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“My mother was determined to make her sons into little gentlemen.”
Marisa willed herself to appear earnest. Instead Mrs. Serenghetti had gotten a bunch of pranksters.
“You think this is funny.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Here, I’ll demonstrate,” he said, approaching. “I remember a thing or two.”
She blinked. “What?”
“We’re here to show these kids careers related to hockey.”
“Like ice dancing? I thought that branching out usually went the other way.”
“Like if you sucked at ice dancing as a kid, you took up hockey instead?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“So now I’m a failed figure skater? Someone who couldn’t hack it?” He rubbed his chin. “I have something to prove.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. But before she could respond, he reached for her hand and then slid his other around her waist, so that they were facing each other in dance position.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a high voice, caught between surprise and breathlessness at his nearness.
“Like I said, I have something to prove. I hope you remember your figure skating moves, sweet pea.”
The arm around her was a band of pure muscle. He worked out, and it showed. The power he exuded made her nervous, so she didn’t raise her gaze above his mouth—though that had potency enough to wreak havoc on her heart.
She and Cole skated over the ice, doing a fair facsimile of dancing together. His hands on her were warm imprints, heating her against the cold of the ice.
When she stole a peek at him, she quickly concluded he was still devastatingly gorgeous. His hair was thick and ruffled, inviting a woman to run her fingers through it. His jaw was firm and square but shadowed, promising a hint of roughness. His lips were firm but sensual. And the scar—oh, the scar. The one on his cheek gave character and invited tenderness. He was a catalog of sexy contrasts—a magnet for women in a much blunter way than Jordan. She lowered her lashes. But not for me.
“Are you ready for a throw jump?”
Her gaze shot to his. “What?” She sounded like a parrot but she couldn’t have heard him right. “I thought we were just dancing! What about your knee?”
He shrugged. “It couldn’t take repeated hits from a defenseman who weighs over two hundred pounds, but I’m guessing you don’t weigh nearly as much.”
“I’m not telling you how much I weigh!”
“Naturally.” Cole’s eyes crinkled. “Here we go, Ice Princess. Think you can land a throw waltz jump?”
In the next moment they were spinning around and Cole was lifting her off the ice.
“Ready?” he murmured.
She felt herself moving through the air. It was a gentle throw, so she didn’t go very high or far. She brought down the toe of her right foot and landed her blade before extending her left leg back.
Cole grinned, and the kids around them on the ice laughed and clapped while a few chortled.
“A one-footed landing,” Cole said, skating toward her. “I’m impressed. You’ve still got game, sweet pea.”
She laughed. “Still, can you see me competing in the Olympics?” she asked, gesturing at her ample chest. “I’d have had to bind myself.”
Cole gave her a half-lidded look as he stopped in front of her. “Now that would be a shame.”
She’d walked into that one. Students glided by around them, and there were a few gasps as Jordan appeared. This was hardly the place for Cole and her to be having a sexually tinged moment.
