Chapter Fourteen #4
Tessa understood that the discussion had already ended.
“Fine.”
They walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the crossing.
The city had become almost entirely silent. No traffic moved through the street. The hotels glowed on either side, windows bright against the dark. A Christmas tree stood inside Tessa’s lobby, visible through the glass entrance.
Matvei remained beside her without touching.
Tessa had expected the walk back to feel like the previous two, his body close enough to block the wind and his hand appearing whenever the pavement became uncertain. Instead, he gave her space.
The difference made her nervous.
Perhaps he had accepted the warning in the bar. Perhaps the ethics conversation had reminded him that whatever existed between them could not become physical without consequences.
That should have relieved her.
Instead, Tessa wondered whether he had changed his mind.
The thought embarrassed her.
She had just explained why this was dangerous. She could not reasonably be disappointed when he listened.
They crossed the street.
A thin patch of ice covered part of the pavement near the curb. Matvei placed one hand lightly at the center of her back, guiding her around it. The contact disappeared as soon as they reached dry ground.
Nothing suggestive.
Nothing that could be mistaken for an invitation upstairs.
Tessa looked toward the entrance.
Only several steps remained.
Her concern changed shape.
What if he believed she expected him to come inside? The bar, the drinks and the hand on her knee had already pushed the night farther than either intended. Walking her directly to the hotel entrance could become a question neither had agreed to ask.
Tessa slowed.
Matvei noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You think.”
“I always think.”
“Too much.”
“That is possible.”
They reached the awning above the hotel entrance.
Warm light spilled through the glass doors behind her. Snow clung to the dark shoulders of Matvei’s coat, and the Christmas lights above the street cast small gold reflections across his eyes.
Tessa turned to face him.
“Thank you for the drinks.”
“You order three.”
“You ordered them.”
“You say yes.”
She smiled despite herself.
“For the record, I planned to have one.”
“You say many things.”
The familiar line settled between them.
Neither moved.
Matvei’s hands remained inside the pockets of his coat. He made no attempt to step closer. He did not look toward the hotel lobby or ask which room she was staying in.
Tessa realized he was not expecting anything from her.
He had walked her back because the sidewalk was icy and she had nearly fallen once already.
The care of that was somehow more intimate than pressure would have been.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“You cover game.”
“I can still wish you luck.”
Matvei studied her face.
“You want Russia win?”
“That would be a conflict of interest.”
“You have many.”
Tessa laughed softly.
His gaze dropped toward her mouth.
The laughter disappeared.
The air seemed to change around them.
Tessa felt the professional objections rise again, every warning she had articulated inside the bar. She had explained exactly why they should not act on this. Matvei had understood enough to know the risk was larger for her.
He still looked at her as though the decision remained hers.
Matvei pulled one hand from his pocket.
Slowly, giving her time to understand the movement, he touched two fingers beneath her chin.
Tessa stopped breathing.
He lifted her face slightly.
His eyes searched hers.
“You tell me stop,” he said.
The words came quietly.
Tessa knew she should.
She pictured Atlantic Centre. Frank’s old chair. Elaine’s praise. The byline she had spent years earning and every person prepared to believe she received the job for reasons unrelated to her work.
She pictured Matvei in the locker room after Montreal, angry because he believed trust had become betrayal.
She pictured him at the bar describing his mother waiting after bad games and his father calling only when he won.
She felt again the brief turn of his face into her palm when she touched his scar.
He gave her time.
Enough time to step back.
Enough time to tell him the ethics mattered more than the attraction.
Tessa did neither.
Her hand closed around the front of his coat.
Matvei lowered his head.
The first touch of his mouth against hers was restrained enough to be a question.
Warm.
Careful.
Nothing like the urgency that had existed when he caught her on the ice. He kissed her as though he expected her to change her mind at any second and intended to make stopping easy.
Tessa did not stop.
She rose slightly onto her toes and tightened her hand in his coat.
The answer changed him.
Matvei’s free hand settled at her waist, firm without pulling her closer than she chose to come. His mouth moved against hers again, deeper this time but still controlled. Tessa could taste the faint trace of vodka and feel the cold trapped in the stubble along his jaw.
Her other hand reached his chest.
His heartbeat was faster than she expected.
Or perhaps it only felt that way because hers had become impossible to ignore.
For several seconds, the entire world narrowed to the pressure of his mouth, his hand at her waist and the Christmas lights glowing beyond her closed eyes.
Then Tessa remembered where they were.
She pulled back slightly.
Matvei stopped immediately.
Their faces remained close. His breath warmed her mouth, and his hand stayed at her waist without tightening.
Neither spoke.
Tessa opened her eyes.
The guardedness had disappeared from his expression. He looked almost uncertain, a version of him she had seen only in fragments.
“That was a bad idea,” she whispered.
Matvei’s thumb moved once against the side of her coat.
“Yes.”
She stared at him. “You’re supposed to disagree.”
“Why?”
“Because that is how this conversation usually works.”
“It is bad idea.”
The honesty made her laugh once, breathlessly.
Matvei’s mouth curved.
“But?” she asked.
His eyes lowered toward her lips.
“But I want again.”
Heat moved through her despite the cold.
Tessa should have stepped away.
Instead, she kissed him.
The second kiss remained brief, though she initiated it without the restraint of the first. Matvei made a low sound in his throat and pulled her closer for one suspended moment before releasing her.
They separated together.
This time, Tessa took a full step back.
Matvei’s hand fell from her waist.
The cold entered immediately.
“You have a game,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I have work.”
“Yes.”
“We should go inside.”
“Different inside.”
“Obviously.”
Neither moved.
Tessa looked through the glass doors toward the lobby. Nobody appeared to be watching. A receptionist sat behind the desk typing, attention fixed on the computer.
Matvei followed her gaze.
“I do not come in,” he said.
Relief and disappointment arrived together.
“I know.”
He looked at her.
The answer sounded more certain than she felt.
Matvei touched the side of her face once, thumb passing over skin still cold beneath the warmth of the kiss. Then he lowered his hand.
“Good night, Tessa.”
“Good night.”
She stepped toward the entrance.
The automatic doors opened, allowing warm air to spill across the pavement. Tessa walked inside and turned before they closed.
Matvei remained beneath the Christmas lights.
He had not moved toward his hotel yet.
Tessa lifted one hand.
He nodded.
The doors slid shut between them.
She stood in the lobby long enough to watch him cross the street. He disappeared beneath the awning of Russia’s hotel without looking back, exactly as he had the night before.
This time, Tessa knew it did not mean he felt nothing.
She rode the elevator alone.
The hallway outside her room remained silent, every door closed against separate versions of Christmas. Tessa unlocked hers, stepped inside and leaned back against the wood before turning on the light.
Her lips still felt warm.
She touched them with two fingers.
The professional problem had not changed simply because the kiss was careful.
The consequences remained exactly as serious as they had been at the table.
Tomorrow, she would sit in a press box and write about his performance against the United States.
She would enter the mixed zone afterward and ask questions while other reporters stood beside her.
Matvei would answer as though he had not held her beneath the Christmas lights.
She would have to behave as though she had not kissed him twice.
Tessa closed her eyes.
She had spent months insisting that boundaries were easy because nothing had happened.
Now something had.
Across the street, Matvei was entering another hotel, heading toward another room and preparing for a game she would cover the next afternoon.
They had separated before the night became anything more.
That should have felt like control.