Medal Up

by Nicole Flockton

  “Layno.” He needed to learn to say “shit” like an Aussie, but his own language came easier.

  He should wake her before the water gave her a chill. After the flight, she would be vulnerable. Flu ran wild when there were so many athletes cooped up in a small space. He stepped back to the door. Even the small glimpse of her gold-tinted shoulders and the paler curve of her breasts was too much temptation for a man who’d sworn off all women. He shifted out of her range of vision and rapped on the timber door.

  “Wha . . . ?” The sound of water slopping over the edge of the tub told him what was happening out of sight, and he tried not to imagine her surging to her feet, all wet and sleek with bath oil. He could visualize exactly what Belle looked like without seeing her. The leotards she wore on the ice clung to every delicious curve explicitly, and his imagination supplied the rest.

  “Hey, Belle. You awake?”

  “I am now.”

  She had that grumpy tone he recognized from when he rang her early in the day and woke her up. She was not a morning person, and, like a cat, she would curl up anywhere to catch a nap. He’d expected her to sleep on the plane coming over, but she’d kept her nose in a book the whole way. Probably just as well. He hadn’t wanted to feel obliged to entertain her. Not like Lana, who’d been high-maintenance, demanding he dance to her bidding whatever the time of day or night.

  Belle came out of the bathroom, wrapping herself in a skimpy silk kimono that clung to her damp curves, her small breasts with hard nipples prominent against the damp fabric. His body reacted, and he moved to face the windows, watching her over his shoulder.

  A small crease between her brows marred the smooth perfection of her face. “Is everything all right?”

  No. Not that he could tell her. “Just checking. I was worried when you were still in the bath. You do not want to catch a chill.”

  She laughed. He’d always thought it an exaggeration when he read about someone’s laughter sounding like bells, until he heard Belle. Not that she laughed much around him, but he’d watched her at the functions they had to attend as part of the team, and she was always friendly and cheerful, flitting from group to group, never settling.

  She tied the kimono belt in a knot, smoothing the fabric over her slender hips. “I’m never sick. My mother makes me fill up with all her herbal remedies before I’m allowed on a plane. Seems to work, because I don’t catch anything.”

  “There is always a first time.”

  Now he was some kind of doomsayer?

  It was safe to turn around, so he moved toward the door of his room. “You were going to have a rest. I’ll leave you. I should shower.”

  Her dark gaze drifted over his body, lingering on the patch of sweat staining the fabric over his pecs. Something stirred in her eyes—maybe she wasn’t as indifferent as she appeared. He shrugged it away. Nothing was going to happen between them. He’d sworn after Svetlana betrayed him that he would never mix a relationship with sport again. Not that he was interested in any relationship. Caring about people only led to pain, and he’d had more than enough of that in his life.

  “Bohdan . . . ?” Belle licked her lips, a question in the shadows of her eyes. “Are you—”

  “I’ll see you later.” He cut her off, afraid she would breach the carefully built barrier he kept between them. “We will go down together?”

  “Sure. No worries.”

  He escaped to his own room, closing the door between them with more symbolism than force. It was becoming harder and harder to evade the connection between them. It had been there from the start, in the glow in those dark eyes with their glint of gold. He’d been brutal, rebuffing every friendly advance until she’d looked at him like a puppy he’d kicked once too often. Only for a moment. Then she’d fixed a bright smile on her face, shuttered her eyes, and closed him out. He wasn’t sure if the careful politeness she maintained around him wasn’t more dangerous. Especially when she forgot and smiled at him like he mattered.

  He had accepted a couple of invitations to dinner from her parents, because Simon had made it clear they would be offended if he didn’t. But apart from that, Bohdan kept himself to himself, socializing only when necessary as part of the team. They’d traveled a lot during the pre-Olympic season, following the competition circuit, so it had been easy to avoid her family. They didn’t come to the competitions, although they were coming to the Olympics.

  They were polite but no more, taking their cue from Maybelle, who treated him like a guest in her home rather than a friend. If they assumed he had a personal life that kept him busy, that was fine. He liked being solitary. Apart from the brief affair with his former partner, he’d been alone for more than fifteen years. He preferred it that way.

  Chapter 2

  Belle adjusted the thin strap of her slinky, cocktail-length scarlet dress. Overdone? She didn’t want Bohdan to think she was trying too hard. The V-neck dipped too low to wear a bra, but that was something she didn’t have to worry about. She smoothed the silky fabric over her breasts. They were more like pimples than actual breasts. In the tight leotards she wore for skating, they were almost flat. Which was good, really. They didn’t get in the way when Bohdan was doing lifts.

  It was nearly time to go, so she swiped a matching scarlet lipstick on her mouth and a sparkly gold eye shadow on her lids. She didn’t need mascara, and she would leave the eyeliner for the competition. Her only jewelry was the gold chain with two interlocking halves of an antique Chinese coin she wore all the time.

  A rap on the connecting door warned her, and she snatched up the fine wool wrap that matched her dress. They weren’t leaving the hotel, so it would be warm enough.

  Bohdan paused in the doorway, his pale eyes tracing her length, from her scarlet strappy heels to the loose bun on the top of her head. If he approved, she couldn’t read it in his expression.

  “You are ready?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  He wore a gray suit with a pale-blue shirt that matched his eyes and a red tie the exact same shade as her dress. Like they were a couple, in matching outfits. He looked delicious, the well-cut coat and trousers accentuating his lean body and strong shoulders.

  He followed her from the room, pulling the door closed with a sharp click. He caught up before she arrived at the elevator, reaching past her to press the call button.

  “You look very nice.”

  A compliment. She should’ve returned the favor, but she was enjoying inhaling the sharp, spicy scent that seemed to linger around him all the time. It couldn’t just be his aftershave. It was there even after a heavy workout on the ice. “You look great too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.”

  He laughed as he took her upper arm and guided her into the elevator. So he was in a good mood for a change. It boded well for the evening.

  “Sweats and leotards. Not at all the same thing.”

  “Or the team uniform.” He looked great in the team’s formal blazer, but this suit was a whole different level of elegant. He’d worn casual clothes to dinner at her parents’ place both times: well-cut chinos and a dressy shirt but no tie. Usual fare for a casual dinner invitation in Australia, especially with Queensland’s warm temperatures all year-round.

  She expected him to release her arm, but he didn’t, his hand warming her skin and sending prickles along her nerve endings. It was ridiculous. They touched all the time on the ice. She should be used to it. Who was she kidding? It was like dancing with the nylon rug in her mother’s family room, all static electricity. Only, he never seemed to notice.

  • • •

  Bohdan scanned the dining room. Max waited at a table near the windows, talking to a blonde. Layno. What the hell was Svetlana Nikolayevna doing here? His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. This had to be a bad thing.

  “Bohdan?” He halted at Belle’s attempt to release her arm and looked down at her creased brow and pursed lips. She had obviously spotted the woman at the table.
“I don’t have to come. I can eat in the room.”

  His grip on her arm tightened. No way could he face this without Belle to help run interference.

  “You will come. You are my partner, and I wish to make that very clear.” He urged her forward with his hand on her back.

  Max rose as they arrived, ignoring Bohdan’s outstretched hand and wrapping him in a brusque hug. “Good to see you, my boy.”

  Bohdan returned the affectionate gesture. Max had been the closest thing to a father figure he’d had during his teenage years. Which begged the question, why bring Svetlana to what was essentially a personal meeting between them? Max was no longer his coach, and as far as he knew, Max didn’t coach Lana either.

  Max indicated Svetlana with a wry grimace. “Look who I found when I was leaving my hotel.”

  That was code. Bohdan’s ex had clearly waylaid the older man on his way out of the hotel and insisted on joining them. Lana was notorious for her public displays of temper. The man had simply caved rather than become front-page news on the eve of the Olympics.

  Bohdan nodded at Svetlana, making no move to give her the expected embrace. “Hello, Lana. You are looking well.”

  He drew the reluctant Belle forward, looping one arm around her waist. “I don’t know if you’ve met my partner, Maybelle Li.” He kept the term deliberately ambiguous. He didn’t know why Lana was here, but he was taking no chance of her thinking he was hers for the asking, either personally or as a skating partner.

  Waving a dismissive hand, Lana drawled in her heavily accented English, “I have heard of her, of course. She is a skater.” But not in the same class as Lana, her tone implied.

  Belle stiffened in his hold. She obviously got the intended slight.

  The waiter hovered, waiting to seat them. He placed Belle across from Lana, facing the windows, so Bohdan took the remaining seat opposite his former coach. This was going to be an uncomfortable evening. Already, the strong scent Lana wore burned his nostrils, increasing the nausea.

  After they ordered drinks, the waiter placed elegant menus on the table and departed, leaving a heavy silence.

  Max was the first to breach the awkwardness. “This is your first Olympics, Maybelle? I had thought it would be more. Did you not win gold at Juniors eight or nine years ago?”

  “Yes. My partner at the time moved on to other things, and I moved to singles. It was too close to the Vancouver Games for me to qualify. I missed most of the season.”

  There could not be more of a contrast between the two women at the table. Svetlana, with the cool Nordic looks and the fiery temper. Belle, small and dark, always restrained and painfully polite.

  Except with him. It hadn’t occurred to Bohdan before. With him she was less restrained, though a lot of the time he had the impression she was keeping her tongue in check. Not to do with skating, but when anything personal came up. Which suited him.

  Lana moved closer, putting her hand on his arm and directing her attention to Belle. “You do not mind if we speak Russian, Mabel? I am not so good at the English, and I wish to talk to Bohdi.”

  Belle’s mouth twitched, but she nodded. “Go ahead. I want to put my mind to this menu. The food looks fabulous.”

  Lana’s sly smile faltered as Bohdan pulled his arm away from her grip, but she recovered quickly. “I do not think you know,” she said low and intimately in Russian, “but I have mended my mistake of four years ago. Andre and I are divorced.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  Truly sorry. Svetlana on the hunt again was a formidable threat. Not to him. But some poor fool would fall for her undoubted beauty and genuine talent on the ice.

  “I am also thinking perhaps of returning to pairs skating.”

  He glanced at Max, who was studiously examining the menu in conscious imitation of Belle. “Good luck with that. Who will be your partner?” It wasn’t easy finding a match at the grand prix level in skating. Which was one of several reasons Bohdan had been willing to move his allegiance to Australia to work with Maybelle Li when it was offered.

  “I have several in mind, but of course it would be ideal if we were to team up again. We were good together.”

  “On the ice. Until the personal intruded.”

  She looked affronted but forced a wide smile showing too many teeth. “I was foolish. I’ve grown up now.”

  So she should have, considering she was more than a year older than him. “I have a partner.” Deliberately, he reached over to lay his hand on Belle’s small one resting on the table. Her mouth formed an O and slowly turned into a smile to match his own.

  “Have you finished your . . . reminiscences?”

  Lana started to object in Russian, and Bohdan shook his head. “I think we will talk in English now. I don’t want Belle to be bored.”

  Belle choked a little; was she stifling a laugh or a protest? Her eyes widened as she hiccupped, and then her cheeks colored up when she did it again. Ignoring Lana, Bohdan poured Belle a glass of water and instructed her to sip as he rubbed her back, exposed by the low cut of her gown, the skin silky and warm under his touch.

  • • •

  Belle didn’t argue. It was like her first time in a competition, when she’d overcompensated on the landing and landed flat on her tail, flailing all over the ice. All she could see were too many eyes on her, watching her make a fool of herself. She kept her focus on the glass so she couldn’t see what the other diners were doing. The steady sips were helping. The sensual sweep of Bohdan’s hand on her bare flesh, not so much. When she was sure the spasms had finished, she smiled at the three of them.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t concentrating.”

  Bohdan squeezed her shoulder, leaving his arm draped across her back. “As I thought. I think enough business. We will speak English while we eat?”

  It was undoubtedly an order, and with a murmured apology, the coach asked after Maybelle’s family. “Are they with you?”

  “No. They arrive on the ninth in time for the opening ceremony. They’re staying at a seaside resort near Gangneung, but I don’t expect to see much of them. Some friends will be with them, and they plan on traveling around between the team event and the pairs. They fly home the evening after our final event.”

  It was easier after that, commenting on the food, talking about the Olympic events. Max Borodovich had several athletes competing—no one in the pairs but two couples in ice dancing. Svetlana would be in the same events as Dani and the Canadian champion. And for someone who claimed not to be good at English, she had “Do you remember . . . ?” down to a fine art. The only consolation was the way Bohdan shut her down every time.

  Belle could see why Bohdan had been attracted to Svetlana. What she couldn’t understand was her dumping him for someone else when it was obvious she still wanted him. Unless he’d frozen her out. That, Belle could believe.

  It was a relief when the coach indicated an end to the evening. “We must be on the train early with the other athletes in the team.”

  Bohdan nodded. “We have to meet up with some of the Australian team to travel down.”

  They left the restaurant in a group, Svetlana clinging to Bohdan’s arm. “We will see each other during the competition, Bohdi. And, maybe after, we see much more.”

  She’d called him “Bohdi” again? It so didn’t suit him. Except in the way that Australian model used to be called The Body. Belle hid a smirk by studying the elevator panel.

  Bohdan’s grunt could have been anything. He stood passively as the girl kissed him, averting his face so her mouth brushed his cheek instead of his lips. He shook hands with his former coach with evident fondness and stepped back, gripping Belle above her elbow.

  Going up in the elevator to their room a few minutes later, she studied his face, trying to read anything beyond tiredness in the darkness of the skin around his eyes. “She is very pretty. Was she a good skating partner?”

  He seemed distracted. “Oh, very good. Yes. Perhaps she is b
etter in singles than pairs, for she does not always like to take orders. She will give your friend Dani a difficult time.”

  “I was thinking more about Arielle, the Canadian girl. She’s a likely winner.”

  “They are both national champions. It will be interesting on the day.”

  Would he be watching to see Svetlana win?

  He didn’t seem particularly interested, standing aside to allow Belle to leave the elevator and following her to their suite. She half expected him to go to his own door, but he took the keycard and followed her in, closing the door behind him.

  The frown on his face was habitual, but tonight, there seemed to be something more behind it.

  “What were you talking about when you were speaking Russian?”

  He cocked his head. “You did not understand?”

  “The only Russian I know are the swear words you use when I stuff up.”

  A grin slashed across his face. “Ukrainian. I always swear in Ukrainian. Similar to Russian, which I speak also, but not the same.”

  “Whatever.” She dropped her wrap on the end of the bed. “What did your girlfriend mean by seeing more of you after the Olympics?”

  “She is looking for another partner, perhaps to go back into pairs. In ice dancing. She is getting older, and the competition in singles is harder with all the new young skaters.”

  Cold dread froze Belle’s heart. “You’re thinking of going back to her?”

  “Why would I do this? She is old news. I have a partner.”

  “If we don’t do well, will you consider it?”

  He’d come very close as they talked, until he was within touching distance. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair back over her ear. “I would not consider it.”