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faltered to regain my balance. I wasn’t sure how my watery legs were managing to support me. And my spine, my spine had turned to dust.
    “I’ll call you.” His lips were moist. His jaw set like stone.
    “Sure,” I said in a hoarse voice.
    He pulled open the door and heat from outside blasted in. “I’ll call you tomorrow, from Seattle.”
    And then he was gone.
    The door slammed shut on its heavy spring.
    I pressed my fingertips to my lips, tingling from the pressure of his kiss. I could taste his tongue on mine and still feel his hand in my hair. What the hell had happened? I was just about to throw all my plans in the air and get naked and primitive and he walked away.
    I turned and stabbed at the elevator button. Broke a nail. The doors opened immediately and I stomped in and hit two.
    He’d wanted me. I had no doubts about that. I’d seen it in his eyes. Felt it in his kiss. I could even smell desire in the air, his and mine. It was thick and vital, another presence.
    I stomped out of the elevator and let myself into my condo. Dashed straight to the balcony doors and peered out. He was climbing onto his bike. I watched as he , adjusted his position on the seat and roared the engine awake.
    He turned and looked up.
    I ducked behind the curtain.
    The bike bellowed then screamed up the gears as he charged off. A loud, rude noise in the quiet street. So much for being inconspicuous. So much for my cool, calm plan.
     

Chapter Three
     
    I settled on the sofa, bowl of nachos at my side and the remote ready. The Orlando Vipers were playing the Seattle Stars and it promised to be a fabulous battle on ice.
    Brick skated out fourth in line, side by side with the new Dallas transfer, Wolf. Just seeing Brick on the screen knotted my stomach and hitched my breath. Now I knew what he was like to touch, to hang on to, the sensation of longing was so much more powerful.
    Suddenly he bumped shoulders with a Seattle forward, hard and powerful, an aggressive taunt. Half the crowd cheered while the other half booed and hissed. The Seattle forward slammed his stick against the ice and squared his shoulders, reminding me of a bull ready to charge.
    “And the puck hasn’t even dropped and there’s trouble,” the commentator shouted excitedly. “This is going to be one heck of a game, folks. Watch out for flying fists and teeth.”
    And they were off.
    * * * * *
     
    They’d only been beaten by one point but Ramrod looked as though it was the end of the world when he was stopped in the tunnel by a reporter. His face was red and his dark hair clung to his sweaty scalp. He was still catching his breath and stood with his hands on his hips as he ranted about unfair penalties and gave his opinion on how Wolf had slotted into the team.
    There was something about Ramrod that was very appealing. He had nothing on Brick of course, but as captain he held a certain air of authority. Plus the hugeness of his shoulders and his colossal height couldn’t help but make a girl wonder about the size of other parts of his anatomy. The average-sized reporter looked like a waif of a man in comparison.
    Ramrod finished speaking and the channel switched to commercials. I flicked it off and stood, took my glass and bowl into the kitchen, washed, dried and put them away. I double-checked the lock on the front door, brushed my teeth and climbed into bed wearing an old t-shirt.
    Brick hadn’t called and I couldn’t deny I was disappointed. Perhaps he hadn’t liked kissing me. Doubts niggled their way into my mind. Maybe there was just something about me he found unappealing. I couldn’t think what. He’d seemed as in to the whole kissing moment as me until he’d suddenly backed up and disappeared.
    I sighed. At least I knew where he was and what he’d been doing. Plus I’d see him again on Monday in New York. He’d have to speak to me when we were interviewed on Ray’s couch.
    I flicked on my table lamp and picked up a book. A Booker Prize