by Peggy Jaeger
“Enough.”
Marina pulled against her partner, ignoring his soothing comments and continued her rambling tirade.
“I said enough!”
Silence split the air.
“This is the last thing we need with a show about to open,” Sean said, lowering his voice. “If you two prima donnas can’t control yourselves, just stay away from one another and concentrate on the show.”
“She was the one who went after me.”
“I don’t care.” Sean’s stern warning glare stopped Tiffany cold. “You’re not two years old and fighting over a toy. You’re both adults. Behave like it. You’re the star of this show, young lady,” he said facing Tiffany. “I expect more from you than this. And just as a reminder, I’m the director, not you. I don’t need your commentaries and concerns about any other skater’s capabilities.”
Tiffany bit her bottom lip and stared down at her skates.
“And wipe that smirk off your face, young lady.”
Tiffany’s head flew up to see Sean’s anger now centered on Marina.
The girl’s cheeks were cherry red, her lips the same color and drawn in a tight line as she glowered at the director.
“One thing Tiffany said is accurate. A novice skater could do this routine blindfolded. You’re not concentrating. You haven’t been for days now, and if you don’t start, I’ll scrap your routines or give them to another skater. Someone who can concentrate, who can focus. Someone who’s a professional. Understand?”
Marina’s frost-colored eyes turned to slits when they slanted toward her.
Hate. Pure, raw hate spewed from the frigid, pale orbs. A shiver rippled down Tiffany’s spine.
“Do you understand?” Sean asked.
Marina’s gaze shifted. “Da.” She nodded her regally held head. “Da. I do.”
“Good,” Sean said. “Now, do it again. From the beginning.”
While the two skaters drifted back to center ice, Sean turned to Tiffany. “Do you understand?” His tone was much gentler than the one he’d used with Marina.
Tiffany kept her eyes focused on the rink floor and nodded a few times.
“Good. Now why don’t you go change your skates? Glad Tidings is next.”
Fearful of speaking, knowing her voice would betray the hurt coursing through her, Tiffany nodded again and walked out of the arena down the long corridor to her dressing room.
Only when the door firmly shut behind her did she allow the tears freedom to fall.
She was ashamed of her behavior, ashamed that she’d caused Sean to speak to her so harshly in front of the others. All the other times they’d argued or had differences of opinions, it had been in private. But today he’d publically chastised her like an obnoxious child. And it hurt.
Badly. More so, because he’d been right to do it.
A knock on the door had her reaching for a tissue.
“Decent, today?” Cole asked, peeking in.
Tiffany dabbed at her eyes and turned to him. The moment she saw his face she burst into tears again.
Cole came into the room, gathered her up in his arms, and pulled her down to the love seat onto his lap. She buried her face in his neck while a quiet chuckle rumbled through him.
“I saw Sean’s little explosion.” He patted her back and ran a hand up and down her arm. “I knew I’d find you like this.”
Tiffany hiccupped once, then sniffed. “He never yells at me in public. Never. Not even after a bad routine.”
“Embarrassed you, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” she wailed, then blew her nose. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, slumping across his chest. “I deserved it.”
“Yes, you did. And he did have a point about being the director. He’s in charge of this production, not you.”
“But it’s my name on the billboard, my responsibility, my—”
“No, Tiff.” He laid a finger gently across her mouth. “All you have to do is come out and skate. Well, of course,” he added, his lips lifting. “The overall responsibility of the show is Sean’s. You can show him your support by behaving and doing your best, not criticizing others.”
“I wasn’t criticizing. Not really.” Her lips pulled into a pout. “I was just stating the obvious. I am sorry, though, that I made him mad. And I shouldn’t have made that crack about Marina’s clubbing. Even though it’s true.”
Cole shifted his weight when she sighed and settled back against him.
“What’s the matter? Am I too heavy?”
His laugh sounded painful to her ears. “Heavy? Lord, Brat, you don’t weigh enough to keep you on the ground.”
Tiffany crossed her arms in her lap and rested back fully against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her back and unless she was mistaken, he’d shifted position because it was becoming awkward for him to sit still without her knowing what was going on with his body.
With an innocent, but thoroughly seductive movement, she settled her hips back against him and was rewarded when his breath hissed.
With a sigh, she said, “I owe him an apology.”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
The controlled restraint in his voice delighted her.
“Marina too.” She sat forward and turned around to face him. The contained pain etched in his blue eyes was promising. “Thanks for listening.”
Cole nodded.
“I’ve got to change my skates for the next number.”
“I thought you’d be breaking by now. I wanted to take you out to lunch. Give you a chance to get some fresh air. It’s gorgeous outside.”
“We usually eat in.” Tiffany was captivated by the thin circle of dark blue outlining his irises. Cole’s eyes had always done her in. There was no other blue this shade to compare them to. As a child she’d tried to capture their color with paints and crayons, but never could get it just right. They were a mixture of blues and grays that changed according to his moods and the lighting.
Right now they were deep blue, almost purple, and glistening with intensity.
“You can stay, if you want,” she said, sweeping her tongue across her lips. “I think today is Chinese.”
“I love Chinese,” he said, his eyes zeroing in on her mouth.
The gap between them narrowed. Tiffany’s eyes never left his as his head came toward hers, slowly, bewitchingly.
When their lips were a mere heartbeat away from each other, the moment was broken by a hurried pounding at Tiffany’s door.
“Tiffany, Sean wants you out front. Now,” the sound manager called through the door.
“Coming.”
Like a rocket, Tiffany shot up and grabbed the black skates she’d need for the routine.
But her head wasn’t concentrating on skates. It was totally lost in the missed moment, the kiss that might have changed everything between them.
“I’ll stick around,” Cole said, rising and folding his hands into his pants pockets. “If that’s okay.”
His voice sounded distant, as if he was having trouble concentrating.
Tiffany couldn’t turn around because she was fearful he’d be able to see the delight written in her eyes and splayed across her face that she saw reflected in the mirror. “Sure. It’ll be fun. You can watch this routine. It’s new.”
Cole nodded. “I’ll go say hi to Sean while you get ready.”
“Tell him I’ll be right out.”
Alone, Tiffany smiled.
Definite progress.
Chapter Five
“Who’s the hunk talking to Sean? The one with the gorgeous eyes and hair, eating the egg roll,” Jane Walters asked Tiffany.
Glancing at the director and his companion, Tiffany smiled as she re-laced her skates. “Cole Greer.”
“He looks familiar, but I can’t figure out where I’ve seen him. I never forget a face and his is exceptionally unforgettable.”
“Co
le’s a news correspondent for EBC.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’ve seen him reporting on the Sudan war. And he was at Nationals a few years ago, wasn’t he?”
Tiffany nodded.
“Friend of yours?” the blonde skater, who’d competed with Tiffany in the last Olympics, asked.
Tiffany could see Jane had the look of an interested female on her face while she looked over at Cole, and a hard bead of jealousy shot through her. “You could say that.”
Jane turned, a wry smile on her lips. “Oh, I get it. Some girls have all the luck,” she said. “Hey, wait a minute. Isn’t he your stepbrother or something?”
“No, not stepbrother. His uncle is my stepfather. Mike Woodard.”
“Like I said.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Some girls have all the luck. Two hunks in one family. That’s just unfair. Want to introduce me?”
Tiffany’s gaze raked the skater up and down. They’d had a friendly-from-a-distance relationship during the Olympics when they’d both skated for the US team. Since joining the ice show, Jane had proven herself an enjoyable companion as well as a technically skilled skater. Impressed by her drive and stamina, Sean had elevated her to Tiffany’s understudy.
As she studied the girl now, noting the long curvy lines of her shapely body, the chiseled features and flawless skin, Tiffany felt a jolt of an old and hated acquaintance: self-doubt. To cover her nerves, she cocked her head to one side and said drolly, “I don’t think so.”
“Territorial, are we?”
Tiffany’s laugh rang through the arena.
“I’d be too,” Jane said, “if I had tall, dark, and hunky hanging around, waiting for me.”
****
The happy sound of Tiffany’s laughter drew Cole’s attention away from Sean. She was smiling, and when she moved her head and caught his gaze, the smile widened. He’d missed her more than anyone else, a fact he was beginning to accept. With Tiffany he could always relax, be himself, know no matter what happened, she was always there for him. The smile across her lips now filled Cole with an emotion he could give no name to but felt so good.
The entire troupe of ice dancers, over fifty in all, were scattered about the ice rink perimeter, clumped together in small groups. Seated next to Sean and enjoying his lunch, Cole listened to the older man’s diatribe about the show. At one point, he leaned back in the seat and noted again just how happy he was to be home.
The last twenty-three months had been arduous, both physically and emotionally. Lonely nights spent in inhospitable hotels, too many times without hot or even running water. Cole had always been a loner, never one to overly socialize or seek out companionship. He’d been content with his small circle of family and friends and hadn’t been bothered by the isolation being on assignment usually brought with it. But the unbelievable feeling of lonesomeness pervading his being was what finally got to him. When the head of the news corps called and asked if he wanted a break, Cole had fired back what he wanted was a hot, home-cooked meal, his own bed, and the company of his family.
When he’d left Sudan four days ago, he knew in his heart he never wanted to go back. He’d seen enough destruction and death to last a lifetime of reporting.
To keep occupied, he’d kept a journal jotting down his impressions of the lifestyle and lives slowly being eradicated around him. Writing helped keep him sane on many long nights when his only companions were a bottle of beer and the sound of air fire in the distance. At one time a neophyte news reporter, Cole had been an optimist. After nearly two years surrounded by the smell of death, witnessing children die of starvation and neglect, orphaned by parents caught between warring factions, his idealism had bent to a hard reality. His journal held page after page of subjective observations about an objective war. Interspersed with the death and destruction were his feelings about the separation from those he loved. More than once he’d written about Tiffany, about an email he’d received, sprawled with line after line of family gossip and news. Those notes, and his thoughts of her, had kept him going through some of the roughest times.
While he relaxed, Cole listened to Sean as he detailed his thoughts and plans for the show. From the beginning of rehearsals, he’d hoped to foster a sense of camaraderie among his cast. Professional and personal jealousies ran rampant in the skating world, he told Cole, and many times skaters who’d previously competed against one another were forced to perform together in ice shows. Naturally, the jealousies continued. It was Sean’s hope to allay some of those feelings to put forth the best show he could.
The morning’s averted catfight between Tiffany and Marina Pavlov had him admitting to Cole it might not happen.
“Cut her some slack, Sean.” Cole took a sip of his soda and lazily eyed Tiffany where she sat across from them. “She feels the success of this show rides on her shoulders.”
“Hogwash, lad, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but Tiff doesn’t. You know how she is. It’s not so much the killer competitive streak in her spurring her on, although it’s some of that. It’s really more her need for approval.”
“Aye, I know.” He sighed, deeply. “She started training with me at eight. I took her through her first competition, was with her for both medals. She’s as stubborn as an ox and as tough as nails, especially about herself. Never complains when I make her go through routines a hundred times over. Never slacks off. She’s the best skater I’ve ever seen or worked with.”
Cole smiled. “You love her a lot, don’t you?”
Sean snorted and took a sip from his water bottle. “Though God help me, she’ll put me in an early grave.”
Cole laughed and turned to find Tiffany staring at them. From across the aisle he could feel the intensity in her gaze and wondered at the cause.
Sean’s description of the petite skater was dead on. No one was harder on Tiffany than Tiffany. She was her worst, and best, critic. That she felt a great deal of personal responsibility for the success of the ice show was a trait he admired in her. He’d watched the rehearsal, and, as he had so many times before, was spellbound by her talent as a skater. On the ice, she glided, turned, spun, and jumped with the strength and finesse of a born athlete, yet the grace and ease of a swan floating across the top of a pond. The number he’d seen was seductive and erotic, following the lyrics and bringing them to life. Sean had never choreographed a better routine, and it was tailor made for Tiffany’s talents.
While she sauntered over to them now, the little jump in his midsection whenever he saw her was fast becoming an accustomed feeling.
“What are you two conspiring about?” She slid onto the armrest of Cole’s seat and crossed her arms.
“We’re commiserating about a certain red-haired terror and what we can do to put her in her place.”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed to green slits. When she made no comment, he burst out laughing. “Silence the best defense, Brat? I can almost hear those cogs grinding.”
“I’d watch what I say,” Tiffany replied, studying her nails, “or else you’ll be looking for a flea-bag hotel to sleep in.”
“Ouch.”
“You ready for the next number?” Sean asked, breaking into their banter.
“Run to You?”
“Aye.”
Tiffany nodded. “I’ll need to change skates again. The gold ones for this routine arrived yesterday. I need to break them in.”
“Good idea. Go get ’em on. I’ll tell Bryan to get ready.”
Tiffany turned back to Cole. “Are you going to stick around?”
He nodded. “I have a meeting with the network honchos at three.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s one thirty now. I might as well stay.”
“You’ll like this number,” Tiffany told him, slowly trailing a hand up and down the sleeve of his jacket. She lowered her eyes and then glanced back up at him, a slow, lazy smile trailing up her face. “It’s pretty hot.”
His eyebrows rose a fraction when she sashayed back to her dressing room.
>
Was it his imagination, or had she been flirting with him?
Cole gave himself a mental shake. The one thing Tiffany Judith Lennox definitely was not, was a flirt.
Sean rose to summon his male lead, while Cole sat back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread out in front of him.
What had gotten into him? Thinking about Tiffany like this was crazy. No, it was ridiculous.
He’d known as a child she’d had a crush on him and had even told the family she’d marry him when she was old enough. But that had just been little girl worship, nothing more. True, she’d never dated as a teenager, too busy skating and competing to go out, go to parties, have some adolescent fun. He couldn’t imagine her making out in the backseat of a car with some faceless hormone-crazed boy. She’d devoted almost her entire life to skating. And while she’d had a privileged upbringing, to his mind she’d had no real childhood. Startled, Cole was amazed to realize all his memories of Tiffany centered on her as a kid. A shapeless, figure-less wonder on skates, who ran after him asking him to play with her, read to her, ride with her. During the worst times of the past two years, when food was low, tempers were short, and the threat of death was real, he’d always thought of her to comfort, to calm, to bring him some small sense of happiness. And those images had always been of her as a little girl.
Now, as she sailed across the ice to meet Bryan in the center, Cole viewed her as objectively as he could.
This was no child. Not even a ghost of one. This was a woman through and through. Perfect peaches and cream skin, with a hint of freckles splayed across the nose, had his fingers burning for a touch. Her wild curly mane was wound tightly on top of her head, but Cole remembered exactly what it looked and felt like free and natural, floating about her. Small high breasts and a minuscule waist tapered into womanly hips and ended in legs that were enticingly, curvaceously female, even though he knew how strong and muscle-bound they were from all the years of training.
The duo skated together in perfect sync with the music.
Tiffany was right. This number was hot, a bold mix of dance artistry and visual seduction.
He recognized the music as the same Tiffany had danced to with Patrick Gianfranco that morning. Two lovers being pulled apart by unseen forces, only to find themselves thrown back together. As a dance it had been seductive and strongly erotic. As a skating routine, which they executed beautifully together, each spin and turn in total synchrony, the performance turned into a deeply sensual, stimulating experience.