Naughty Or Ice

by Sylvia Pierce

  Walker stared into the golden depths of her eyes as he felt his own white-hot orgasm build, build, build, his balls tightening, his muscles clenching tight, tighter, and holy shit he fucking exploded, so hard, so hot, emptying himself fully with a final shuddering thrust between her perfect, creamy thighs until he was utterly, completely spent.

  With a contented sigh, Eva melted in his arms, resting her head against his chest as they sat in silence, slowly coming back to earth. Walker pressed his lips to the top of her head, counting the strong beats of his heart, and damn if he didn’t want to stay on that bench with her forever.

  But it was only a few minutes when he felt her shifting, the moment sliding away from them.

  Slowly she untangled herself, rising off the bench and looking at him once more. Her smile was tentative, her skin flush with pleasure. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, and he was too far gone for words.

  They hunted for their pants and dressed in silence, and Walker sat on the bench and watched as Eva tugged the fleece down over her hips, then attempted to smooth her hair back into the bun. Her cheeks were pink, her lips puffy.

  Walker was in a daze. He could still taste her, still feel her electric touch. He didn’t want to be done. Didn’t want to go back out on the ice, back to the place where they fought and he ached and his whole career stood on the brink.

  Because here, for just a little while, Eva Bradshaw had done better than go back in time.

  She’d stopped it altogether.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You’re awful quiet,” Roscoe said. “Things go okay with your ice skater today?”

  Ignoring him, Walker reached forward and cranked up the heat, blasting the cabin of his truck. They were en route to Wellshire Place with a Christmas tree the size of Nebraska strapped to the roof, Roscoe’s arm stretched out through the passenger window to keep it steady while Walker navigated a full-on lake effect snowstorm.

  His mother had always loved Christmas—downsizing from the house Walker had initially set her up in to the small assisted living apartment she now occupied at Wellshire had done nothing to alter her holiday decorating plans.

  Nor had the impending blizzard.

  “Well?” Roscoe pressed.

  “Keep your hand on that tree and let me focus on the road. I’m trying to avoid getting us killed, if that’s cool with you.”

  Roscoe laughed. “So. You and the princess finally f—”

  “The next words out of your mouth better be ‘figured out that backward crossover move,’ or I’ll pull this truck over right now and leave your ass on the side of the highway.”

  “And disappoint the lovely ladies of Wellshire? I don’t think so.”

  “My mother would support me on this.”

  “No way. Karen loves me.”

  Walker cracked a smile. It was true; his mother had fallen in love with Roscoe the first time she’d met him, years ago at one of the games, and Roscoe had been part of the family ever since. Yeah, she liked Henny, too, but he wasn’t around as much—spent all his free time chasing women. Not like Roscoe. Walker loved both of those rat bastards equally, but of the two, Roscoe had always been more like a brother than a friend.

  “You’re right,” Walker finally admitted, still keeping his gaze locked on the road. Visibility was shit, and cars were fishtailing up ahead. “We hooked up.” Roscoe didn’t need any more details. “And then she split. End of story.”

  “What? Why? What did you do?”

  “Far as I can tell, nothing. She just… she said she had to go. Her ride was there.”

  “What about the rest of your sessions?”

  Walker shrugged. “We’re still meeting Monday morning, right on schedule, far as I know.”

  Roscoe didn’t say anything, but Walker could tell he wanted to. Dude was about to explode.

  “Just say it, asshole,” Walker said.

  “Dude. You can’t fuck this up.”

  “I know.”

  “You need this. We all need it.”

  “I know.”

  “More than you need a roll in the sack. I’m serious, Walker.”

  Walker’s hackles rose, but he let the comment pass. He knew Roscoe wasn’t trying to insult his woman. He was just telling the truth—Walker did need this, and anything that interfered with his ability to get back in shape and back on the team was bad news.

  The fact that he was already thinking of Eva as his woman was all the warning he should’ve needed.

  Of course, Walker had never paid much attention to warning signs.

  “Are you making any progress on your times?” Roscoe asked. “Or are you too busy putting the moves on the coach?”

  “Christ, Roscoe. It’s not like that. It just sort of… happened.”

  “Let me guess. You slipped on the ice, and fell on top of her, and—”

  “Something like that, yeah.” They’d finally arrived at Wellshire, and Walker slowly pulled up to the front, flicking on the hazard lights so they could unload the tree. He was grateful for the distraction—he was done justifying himself. “Listen, Roscoe. I appreciate the concern. But I’m handling this.”

  “You’re handling something, all right.”

  “It won’t happen again. Just a one-time thing.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Walker could tell the man didn’t believe him. Couldn’t blame him, though. As usual, Roscoe could read him like a fucking book.

  And as much as Walker wanted to believe that his time with Eva on that bench was a one-and-done thing, he couldn’t. He didn’t even know when it’d happened—the instant their lips touched? The instant he slid inside her? The instant she’d moaned his name and shuddered against him?—but Eva had lodged herself quite snugly into his mind, and no amount of logic or reason would get her out. He wanted to kiss her again. To feel her. To make her scream his name. To fall into the depths of her amber eyes, coming inside her as she trembled all around him…

  “You with me, there, forty-six?” Roscoe smacked him in the chest, then cracked up, shaking his head as he climbed out of the truck.

  “Right behind you, dickhole. Thanks.”

  The Wellshire was set up like a high-end condominium, with three floors of apartments that ranged in size from studios to three-bedroom suites. Most of the larger units were occupied by couples, but Walker’s mother had a nice two-bedroom on the second floor with a view that looked out toward downtown Buffalo. She’d always loved the lights of the skyline, especially when they lit up City Hall in red and green for Christmas.

  After shaking off the snowy bows outside, followed by some fierce negotiating with the elevator, Walker and Roscoe managed to get the tree up to his mother’s apartment. Her door was already open, and a handful of folks were hanging out inside, gorging themselves on eggnog and Christmas cookies. Walker and Roscoe walked in to a warm chorus of cheers and laughter.

  Walker smiled. The old ladies sure loved their hockey boys.

  Inside, he handed off the tree to Roscoe, then gave his mom a quick kiss before heading out to move the truck. The snow was really coming down now—in the short time he’d been in the building, his truck had been covered in a thick, white blanket.

  He managed to get the truck into a parking spot, but the lot was an ice rink, and Walker didn’t think it’d be long before they shut down the roadways.

  Back inside, Roscoe had already gotten the tree into the stand in front of the big windows. Now he was holding court in the living room, Mom and her friends hanging on every word.

  “I think it’s good for him,” Roscoe was saying.

  “Walker,” his mother said, waving him in from the doorway. “You get in here this minute.” Her eyes sparkled, her tone both excited and admonishing, and Walker grinned, wondering how he could’ve gotten in trouble so quickly. “You didn’t tell me you were working with Evangeline Bradshaw!”

  Oh, shit.

  He cut a mean glare to Roscoe. “Must’ve slipped my mi
nd, but I see my friend filled you in.”

  His mother beamed. “Walker, that is incredible. Do you know how lucky you are to be working with her?”

  “You know her?” Walker asked.

  “Everyone knows Eva. She took home the silver in ladies figure skating on her first time at the Olympics—fifteen years old. Few years later, she won the gold.”

  “Everyone knew she would,” one of his mom’s friends chimed in.

  His mother nodded sagely. “She also won four World Championships and five or six U.S. Figure Skating Gold Medals. I used to save the Buffalo News articles about her.”

  Walker didn’t know whether to be more impressed by the fact that Eva had kicked so much ass, or the fact that his mother seemed to know her on such an encyclopedic level.

  It always amazed him how his mother could remember details like that from so many years ago, but not what she had for breakfast or what day of the week it was. The doctors kept warning him it would only get worse, too. Today was apparently a good day.

  He wondered what Eva would say if she were standing here now, whether she’d be embarrassed or proud, whether she’d tell them stories from her days as a competitor, whether she’d shrug it off as if it were all part of the job. The only thing he knew for sure was that his mother—and her friends—would be absolutely charmed by her.

  Just as Walker was.

  Abruptly he dismissed the thought, forcing Eva out of his mind. She would never be here, never meet his mom, never hang out with him socially. They had a professional arrangement, and that was it. Today had been a fluke, and the sooner he got that through his thick head, the better off they’d both be.

  “The team set me up with her to work on my skating,” he said firmly, kicking off his boots. “Short-term thing.”

  Mom waved away his words as if he were just being modest. “She’s very pretty, Walker. I always loved that red hair of hers.”

  Don’t remind me.

  “You should bring her flowers,” Lorraine, his mother’s closest friend at Wellshire, offered. “Girls love flowers.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “She’s not a girl,” Walker said. “She’s my skating coach.”

  “And that’s all she’ll ever be if you don’t make your move,” Lorraine said.

  Walker shoved a hand through his hair, eyeing the bottle of spiced rum on the kitchen table.

  “I’m not making any moves,” Walker said. “I’m perfectly happy being single. End of story.”

  “It’s not natural, Walker.” Lorraine clucked her tongue. “A good-looking young man like yourself, still single? We all know what that means.” Her eyes trailed down to his—Jesus.

  “I don’t have any issues there, Lorraine. Thanks for your concern.” Turning to Roscoe, he said, “This is all your fault.”

  “You know they make pills for that now?” Another woman—Paulette, the next-door neighbor who was always eating his mother’s Lean Cuisines—added. “I probably have some samples at my place if you want to come check.”

  Roscoe busted up laughing. “Yeah, Walker. Maybe you should go check.”

  “Maybe I should beat your ass.”

  “Walker!” His mother narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you talk to Roscoe like that. He’s a good boy.”

  “He always talks to me like that, Karen,” Roscoe pouted. “He’s mean.”

  Walker chucked his wet gloves at Roscoe. “Get off your ass and help me get the lights on this tree before I string you up instead.”

  Roscoe laughed. “See what I mean? Such a brute.”

  While his mother and her friends refilled their eggnog cups, Walker and Roscoe untangled the lights from their epic knot, and got the entire tree lit to Mom’s specifications, with alternating strands of solid and twinkling white lights.

  “It looks like Rockefeller Center in here,” Paulette said, beaming. She rose out of her chair, smoothing out her hair, which was a pretty damn close match to her light blue tracksuit. “Walker, come here by the tree. Take a selfie with me.”

  Walker obliged, putting his arm around her while she snapped a picture with her phone.

  “One more,” she said, squeezing in closer. Her arm snaked around his waist, and then the crazy broad grabbed his ass.

  “Okay, great, thank you, Paulette.” He pulled out of her embrace and sat down on the couch next to his mother. Despite the heckling—not to mention the groping—he was thrilled to see his mother so happy, so lucid. He was even glad to have Roscoe here, spreading the holiday cheer.

  He was still going to kick his ass later for telling them about Eva, but Walker was grateful that he’d come along.

  “Walker,” his mother said, “why didn’t you bring Eva with you?”

  “Ma, I told you. She’s not my girlfriend. Just my coach.”

  “She doesn’t like you?”

  “Yeah Walker,” Roscoe said, nearly choking on his own laughter. “Doesn’t she like you?”

  Walker forced his jaw to unclench. “Not like that, no.”

  “Just ask her out,” his mom said. “Don’t make such a big deal about it. Invite her to dinner like a gentleman.“ She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You kids today overcomplicate everything. All your matches and tinders and sexting—”

  “Mom!”

  “What? Sometimes you just have to show a girl you like her, and the rest happens on its own time.”

  “It’ll happen a lot faster if you take the pill,” Pauline added with a wink. “It’ll last longer, too.”

  “On that note…” Walker shook his head, leaning over to kiss his mom’s cheek. “We’d better get going before we get stuck here. I’ll be back for dinner on Sunday.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” she said. “They’ve already closed I-90 in both directions.”

  “It’s true.” Pearl and Cora, two of the neighbors from across the hall, walked in, setting a fondue pot and bowl of bread cubes on the dining table, because apparently it was still 1974. “And they’re expecting another five to six feet over the weekend. But don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of food and booze.”

  Everyone cracked up at that. Saucy old broads.

  Walker sank back into the couch. Buffalo blizzards were no joke. He was hoping he and Roscoe would be in and out tonight before the real bad stuff hit, but they’d missed their window.

  He nodded at Roscoe. “Looks like we’re in it for the long haul.”

  “Slumber party! Excellent!” Roscoe clapped once, his face lighting up with genuine excitement. “Who wants to play some pinochle?”

  “I think we should sing carols,” Lorraine suggested.

  “You can stay in my suite, Walker,” Paulette said, squeezing in on the couch on his other side and wrapping her hands around his bicep. “I’ve got plenty of room.”

  As Paulette crept closer, Lorraine and Roscoe led the rest of the neighbors in a rousing round of Deck the Halls. His mother sang louder than all of them, nudging Walker in the ribs to get him to join in.

  Walker didn’t sing. Period.

  Paulette had just gotten another handful of his ass when his phone finally buzzed with a text. Walker tried not to sigh audibly with relief.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I’ve got to take this.”

  He slid the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, then excused himself to the kitchen where he could smile like an idiot in private.

  Eva.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “If you keep eating the popcorn, there won’t be any left for the tree.” Marybeth brushed a pile of kernels off of Gracie’s lap, laughing as Bilbo Baggins rushed over to suck them up. “See, Eva? You don’t have to worry about mice. Bilbo’s on the job.”

  Eva laughed, but only because Gracie and Marybeth were doing it. She hadn’t really been listening—couldn’t even recall what Marybeth had said. Something about the dog?

  “How’s that garland coming, space cadet?” Marybeth nodded at the popcorn bowl in Eva’s lap, still full.


  “Huh?” Eva looked down at her hands. After twenty minutes with the thread and needle, she’d only gotten as far as stringing her first kernel.

  “You’ve been on another planet since we picked you up,” Marybeth said. Then, under her breath, “Must’ve been some practice.”

  Marybeth was right. Eva didn’t even remember the ride home. She’d left Walker sitting on the bench, her mind in a fog as she made her excuses—ride waiting in the parking lot, storm coming in—and bolted out of there, certain that if she spent another minute in his presence she might just come undone. Now she was hanging out in her living room with her family, toasty and warm by the crackling fire, Mariah Carey singing her Christmas heart out through the speakers, her sense of time gone.

  Eva blinked, her eyes drifting to the big window behind the tree. Just beyond the reflection of the tree’s twinkling colored lights, snow swirled in the glow of the street lamps outside, thick and furious.

  “I… what time is it?” she asked. How is it already dark outside? Didn’t we just get home?

  “Almost seven. You hungry?” Marybeth rose from the couch, dusting the renegade popcorn kernels off her hands. “I should probably check on the lasagna.”

  “Lasagna?” Eva blinked again, the snow outside blurring into the darkness as the smell of tomato sauce and garlic finally registered. She’d totally forgotten about dinner—they’d put it in the oven an hour ago. “Oh, shoot! I’ll do it—you guys keep working on the garlands.”

  “There’s salad in the fridge,” Marybeth said. “Take the Italian dressing out for me?”

  In the tiny kitchen, Eva slid the lasagna out of the oven and popped in the garlic bread, trying her damnedest to stay in the moment. It was a perfect night—trimming the tree with her daughter and sister, Christmas songs drifting through the house, lasagna cooling on the rack. Eva loved getting snowed in like this, totally cozy while the storm raged outside. Marybeth was spending the night, so once Gracie went to bed, the sisters would stay up until the wee hours talking, drinking wine, and getting a head start on the Christmas cookies. These were the moments she loved most about the holidays.