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“So do you need a fiancé, too?”
Claire kept her head behind the camera. “Nope. No problems with prior attachments.”
“Any plans for the future?”
“No, I’m a free agent, and I’m happy just the way I am.”
“But you’ll be there? At the wedding, I mean?”
“Of course. Who do you think the wedding photographer is?”
“I should have known. Have camera will travel. You know, I gotta warn you.” He sped up his skating.
“Not too close. I can’t focus that close with this lens.” It wasn’t just the lens that was having trouble, as his body space impinged on hers.
“I have to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?” Her back bumped into the crossbar of the net with a jolt. She would have dropped her camera if the strap hadn’t been around her neck.
“I tried to tell you.” Jason put his hand on her back and massaged the point where she had banged into the bar.
Claire tried not to think about the further pain he was causing.
“I’m beginning to think you need me more than you realize.” He slowly rubbed her shoulder blades.
Claire’s head shot up. “Just because I banged into the net doesn’t mean I need you. And you can stop rubbing now. I didn’t do that much damage.”
“Ah, you don’t know how much damage you’ve already done. In any case, there’s something else I need to tell you.”
“Something else?” She felt a strange letdown when Jason removed his hand.
“Yes, not only do you ride a motorcycle, you also skate backward. As it turns out, these are two of my requirements for a wife. And I must say, you pass with flying colors.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Jason grinned over his shoulder and started to glide away. “Oh, by the way. My keys?”
Claire swore under her breath. She fished into her jeans’ pocket and tossed them underhand. He caught them with an easy swipe and skated away, only to stop and return in a long slow arc.
“Yes?” She scowled as he slid in close. Again, too close.
He lifted one hand.
She watched his hand come close to her face. Then closer. “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”
With a gentle swipe of his index finger, Jason brushed the corner of her mouth. She flinched. Felt her lips tingle and her tongue turn dry. Gulping was impossible. Inhaling only slightly more doable. He had to know how awkward she was feeling.
Jason smiled broadly. He knew. “Powdered sugar.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Powdered sugar?”
Jason brought his index finger to his mouth and slowly tasted it. “Yup, definitely powdered sugar. Must have been that donut you were eating when I first rolled up.” He looked down, one eyebrow slightly cocked.
The photographer in Claire leapt to take the pose.
The woman in her was paralyzed.
“And by the way, Claire Marsden,” Jason said lazily over his shoulder as he skated off for a second time. “That was no joke.”
Claire slowly brought her hand to her face and touched the corner of her open mouth. Her skin was hot, incredibly hot. She couldn’t possibly be blushing. She never blushed. But then she’d never been touched by a demon on skates, either.
3
CLAIRE PACED in front of Trish. “You let me go through that whole shoot with powdered sugar on my face!”
“You told him I needed a fiancé?” Trish responded. She darted her head around to see if they were being overheard. She had all the subtlety of a silent film star. The closest person was Elaine. She was over by the bench, talking with the straggly bearded techie. He somehow didn’t seem her type. “Jason probably thinks I’m pathetic.”
“Trust me. He doesn’t think you’re pathetic.” Claire remembered the appreciative look Jason had shown Trish as they got off the ice. Trish, who was looking so together, so sleek. While she, Claire, had a drippy nose and freezing, cramped toes. Sniffling and hobbling—she sounded like two of the Seven Dwarfs. And that’s when she remembered she still had on the skates.
She sat and began yanking them off. “I don’t know why you think anyone would think you’re pathetic. You weren’t the one tripping over her own two feet on the ice, all the while having this white glob on your face. Why didn’t you tell me?” Claire yanked off the second skate and looked around for her boots.
Trish crossed her arms. “Why so touchy about a little bit of sugar on your face? Frankly, I didn’t even notice.”
Claire found one work boot and pulled it on. She didn’t bother to lace it up. “That’s because your eyes were elsewhere.” Claire got on her hands and knees and started scouting under the bench for her other boot.
“He is rather attractive, isn’t he? One could do far worse in the fiancé category. In fact, it might be something worth contemplating seriously—in a very preliminary stage, of course.”
Claire heard the flirtatious lilt to Trish’s voice as she scrounged around on the rubber flooring for her lost boot. Her hand touched something sticky. She didn’t want to think about the possibilities.
“So what did he say?”
“About what?” In the dank, dark recesses under the first row of permanent seating, Claire located her boot. It was pushed against the cement riser.
“You know, about pretending to be my fiancé at the wedding?” Trish must have bent down because her voice was louder.
Claire shimmied out backward, deciding the safest route out was the same way she’d come in. She dragged the boot behind her. “We never got that far. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Her derriere emerged from the deep abyss.
“Ask me what?”
Claire banged the back of her head on the bottom of a metal seat. She dropped her boot and it tumbled into the great netherworld of discarded chewing gum and Raisinets. No doubt Jason was looking down at her rear end as she hesitated on all fours. She could crawl back under. But then there was that mysterious sticky goo.
“You need a hand?” Jason’s voice was louder, nearer. Much nearer.
In the shadowy darkness under the seats, Claire sensed immediately that he had joined her. She felt the ripples of energy that emanated from his body. If only he’d thought to bring a flashlight. “No need to bother. I’m fine, thank you.”
“The lady doth protest too much.”
“And the jock knows a literary line or two. I’m impressed. But truly, I wouldn’t advise scrounging around here unless you’ve had a recent tetanus shot. Besides, I’m just looking for my boot. I had it a minute ago and I seem to have lost it again.” Claire groped with her hand. She landed on something. It definitely wasn’t sticky. And it definitely wasn’t her boot.
It was large. It was strong. Sinews ridged the skin. Knuckles defined the contours. Fingers slightly curled; nails blunt cut. And there wasn’t the hint of a wedding ring. It was power at rest. But it hardly made Claire feel restful.
“Whoops, sorry about that.” Claire turned her head.
“Don’t be. It could happen to anyone.” In the darkness he moved his head toward hers. He shifted his hand.
His movement caused Claire to realize that her hand was still on his. “Oh, sorry.” She started to pull it away, but he switched grips, holding her fingers lightly.
The sudden dizziness enveloping her head had to be due to the awkward position she was in, Claire told herself. She cleared her throat, if not her brain functions. “I think my boot may be over by your hand.”
She leaned awkwardly in that direction. And felt her mouth brush his cheek.
Jason turned. His lips accidentally touched hers.
His lips pressed lightly. Maybe not an accident? It was brief. Lips ever so slightly parted. Warm breaths and tumbling heartbeats mixing.
And it was the most mind-numbing experience of Claire’s life. And it was happening under the seat of a hockey rink.
“You guys all right down there?”
Trish’s voice penetrated the haze of emotions that engulfed Claire. She felt Jason’s hand tighten briefly before he let go.
“No problem. We were just searching for Claire’s boot. I think I found it.” He searched with his other hand, passing it to Claire.
She was surprised she could still mumble thanks. Backing out on her hands and knees, she slowly rose.
“Find something interesting down there?” Trish rested one hand on her hip.
Claire shivered. “You don’t want to know.” She dropped her boot to the ground and worked it on with her toes. Jason got to his feet, as well. He raked his hand through his thick hair.
“Well, come now,” Trish announced. “Enough of this hide-and-seek. Vernon has agreed to leave you in our care, Jason, for the rest of today’s schedule.” She flounced her coat more squarely on her shoulders. “Why don’t you leave that motorbike of yours here while we take a taxi uptown to the hospital?” Trish waved in the general direction of Elaine, who looked as if she was starting to lose interest in her Mr. Right. “Elaine can drive it up and meet us there.”
“Claire maybe, Elaine never,” Jason said.
“I’m only too happy.” Claire walked over and grabbed her camera bag. Whatever distance she could put between herself and Jason would be a welcome blessing.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Claire. We need you close by. We can always send a security guard. What’s more to the point—” Trish grabbed Jason’s arm “—when we’re all alone in the taxi, I want to know what you think about the fiancé thing.” Claire trailed behind as Trish kept her half nelson grip on Jason. “I realize it’s an imposition, and it was highly unprofessional of Claire to mention it to you during a session.”
“Maybe I will ride the bike after all,” Claire murmured.
“What’s that, Claire?” Trish stuck out her hand for a cab. The ones that sped by had their lights on, indicating they were occupied. “I should have had Elaine arrange for a car service to pick us up.” She dug in her Prada shoulder bag and pulled out her cell phone. “I can still have her do it.”
Claire saw some commuters eyeing Jason. It was only a matter of time before they were surrounded. “Never mind about Elaine.” She spotted a taxi barreling down the other side of Sixth Avenue, stepped off the curb, and with her thumb and middle finger forming a circle, delivered a piercing whistle.
Like Odysseus responding to the sirens’s call, the cab made a suicidal move through the traffic and shrieked to a halt. All that was lacking was for it to be dashed against the rocks. Luckily, the curbs in Manhattan are low and rounded.
Trish snapped her cell phone shut. “I’d forgotten that little trick of yours.” She let Jason hold open the car door, then got into the back seat first.
Jason waited for Claire to get in next. “You realize you just demonstrated requirement number three.” He pantomimed her whistling.
Claire stared at the way his fingers touched his open mouth. And found her libido bouncing around with all the manic exuberance of a two-month-old Labrador retriever. “Boy, you’re easy to please. Half the women in the world must meet your requirements. And if you don’t get in the taxi soon, a few of them will be joining us any minute.”
They bundled in, Claire in the middle. Her camera bag rested on her lap. Jason didn’t seem much farther away. “You can’t move a little?” She looked down at his thigh pressed up against her leg.
Jason leaned over to speak to Trish, ignoring Claire’s comment. “So, tell me about the wedding.” His jacket sleeve put pressure on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire pursed her lips and studied the taxi driver’s license displayed on the dashboard.
“It’s really very simple. Claire, David and I all went to high school together in Leeds Springs,” Trish explained quickly.
“Leeds Springs?” Jason asked.
“A suburban town north of New York City.”
“Think country clubs and golf courses,” Claire said. She focused on the driver’s name, trying to decide which eastern European country he had come from. One with an overabundance of “k’s” it seemed.
Jason turned to Claire. “You lived in suburbia?”
She shrugged. “Only a year and a half. I survived. So did it.”
“Yes, well, all three of us were inseparable, mainly because we all worked on the school newspaper. Claire was the photographer, David covered sports, and I, well, not to be immodest, but I was the editor-in-chief.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jason said. Claire decided to kick him for that smug little comment.
“Anyway, to make a long story short, David was my first true love, something that’s very special to a woman,” Trish went on.
Claire eyed Jason. “Don’t even go there,” she warned sotto voce. He placed his hand on his chest. Who me? he seemed to indicate. She kicked him again.
Jason winced. “Has anyone ever told you that you have violent instincts?”
She stared wide-eyed. Only a newborn calf could have looked more innocent. “Sorry, my foot slipped.”
“Twice?”
“Repetitive stress syndrome?”
“And even though we all went our separate ways, we stayed in touch.” Trish cupped her chin wistfully. “Call me unrealistic, but somehow I thought one day he’d come back into my life. Only I never envisioned we’d meet again at a wedding—his wedding, to someone else. To an orthodontist no less.” Trish took a pair of sunglasses from her bag and wrestled them onto her face. “An orthodontist,” she harrumphed.
“I’m sure she has very nice teeth,” Claire said.
“Don’t try to be nice, Claire. It doesn’t suit you.” Trish fiddled with the bow of her glasses, designer ones, naturally. “Anyway, even though David’s moved to Chicago—he’s a district attorney—” she turned to Jason “—they’ve decided to get married back at his parents’ place in Westchester, a nice Tudor place right by the golf course. I always did think it would make the perfect place for a wedding.”
Trish paused, as if visualizing the outdoor seating arrangement of her dreams—lilacs and lilies of the valley roped in garlands along white satin-covered folding chairs, a veritable aromatherapy of connubial bliss. “Well, when the invitation came, I accepted as a matter of course, and replied I would be bringing a guest. The thing of it is, to make this really work—to attend from a real position of strength—what I need is not just a guest, but a fiancé. That way I truly look like…” For once in her life, Trish actually needed to pause.
“Like you’re sleeping with someone?” Claire offered.
“That you have someone who is special, a lover,” Jason corrected.
Trish turned and pulled off her glasses. “Claire, you’re so predictable. But, Jason, you’re really quite sensitive, aren’t you?”
