As nice as it felt to have his shoulder against mine, the direct contact of our palms is even better. He pulls me up, then lets the contact linger. Long enough that it stops feeling accidental. I’m filled with the sudden desire to curl up beside him and just let him hold me. The emotions that accompany this fantasy bring tears to my eyes, which I choose to blame on hormones rather than affection. It’s just a mood swing. It’s just the fact that he smells like pine soap, mint, and musk. Actually, scratch that, I amnot sniffing my client.
But I am holding his hand.
I am in so much trouble when it comes to this man. The terrifying part is that I’m not entirely sure I want to be rescued from it anymore.
Owen steers me into the hall, where he releases me with obvious reluctance. “Do you know how to skate?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Sort of. Not well, not like whatyoudo, but I can keep my skates under me while I’m on the rink, if that’s what you mean.”
“Cool. Follow me.”
We walk in silence to the PT room. Bowen’s wife, Violet, is sitting at her computer. She pops her head over the monitor when we enter. “Oh! Hello, Remy!” She lifts her hand all the way up in the air in an enthusiastic wave. “What’s up?”
“Can we borrow some skates? Mine are all huge.” Owen tilts his head toward me. “They won’t fit.”
“Sure! Help yourself.” She indicates the display of skates along the far wall.
I find a pair in my size, and we take the side door out to the rink. I’m dressed for Vegas weather, not for ice skating, but the chilly air is a novelty I don’t experience often. Besides, twenty-two Boston winters have prepared me for worse. Owen kneels to help me tie my skates, and the brush of his fingers across myankle makes me shiver with delight. Being cared for this gently feels dangerously addictive.
It takes Owen no time at all to retrieve his own skates and pull them on, though I shouldn’t be surprised, given that all this is second nature to him. By contrast, I’m a lot more shaky.
“You can breathe,” Owen teases. He takes my hand again, ostensibly for support this time.
“I’m literally walking on knives,” I point out. “Some of us are used to solid ground, thank you very much.” Emotionally and physically, honestly.
“I thought you knew how to skate?”
I narrow my eyes. He’s smiling again, which makesmesmile, so I suspect that the effect of my glare is somewhat lost on him.
We take a few slow turns around the outside of the rink, where I can have one hand in Owen’s and the other on the glass.
“Sorry for being boring,” I say, somewhat breathlessly. I tend to laugh when I’m nervous, and at the moment, I’m downright giggly.
“You’re slow. That’s fine. Once you relax a little, it’ll get easier.” The fact that he says it so sincerely somehow makes the accidental innuendo even worse.
The innuendo isn’t lost on me, but amazingly, Owen doesn’t seem to register the double entendre. That wasn’t a line. He’s just…
Nice.Owen Rourke is nice. And smart. And analytical. And really good at what he does. God, why is competence sohot?
Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing him as intimidating and started seeing him as safe. That realization should probably concern me more than it does.
He’s right about relaxing, too. Once I finally stop fretting about what my feet are doing, I’m able to glide. I manage to feel peaceful. Almost weightless.
Owen must sense it, because he swings around to take my other hand, skating backward so that he can watch my face. The attention in his eyes is almost unnervingly focused, like once Owen decides somebody matters, he doesn’t know how to hold anything back. “Want to move away from the wall?”
No, actually, I’d like you to press me against the glass and kiss me until I can’t breathe.“Sure.”
Truly inspirational restraint on my part there.
“Come on. You can see the crease up close.”
Without the net in place, we have only the marks on the rink to go by. Even though it’s just a flat expanse of ice, the shift in perspective is interesting. Still clinging to Owen, I contemplate the stands.
“It’s weird. Like being in a fishbowl. Do you mind having all those people watching you?”
Owen hums. “Not really. I guess I’m used to it.”
“Being the center of attention is normal for you, I guess.”
