Page 22 of Ice Dance

How smoothly he’d glided across the ice, how his hips had swayed, how his back had arched, then his head tilted, arms out, wrists flicked, and that wink. Of course it was all part of the routine, part of the story, but he told a good story with his body. And we could tell his story together if we made it through selection. What had he said when he’d presented his new choreography to me? A dance about distance, about an argument, a battle, and then the surrender.

I had danced with Alisha like someone paints by numbers. Navarro was a whole canvas of color waiting to be explored.

I sipped my wine and pushed the thoughts from my head.

Everything we’re doing is dangerous.

He’d said that about the lift. A lift we still hadn’t performed. The selection panel likely wouldn’t need to see the lift. They just needed to see how we were technically prepared to compete.

His smile, his laugh, the roll of his shoulders . . . How he felt so natural under my hands now, after just a few days.

Dancing with Navarro was dangerous for reasons that should not feature in my thoughts.

But like him, I wanted the danger. I understood that now. Alisha was safe. They’d all been safe, and that had been fine for second place. Navarro was the wildcard, the danger, and to dance like I knew I could, to dance to win, it had to be with him.

But it meant being close to a man I’d begun to think about in ways that were not appropriate.

“Roxanne” . . . That old routine. The kicks, the flicks, my own flare and passion. The fact he’d watched it and remembered it, from years ago.

If he’d known why I’d danced like I had for him, why I’d said yes, we’d both be in trouble. I couldn’t ever say the words, nobody would ever know my real thoughts when it came to men. I’d learned that very early on. Boys did not admire men, like I had. And so, I didn’t admire anyone. It was easier that way.

Until Navarro.

His easy smile, his free laughter, the sensual sway of his hips. I looked at my hand, at my palm. I wanted those hips under my hands, even now. Wanted to pull him close, to breathe him in like I wasn’t allowed, to thread my fingers into his hair, make him gasp again. I wanted to move with him, in ways that had nothing to do with dance.

I curled my fingers into a fist.

Damn him.

We could do this.

He was everything I hadn’t known I’d needed.

And everything that might destroy me.

That was the price for the win.

That was my risk.

Was I brave enough to take it?

TWELVE

CAMDEN

Selection day.

No training today. Dylan had said we were going straight to the international rink for warm-up at ten a.m. Selection began at eleven. Everyone was going to be there for the warm-ups, but the selection process happened in private in front of the panel. No spectators.

I arrived early and looked for Hasegawa. He hadn’t turned up yet. Neither had Dylan. That was fine, I’d get some time on the ice before shit got serious.

Fifteen minutes after I’d stepped on the ice, I spotted Casey and Jen, gave them a little time to get settled on the benches by the boards, and then skated over and stepped off the ice, onto the rubber matting.

“Thought you’d vanished,” Casey laughed. He shoved out his hand, and we shook with a friendly shoulder slap too. “You stopped replying to my texts.”

“Yeah, sorry, I got caught up in something.” I scanned the rink, only half aware I was still looking for Hasegawa.

“Something good, I hope.”