Page 37 of On the Brink of Passion

I want her to say yes to me, with enthusiasm. I want her to want me as badly as I want her. But after the past couple of months, while I still wish for those things, I don’t think I need them to be happy. All I need is her. Even the possibility of her would be enough for now.

She hasn’t pushed me away or asked me to stop touching her, so I push my luck, like I always do. I take a step forward until my one big foot is between her small ones, and I wrap my arm around her waist. Even under her baggy sweatshirt, she feels different to me, thinner, and it makes my heart hurt. She’s always been particular about her diet, because we have to be to stay in competition shape, but that’s gone both ways—she needs muscle mass to skate how she does, and she’d get just as freaked if she were losing weight as she was if she were gaining it. She’s not eating right, and man do I ever want to make her sit down and eat a steak. Later, later, I’ll get her to eat later.

For now, I bend down and tilt my head until I can kiss just below her ear. Her hair is lank and hasn’t been washed super recently, but still I thread my fingers through it, cradle the back of her head.

“Please, Jubilee. I don’t even need a yes right now. Just give me a maybe. Come back and skate with me. I miss you.”

Jubilee is not a gentle creature. Yes, she’s graceful, elegant, and lovely, but she’s more like a deadly blade than a cuddly forest animal. Which is probably why it’s so shocking that she’s started trembling in my arms. Not crying, I don’t think, because she probably won’t permit herself tears, but she’s quivering. Okay, so maybe in some ways she is like a scared little animal. The woman will perform death-defying acts on a slippery surface with knives on her feet, but having feelings terrifies her.

I kiss her in that sweet spot again, and hold her against me. I’ll hold her like this for as long as she’ll let me. There’s a small movement, and I almost let her go. Luckily, before I can, I realize she’s not pushing me away, but holding on. One of her hands has crept up to my biceps, and the other is resting tentatively on my back.

Hold me harder, say yes.

We stand there for a while and though my neck has started hurting because this is pretty damn awkward, I’d stand here all day if it meant I got to be this close to her. From time to time, one of her hands will move, or she’ll edge a fraction of an inch closer with her feet. She’s stopped shaking, but now she’s breathing as hard as she ever has been after a hard practice or a flawless performance.

It takes a long time, but finally she’s pressed up against me from shoulder to knee and she’s holding me as tightly as I’m holding her.

“Beck?” Her voice is a whisper, a near-silent plea.Tell me what you need.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll skate with you tomorrow.”

Girl sure knows how to break a man’s heart. I’m so happy I feel like everything’s just gone fireworks inside, and that’s the exploding, fracturing, rupturing sensation in my chest. Probably not a heart attack. Christ, if I had a heart attack and died right now, I bet Jubilee would resuscitate me just to have the pleasure of murdering me herself.

Don’t die, Hughes, don’t do it.

But I don’t. Nope. I kiss her again behind her ear and then straighten out my neck because it’s kinking pretty good right about now, and then I rest my chin on the top of her head while I squeeze my eyes shut, and squeeze her, too.

I have to force my voice casual and hope it doesn’t crack when I say, “Okay.”

Because that’s no big deal. Except it’s everything, frigging everything, and I’ll be content with that for a very long time. If she’ll just skate with me. Be my partner, my ice princess. Let me hold, support, and protect her—when I’m not tossing her into the air and across the ice, or doing what we do best, side by side.

“Hey, Beck?”

Will I ever get sick of hearing her call me Beck? I don’t think so. And I hope not. It’s the best feeling, that happy little kick. “Yeah?”

She takes a deep breath, the way she does right before she’s about to start a jump, with the same rushing exhale too. She’s getting ready for something, and it’s big. I love that I can see it coming even as I’m scared of what it might be.

“You, um, wouldn’t want to have dinner with me, would you?”

I look to the ceiling in her apartment, and same as in our suite in the village, the ceiling’s blank and white, making it the perfect place to project all the things I want from her, want with her. A future, maybe, and that’s going to start right here, right now, with dinner. And she’ll be mine on the ice tomorrow. That’s where we’ll start and we’ll see where we end up.

“Sure I would.”

Epilogue

Three years later

Beckett

“Beck, have you seen my snowshoes?”

Jeez. Will the woman not take a break? The fact is that I have indeed seen her snowshoes . . . as I was hiding them in the dryer.

Just as I’m about to shout an entirely made up answer, Jubilee swings around the doorframe and comes to a stop about a yard away from where I’ve got my feet propped up on an ottoman and am, ugh, reading.

“Did you hear me? Have you seen my snowshoes? I could’ve sworn I left them in the rack by the door when I came in yesterday, but they’re not there anymore.”

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