Jaci Burton: Melting the Ice

The interplay fascinated her. She’d watched a lot of games on television, but there was nothing like being at a game. The action was fast paced, and she found herself leaning forward, her pencil clutched tightly in her hand. By the time Denver had snatched the puck and moved to the other side of the ice, she realized she hadn’t sketched anything because she’d been too absorbed in the game.

Time to change that. She focused on Drew, the way his body moved when he skated. Of course she wouldn’t be able to get a decent sketch of his body, but she drew the lines to give her an impression of movement.

“Hey, whatcha doin’?”

She looked up at the man sitting next to her. He was maybe in his late forties, wearing a Travelers jersey and clutching a beer in his hand.

“Sketching.”

“You a reporter?”

She smiled at him. “No.”

“So why you drawin’ pictures?”

She really didn’t want to get into why she was doing this. “I just like to draw. It . . . brings the game alive for me.”

“Oh. I get it. Better than takin’ a picture with your camera, huh?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

He slapped her on the back. Hard. “Good for you, honey.”

She winced and went back to watching the game, flipping the page so she could sketch some action shots with more than one player, wanting to get the speed of the skates, the teamwork involved, and the way the puck seemed to disappear when they all crowded around it.

Men at work. This was Drew’s job, and as she zeroed in on him, she highlighted his face, glad now that he’d gotten her these seats so close-up. She depicted the fierceness of his features as he concentrated on fighting for the puck. And when he was slammed against the boards right in front of her, she saw the ends of his hair peeking out from his helmet. His hair was wet from sweat despite how cold it was in the Garden. Not surprising, considering there wasn’t a moment he was on the ice that he wasn’t moving.

Movement. Men were constantly in motion, which meant they needed style and comfort. While she wanted the men’s clothes in her line to look amazing, she also knew men placed a high premium on freedom and ease in their wardrobe. Carolina jotted down some notes, her mind whirling with the possibilities of what she could create. She could write faster than she could draw, but she already had five or six ideas she wanted to sketch later, including underwear.

She grinned, wondering if Drew would model those for her, then forced that thought aside. Fitting him for underwear might be more than she could handle.

But wouldn’t he look magnificent in a print ad? She could already envision it in her mind, the angle of his body, the way they’d set up the shoot.

It was perfect. Now she’d have to drum up the courage to ask him to do it.

DREW’S ENTIRE BODY KNOTTED UP WITH TENSION AS Boyd Litman shot the puck at him. He raced forward and fought one of Denver’s defenders for it, wrestling it away and skating toward the opposing goal.

Tied one to one in the third, the last thing they needed was a tie. This had been a tough game already and he knew everyone was beat-up and exhausted. There were two minutes left in regulation. Time to end this thing.

He passed the puck to Ray Sayers and skated past the defender, getting himself into position by the goal, fighting with the defender to stay where he needed to be while Sayers and Litman fought to keep the puck away from Denver’s defender.

When the puck came toward him, he jostled with Marquette on Denver’s team, one of their toughest defenders. He took a shot and missed.

Dammit. A quick glance at the clock showed they were down to the final minute. With renewed determination, he fought for possession and gained it back, and made a tricky shot toward Litman who was right at the goal.

Litman slid it past the Denver goalie and it went in.

Drew had never seen anything sweeter than when the goal lit up. He raised his stick in the air and skated toward his teammates while the fans in the Garden went wild.

That had been a great victory, hard-won because Denver was a tough team to beat.

As they worked the line to shake hands with their opponents, Drew searched the crowd and saw Carolina, standing and clapping along with everyone else.

He liked seeing that smile on her face. He skated over to the boards and motioned for her to come down. She did.

“You played very well, though I wasn’t sure you were going to finish it off in regulation.”

“Neither did I. Will you stay and wait for me?”

She looked uncertain. “I have some work to do.”

“Did you eat?”

“Well, no.”

He shook his head, then smiled at her. “Have dinner with me.”

“I suppose I could.”

“Great. I won’t be long. Just wait right here.”

“Okay.”

He stayed long enough to sign a few autographs for some of the fans, then headed to the locker room to take a shower. He hurried out of there before he got stuck doing media interviews, which would likely piss off his coach, but he wasn’t in the mood tonight.

Not when he’d convinced Carolina to go out to dinner with him.

She was still waiting in her seat, her knees drawn up, her sketch pad on her lap. She hadn’t seen him, so he watched her. She was so engrossed in her work that nothing could shake her out of it.

She had her hair pulled behind her ears and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth, which brought his attention to her mouth. It might have been eight years since that hot night in the dorm, but he could still remember the sweet innocence of her taste, how she’d flung herself wholeheartedly into sex with him.

She might have been a virgin, and she’d known nothing about sex, but she’d wanted to sleep with him, had been eager to rid herself of what she’d referred to as the unpleasant yoke of virginity.

He’d been surprised that, at twenty, she’d still been a virgin. When she was a teen she’d been a little overweight, but she’d always been beautiful, with her dark hair and stunning blue eyes. What was wrong with guys that they hadn’t leaped at the chance to be with her?

Then again, what the hell had been wrong with him that he had missed out on her the two years they’d been together in college? He’d been so wrapped up in sports and his friends and screwing every girl he’d had the chance to be with that he hadn’t noticed her. Or maybe he had noticed her, but she’d been Gray’s little sister, and you didn’t screw your best friend’s sister. That was one of the rules.

Or it had been, at least until graduation night, when he’d been plenty drunk and Carolina had been plenty brave enough to ask him to take her to bed.

He’d broken the rule. And had never regretted it.

When she finally looked up and saw him, she tucked her sketchbook into her bag and came down the stairs.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her gaze scanning his face and hair. “Did you use extra gel and a blow-dryer?”

He liked that she gave him a hard time. “Yeah. It was a rough night. Plus, I wanted to look pretty for you. Did it work?”

She held her gaze on his awhile. “I won’t need to put a bag over your head, so I guess you’ll do.”

He laughed and grasped her hand. “Come on. I must have burned a thousand calories on that game. I need a big steak.”

He led her out through the side door, where he’d already arranged to have a car.

“Ooh, a private car, huh?”

He laughed as he held the door for her and then climbed inside. “Hey, I get some perks, ya know.”

The car drove them to Sparks, one of his favorite steakhouses.

“I love the food here,” Carolina said as Drew helped her out of the car.