Thin Ice (12 page)

"She already has one there. This one was hers before she remarried. She enjoys playing while she waits for Robbie to come home from school."

Eric smiled and moved past her to her dark oak dining room, where he silently studied her floral watercolors, her Blue Wilow china, and discovered she colected smal silver crystal animals.

Running a lazy fingertip across her ivory lace tablecloth, he preceded her into the kitchen.

He smiled again. “Somehow I knew it would look like this—warm, cozy, cluttered in a realy good way,” he said, taking in her short trestle table and four chairs with hearts cut into the backs of them.

"You like clutter?"

Stil smiling, he peered into a cow-shaped cookie jar. “I like feeling like I'm in a home where people who love each other live."

Emily went warm al over. She smiled, feeling more relaxed in his company than she would've thought possible. Amazingly, there was something about the sight of Eric Cameron poking around in her kitchen that felt right. Natural. Comfortable, even.

"Help yourself,” she said, wishing she had that cup of coffee he'd wanted brewing, and a piece of her deep dish apple pie to offer him with it.

He withdrew two ginger snaps and munched on them as he studied He withdrew two ginger snaps and munched on them as he studied Robbie's artwork on the refrigerator, her monthly calendar and the mishmash of photos, notes and lists tacked to the buletin board by the phone. Coming to stand beside her, he looked out the multi-paned window over the sink. It was dark out now, but during the day she had a bird's eye view of her shed, and Robbie's swing set and sandbox, both long since outgrown. She supposed she should sel the swing set. It wasn't likely she'd be having any more children.

The thought brought a stab of regret, but she dismissed it. She'd made her choices.

Besides, with the Foundation to support, she had enough on her plate as it was.

"Yeah, I like it,” Eric said. “I like it a lot.” He turned to her and smiled. “Robbie's very lucky."

The nostalgic note in his voice made her wonder where he'd grown up, what his life had been like before he'd become a star athlete.

He'd denied it that night in the ER, but surely he had family somewhere.

The grandfather clock in the hal chimed six-fifteen. Emily looked at the kitchen clock in surprise. Eric had been in the house for over twenty minutes. “You're going to be late."

"I know.” His eyes captured hers. “Walk me to the door?"

She swalowed, knowing what he was asking. “Sure."

But at the front door, she paused, suddenly unsure. What would happen now? Would he say goodbye and mean it this time? She doubted it. And how did she realy feel about that?

"Thanks for letting me inside,” Eric said quietly. “I know it wasn't easy for you."

"Easier than I expected it to be,” she said wryly.

His eyes darkened to brown velvet. “I'm glad."

Their eyes locked and he slowly lowered his head. Heart hammering, Emily went perfectly stil. But when his lips touched hers, everything faded away but the moment. And in that moment, Emily Jordan tasted heaven for the very first time.

Never had she been kissed with such quiet reverence or sensual finesse. Never. After a brief first kiss that barely brushed her lips, Eric kissed each corner of her mouth with whisper softness, then returned to press his lips to hers again in a kiss that made every part of her yearn for more.

He puled away just as she swayed forward, catching her gently by the upper arms. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then sent her a slow, sexy smile, a smile filed with a delicious sense of warmth and promise.

"See you soon,” he said and released her.

Emily nodded, too dazed to speak. Her headache was gone. Her muscles no longer ached. Every ounce of her earlier tension had evaporated. She felt warm and fuzzy al over, as if she were floating.

Eric opened the front door and loped across the lawn.

"Eric, wait!” she caled when he was halfway to his car.

He turned, a distracted look on his moonlit face.

"My keys."

He pointed to the Suburban. “In the ignition."

Emily didn't see Eric again until Friday, but when she did, she spotted him right away. It didn't take much longer for the other parents in the rink to do the same. Within seconds of his arrival, she heard his name being tossed like a beach bal among the chiled spectators in the bleachers.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket, he stood near the rink's front entrance, a light dusting of snow on his shoulders. Seeming oblivious to the wave of excited whispers that rippled through the stands behind him, he studied the Mites game in progress, one Red Wings player in particular. It wasn't until Robbie returned to the bench after his shift on the ice that Eric turned to scan the stands.

scan the stands.

Emily's pulse fluttered and she suddenly felt ten degrees warmer as he smiled and started toward her. A grinning elderly couple in matching Minneapolis Saints jerseys intercepted him. As the man pumped Eric's hand, Emily recovered from her surprise and smiled.

In the last five days, Eric had played three games, two of them in Detroit and Toronto, and had gotten at least one goal or assist in each. Much to her son's delight, Emily had taken to reading the sports page. She'd even let him stay up to watch one of the games.

They'd spiled popcorn al over her bed when Eric had scored the winning goal in overtime.

A young couple joined Eric, then a group of teenage boys, then a family of four. Emily divided the next fifteen minutes between corraling her own excitement at seeing Eric again, monitoring his snail-like progress toward her between handshakes and autographs, and watching Robbie's shifts on the ice. By the time Eric reached her, his smile looked a little thin.

"Sorry I'm late.” He eased onto the bench beside her.

"Late? I didn't expect you at al."

He sent her a chiding look. “I couldn't miss Robbie's first game."

"How did you know—?"

He held up a hand and nodded at the rink, where Robbie had stepped onto the ice. Emily capped her curiosity, realizing he'd stepped onto the ice. Emily capped her curiosity, realizing he'd missed a good portion of the game while he catered to his fans.

When Robbie's shift was over, she glanced back at Eric to find him stil immersed in the game, his face impassive, his eyes not missing a trick. God help the fan who climbed into the bleachers to make his acquaintance now, she thought. Clearly no one, but no one, came between Eric Cameron and his sport.

During the next stoppage in play, he said, “I read the date on your calendar. The one from your insurance agent."

She smiled as she recaled the image of Eric poking around in her kitchen, studying the calendar next to the phone. The memory had kept her company as she'd muddled through the Foundation's finances at the kitchen table, al the while hoping he would cal.

But he hadn't. Her smile faded. So why was he here?

"I've missed you,” he said.

"I ... imagine you've been busy."

"Not too busy to remember how wonderful you taste."

Emily flushed. A horn blared. One of the teams had scored.

Unfortunately, it was the opposing team. For the rest of the game they focused on Robbie. Afterward, Eric joined Emily in the locker room with Robbie, much to the amazement of the other players and parents. As if he did it every day, Eric dropped to his haunches and began unlacing Robbie's skates.

began unlacing Robbie's skates.

"Great game, Sport,” he said as Emily handed Robbie a bottle of water to drink.

Robbie's eyes, already bright with excitement, burned even brighter.

“Did you realy think so?"

"Especialy the part where you almost got that goal. Not too shabby for your first game."

"Coach said I woulda had it, but I leaned back when I aimed."

"He's right, but even if you hadn't, you stil might've made it if you'd...” Eric described a move that locked in the attention of Robbie's closest teammates. As the room slowly fel silent, Emily couldn't tel who was more excited—the kids at listening to Eric Cameron speak up close and personal, or Eric at the opportunity to share his love of his sport with her son.

He finished unlacing Robbie's skates, puled them off and stood—

and noticed the silence in the room. “Oops."

"No, no, Mr. Cameron, please continue,” Coach Parker said.

“Please.” The parents in the room heartily echoed the invitation.

"Al right, then.” Smiling, Eric slipped into the role of teacher, dispensing advice and encouragement to each player personaly. His eye for detail and passion for the game shone through, and Emily thought it a shame he didn't have children of his own. Afterward, thought it a shame he didn't have children of his own. Afterward, Coach Parker invited everyone to meet at Pizza King in half an hour to celebrate their victory. As the Red Wings bundled off with their families, al thanking Eric as they left, Emily helped Robbie reorganize his equipment, while Eric continued talking with the coach.

"Can we go to Pizza King, Mom? I'm starving."

She snapped his skate guards onto his blades and smiled. She suspected he'd say the same even if he wasn't. “I guess you are, with al that skating you did."

"I did good, didn't I?"

She zipped his hockey bag shut and set it aside, then bent to give him a big hug. “Sweetheart, you were wonderful."

"Aw, Mom."

"What?"

"People wil see."

Sighing inwardly, Emily straightened. And so it begins, she thought with a maternal pang. Her little boy was growing up.

"Glen said I could ride with him and Marc and Joey."

"I think that's a great idea,” Eric said from behind Emily. “That way your mom can ride with me."

your mom can ride with me."

Robbie's eyes went wide. “You're coming, too?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. We won't cramp your style. We'l sit in a corner and pretend we don't know you."

Robbie laughed in delight. “You guys."

* * * *

They'd decided to take the Subway since they'd be bringing Robbie back with them. Rather, Eric had suggested it, making some cryptic remark about wanting to see how the car was running, anyhow.

Since it was only a five-minute drive, Emily had agreed. With her gloves, she dusted off the car's windows. A light snow had falen, covering the cars, yet melting as it hit the ground.

Eric slammed the hatch door shut, jarring the night's stilness. “You want me to drive?"

"No, I'l be okay,” Emily answered vaguely, and wondered not for the first time if Robbie had mentioned her driving phobia.

Eric draped an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck.

“Good. That way I won't have to keep my hands on the wheel."

“Good. That way I won't have to keep my hands on the wheel."

She slipped away with a nervous laugh, not used to being cuddled by a man. Her father had never touched her, and Ryan had rarely been affectionate, touching her only when he wanted sex ... or to inflict pain. She shuddered involuntarily, recaling how he'd used her need for simple human contact to his advantage.

"Emily?"

She looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the driver's door.

“What?"

"Do I stil frighten you?"

He did, but not in the way she suspected he meant. She was afraid of getting involved with him, of coming to care for him so much she forgot to keep her heart safe. “Of course not. I'm just anxious to get going before the others wonder what's keeping us."

He studied her for a long moment before apparently coming to a decision. Sighing, he leaned back against the side of the Suburban and held out an ungloved hand. “Come here.” It wasn't an order. It wasn't even a request. It was more of a friendly, “C'mere, I want to show you something.” When she hesitated, he wiggled his fingers.

“C'mon, Emily, I promise I won't bite."

She moved toward him uncertainly. He smiled his encouragement and drew her forward until she stood before him, their hands clasped, his back stil against the side of the car. “I want you to kiss clasped, his back stil against the side of the car. “I want you to kiss me, Emily."

The fire inside her rekindled.

He released her hands and held his up in surrender. “I'l even keep these behind my back if you want me to."

"Eric, this isn't necessary,” she said in embarrassment.

"Oh, but it is. For whatever reason, it is, and tonight I'm playing by your rules. Now, where do you want my hands?"

Loaded, question, that. But she looked into his eyes and found them clear and direct. This wasn't a game to him. This wasn't teasing.

This was real. “Behind my back,” she whispered.

He opened his arms. She stepped forward and placed her hands on his chest. His cable knit sweater was soft beneath her palms, a sharp contrast to the hard strength it concealed. He spread his legs to accommodate her, then slid his hands around her down parka, linked them at the back of her waist and puled her close.

"Perfect,” he murmured.

"How so?” she asked uneasily, thankful the thickness of her coat prevented direct body contact.

He chuckled. “Because I've wanted to give you a hug for weeks, Emily Jordan. I don't think I've met anyone who deserved one Emily Jordan. I don't think I've met anyone who deserved one more."