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“So you stick to my side, got it? Step one is getting you off this ice. Step two is figuring out who the hell is in my rink.”
His rink? Already possessive when he’d just started the job? But she wasn’t about to complain. Because being alone in the dark was one thing. One terrifying thing. But being with the giant, muscled head of security for the rink? A world better.
They made it off the ice. She balanced on her skates because it was second nature to her. He kept his right hand curled around her wrist as if—as if holding her was somehow second nature to him.
“I want to check the perimeter.” He’d lowered his head, and his breath blew along the edge of her ear. “But I am not leaving you alone. Ditch the skates, and we’ll search together.”
Ditching the skates would take a bit of effort. “I—”
The lights flashed on. Not just the lights over the rink, but every light in the building seemed to turn on all at once. Then footsteps rushed toward them.
Before she could even pull in another breath, Midas had pushed her behind his body. Being behind his body was pretty much like being behind a giant brick wall. She couldn’t see whoever was approaching. She’d been completely concealed.
“Who the hell are you?” A familiar voice snarled. A Russian accent thickened the angry question. “And why are you in my rink?”
Familiar because it was her coach. Dimitri Sokolov. Former two-time gold medal Olympic figure skating champ. Absolute brilliance on the ice and an absolute monster of a demanding instructor in every other moment of his life. There was no room for anything less than perfection in Dimitri’s orbit.
Before Midas could answer, Alina shifted her position and craned her head to the side so she could put her eyes on Dimitri. “He’s with me.”
Midas tensed.
“What?” Dimitri gaped at her. “You…you brought a personal friend to a practice?”
No, she never brought friends to practice. Mostly because she didn’t have a lot of friends. Or any. She only had skating. It was what she’d done for years and years. Years of broken bones. Aching muscles. Falls onto the ice over and over.
But I get back up. You always have to get back up.
“Yep, she brought me. And were you the asshole playing games with the lights?” Midas demanded.
Her jaw almost hit the floor. As far as she knew, no one had ever called Dimitri an asshole. Well, not to his face, anyway.
And speaking of his face—it turned an unnatural red. More like reddish purple.
“She was on the ice when the lights went off,” Midas continued, apparently not giving a damn about the odd color of Dimitri’s face, “and she could have hurt herself. Even someone as talented as Alina can’t skate in pitch darkness.”
“I didn’t turn anything off,” Dimitri fired right back. “I came in and turned everything on. I would never do anything to jeopardize Alina! She’s my prize skater.”
“Really don’t like the possessive my. Not when it comes to Alina,” Midas drawled. “We’ll revisit that one.” He turned toward her. “Stay with the douche.”
Her eyes widened. He had not—
“I’ll check the perimeter and come back for you.” His hand lifted and brushed over her cheek. “You are…quite something, Alina Bellamy.”
Then he was off. Moving very swiftly for someone of his size. She gaped after him.
“No.” Dimitri moved into her path and blocked her view of Midas’s determined figure striding away. “You are not to get involved with anyone.”
She wasn’t involved with Midas. They’d just met.
“Your attention is on the ice. One hundred percent on the ice.”
Wasn’t it always? While everyone else had normal lives. Normal relationships.
“He isn’t for you, Alina. Now, get back on the ice. You have several hours of practice to go. You aren’t nailing that quadruple axel.”
Because most female figure skaters didn’t nail it. There was a reason it was the rarest jump.
“On the ice,” he snapped. “And into the air. You don’t have time for anything else. This is your life.”
