you should lead with, not your fancy terminology,” he grumbles but tries to get in position and fails right away.

I can’t help the laugh that bursts out. This is so much more entertaining than I thought it would be and we are still on one of the easiest exercises.

His hulking defenseman body is not as easy to maneuver into delicate moves, but Exton is not deterred. He falls, gets up and starts again. By try number six, he grumbles and growls at the ice, cussing like a sailor and then he raises his fist as if ready to punch the ice, and I know what’s coming. I can sense the anger rolling off him in spades but Exton halts as I hold my breath and looks up.

Give me your calm, his eyes seem to plead with mine.

Always, mine answer back as I watch him, looking straight into his soul. Into the dark smoke clouding it and blowing air through it, lending him my hand as he always does for me.

I almost forgot how easily he loses it. Exton’s been so different with me these past couple weeks, I almost forgot how explosive he can be. Yet one look, one glance my way, one silent conversation, and he takes a deep breath, lowering his fist slowly and straightens up, tugging on my invisible arm to follow him. To help him. To move with him.

What I watch next is nothing short of mesmerizing, he simply closes his eyes, yet I still feel them on me, and his legs move like those of a professional figure skater.

I have no idea how he did that. How he managed to move like that, but I feel my eyes mist as I track his movements.

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