Candy for Christmas: Hockey Player vs Ice Skater (2 page)

“I’m on your property
now
, Levine.”

Holy shit.
He’d come
this
close to kissing
Candy Divine, as he called her, though never to her face. There was
too much conflict between them already. He’d been on his way to
collect logs from his woodpile when he’d heard the dull thuds and
gone to investigate. He had not expected what he found.

But he’d sure as hell
appreciated it.

He probably should
have intervened sooner but he couldn’t help himself. She was a
thing of beauty, even if she couldn’t swing an axe to save her
life. He hefted the tree a little higher in his grasp, pretending
that he couldn’t care less if she followed or not, and turned
towards her cabin.

Nolan was curious.
He’d never been inside. Their battlelines were firmly draw at the
property boundary, but sometimes even war had a Christmas
armistice. Okay, yeah, it wasn’t her house he was curious about so
much as what it would reveal about her.

The woman was an
enigma.

Five-time world
champion figure skater with three Olympic gold medals, Candice
Levine was a household name. A Google search told him she’d lost
her parents in a car accident when she was a teenager and was
notoriously media-shy.

They called her the
ice princess.

Then there was what
he’d witnessed firsthand.

She was strong,
physically and mentally. She had to be, since she was holding her
own against him in their little war. She was beautiful. Long
chestnut hair with waves that he wanted to lose himself in. When
she’d shaken the snow free they’d swung loose about her slim
shoulders. Down her back. Tempting him. But her blue eyes, cold as
frostbite whenever she looked at him, were a constant reminder that
he’d lose a hand if he touched.

Except, that hadn’t
happened. His fingers still felt the ghost of hers and his arm felt
empty without her waist to span. He tried not to dwell on how that
was possible given the tiny amount of time that he’d held her.

But he knew that
simmering under all that conflict was raw attraction. Some days he
wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle her or back her up against the
nearest pine tree, flick open the brass button on her jeans and
take her.

“I could have dragged
it myself. It’s not far,” Candice said from where she’d caught up
to him.

“Yeah, in time for
next Christmas, maybe.”

“Why did you do
it?”

“Do what?” He glanced
over at her.

She gestured to the
tree he was dragging.

He shrugged. “It is
the season…”

“This doesn’t change
anything.”

“Didn’t think it
would.”

They reached the steps
that led up to her log cabin. Cabin was a misnomer. Like Nolan’s,
it was luxurious and spacious, with a pleasing harmony between
modern amenities and traditional charm. As Nolan dragged the tree
up the steps Candice went ahead and open the front door.

He paused, shaking the
snow from the boughs before dragging the fir across the threshold.
“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“Over there,” she
replied and gestured to the right side of the fireplace next to the
big picture window that overlooked the pond. The pond that was the
source of war between them.

“Stand?”

“What?”

“Christmas-tree
stand?”

She scrambled to get
it out of the bags of Christmas decorations that she’d bought while
in town yesterday. She had never owned any before.

“I’ll lift and put it
in place if you tighten the screws to hold it there.”

Candice knelt and
followed his instructions. Then they both stood and looked at the
pretty picture of the tree, it’s blue-green needles attractive
against the golden wood of the walls. Candice was silent a moment,
contemplating her first Christmas tree since she was a kid.

“It’ll look good when
the fire’s lit.”

She silently nodded.
Not wanting Nolan to see what she was feeling, she walked over to
the open-plan kitchen and flicked the switch on the kettle. At the
very least she owed him a cup of coffee.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

She watched him walk
around, silently inspecting. Her home had never felt small before,
but this was the first time she’d had an NHL hockey player in her
living room. In fact, she’d never had a man in this living room
before.

He didn’t hide his
curiosity as he glanced around. As if he was looking for answers.
“Decorations are new.” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t reply.
He paused at the mantle and looked at a picture in a silver frame.
It was the only one. Candice was about twelve years old. She was
standing, wrapped in her parents’ arms, beside a wonky-looking
snowman with a broken carrot nose and a Stetson instead of a top
hat. They were all shiny faces, red noses and laughter. He didn’t
say anything, just moved on to her bookshelf. He perused it for a
moment then pulled a title off the shelf for closer inspection. A
smile briefly twisted his lips before he put it back. She didn’t
need to ask what it was: a novel called
The worst neighbour in
the world.
It had been an impulse propelled by her sense of
righteous indignation. They’d had a particularly nasty to-do over
the pond the day before she bought it.

She was thinking of
that incident when she remembered that the book was dangerously
close to her copy of
Ice Hockey for Dummies.
She sent up a
silent prayer that Nolan wouldn’t see it. She’d never be able to
explain it. She didn’t think an excuse about thinking it said
Ice Hockey is for Dummies
would fly.

“Are you looking for
something in particular?” she said in an attempt at
distraction.

“Nope.” Then he
changed tack. “What ornaments did you get for your tree?”

Candice gestured to
the shopping backs she hadn’t finished unpacking. “The usual.
Tinsel. Lights. Coloured baubles…” she picked up a box of shining
red balls that she’d opened earlier and took one out… “And I made
gingerbread Christmas trees.”

“
You bake?
”

“Why the surprise?
It’s not like I told you I’m a figure skating astrophysicist.”

“I just figured with
all the training you had to do, you probably didn’t learn. I never
seemed to have time.”

“Most athletes I know
can cook the basics since diet is so important. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I can’t
make gingerbread.”

He turned once more
and spied her figure skates by the front door. Unlike the white
ankle boots she used for competition, these were an onyx and deep
violet ombré. The laces and blades were black. He picked them up.
“These are bad-ass. Except the toe pick.” He said the last like it
was a venereal disease.

And then the strange
ceasefire collapsed.

“Pond’s half mine and
I can’t jump without the toe pick.” The metal teeth on the front of
the blade were what allowed a skater to dig into the ice and get
enough power to jump.

“It gouges up the ice
and fucks with the puck. I do a slapshot and it hits a crater. Next
thing I know it’s off in fucking fairyland. I get less net here
than I do in a game.” That was saying something considering he had
more ice time and a higher goals-per-game average than any defender
in the league.

“It’s pond ice, what
do you expect? A glass surface?” The volume of her voice rose.

His followed.
“Near-a-damn-nough. I keep the surface smooth, clear away the snow
when it falls. I don’t see you out there with a shovel.”

Point in fact, she did
clear the snow when he was away during the season. She wasn’t going
to mention that though because when Nolan was home he always did
it. Without fail.

“A few tiny divots are
hardly anything. Nowhere near as annoying as that huge net you
always leave out.”

“Please. One small
push and it practically moves itself across the ice.”

“You deliberately
leave it on my side.”

“I put it there so the
sun’s not in my eyes. And when the fuck have you ever stayed on
your side
of the pond?”

“Because
you
skate on
my
side.” The pond was about the same size as a
rink. Something that had naturally attracted both of them to their
properties. But only half a rink wasn’t enough for either of
them.

“I don’t leave your
side full of fucking gopher holes.”

“
Gopher-holes?
I’m not some newbie. I’ve got three gold medals. I don’t tear up
the damn ice,” she yelled.

“You do now!” he
yelled back.

And then silence
fell.

“
Fuck
,” Nolan
muttered and ran a hand through his hair, knowing he’d crossed a
line. When Candice retired she was the best in the world, but she
hadn’t quit because she was out of challenges.

“I’m sorry—” he began
haltingly, but his apology was cut short.

“Get the fuck out of
my house.” Her voice was deadly.

“Candy—”

She reacted violently
to the word. She raised the hand still holding the shiny red
Christmas bauble and hurled it in his direction.

Fuck! Fine. I’m
leaving.
Nolan’s words still rang in Candice’s ears along with
the smash of the red ornament when it shattered against the wall
behind his head. She’d hurled two more after him for good
measure.

Insensitive, arrogant
asshole. Wait until an injury put him on the sidelines.
And he’d
called her Candy
. No one got to call her that she fumed,
ignoring the broken shards on the floor. Though she wasn’t sure if
he even realised he’d said it.

Her gorgeous tree
stood in the corner but she no longer felt like decorating it. She
poured a scotch then paced, focusing on the sensations in her
ankle. Almost twelve months ago she’d fractured her leading ankle.
Badly enough that it would put her out of competition for at least
a year. To work back from that would take another year, and at
twenty-seven she was already ageing out for a skater. Even if she
came back, what was left that she still wanted from competitive
skating?

Nothing. So she had
retired. No fanfare. No big, official announcement. She simply told
Gregory, her coach of a decade, that she was done. He was the
closest she had to family. He’d asked her if she was sure. When
she’d replied yes, he’d nodded, hugged her, said he was proud of
her and thanked her for being his best.

Candice was fine with
not competing. It had only ever been a means to an end that let her
skate every day. Not that she didn’t like being the best. But what
mattered most was the way her blood sang when she did a triple, and
the way that these days she couldn’t stick the landing. And the way
she made fucking gouges in the ice like an amateur.

So every day she went
out to the pond, where the world couldn’t see her fail, and skated
and jumped and fell. Again and again. Compulsively. Each botched
landing strained her ankle. Made it worse until she knew there was
no chance of making the landing, yet she couldn’t seem to stop.
Skating was all she had. And if she no longer had that, what was
there?

The painful though
sent her to her skates, which Nolan had dropped beside the door
during his hasty exit, then down to the pond. Where she skated,
jumped and fell.

Again and again.

“
Ah fuck
,”
Nolan cursed as he stared down at the pond from his back porch.
He’d retreated there after throwing Candy’s injury in her face. It
was every elite athlete’s greatest fear and he should have known
better.

They just struck
sparks off each other and before he’d known it, he’d acted like an
insensitive asshole and cut deep. And now there she was, in the
lingering sunset, skating with a dogged determination. Picking
herself up every time she hit the ice and going again. Dozens of
times she went down.

Nolan’s hands clenched
tighter and tighter around the porch railing, until his knuckles
were white. He’d been enchanted the first time he’d ever seen her
skate on this pond. She glided across the ice with an authority he
respected and an elegance he couldn’t forget. He knew what it was
to fly on the ice, but the way she moved, like living emotion, drew
him like a beacon.

No matter how he
bitched about her fucking up the ice, he never failed to watch her
on the pond. She never saw him. Trees obscured the view up to his
house which was on a small rise, but the view down was clear.

She wore black. From
her skates to her leggings and short black skirt, and fitted,
long-sleeve knit-top. It was a hell of a lot more understated and
sexy than anything he’d ever seen a skater wear before.

He watched her pick
herself up, glide across the ice and perform a simple Lutz — he may
have watched some figure skating competitions recently on cable.
She fell.

For a few minutes she
stopped trying to jump and became poetic elegance. Nolan watched
her perform a spin — he didn’t know what kind. She was upright. She
arched her back and her neck, dropping it towards her shoulder
blades. She raised one leg up behind her, then over her head,
gripping the blade as she turned, faster and faster. He swallowed
hard when he realised how flexible she was.

The spin gradually
slowed and she was caught in the last rays of sunset. They fired
her loose chestnut strands red, a glowing ember amidst slowly
falling snowflakes.

The toughest defender
in the NHL may have gone weak at the knees.

He’d never seen
anything so beautiful. She came out of the spin and glided around
the pond. It was getting harder to see her in the fading light, but
he couldn’t look away. From the moment she had moved next door, she
drew his gaze. Occupied his thoughts.

When he was a kid he’d
dreamed of skating like Bobby Orr. Now his dreams were of her,
skating on this pond. Exactly like now. It was the best dream come
true he’d ever had, and he’d been blessed with a few. Playing
hockey for a living. Playing for the Rangers. Winning the Norris
Trophy and the Stanley Cup. Each one bone-deep satisfying, but none
of them made him feel what she made him feel.