Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Lila
Our meeting was at four. I, of course, was there by three-thirty. One of the tutors Daddy had hired for me when I was a little girl had drilled punctuality into me, said it was the manifestation of good manners. But in this case, I wasn’t early to be polite…
I was here so I could feel in control.
Not that I needed to reacquaint myself with the ice; this was my ice, where I’d grown up skating and practicing—feeling free as I glided, twirled, leapt.
I also knew the facility well enough to know what we needed.
This was the smaller rink, the one usually used for private practices or pairs.
Mornings—especially the hours before school—were usually packed with skating rehearsals.
Then during the day, the Terrors took up the ice with their practice and individual drills.
By four in the afternoon, most of the guys should be off the ice, and we’d have it to ourselves before the evening rush of youth hockey began.
So yes, I booked this time and place yesterday, guessing at what was necessary. But I suppose my position in the company could have worked in my favor there, too.
I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, placed my notebook and binder on the bench, and stood. I’d already stretched before putting on my skates, and now I paused at the edge of the rubber matting to inhale the scent of the ice.
Here in Colorado, summer was a few glorious months of desperate growing, bright sunshine, and all the mountain biking anyone could stand. But here inside the Bramblebluff Ice Complex, it was always winter.
With a little curl of my lips, I pushed out onto the surface and felt myself relax for the first time since…well, since the last time I made time to skate.
I’d worn my favorite leggings and a turquoise sweatshirt with the Terrors’ snarling viper logo, and my hair was up in a ponytail. The outfit was a deliberate choice: the leggings made me feel comfortable, and the logo was to set Kardok at ease.
Kardok.
Yesterday I’d seen him in the hallway, waiting to speak to Maddie. Heck, I’d probably seen him right before she broke the news to him about this ice dancing exhibition scheme.
If I’d been brave enough, I would have said something welcoming, something about looking forward to working with him.
But instead, when I’d glanced up and seen him standing there—innocent and clueless—I was suddenly hit with a vision of him on the ice, all raw power and primal sexuality, and that thing he does with his tongue. And I blushed.
I’m the kind of gal who, once I start to blush, keeps blushing until I look like a tomato.
Yesterday was very much a tomato sort of experience.
I’d walked down that hall, trying my best to appear professional and nonchalant, thinking maybe I’d even nod to Kardok, like I was only mildly aware of him as a player…
And instead I apparently decided the floor was completely fascinating as I felt the heat crawl up my chest to my throat and cheeks.
Idiot.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed?
Maybe he wouldn’t even show up today. No, Maddie had sent me a thumbs-up text this morning, so I assumed we were on. I’d spent the morning brainstorming ideas for this exhibition, but really, the choreography depended on Kardok’s skills.
Oh, he was talented, but could I expect him to spin and leap? Forget a lutz, could the male do a spin without falling over?
I glanced at the large clock on the wall. I supposed I’d find out soon.
If only my body could decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. My heart was hammering in my chest as my stomach knotted. Anticipation and nervousness. Basically the hallmarks of my life.
One more lap, which I ended on a long back edge, arms out, and I felt myself exhale, finally—maybe?—sinking into something approaching comfortable. I glanced at the clock, saw it tick over to the twelve, and glanced to the bench.
He was here.
I didn’t fall over.
Go, me.
Instead, I reminded myself that I was an adult with a professional adult job, and I could do this. I could.
Plastering a polite smile on my face, I skated over.
Kardok was wearing a pair of compression practice pants and a t-shirt with the logo of one of the local orc-run breweries, and his hair was wet. I supposed if he’d been scrimmaging with the team, he would have showered.
I watched a drop of water skim along one of the strands of his hair he hadn’t shoved up into his sexy topknot, and realized my mouth was watering.
Focus.
Right. I blinked. “Hello,” I managed. “I’m Lila.”
Good manners dictated I offer him my hand for a shake, but years of etiquette courses apparently had gone right out the window, because I remembered that a little too late.
Kardok’s expression was carefully neutral as he dropped his bag beside my binder. “Kardok. Nice to meet you.”
He didn’t sound thrilled to be here.
Can you blame him? He probably thinks he just signed up for more humiliation.
The reminder of that bellow of pain from the penalty box brought on a surge of sympathy for him, and that, more than anything, relaxed me. My shoulders crawled down from their position around my ears, and I offered him a small smile.
“Maddie blindsided me with this request, but I do think it’s a good one. We’ll be able to raise a lot of money for the youth league, and goodwill as well.”
He nodded once, almost curtly. “You do a lot of charity events, yeah?”
“That’s my job—I’m head of the charity arm of Fairbanks Enterprises. It’s my job to make the company look good, and I think this is a great opportunity.”
Right. Good. I said all of those words, in a row, and sounded completely normal, and—the important bit—I didn’t reach up and tuck that strand of wet hair behind his pointed ear.
Professional. Poised. Polite.
Right. I could do this.
Kardok’s attention shifted to the ice as he dragged his hand across his head, tucking that strand into his topknot. “We have the place to ourselves?”
My throat was dry, and I took two tries to get it working. “Uh—yes. I thought…” Focus. Stop thinking about his jawline. “Since it was our first time together—I mean, our first rehearsal! Since it’s our first rehearsal, I thought privacy would be better as we got our legs under us.”
He still wasn’t looking at me—was that on purpose?—as he nodded again. “Maddie mentioned someone else would be joining us?”
“Joshua McAllister is one of the best youth coaches here, and we contracted him to join us at our practices. He’ll be able to watch and give pointers.”
A third nod, still with him not looking at me. Kardok’s expression hadn’t changed, but his jaw had tightened. There was an old scar which ran up his cheek to his temple—a nasty cut from before he’d joined the league. It had always made him look more wicked, somehow. More primitive.
This afternoon, though? I saw his old pain.
“Kardok?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d blurted his name until he turned and looked at me. Really looked at me. Like he was seeing me for the first time, those dark eyes raking me, looking for inadequacies I prayed he couldn’t see.
He raised a brow, and I exhaled.
“Thank you. For agreeing to this. I know…I know it’s not your bailiwick.”
His lips twitched, one side of his mouth pulling up into a smirk as he switched his attention back to the ice. “I don’t know what that means, Princess. But I’m doing it for the kids. And my team.”
Right.
Not like he’s doing it for me or anything. This wasn’t even my idea—Maddie roped me into it, the same as him, only I was going to end up having to plan the entire event, wasn’t I?
So I hardened my tone slightly and tried to remember how to be professional. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see you skate. Oh, I’ve seen you in games, of course. But—” Darn it, I was making a mess of this. “Would you do a few laps for me? Please?”
Dark eyes flashed my way once more, and I wondered if he was always this hard to read, or if he was being deliberately stoic for my benefit. Or perhaps he didn’t want to be here.
With a shrug that turned into him rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms, Kardok stepped off the rubber mat.
The moment his skates hit the ice, I understood why Maddie had chosen him.
I’d expected a hockey player’s stride—powerful, purposeful, utilitarian. The kind of skating that existed purely in service of getting somewhere fast and hitting something when you arrived.
And yes, there was that; Kardok moved across the ice with the confidence of someone who’d spent more time on blades than off them.
But there was something else underneath it. Something I hadn’t anticipated.
Oh, I thought, very professionally. Oh no.
“Just a few laps,” I called out, keeping my voice in what I thought of as my work register—pleasant, authoritative, the voice of a woman who absolutely was not remembering certain internet searches she’d conducted in the privacy of her own home.
“I want to see your natural stride before we discuss choreography.”
He didn’t respond, which I was choosing to interpret as compliance rather than dismissal.
I watched him complete the first lap, arms loose at his sides, and tried to mentally catalogue his moves with the detached eye of someone who’d spent twenty years assessing bodies in motion.
Weight distribution, good. Edge control, surprisingly refined.
That forward lean—aggressive, yes, but not unworkable.
Workable, I noted. Very workable.
I pretended that my mouth wasn’t still watering at the thought of working with Kardok.
Because then he hit the far corner and opened up his stride, and the analytical part of my brain went briefly and embarrassingly offline.
The problem—the entirely professional problem—was that Kardok in motion was something that demanded to be looked at.
He was simply too large, too fluid, too there to ignore.
When he skated, he didn’t seem to be fighting the ice the way big men sometimes did, as though they resented having to compromise.