Thin Ice (48 page)

"Emily! Emily! Over here!"

She scanned the sea of bobbing heads and spied Anna waving from a spot against the wal not twenty feet from the dressing room.

Keeping Robbie close—Miranda had gone to meet Bil in Stump's skybox—Emily inched her way through the jostling crowd until Augustus reached out and puled them between himself and Anna.

She squeezed herself against the wal and smiled apologeticaly. “I'm sorry. When I asked you to meet me here, I had no idea it would be such a madhouse."

"No problem at al, my dear,” Augustus assured her. “I haven't had this much fun since the Twins beat the Braves in the World Series."

Anna sent her husband a look of amused indulgence. “I'm surprised he isn't hoarse by now after al that shouting."

"Didja see our signs, Nanna?"

"Yes, and I liked yours the best."

Robbie beamed. “Do you think Eric liked them?"

"I think he'd be crazy not to.” She looked up as a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. “Here he comes now."

Emily turned to see Eric signing autographs at the entrance to the dressing room. His hair was wet and tousled, and he wore a damp Stanley Cup Champion T-Shirt that clung to his broad chest and biceps. She watched as he glanced around the crowd between signatures and smiles—until he spotted her by the wal. Her heart leapt as he excused himself, returned pen and pad to its owner, and started toward her. Their eyes locked, and Emily's breath backed up in her lungs. Eric picked up speed, al but plowing through the crowd, his body language daring his fans to move aside or risk being run over.

Reaching Emily, he hauled her into his arms for a victory kiss packed with enough voltage to light up the arena. Strangers hooted, cameras flashed, Robbie crowed, Anna beamed, Augustus chortled

—and for a ful minute Emily and Eric were oblivious to it al.

Eric puled back first, kept one arm around Emily, scooped up Robbie with the other, then hugged them both, hard.

"God, I've missed you guys."

Emily awoke mid-morning to find herself surrounded by Eric. His face was buried in her hair, his arm draped across her midriff, one cotton-covered thigh territorialy pinned her to the bed. She smiled, feeling utterly content ... and wel loved. They'd spent the night in the company of Eric's exultant teammates and friends, sharing in a the company of Eric's exultant teammates and friends, sharing in a madness that Emily wouldn't have asked Eric to miss for the world.

He'd hesitated at first, but she'd insisted, and in the end they'd attended—and thoroughly enjoyed themselves at—half a dozen victory parties, the last of which had seen half the team and Lord Stanley's Cup cavorting in Bil and Miranda's backyard pool.

They'd returned to Eric's apartment just before dawn. Their coming together had been sweet and gentle, a slow, exquisite rebirth of their love while the sun gave birth to a new day. Emily had falen asleep secure in her love for Eric, and his for her.

She eased away from him now, and slipped out of bed, his Stanley Cup Champion T-shirt faling to wel past her thighs. Eric roled onto his stomach, buried his nose in her pilow, murmured her name, then shifted his head and smiled. Her heart overflowed with love and she couldn't help but smile back.

Her gentle warrior. His hair was mussed, his jaw bruised and stubble-covered. He had half a dozen bruises on his back, and even more on his chest, but she'd never thought him more beautiful.

Silently she padded into the living room to stare out the window at the busy street below, and think about the night. It amazed her how easily Eric had accepted her return. How openly he'd welcomed her back. How proudly he'd introduced her to his teammates and their friends and families. She wondered how much time they had before he left for Barton.

Would he stil leave? If he did, would he return in the fal to play for the Saints? If he didn't, if he signed on with another team, or was traded, would he ask her to folow him? To quit her job? Sel her house? Uproot Robbie? She considered the possibilities. With thirty teams in the NHL, they could end up anywhere, from Boston to Vancouver, Calgary to Tampa.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but as the sun rose over the city, Eric slipped his arms around her from behind. She welcomed his company, and leaned back into his solid, sleep-warmed chest. He aligned their bodies more closely, crossed his arms over hers and rested his chin on her head.

"You're looking pretty serious this morning, Doctor. What's the matter? Doesn't the prognosis look good?"

She turned in his arms, saw the vulnerability behind his smile, the uncertainty in his eyes. It hurt her to know she'd put it there; to know that no matter how deeply he loved her, he might never again completely trust her. She'd hurt him, badly, yet he'd welcomed her back without question. He'd accepted her return on faith, and deserved nothing less than her complete faith in him in return.

It didn't matter where they went. What mattered was being together, making sure she never again gave Eric cause to doubt her love. Gently, she traced the bruise on his shadowed jaw, stepped on her tiptoes to feather a kiss across his lips, then smiled.

"On the contrary. Things have never looked better."

"On the contrary. Things have never looked better."

She had wonderful hands. Hands that healed and aroused at the same time, they were nothing short of magical. But then he'd always known that. It had been her hands, the innate gentleness of her touch, that had seduced him from the start. Eric lay on his stomach while Emily straddled his hips, her hands moving surely and soothingly across his back, drawing away the tension that had knotted his vitals at waking up to find her gone.

He had no idea what she'd meant by ‘things have never looked better’ but when she'd kissed him again, long and deep and slow, then led him back to bed, he'd have stopped breathing before he'd ask. Wordlessly, she'd stripped him of his pajama pants, her dark, depthless eyes not leaving his, then motioned for him to lie on his stomach. He'd complied ... and discovered nirvana. The reality of Emily's hands on his battered body far exceeded his post-game fantasies. Surpassed even his most secret dreams.

"Rol over."

He blinked, and realized he'd nearly falen asleep. He definitely didn't want to sleep through this. Moving slowly, as if through molasses, he pushed himself onto his back—and looked into the amused green eyes of an angel.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?” he rumbled contentedly.

"Having you at my mercy? Completely."

She straddled him again and resumed her sweet torture. He found the smooth friction of her silk panties between them erotic as they slid across his skin in subtle rhythm with her hands. When he felt her dampness against his abs, an electric shock buzzed through his blood. It was al he could do not to rear up, rol her over and bury himself inside her.

But he held back, eager to see what else she had in store for him.

Her long, silken curls tickled him mercilessly and sensitized his nerve endings. She brushed butterfly kisses across his shoulders and chest, and smoothed her hands down his arms, her fingers flexing on his biceps as she molded their shape and contours. She linked her hands with his, then lifted her hips and moved lower, until she knelt between his spread thighs. The cool air on his damp, exposed abdomen fanned a fire that seared him with its heat.

But Emily didn't seem to notice. With warm, loving lips she blessed his bruises and ignited tiny fires across his skin as she moved from breast to navel. She released his hands and fluttered her fingers along the insides of his thighs. He closed his eyes in primal pleasure, and prayed he wouldn't explode. When her hand closed around him, he groaned in relief. When she took him inside her mouth, he nearly rocketed from the bed.

His head came up, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his breath rough as his hands found her hair. “Emily ... Emily you don't have to..."

Her smile was infinitely gentle. “I want to."

Her smile was infinitely gentle. “I want to."

With that, she dipped her head and returned to him. His hands clenched and unclenched in her hair as she loved him with a devotion more shattering than anything he'd experienced.

"Emily ... Emily ... you have to stop. I'm going to—Emily!!"

He went rigid as blood rushed like wildfire to his groin. He gasped for air and made one last attempt to pul her away, but she stayed with him, her determination stronger. Crying out her name again, he poured himself into her.

Trembling, spent, unable to lift so much as a dust mote, he lay there, his breath ragged, his mind and body rippling with the aftershocks of his release. If he died at that moment, Eric knew he would meet his maker with sheer joy in his soul.

Slowly he opened his eyes, to find her watching him. Her green eyes glistened as she reached out and touched his face.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Somehow he found the energy to cover her hand with his. “I need you next to me."

With a smile so ful of love he thought he'd die from it, she drew the oversize T-shirt he'd given her over her head. Then she kicked off her panties and came to him, melting against him as he fitted their bodies together like hand to glove.

bodies together like hand to glove.

Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, so natural.

On a serrated sigh of content, he kissed her crown, his body stil tingling. She snuggled against him and echoed his sigh with a deeply contented murmur of her own.

"You ... are incredible,” he breathed against her hair.

She smiled, kissed his pectoral. “No, I'm in love."

Emily emerged from her shower to find Eric lounging on the sofa in his boxers, watching ESPN on his big plasma screen and eating a sandwich.

"That for me?” she asked as she toweled her hair dry. A thick ham and cheese on rye occupied a plate on the coffee table. A tal glass of milk stood next to it.

He looked up and grinned lasciviously. “Could be. Depends on what you're wiling to trade for it."

She smiled, sank onto the sofa beside him, and helped herself.

“Keep your shorts on, Cameron. Take it from a doctor. Too much of a good thing can be detrimental to your health."

He laughed and returned his attention to the screen. ESPN was loaded with stories and perspectives on the Saints’ victory the night before. The camera cut to a site in downtown Minneapolis, where fans were already gathering for the celebration the city would host to honor the team that afternoon.

Emily washed down her sandwich with the milk. “What time do you have to be there?"

"Not ‘til three-thirty. Want to come?"

Emily hesitated. “I can't. Robbie wil be looking for me when he gets home from school. His first day back and al."

Eric hit the remote and shut off the television. “No problem."

"You're sure?"

He shot her a strange look. “Why wouldn't I be? I know you have other commitments. I always have. I'd never ask you to choose between me and Robbie. You're his mother. You know what he needs. If he expects you to be at home when he gets there, then that's where you need to be.” He reached for her hand. “I have no intention of making unfair demands on your time, Emily. And team promotional events like this come under the heading of unfair demands in my book. Sure, I'd love to have you with me today, but it's enough just to know you're thinking about me.” He squeezed her hand, then reached for his own milk and took a long swalow.

“Besides, it's going to be a madhouse down there. I'd spend al my

“Besides, it's going to be a madhouse down there. I'd spend al my time worrying about you getting trampled or something."

"You'l come by the house when you're done?"

He wiggled his brows. “I'l even bring my overnight bag if you want me to."

"Er ... I don't know about that."

"You think Robbie would have a problem with me sleeping in the guest room?"

"No ... but I think my houseguest would.” At his look of surprise, Emily exhaled resignedly. “We need to talk, Eric. About the reason I told you I couldn't see you anymore."

Slowly, he returned his glass to the coffee table. “Al right. What do you want to know?"

"Want to know?"

"About what happened with my ex-wife."

"Nothing."

Her lack of hesitation stunned him. “Nothing?"

"Unless you want to tel me, of course. But I don't have any questions. I know you didn't beat her."

Eric blinked. He'd waited an eternity for someone to accept his innocence on faith, and to have that person be Emily...

He swalowed past the lump in his throat. “How do you know that?"

"I spent twenty years living in fear of my father,” she said quietly, stunning him anew. “I spent another three married to an abuser as wel. Both of them were cowards. You may be many things, Eric, but you're no coward. You'd never hit a woman."

Touched beyond measure, Eric leaned back against the couch and opened his arms. “C'mere."

She set her empty plate aside, wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest as if there were nowhere she'd rather be, no one she trusted more. Eric closed his eyes, felt the peace build inside him, pressed his lips to her hair and tightened his arms around her, holding fast to her love.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispered, his voice catching.

She looked up at him and smiled demurely. “And here I thought it was only lust."

He grinned, his equilibrium restored. “I'l show you lust."