Collision (2 page)

The cameraman gave them a break while he checked the
pictures he’d taken thus far, and Leah took the opportunity to eat a sandwich
and guzzle down a bottle of water. When the cameraman called them back, he
said, “All right. We’ve got some good pictures so far, but I’d like to sex
things up a little.”

“Sex things up?” Leah echoed.

“Yeah. Both of you are young and good-looking, let’s play
that up. Now, Leah, if you could turn toward Brady. Great. Put your left arm
around his waist and your right hand on his chest.” Rolling her eyes, Leah
complied. As soon as her hand made contact with his muscular pecs it started to
tingle and her breath caught. Luckily Brady was listening to the photographer
and didn’t seem to notice her sudden discomfiture.

“Brady, put your right arm around her shoulders and stick
the thumb of your left hand in the belt loop of your jeans. Pull them down just
a little. Perfect.” He took a few shots that way and then cocked his head as
Leah fought to get her breathing under control. No man had ever caused a pure
visceral reaction in her like Brady did, and she was stumped about what seemed
to draw her to him like bees to honey. “Brady, would you mind unbuttoning your
shirt?”

Brady grinned and Leah snorted, trying her damndest to cover
her still-increasing respiratory rate. Of course he didn’t mind. The women on
the crew were already drooling and falling all over themselves—including her,
much to her own chagrin. When he began to unbutton his shirt and finally
separated the two plackets, pulling the shirt out of his jeans as he did so, it
was all she could do to keep her own mouth closed. The man’s chest was
mouthwatering, sprinkled with the same dark-blond hair that was on his head.
His well-developed pecs led down to six-pack abs, where another trail of hair
led to…

Brady cleared his throat and Leah’s head snapped up. “Excuse
me?”

“The photographer is talking to you.” Brady was smirking and
she had a crazy notion to shock him by kissing that expression right off his face.
Instead, with her cheeks flaming she turned to the cameraman.

“Yes?”

“I want you in the same position as before, but,” he walked
up and shoved her hand underneath Brady’s shirt, “put your hand here.” Leah’s
stomach dropped as her fingers came into contact with the coarse hair and
smooth skin of Brady’s chest. “Brady, lower your right arm and put your hand on
Leah’s hip. Pull her into you. That’s good, very sexy.”

Her gaze flew up to Brady’s face. His brown eyes had
darkened with heat. Forcing her eyes away, she concentrated on the photographer
and tried to ignore how warm and hard his body felt against hers.

A few moments later Brady leaned down and whispered into her
ear, his own breathing hitching, “Darlin’, if you don’t stop petting me we’re
gonna have a mighty interesting situation that I don’t think any amount of
airbrushing can disguise.”

Startled, she pulled her hand away as if she’d been burned.
Good Lord, she’d practically been tweaking the man’s nipple. David Nelson called
out to her, “Are you all right, Leah? Do you need a break?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to croak out. Brady grabbed her hand
and started to move it back underneath his shirt and the cameraman nodded.

“Brady, if you could continue to hold on to her hand…yeah,
that’s good.”

That’s what you think. You’re not the one practically
panting here.

“Since you’ve been game so far, Brady, I’m gonna ask you to
take off your shirt completely. Let’s give the lady fans something to get
excited about.”

Brady shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He dropped his shirt into a
waiting assistant’s hands and turned back to Leah. “Like what you see?”

The need to get away from him before she did something
stupid like climb right up the front of him as if he were her personal Mount
Kilimanjaro was becoming overwhelming. No man she’d ever dated had made her
this hot, not immediately and not ever, for that matter. “Let’s just get this
done.”

Laughing, he grabbed both her hands and planted them on his
chest, forcing her to splay out her fingers underneath his. “Ready whenever you
are.” Leaning down again, he continued, his voice growing husky and thick. “Try
not to pet me too much or I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do and the
pictures will be a little more than Nelson bargained for.”

Images of exactly what he
could
do flooded her brain
and she took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on anything but the feel of
him under her hands.

He held her hands so she couldn’t remove them, and the
cameraman said, “Stay like that. Leah, look into his eyes.”

Leah did, but not before rolling hers. She had to regain the
upper hand here. Determined not to let Brady affect her more than he already
had, she concentrated on the instructions the photographer tossed out as the
shutter continued to click.

“Now, Brady, slide a hand along Leah’s thigh.”

“Is this really necessary?” she asked.

David approached them. “Sex sells, Leah. Both of you are
gorgeous and single and if there’s a little bit of a rumor of something more
the fans will eat it up. Can we count on you?”

Leah sighed. Where had the solicitous sponsor gone?

“Fine.”

David moved away again and Brady said, “It’ll be over soon
and you won’t have to touch me anymore. Well, not unless you want to.” His eyes
sparkled but still held the heat from before and Leah took a deep breath, which
was a mistake since at this distance she could smell a hint of Brady’s cologne.
It tickled her nostrils and made her want to lick him until she discovered
where he’d applied it. She was losing her mind.

When the torture of having to be that close to Brady without
drooling all over him was finally over, she scrubbed her face clean and threw
her black wool crepe pencil skirt, cream-colored cashmere sweater set and her
favorite ivory Badgley Mischka satin flats on, grateful to be back in her own
clothes.

When she came out of the bathroom, Brady did a double take.
“What?” she snapped, at the end of her patience and certainly her self-control.

“Nothing. You just, I dunno, you look a lot more relaxed.
Beautiful. Not that the skating dresses weren’t nice, but wow. You’ve got some
style, babe.”

Leah just shook her head. It was obvious that hitting on
women was ingrained in this man’s DNA. Even so, when he turned those light-brown
eyes on her and they darkened to the color of fine whiskey as his gaze tracked
her from head to toe and back up again, taking an even more leisurely tour than
he had earlier during the shoot, an itch started in her belly and radiated
outward. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath, looking away.
Her eyes narrowed. Obviously she wasn’t the only one feeling the attraction.
Even though that was dangerous territory to wander into, she somehow felt
better knowing she wasn’t alone.

“Wanna ride to the hotel together? No use taking two cabs,”
he suggested, still not meeting her gaze.

“Um, sure. Just let me grab my things.” She started to move
back into the room and he followed. When she got to her suitcase, he put his
hand over hers on the handle and a jolt of electricity jumped up her arm. She
quickly backed away.

His intense scrutiny followed her movement. “Allow me. A
lady should never haul her own baggage.” Hoisting her carryon over his shoulder
along with his duffel bag, he began to roll her suitcase behind him. “After
you.” Together they strode out of the room.

She was very aware of his male presence in the cramped
elevator. At least he’d put his shirt back on—thank God for small favors, along
with a worn brown Stetson. He smelled of that same cologne from earlier and
something else she couldn’t put her finger on, something distinctly male. One
thing she could say for certain—the men she knew didn’t smell like that.

When she bothered to date, which wasn’t often since men were
so low on her priority list, she chose men who wore expensive custom-tailored
suits, drove high-end cars, and were as focused on their careers as she was. It
was easier that way. They didn’t get in her way, and she didn’t get in theirs.
She hadn’t been raised to be a husband hunter. In fact, when she looked at her
parents’ marriage, which could only be described as “polite”, she had no
interest in the institution for herself.

After all, she had a career to focus on. This year was her
last chance to show the world she could still be a champion; that she hadn’t
lost her edge through all those years of sacrifice and work, all the blood and
sweat and tears. Despite everything she’d already accomplished, she felt as if
there was still more to do. She had to keep her eyes firmly on the prize. First,
Nationals, and then Worlds, and finally, a spot on the US Olympic team. At her
age, she only had one more shot and she was going to take it.

* * * * *

Brady hoped like hell the air-conditioning was working in
his hotel room. Ever since he’d seen Leah, all he’d wanted to do was peel her
clothes off so he could explore her lithe, toned body. He took the opportunity
to look her up and down once again. Her posture and bearing could only be
described as elegant, from her slim neck to her lean frame. Leah was a classic
beauty. Her long, straight chestnut-brown hair reminded him of the coat of his
favorite filly back home, and her eyes, dark-green right now no doubt due to
her annoyance, set off her pale skin and darker hair well. She was beautiful in
a classy, subtle kind of way, not like the girls he usually came into contact
with whose looks were more obviously stated. She could be a model. Everything
about her was perfect. And despite her chilly demeanor and obvious disdain for
him, she was also obviously attracted to him.

Sure, he loved brunettes best, but when it came to women, he
wasn’t real picky. He loved them all, and they loved him. Leah just wasn’t as
forward about it. Maybe that was the attraction. She didn’t throw herself at
him. She was a challenge. And like the natural-born competitor he was, he loved
a good challenge—it got his adrenaline pumping. He knew he didn’t stand a
chance with her, given their completely different backgrounds and
circumstances, but still, he suspected he’d be unable to leave well enough
alone.

He chanced another sideways glance at her as the taxi sped
uptown. She was checking messages on a fancy cell phone-organizer thing she’d
taken out of her designer purse. Since she was occupied, he took the
opportunity to check out her body in more detail. Long legs. Very shapely, no
doubt due to her profession. David had told him over the phone earlier that
morning that she was injured, rehabbing some sort of ankle injury, but she
wasn’t wearing a cast or any sort of wrapping, so he wasn’t sure what the deal
was.

His gaze traveled farther, past a tiny waist to small, firm
breasts and a slender neck. Her face was long, some might even say severe, but
he’d bet she’d be stunning if she ever relaxed enough to genuinely smile—not
like those fake smiles she’d given the photographer earlier. Her cheekbones
were high and set off large eyes. She obviously stayed out of the sun. Her skin
was perfect, with nary a blemish marking it. Put simply, she was a work of art.
Given the combination of her looks and frosty personality, no wonder they
called her “The Ice Queen”. Brady would love to get underneath that façade,
though. He’d be willing to bet there was a hot, wanton woman just waiting to be
let out.

Frowning, she put her phone away.

I wonder why she looks so unhappy all the time.

She glanced up and he smiled, trying to put her at ease. “So
David said you’re from Connecticut,” he began. “I’ve never been there.”

She turned toward him, instantly smoothing her face into a
neutral expression. It was fascinating watching her tamp down her emotions in
that manner. Getting her to lose her self-control would really be something.

“Yes, Stamford. I take it from your accent you’re from the
South somewhere?”

Brady grinned. “Texas. And no, not all of my ex’s live in
Texas.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a song. You know,
All My Ex’s Live in Texas
?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You’ve never heard that song? My God, woman, we need to get
you to a honky-tonk.”

“Those things actually exist?” She looked genuinely
perplexed.

“Yes ma’am. You can drink beer, play pool, do the two-step…”

Leah wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a great time, but bars
really aren’t my thing. I can’t remember the last time I was in a bar that
wasn’t connected to a fine-dining establishment.”

Brady’s mouth fell open. “You’re shitting me.”

That actually got a little smile out of “The Ice Queen”.
“No, I assure you I’m not ‘shitting you’. I’ve never understood the allure of
going to a smelly, smoky place to drink horrible-tasting beer and try to shout
over the blaring music.”

“So what would you rather do, Ms. Ice Queen?”

Leah shot him a dirty look. “Please don’t call me that. I
really hate the nickname. Just because I’m serious about my career doesn’t give
people the right to label me in such a derogatory manner.”

Brady sobered up for a moment. “No, it doesn’t. I understand
what it’s like to be at the top, to have people jealous of you and always
nippin’ at your heels.”

“I’m hardly at the top,” Leah retorted. “In fact, since I
got injured I’ve been trying to hang on to any career at all. Twenty-five is
tremendously old for a figure skater. Everyone thinks I should just hang up my
skates.”

“But you don’t want to,” Brady surmised.

“No,” Leah whispered. Then, shaking her head slightly, she
continued in her normal voice. “We’re here.” She was out of the car before
Brady even processed her statement.

After climbing out, he grabbed her baggage again, paid the
driver and motioned her in front of him. Both of them checked in and took the
elevator to their rooms, discovering they’d been placed right across the hall
from each other.