Page 13 of Puck Love

“I can’tbreathe.”

He unbolts the top and bottom of the door, and it slides back with a blast of icy mountain air. It hits my cheeks, but it isn’t enough so I continue onto the deck. There’s actual ice on the boards, and I slip. I might have gone down in a heap, but Van is there to catch me. I look up into his blue eyes and whisper, “Why can’t Ibreathe?”

“I don’t know. You’re okay though. Just big, deep breaths. That’s it, country.” As I breathe deeply of this clean mountain air, I notice three things. First, Van’s arm is wrapped around my waist. His hands have somehow found their way under the hem of my shirt and are pressed firmly to the flesh of my lower back and abdomen. Two, my feet are so cold it’s painful. And three, I’m not panicking anymore, but staring up into that pretty, prettyface.

“There she is,” he murmurs, as if he isn’t talking to me atall.

I exhale, and my breath actually fogs. “I think I’m okaynow.”

“Sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, clearly you don’t need any caffeine, but you want a water orsomething?”

“Why are you being so nice tome?”

“Because it’s what we Canadians do—be nice.” I frown and shoot him a look of disbelief. “What? You thought you southerners were the only ones who held that title? Oh, Canadians will have you beat at every turn. And not just with niceties. We kick your ass in hockey,too.”

I roll my eyes and follow him inside where I sit by Emmett again. He glances at me, and I feel a twinge of embarrassment when he says, “Does it get loud in your head,too?”

“Loud?”

“All thenoise.”

“Kind of,yeah.”

“Me too. Van’s good at making the loud goaway.”

“Yeah. I can see that about him.” I nod and glance at the man in question. He’s smiling as he runs the faucet and fills my glass. His eyes meet mine, as if he can sense my gaze on him, and they narrow as if he’s trying to figure out what I’mthinking.

Oh, if he onlyknew.

How is a guy like this still single? He’s gorgeous, apparently a good Samaritan, successful—if those pucks lining the mantel and the size of this house are anything to go by—and it’s obvious he loves hisbrother.

So why is Mr. Perfect all alone here in this mountain home? I bet he has a girlfriend—a perfect perky-boobed great-assed girlfriend who just about slays him in thesack.

It would figure that I would run away, find a man who comes pretty damn close to being Mr. Right, and everything would be oh, sowrong.

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