Page 32 of Perfectly Complicated
“I know that.”
“Then why aren’t you?” Rourke asks.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I release my death grip on the wall. The moment I do, he’s there, his hands capturing mine as he skates backward. For a heart-stopping second, I pitch backward, nearly falling, before everything steadies and I’m gliding across the ice with help.
“See?” he says, a hint of pride in his tone. “I knew you could do it. Just keep your eyes on me.”
Eyes on him? Yeah, that’s…notthe issue.
Because he’s very easy to look at.Unfortunately.
His cheeks are flushed from the cold while his thumbs—yes,his thumbs—keeps brushing across my knuckles in a very distracting way.
We skate like that for several minutes, Rourke guiding me around the rink while I try not to think too hard about the way he makes me feel safe even though he’s clearly not safe for my heart.
“Look at you,” he says. “You’re skating. If I let go, I think you’ll stay up.”
“That’s a very generous interpretation of what might happen.”
“Hey, you’re upright, aren’t you? That’s more than you were doing a few minutes ago.” His smirk widens. “Besides, I like having you depend on me.”
Without warning, he pulls me to the middle, out of the pathway of the other skaters.
“You know what I’m thinking?” he asks, his hands sliding to my hips and holding me still.
“What?” I ask, swallowing.
His hands anchor me in place, and the heat from his touch seeps through my coat. “That this is the first time all day you’ve looked at me like I’m not the enemy.”
He’s right. Somewhere between arriving here and this moment, something has shifted between us. The walls I’ve built, the reasons I shouldn’t trust him—they’re all still there, but they feel less solid now. Like a gingerbread house ready to collapse.
“Maybe you’re not,” I whisper.
His grip on my hips tightens, spiraling heat through me, and for a moment we’re just standing still in the middle of the rink while the world spins around us.
“You have a snowflake…” He reaches toward the tip of my nose. “Right here.” With a slow swipe of his thumb, he brushes it away gently.
“And here.” His thumb traces across my cheek,somehow both cold and burning against my skin. His eyes scan my face before dropping to my lips and lingering there.
“Janie.”
The panic that should flood through me doesn’t come. Instead, there’s only want, steady and undeniable.
My heart picks up before I hear somebody yell, “Watch out!”
A man careens toward us, clearly out of control. Rourke immediately pulls me flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around me as he spins me out of danger, shielding me with his body.
The man sails past harmlessly.
“You okay?” I hear Rourke whisper against the shell of my ear.
It takes me a second to realize he’s staring at me. I’m still pressed against his body, still feeling his heart beating against mine. “How did you…?”
“Instinct,” he says. “I’m a defenseman. It’s my job to protect you.”
We’re both breathing hard, and I realize that if we hadn’t been interrupted, I might have kissed him—and that’s exactly what I’m tryingnotto let happen today.
Because he’s the Christmas-hating hockey player who represents everything I’ve been trying to avoid.
