Ice Games (Games #3)(27)
Author: Jessica Clare

I laughed at the absurdity of it all, shaking my head at him.

His eyes gleamed at me, and he pulled me close. “Now, you and I need to finish our conversation—”

“Zara Pritchard?”

I turned at the sound of my name, and gasped at the sight of the man standing off to one side backstage. It was my old coach, Edgar Maximoff. He’d grown older—and grayer—since I’d last seen him, but the mustache and the helmet of thick hair were impossible to miss.

“Edgar! Oh my god. What are you doing here?” I pulled away from Ty’s arms and went to hug my old coach.

“I’m here to see you,” he told me, his accent thick.…

I frowned. “How did you know I was here?”

He chuckled. “You are on TV, Zara.”

Oh. Duh. “I know. I mean…why?” Why after all these years would he look me up? He’d fired me when I’d walked off the ice during the Olympics.

“I got a tip from an old friend of mine—Penelope Marks.”

I made a face at the hated name.

He waved a hand at me. “I know, I know. It is all an act for the show. She is actually a big fan of yours.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “She is?”

“Yes. She is the one that called me and sent me DVDs of your performances here. You fired your choreographer?”

“Two of the performances were mine,” I admitted.

“They were brilliant.” He beamed at me, clearly proud. “I saw an artistic spark in you long ago, but it was buried under all of your, ahem…”

“Brattiness?” I filled in. “You can say it. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Youthful exuberance,” he corrected, and smiled. He held a business card out to me. “I want you to call me. I am the production manager of an ice show in Las Vegas at one of the arenas, and I’m looking for a head choreographer with a sense of style and an idea of doing something different. Someone that wants to take risks but knows what they’re doing.”

I clutched the card against me. “I…okay. I’ll call you. Of course I will.” Shoot, I’d call him as soon as we left here. A job in Vegas? With one of the big, glitzy shows? Choreographing? It’d be a dream come true. And Penelope Marks had set it up?

I peered around, looking for cameras. Was this sincere or was this some sort of weird TV set-up? But no one was around except Edgar.

This was real.

“Good. Good. You call me.” He patted my shoulder. “Now go see your young man. He looks as if he wants to carry you away from me.”

I glanced over my shoulder where Ty lurked in the background. Sure enough, he was pacing, and he hadn’t even bothered to put the blade guards on his skates, which meant he was going to destroy them. And it was clear he didn’t care. I gave Edgar another quick hug and a promise to call, and then raced back over to Ty.

“Did you hear that?” I said excitedly. “A job in Vegas!”

His mouth curved into a smile. “Maybe there’s something to this mojo shit after all. I’m in Vegas too, remember?”

I did. My heart thudded loudly in my chest at the reminder, and I gazed up at him. “So what were you saying to me on the ice?”

He glanced around, then spotted a door nearby—the makeup room. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me there and then shut the door and locked it. We were the only ones in there.

Ty returned to my side, and then pulled me into his arms. “I was saying…maybe we give this a go after all. Maybe we try with strings attached.”

“Really?” I could scarcely dare to hope.

“Seems like the juju has it all worked out for us,” he said, his mouth curving into a smile. “You’ll be in Vegas, I’ll be in Vegas, you like kissing me, I like kissing you…”

It was definitely lucky that we’d both be in Vegas. But somehow, throwing luck in there made me…sad. “I thought we were supposed to make our own luck.”

“We should. I’m just basically saying anything that will convince you to not run away from me again.” Ty’s hands locked at my waist. “I’m kind of wild about you. You’re the only reason I didn’t quit after day two. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Although I did wonder why a big macho guy like you was into ice skating.”

“They paired me up with this hot little mouthy chick,” he murmured, leaning in until our noses pressed together. Then his rubbed against mine. “How could I resist?”

“Ty…I’m crazy about you,” I admitted.

“Not half as crazy as I am about you.”

“Good,” I breathed. “We can be crazy together.”

His big hands hauled me up against him, cupping my ass. “Want to be crazy together in a makeup room?”

“Absolutely.” My hands curled into the collar of his shirt, and I pulled his mouth down on my own. His h*ps pushed between my legs, and I wrapped mine around him, careful of my skate blades.

His lips swept over mine, and our mouths melded in a scorching pairing. My tongue flicked against his even as his hand slid up my skirt, searching out my panties. He cursed when he found them sewn into my dress. “Damn it. These f**king costumes.”

“I don’t know,” I told him in a throaty voice. “I kind of dig yours.” My hand gripped his ass and I squeezed.

“You’re not giving this dress back,” he warned me.

“I’m not?”

“Nope,” he said, and grasped the crotch of my panties and ripped at the fabric.

I gasped at the loud, tearing noise the fabric made, but for some reason, that only turned me on more. “Well, you’re not giving yours back either,” I told him. “I’m going to have you dress up as Johnny Castle for me all the time.”

“Who?”

“Dirty Dancing?”

“Never saw it.” He gave me a roguish look. “But I have to say, I like the theme.” His fingers slid under the ripped fabric and caressed my skin. “God, are you always this wet?”

“Only when I’m around you,” I whispered.

“Then I’m going to have to keep you around me all the time, aren’t I?” His mouth fastened on mine, hot and delicious, even as he began to unbuckle the belt on his pants.

My fingers went to the fastenings, trying to help, but I just got in the way. I settled for rubbing the length of his c*ck through his pants. “I love you, Ty,” I told him desperately.

“Love you too, Zara.” He kissed me again, and then he undid his pants. Before he let them slide to the ground, he pulled a small packet out of one trouser pocket—a condom.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Someone was hoping to get lucky.”

“We’re making our own luck, remember?” He dropped his trousers to his ankles, and they pooled around his skates.

I remembered. My hands stroked his chest, touching and petting him all over as he pushed down his boxer briefs and rolled the condom on. I couldn’t stop touching him. This was like a dream. Ty—my Ty—was about to go deep inside me, and we were going to ride off into the sunset together.

Well, more like ride off into Vegas together, but close enough.

Ty kissed me again, his fingers grazing my hard n**ples through the chiffon of my flowing pink gown. His c*ck slicked over my p**sy, and I moaned at the sensation of the head sliding through the lips of my sex. Then, he was pushing inside me.

I sucked in a breath, clinging to Ty. It was still tighter than I’d expected, but a moment later, the burn was gone. I pressed my mouth to his throat, licking and sucking at the skin there as he began to pound slowly, rhythmically into me.

I didn’t last long. I didn’t need to. Just knowing Ty was in my arms and wanted to be with me aroused me to heck and back. His thumb on my cl*t as he pounded into me? That certainly didn’t hurt matters. Ty came a few moments later, and he collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the counter of the makeup station I currently sat on. I probably had rouge and fake lashes plastered to the backside of my skirt. My skates were locked behind his back, still, and I was pretty sure that Ty’s pants were still around his ankles. We probably looked like a mess.

Didn’t care. Utter contentment swept over me.

Someone knocked at the door, jolting us out of our reverie. As one, we both looked over at the locked door.

“Shit,” Ty said. “I hope they don’t want us out on stage again.”

I giggled hysterically against his neck because that thought was horrifying and hilarious all at once. And it didn’t matter, now that the Ty and Zara team were taking their show on the road.

It turned out they did not want us back on stage, after all. Which was good, considering we looked like a disaster by the time we cleaned up enough to let someone into the room.

The next morning, I woke up, tucked against Ty’s side in bed. My phone was vibrating on a nearby nightstand, and I picked it up, squinting at the screen. Naomi had sent me a text with a link in it, and I clicked on it, curious.

MediaWeek magazine had run an article overnight. The headline was: EMMA RAWLEY WINS THE TROPHY, BUT SHE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO NAILS IT. The subtitle was: MMA LADIES’ MAN TY RANDALL IS HOT ON THE ICE…IN MORE THAN ONE WAY. And there was a gigantic picture of me leaning back against Ty in our signature Dirty Dancing pose. My n**ples were sticking out against my dress, and I was clearly aroused. My lipstick was smeared on my mouth…and on my partner’s.

I figured Ty’s man-card was pretty safe after all. It looked to all the world that he’d gone on the show and nailed his partner. Total stud move. I tossed the phone on the nightstand again and curled back up against Ty’s side.

“Mmm.” He reached for me, pulling me against him. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” I told him sleepily. “Go back to bed.”

“Only if you promise to stay.” He tightened his grip around me.

I slid my hands against his warm chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

The End