Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I could do this. This was easy. A cakewalk. What the fuck did cakewalk even mean?
The thought clung to the edges of my mind like buttercream, and I focused on that instead. Of cakes and creams, gâteaux and tartes au citron. And slowly my racing heart slowed to an acceptable pace. After agonizing minutes, I could breathe without struggle.
“This pisses me off,” I ground out.
Emma’s thumb caressed my knuckles. “What does?”
I glanced over. She held my gaze with her steady blue eyes, a calm sea in the center of my storm. I forced myself to relax my grip on her. “Panicking over the simple sight of a rink. Places like this used to be my home. The embodiment of everything that was right in the world.”
Everything I’d lost. I knew it. She knew it.
“When did you first learn to skate?”
Her softly spoken question startled me; I’d expected her to try to comfort me with platitudes. I turned toward the set of doors leading to the ice. “Seven. I wanted to fly.” Longing and grief punched through me. “It was the closest I could come to it.”
Shit. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t going to do it. I blinked rapidly and breathed. Just breathe, Oz.
Emma pressed her cheek to my shoulder. “Let’s fly, Lucian. Just you and me.”
Fly. With her.
Heart clenching, I dipped my head and kissed the top of hers. “All right, honeybee. I’ll take you flying.”
Ordinarily, I could have laced up my skates with my eyes closed. Today, however, my fingers shook and fumbled with the strings as I thought of going out there. But I could deal. Emma wanted to skate.
Finishing up, I knelt at her feet, where she was putting on her skates. Unlike me, she had asked for a pair of figure skates.
“Let me see,” I said, checking her lacings to make sure they were tight enough.
I redid one, giving her a look of reproach but tempering it with a small smile. Because she was damn cute with her white skates and a red wool beanie on her head.
“Better, Brick?” she asked, leaning down to watch.
I caught her sweet mouth with a kiss, lingering there because she tasted like heaven and felt even better. “Perfect, Snoop.”
My hands smoothed up her thighs. She wore jeans in deference to the cold rink. I missed her floaty skirts and told her so.
Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “You just want to stick your hands under them.”
“Guilty.” I leaned in to nuzzle between her breasts, my hands snaking beneath her light sweater to find the silky skin of her belly. “Pretty sure I’m addicted.”
She hummed in pleasure as I lightly kissed my way around her breasts. Her fingers carded through my hair, then gently halted my progress. When I looked up, she met my gaze with solemn eyes that told me all the stalling wasn’t fooling her. “You ready now?”
No. “Yeah.”
I stood, instantly feeling the change in my body, the added height of the skates, the way muscle memory adjusted to accommodate balancing on thin blades. Everything in me woke up. My focus narrowed onto Emma.
I held my hand out, and she took it, letting me haul her upright.
Smiling, she looked me over. “You’re a veritable tree in those skates.”
“You should have seen me in full gear.”
Her lips twitched. “Man mountain, huh?”
“Pretty much.” I held on to her hand firmly and glanced down at her feet. New skaters often let their ankles tilt, throwing them off balance and setting them up for an injury. But she held hers straight and strong. A good sign. “Let’s do this.”
The first blast of cooler air had me sucking in a breath as we made it to the ice. I meant to wait for Emma, take it slowly, but I stepped out onto the ice like a man let out of jail. Pure, pristine white stretched out before me, a perfect glide.
And I flew, the wind kissing my face, air filling my lungs. Racing along, I took a circuit around the rink, pivoting to run an old drill from high school days. My hands flexed with the need to feel my stick. I ached for that. Ached to drop a puck and play.
A wolf whistle pierced the air, and I caught sight of Emma clapping and cheering me on. She looked so damned impressed by some simple skating that I found myself showing off for her, going faster, weaving through imaginary defenders. Circling back around, I headed her way but stopped nice and easy, because I might have been a showboat, but I wasn’t going to be the asshole who sprayed ice at a girl.
Cheeks pink, indigo eyes sparkling, she grinned wide. “You’re beautiful.”
“That’s my line.” I held out my hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get you skating.”