Breakaway. Nancy Warren

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      * * *

      THEY WERE MOSTLY quiet on the way home. John Mayer played on the radio. The old Yukon bumped and rattled on its way back to the barn. She felt Max’s watchfulness but no drunken, crazed ex-employee jumped out at them.

      She turned into the Polar Air property and all was serene.

      She parked the car and turned to him, all sexy and mysterious beside her. “Well, Sir Galahad, it seems I’m home safe.”

      “Good.” He began to lean toward her, slow and sure, but giving her plenty of time to pull back.

      She did pull back, but not all the way. She put a hand to his chest, found it warm and muscular. “Even if I’m not your boss, we’re still coworkers. This is against company policy.”

      “As I believe I mentioned, we’re not coworkers until tomorrow.”

      He was so close she could see tiny black flecks in the deep brown of his irises, could smell the fresh laundry and hot male scent of him. Her lips began to open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to a man. “And what happens tomorrow?” she asked. Her voice came out breathless.

      “We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” he said, and closed the last few inches between them, covering her mouth with his own.

      His kiss was hot and sweet. Demanding and restrained. Such a mass of contradictions she found herself pulling him against her, demanding more.

      He didn’t need much encouragement. He plunged his hands into her hair, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly. He licked into her mouth, teased her tongue. He tasted of the coffee they’d drunk, a hint of wine, and deeper of sexy, potent, demanding man.

      A tiny cry came from her throat, part protest, part acquiescence. He was so hot. When she ran her hands over his chest and back she found that he was muscular and toned, as she’d guessed.

      Seat belts were a hindrance. He snapped his free with a curse. Then reached and unsnapped hers.

      He turned her toward him and let his own hands play. He didn’t grab straight for her breasts, but traced the scoop of her neckline with one fingertip. Her nipples came to life. She felt them bloom against her dress, hard and insistent.

      His single fingertip, seemingly oblivious, traced her shoulder, tracked to her upper back and moved up her spine into her hairline. She shivered. How had she never known how sensitive she was in that spot?

      She copied his movement, lightly dragging her index finger into the V of his open shirt, so she touched warm, warm skin and springy hair. His subtle caress reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been touched like this.

      No, she realized, she’d never been touched like this.

      Not with this slow abandon. This controlled madness.

      “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want you right now,” he said, all huskiness and passion.

      “Mmmm,” she said.

      “Come back to the hotel with me?”

      She let her fingers play in his thick, gorgeous hair. “I can’t,” she almost wailed.

      He kissed her one more time. Then broke away and pulled out his phone. “Do you know the number of a cab?”

      “Take the car,” she said, feeling breathless and out of control. “Bring it back in the morning.”

      He nodded. “Thanks.”

      She got out of the vehicle and found her legs were trembling. He came around the back and met her, reaching for her arms as though he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. “I will dream of you tonight,” he said, and kissed her; one last, lingering kiss.

      As he drove away, she suspected he’d be in her dreams, too.

      If she slept.

      4

      SPRUCE BAY WAS full of self-sufficient people who were proud of their toughness and ability to survive the harsh climate. Max discovered all of this as he strolled the town on foot, getting a feel for his home for the next while.

      There were outdoor equipment stores, hunting and fishing shops as well as a Realtor, financial planners, a grocery store and a pharmacy.

      He found the local rec center, where, due to the long winter, the main sports were curling, figure skating and hockey.

      Needless to say, the ice rink was in perfect condition.

      After some asking around, he tracked down the manager of the facility. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Max Varo. New hire at Polar Air.”

      “I know who you are,” the guy said. “Heard you took care of Frank Carmondy pretty good the other night.”

      Max had no idea whether this was a good or a bad thing in the other man’s opinion. “He was bothering my date,” he said.

      The guy nodded. “Time somebody called him on his crap.” He held out his hand. “Ted Lowenbrau. What can I do for you?”

      “I need some ice time. I’m practicing for a big tournament. Badges on Ice.”

      “I’ve heard of it. We’ve sent a few teams from here over the years. They letting in pilots now? Thought you had to be a cop or a firefighter.”

      “The tournament’s for emergency services, you’re right. I’m an ambulance reserve guy. I play on a team with my buddies. We really need to keep up the practicing if we have a hope of winning.” He wondered if he could fly Adam and Dylan up for a few sessions. Depending on his schedule, he might also be able to head south for the odd practice.

      “What’s your schedule like? Could I rent the rink for a few hours a week?”

      “Be real early in the morning or late at night.”

      He nodded. “I’m used to that.”

      “Give me your details. We’ll work something out.”

      “Thanks.”

      Max had already decided that he needed to keep up his workouts even without the Hunter Hurricanes. He figured he’d work out on his own, and if that didn’t do the trick, he’d hire some kids from a local hockey team to practice with him. They’d get free ice time and he’d get to keep up his skills and fitness level. Everyone would be happy.

      In the meantime, he started flying for Polar Air, getting to know the rest of the pilots, learning about each of the five aircrafts.

      And, as promised, within three days, he had a place to live right on the Polar Air site. The caretaker’s cottage was a small log cabin built of cedar. There was a bedroom, a living area, a kitchen, a bathroom with shower and a porch out front.

      It looked as though it had been built in the ’50s and any updating had been minor. СКАЧАТЬ