Mr. and Mrs. Novak (Billionaires of Paris #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CATALINA

"And, go!"

My feet sliced, skates sliding faster and faster, until I flew across the ice. Upper body forward, hands behind my back, eyes forward, laser focused.

I leaned hard to my left. My gloved hand grazed the surface of the ice to steady me while I took the bend. I straightened up as I came out and sped up, skating faster still.

I flew around the second bend, past my coach who stood with a stopwatch in his hand.

"Two laps to go."

I didn't acknowledge his words, merely took mental note of them as I sped around the rink.

"One lap to go."

I bent forward, skating harder, attention fixed on the ice and the angle of my body and feet.

On the third pass, my coach signalled the end of this round of practice laps. His arm was a flash of movement in front of me. Only when I'd passed him did I straighten up and gradually slow. I skated a tight circle and skidded to a stop on the edge of the rink in front of him.

"How's the knee?" Always the first thing out of his mouth.

I shrugged. "It's okay." I flexed my right leg a couple of times.

He fixed me with a stern look. "Cat…"

"It's fine, Dad, stop fussing. You sound like a mother hen." I snatched my helmet off my head and shook out my red hair, damp from exertion.

"Don't you 'mother hen' me, girl," he said with affectionate gruffness.

"Father rooster then," I responded with a sly smile and ducked away as though he might physically retaliate. "How was my time?" As far as I was concerned, that was the important part of the conversation.

"You're getting there," he said. "You still need to shave half a second off your time." He made a note on his clipboard.

"Then that's what I'll do," I said. As if it was all that simple.

"Without injuring your knee again—"

I cut him off before he could start his usual, overprotective rant. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to be coached by someone I wasn't related to. Probably just as bad. Any good coach would be as invested as he was, father or not.

"My knee is fine," I protested.

"Your knee isn't completely healed," he corrected. "I know you want to make the Olympic team, but if you do yourself a permanent injury, you'll have to live with that for the rest of your life."

I tucked my helmet under my arm. "It's been my dream since I was six years old," I reminded him. "I've let my knee hold me back for too long." Not long enough in his mind.

"I'm well aware." He held the clipboard by the edge and let it, and the stopwatch, dangle from his fingers. "I'm the one who bought you your first skates."

"So I could follow in your footsteps." I tilted my head at him.

He cocked an eyebrow like he expected me to say more, but was relieved when I didn't. "Thank you for not reminding me you want to surpass my record."

He pressed his lips together in the frustration he still clung to after all these years. He made the Winter Olympic team in short track, when I was a kid. In the final lap, he and another skater collided, letting the other three competitors get in front of them and take the medals.

Without that accident, he would have at least taken a bronze.

Instead, he walked away with nothing but a daughter who had the same drive and stubborn streak he did. And a need to rectify the past on his behalf.

He was right, I couldn't do that with an injured knee.

"You know how important this is," I said softly. "I need to get my fitness back. We've been taking it slowly and carefully."

"Yes, we have," he agreed.

We'd moved from Victoria back to Opal Springs, in the south of New South Wales, for me to recover fully.

I missed the hustle and bustle of Melbourne, but without being surrounded by other ice racers, I was under less pressure from everyone but myself.

Like any good athlete, I put more of that on myself than anyone else ever could.

I exhaled softly. "But this is where you remind me I'm almost finished my degree in vet science and could be working in my field instead."

"Less risk of permanent damage to your knee," he said.

"More chance of being bitten by someone's feral pet turtle," I said jokingly.

I loved animals, and fully intended to use my degree once I was done with skating. If my parents taught me anything, it was to go after what I wanted and that I could be anything or do anything if I worked hard enough. If I was greedy for wanting to achieve both things, then too fucking bad.

No one could say Catalina Joanna Ryan was a quitter.

He sighed. "You're as stubborn as your mother was." His brow furrowed. He clung to the grief harder than his disappointment over losing his Olympic dream. She'd died five years ago, killed on her way home from work by a drunk driver. Dad hadn't dated since, in spite of my encouragement.

He insisted on giving all of his attention to me and my younger sister, Bree.

With Bree busy with university, it was just Dad and me now.

He should be out living his best life, in the present, not letting the past hold him back.

Mum wouldn't have wanted that. Some day, I hoped he'd move on and be happy. He deserved no less.

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said.

He scratched at the side of his temple, where his faded black hair was starting to show a sprinkling of grey. According to my friends, he was a silver fox. To me he was just Dad.

"As you should," he said in his rumbly voice. He could have gone into voice acting or audiobook narration. He'd have women swooning.

Not that I thought about him that way, eww. No, for me, his voice brought back childhood memories of him reading me bedtime stories for hours. Or, more recently, reminding me to go easy on my knee.

"She'd love the idea she passed that on to you." He grimaced, but he was clearly holding back a smile. "This is what I get for living in a house full of women," he groaned. "Red haired women, no less."

"You're the one who wanted a ginger cat," I pointed out. "And the goldfish. Anyone would think you have a fetish."

He grinned and didn't contradict me.

I made a face. "That's what I thought. I'll keep an eye out for an Irish setter. In the meantime, I should go again." I glanced at my watch. "We have another ten minutes."

Renting the rink for a couple of hours a day wasn't cheap, but if I was going to get back on top, I needed to do it. It would be worth the sacrifice.

It had to be.

Dad looked like he might argue, but then he nodded. "One more time around before you cool down too much. Then I need to get to work."

"Don't want Doctor Ryan to be late." I pressed my helmet back on my head.

Dad had a small general practice clinic in town. The kind that didn't time the length of his consultations, but instead made patients feel heard and valued. Opal Springs adored him for it.

"If Doctor Ryan is late, he'll hear about it from Marley," he agreed. "My receptionist hates it when I'm late into the office. She keeps threatening to stop making me coffee." He made a face like that would be the worst fate in the world.

Marley was one of my closest friends. I could totally see her doing something like that.

"That would teach you," I teased. I skated back to the starting point, which was nothing more glamorous than an old traffic cone. The community rink in Opal Springs was nothing fancy, but it was all we had for now.

Dad was about to press go on the stopwatch, when the gate leading off the rink was opened and a bunch of guys in skates and padding shuffled onto the ice. A couple of them carried a goal between them. They glanced at us before taking it over to one end of the rink and placing it down.

I glanced at Dad, who looked as confused as I was. I shrugged and skated over to the closest of the guys.

Standing at least six-foot-five, he was a lot taller than my five foot ten. Taller still in skates. He pulled gloves onto his hands. A helmet covered what looked like brown hair, cut close to his scalp. A thin layer of stubble covered his chin.

"Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" I asked. I planted my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrows at him. Let him know I was annoyed. His body language suggested he was confident he owned the place. I knew for a fact he didn't.

He glanced up at me. A brow twitched before his gaze slid down my body and away, like I was nothing.

"Training," he said simply. His plush lips barely moved when he spoke.

"This is my practice time," I said. "I still have time left on the clock." I pointed to the one on the wall, which clearly read 6:51.

He glanced at it and went on pulling his gloves onto his hands as though I hadn't spoken.

"You can't just come out here and set up on my paid time," I insisted. "That goal is right in my way." If I tried skating around the rink, I'd slam right into it. It was exactly in my path.

For some reason, he seemed to find that amusing. "Go ahead and move it then, Princess." He gestured toward it with one hand.

My face heated with irritation. I knew a setup when I saw one. If it took two muscular guys to carry it out here, it was going to be too heavy for me.

"You need to get it, and yourselves, off the ice until my time is done." I patted myself on the back for not swearing at him. Not yet anyway. Fucker.

He looked at me properly this time. "I don't need to do either of those things. I need to start training with the rest of my team. By the time we get the goal off the ice, it'd be time to put it back. It can stay there."

The clock now read 6:56. There I wasn't going to get in another lap or two at this point anyway.

Would the universe judge me too harshly if I wiped that smug look off his face with the back of my hand?

I wasn't usually given to violence, but this was my whole future here.

My chance to make the Winter Olympic team.

I didn't need a Neanderthal like him standing in the way.

"Next time, wait until your time starts," I told him. "Stay off the ice until then."

"This is our time now, Princess; get yourself off the ice." He made a 'go away' gesture with his fingers.

According to the clock, the time was a minute past seven.

I gave him the longest, filthiest look I could manage before turning and skating to the gate and stepping off the ice.

"Can you believe that asshole?" I said, making no attempt to keep my voice down. "Who does he think he is?"

"He's Cruz Brewer," Dad supplied. "Left-winger for the Opal Springs Ghouls hockey team."

"Opal Springs Tools, more like it," I said sourly. "Where does he get off muscling in on my rink time?" Not to mention the rest of the team, who were all looking at me like I was the one who did something wrong.

"I'll talk to Rhonda," Dad said. "See if she'll have a word with them."

The owner of the rink was the kind of person who took no shit from anyone, but these hockey players didn't look like they took it either. If I had to change my practice time to suit them, I'd be more than slightly pissed off.

"Please do." I tugged my helmet and gloves off. "I don't need assholes like that getting in my way." I gave the entire team a collective dirty look.

The guy standing on the edge of the rink, talking to whom I presumed was the team's coach, gave me a filthy look in return. I resisted the urge to flip him off. He was hot enough to melt the ice, but his expression would freeze it again.

More and more people in Australia were becoming interested in ice hockey, but I wasn't one of them. Especially not now. If that was their attitude, they could fuck off as far as I was concerned. I had better things to do than pander to their egos.

Dad chuckled. "If anyone could deal with them, it would be Rhonda. Or you. Go on and get showered and changed. I'll see you at dinner tonight." He kissed my sweaty cheek and headed out, clipboard tucked under his arm.