Thin Ice (15 page)

"Where do you fit in?"

He grinned. “I'm the biggest ice hog of al."

Her elbows were on the table, her chin resting on her linked fingers.

“Is that why they elected you captain?"

"Elected?” He snorted. “I wasn't elected. I was appointed by Stump for shooting off my big mouth."

She said nothing, simply smiled and nodded, as if confirming something she'd suspected al along. Eric smiled back, feeling utterly content. It didn't get any better than this. A quiet evening at home with a special woman. A bed waiting upstairs that—

Suddenly she stood, and crossed to the coffee pot. “Coffee? It's decaf."

Damn. She'd seen his thoughts in his eyes. “Sure. Black."

Silence fel between them as she poured. Eric waited it out, and wondered what was going through her mind. It was impossible to tel with a woman like Emily. She was so self-contained, so in control of herself. Hel, she even blow-dried her curly hair straight control of herself. Hel, she even blow-dried her curly hair straight to keep it in line. Watching her calm, graceful movements as she poured her own cup of coffee, he wondered if she ever realy let herself go.

"It sounds like an interesting conversation,” she said.

Huh? What was she talking about? Oh, his run-in with Stump. “It wasn't a conversation. I ranted and raved, he listened—whether he wanted to or not."

She paused in clearing their plates, brow arched. “You lost your temper with Ronald Stump?"

She seemed more surprised than disapproving. Suddenly he needed to explain to someone what had happened that day—no one else had bothered to ask. “Only after six weeks of busting my butt and seeing my career sliding down the tubes for it. I stormed into Stump's office during one of his wheeler-dealer meetings and told him if he didn't find a way to light a fire under those bas—men, he was going to be the laughingstock of the country. He was supposed to have created a Dream Team of Al-Stars who'd show the league what the game is al about. Instead he ended up with a bunch of prima donnas who wouldn't stop infighting long enough to see they were headed straight for the golf course."

Emily glanced over her shoulder as she reached into a cupboard for some smal plates. “And what was his response?"

Eric decided he liked watching her move around the kitchen while Eric decided he liked watching her move around the kitchen while he talked. It made him feel more like family than a guest she felt obligated to give her undivided attention to.

"Then, he just nodded at me from behind his steepled fingers, thanked me and said he'd look into it. The next morning he visited practice—a payback, I suppose, for my barging in on his power lunch—personaly stripped of his captaincy the man the team had elected, and named me as his replacement."

Emily winced. “I bet that went over real wel."

"Especialy when he fired the coach, too."

She paused, the refrigerator door half open. “He expected you to coach and play?"

"No, he named our general manager Bil Saunders the team's interim coach, but Bil and I go back a ways, so we're tight, and—is that a lemon meringue pie?"

"Homemade,” she answered with a smug smile and placed a piece the size of Stump arena in front of him.

His mouth began to water. “Emily, you should've warned me."

"And ruined the surprise? Never."

"Good grief, I haven't had homemade lemon meringue pie since...” He closed his eyes against the sharp stab of pain at the memory of He closed his eyes against the sharp stab of pain at the memory of his mother surprising him after school, her face stil young and pretty. Not ravaged by alcohol. “I'm sorry. I'm rambling again.” He took a forkful of pie. He didn't want to talk about his mother. Not tonight.

"Wel?” Emily asked, half a minute later, indicating the pie.

Eric grinned broadly, his taste buds rioting. “I think I'm in love.

What are the chances of Anna leaving her husband?"

"Anna!"

"Doesn't she do the cooking for you and Robbie?"

Emily turned an attractive shade of pink. “Wel, yes, but only because I rarely have time to anymore."

"Are you teling me you made this fantastic pie?"

"And the green bean casserole."

Eric looked at the nearly empty casserole dish. “But you told me you don't cook."

"Just because I don't doesn't mean I can't."

He looked back to see her expression suspended between knowing she'd been caught in a fib and pleasure at having surprised him.

Reaching across the table, he took her hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “I'l keep that in mind."

She shivered, her eyes darkening to a deep sea green. “Behave yourself, Cameron, or I'l toss you out in the snow."

He laughed in delight. “Just make sure you toss the pie out behind me."

Eric helped Emily with the dishes. Tomorrow the Saints would head out for their last road trip of the regular season and he wouldn't be back for ten days. The thought of leaving for so long with things so up in the air between himself and Emily didn't set wel with Eric, but if he wanted to keep seeing her, he'd have to get used to it. His career didn't leave a lot of time for a steady relationship, and there was Emily's career to consider. She wasn't the kind of woman who could come running whenever he had a few hours to kil.

"Just slip the towel through the refrigerator door handle,” she said from beside him as she reached into an overhead cupboard to put something away. Her loose hair brushed his arm, and sparked anew the idea of simply hauling her into his arms and taking his chances.

She liked him, al right. The question was whether she liked him enough to—

"Yoo-hoo, Eric. You stil with me?"

He blinked away an image of them getting naked on the kitchen table. “Sure. Sure. I was just ... thinking."

She smiled. “Then I like how you look when you think. Would you like more coffee?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Pretty soon that smile would be his undoing. “I'd better not.” He glanced out the window, where the snow had turned to sleet. “I should get going. It's getting bad out there."

"I'l wrap up the rest of the pie for you to take with you."

Trying not to feel put out by her easy wilingness to let him go, he watched her smooth the lid of one of those plastic containers women stored leftovers in. Her corkscrew curls bounced gently as she forced air from the container. Eric found the picture of quiet domesticity she presented impossible to resist. Gently he slipped his arms around her from behind.

She stiled, but didn't pul away. Taking it as a positive sign, he nuzzled her neck. “I'd rather take you with me."

She hesitated a beat, then laughed lightly. “Sorry. I don't have a Tupperware container big enough to fit me into. Besides, Robbie might notice I'm missing in the morning."

His eyes met hers in the kitchen window. “Then let me stay."

"The night?"

"The night?"

"At least.” She felt too good in his arms, too right to let go when morning came.

She looked away first. “I can't."

"Why not? We're two unattached, consenting adults, who—"

She turned to face him and splayed her hands on his chest. “Who hardly know each other."

Her hair smeled of peaches. He smiled. “We could work on that."

"It would take a lot longer than one night, Eric."

Frustration nipped at him. “And you don't have time for that."

Gently, she shook her head. “Neither of us does right now."

"But if we did?"

Her eyes were clear and direct. “I'd very much like the chance to get to know you better."

"Then we'l make the time, Emily."

She smiled then, her smile so sweet it took his breath away.

“Okay."

"Can I kiss you now?"

"Can I kiss you now?"

"Please do."

Carefuly, he slid his fingers into her hair. Slowly, he explored her mouth and fed his curiosity the same way he'd let her feed hers that too-long-ago night in the ice rink parking lot. The scent of peaches and tang of lemon aroused him to an almost painful pitch, but didn't stop him from savoring her sweet softness melting against him. Her body responded to him so naturaly, so honestly. He didn't doubt he could make her so hot they al but burned the house down around them.

But hot wasn't on the agenda tonight. Eric forced himself to pul back. She'd made herself clear on that point, and he wasn't about to cheat himself out of heaven by pushing for too much, too soon, no matter what his instincts told him.

"Oh, yeah, we'l make plenty of time for this,” he breathed. “You taste so good, I don't think I'l ever get enough of you."

Her eyes sparkled like emeralds as she slipped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"I leave at one for Montreal."

"But your game isn't until Monday night."

"We fly into town the day before a game if we can. Gives us time to get oriented. Besides, I have some business to take care of while get oriented. Besides, I have some business to take care of while I'm in town."

"On Sunday?"

"I own a restaurant there."

She leaned back. “You're kidding."

Eric chuckled. “Actualy I own five. One in each city I've played pro for. They're caled Amelia's. Named after my mother."

"How nice! Where does she live?"

"She's dead."

"Oh.” Emily looked lost for a moment. “I'm sorry."

"It was a while ago. Before I made pro."

"Oh, Eric."

He wished he could shrug it off, but he couldn't quite manage it. His mother had always been a painful subject for him. Being with Emily made it not quite so painful, but he stil didn't want to talk about it.

"So tel me about these Amelia's,” Emily said, somehow sensing his thoughts. She spooked him when she did that, but this time he was grateful for it. “Are they ... hockey hangouts?"

He laughed at the thought. “Hel, no. They've got more class than He laughed at the thought. “Hel, no. They've got more class than that. They're not realy affiliated with my career. In fact, they're realy good restaurants, but we do a hefty bar business in the evenings. They're decorated with plants and brass and antiques, the kind of stuff yuppies seem to appreciate."

"And you don't?"

He shrugged. “I'm more a hole-in-the-wal kind of guy. It's ... what I grew up with."

"Then why invest in them and not some friendly neighborhood hole in the wal?"

Eric thought of the “friendly” neighborhood dive he'd visited the night he'd met Emily. His lawyer stil wasn't able to prove he hadn't walked into Harry's Place looking for a fight. The regulars refused to change their story and Eric wasn't into forced confessions. If something didn't break soon, he was going to be out a lot of money.

His insurance company had refused to cover the cost of the damages.

"Because, dives, my dear, don't make the money."

With that, he kissed her again. Time out was over.

Emily was more than happy to stop talking. In the past fifty minutes she'd learned more about Eric Cameron than she had in the past five weeks, and it was making her head spin. Or was it the way his tongue swept through her mouth like he was determined to capture tongue swept through her mouth like he was determined to capture every last trace of lemon meringue pie? Or the way his hands stole beneath her sweatshirt, his caluses sensitizing her skin until she fairly crackled with sexual energy?

It didn't matter. She was drowning in sweet sensation and loving every second of it. She tunneled her fingers through Eric's hair and reveled in its softness, so unlike the hard thigh that had slipped between her legs to tease the ache building at its apex. Soon she was pressed against him so fiercely they risked the need to be surgicaly separated. Leaning back to ride his thigh, she moaned, then arched her back when his hand slid up to capture a feverish breast that felt as if it had been custom made for his palm.

"Emily,” he rasped as his talented fingers sent her into sensory overload. “We've got to stop. I don't think I can stand much more of this. I haven't been this hard since—"

"Oh no. Oh no.” Her voice emerged high and breathless. “Eric ...

don't stop moving. Please. Not now.” Her hands dug into his shoulders. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Eyes closed, she ground herself against his thigh.

With a startled oath, Eric realized what was happening. Gripping her hips, he lifted her higher against his thigh. “Hold on, Emily, it's going to be al right."

Emily could only wrap her arms around him and pant as he matched the rhythm of her grinding hips. She strained against him as he slid the rhythm of her grinding hips. She strained against him as he slid one of his oh-so-accurate hands inside her sweatpants. The instant he touched her she detonated. With a wild cry of release she felt the dam inside her burst and flood her with molten heat.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she drifted back to earth. Her nerve endings quivered as she slumped against Eric's chest, her forehead slick with sweat, her arms wrapped limply around his neck. The sound of sleet pelting the windows punctuated their ragged breathing.

Gradualy Emily became aware of Eric's hips braced against the kitchen counter, his hands on her bare bottom, and the soaking wetness between her legs.

She groaned in mortification.

"Emily? Are you al right?"

Stupid question, she thought. Stupid, stupid question. She'd never be al right again.

Torn between wanting to die on the spot and wanting to curl up in Eric's arms and drift off into the afterglow, she lifted her head and blinked at the kitchen light that suddenly seemed too bright. Eric eased his hands from her bottom to link them behind her back, providing her with much-needed support. Bonelessly she slid against him until her feet touched the floor, and remained that way as he straightened, her knees stil too weak to hold her.