On thin ice, p.20
On Thin Ice, page 20
Her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place, but when they dipped to my lips, it was like a silent invitation. Her breath caught, lips ever so slightly parted. My hand moved toward her thigh of its own volition, desperate to feel the—
“Can I get you any more drinks?”
I pulled my hand back like I’d been stung.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The waitress fiddled with the notebook in her hand, her eyes bouncing between us.
Matilda had scooted back an inch, but that was all it took. Despite the flush on her cheeks, any residual heat from our conversation melted away.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” the waitress asked again, looking between us sheepishly.
“I think we’d best get going; we’ve got an early start tomorrow,” Jack said from across the table.
Lily groaned into her hands. “Ugh, I’ve got an early dance class.” She looked at the waitress. “Could we just get the bill, please?”
“Oh, it’s been charged directly to Mr. Vasvault’s account.”
I narrowed my eyes at Jack, who just snorted.
“He said to charge it to your account today, sir. Is that OK?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Could you please call us two taxis against Jack’s account?” The waitress nodded and shuffled away.
As we slid out of the booth, Lily attempted to discreetly widen her eyes at Matilda when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I didn’t catch Matilda’s silent reply, but her cheeks were flushed pink the entire walk to the taxis.
When I went to collect our costumes for week five, the Wardrobe staff said Matilda’s needed a few final touches. By the time they called an hour later to say it was ready, I was midway through hair and makeup, so Matilda skipped off to collect it.
She returned after an hour, ready and made-up.
The dress was so fucking short.
No wonder it hadn’t been ready earlier; it looked like it had taken days to make. It was an almost transparent white dress shimmering with thousands of tiny crystals. The delicate spaghetti straps led into a neckline that highlighted the curve of her breasts. Her hair, which was often secured in a ponytail, had been left down in long blond waves and embellished with a few of the same crystals that covered her dress. I was pretty sure I was drooling.
Unaware of my mental breakdown, she twirled and said, “What do you think?”
The back was almost better. The skirt fell over the tempting swell of Matilda’s ass and hung around her upper thighs. As she turned, the skirt whooshed at the highest point of her curved legs, and blood rushed straight to my dick.
I forced my gaze up to meet her dimpled smile. If I ever met anyone who said Matilda Stevens wasn’t the most beautiful woman in any room, I would write them off as completely deluded.
“You look incredible.”
“Luca, you flirt.” She laughed it off, pushing my arm lightly as she passed to refresh her lip gloss.
This was my life now: tracking every smile, every toss of her hair, noticing every ridiculous detail about her. It was driving me insane. Yet I couldn’t stop.
Since that night at the bar earlier in the week, images of her sprawled on my bed had been driving me fucking crazy. Naked. Tanned skin, curves, and a halo of blond hair. I wanted her lips against mine, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I’d spent far too much time in the shower last night with my hand wrapped around my—
She waved her hand in front of my face, laughing. “Earth to Luca. You OK?”
I cleared my throat and grabbed the water bottle off the vanity, chugging it down. What the fuck’s wrong with me?
“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” she confessed. I wore a simple outfit—black pants and a white shirt that was only buttoned up halfway. I didn’t miss the way Matilda’s eyes lingered on the exposed skin.
I’d take it to the grave before I’d admit it, but I was glad I’d worked out that morning.
“Your hair looks perfectly messy, too. They’ve done a fantastic job of making you every girl’s wet dream.” She chuckled, a subtle curve appearing at the side of her lips. “Want to know a secret?”
“Always.” I took another swig of water.
“Lily had a poster of you on her wall as a teenager, and we used to pretend to kiss it.”
Water burst out of my mouth; I was unable to contain my laugh, and Matilda joined in too.
“You didn’t.” I threw the empty bottle in the trash.
“We did.” She hid her face behind her hands. “Everyone was obsessed with you when we were at school. God, I’d love to go back and tell my preteen self that we’d end up on an ice-skating show together. I think she’d die.”
We continued laughing and reminiscing about our awkward teenage years—and how different they’d been. My first kiss had been on a set with fifteen cameras and a whole crew watching, and hers had been in a game of truth-or-dare at the park. She had only missed her strict curfew once, when she was sixteen on vacation (she’d never done it again, because her mom had found her kissing a boy behind the beach bar), and her family dinners hadn’t been family dinners unless there was an argument. I told her that I’d never had a curfew and, when my mother was visiting the UK, my father wouldn’t even notice if I’d been gone for days.
A quick knock sounded on the door, as someone with a headset and clipboard stuck their head into the room. “Backstage in five.”
They darted away before we could reply. I stood and held out my hand. Matilda took it, letting me drag her up off the sofa.
“It’s showtime,” she said with a dazzling smile. “Let’s go show those producers who their Johnny Castle is.” I grabbed our skates from the floor and led the way out.
* * *
I tied Matilda’s laces as part of our pre-skate ritual. The heavy beats from the performance before ours calmed my nerves.
Patting her foot to signal they were done, I moved on to mine and followed Matilda to the backstage part of the ice. I stepped behind her and grabbed her hands, as I always did. Arguably, it was earlier than necessary, but I wasn’t getting into semantics.
A minute or two later, once the judges had commented on Asha and Alice’s performance (which scored one point lower than their skate last week), the host’s voice echoed through the studio. “And now, welcoming to the ice Luca Vasvault and his partner, Matilda Stevens.”
We pushed off and skated onto the rink, the slicing of our skates silenced by the crowd’s cheers.
Looking out, I saw the same dark curtain of the crowd, the same cheering, the same rink, but something felt different.
We glided to a halt at the center of the ice, turning to the crowd and opening our arms wide, introducing ourselves before twisting to sit on the ice in our starting position. I caught Matilda’s gaze for a few seconds and any lingering anxiety from wanting this skate to go well evaporated. We were going to kill it. I trusted her, she trusted me—and, looking into her eyes, I knew we felt completely in sync.
The soulful notes of “At Last” floated through the studio, smooth and rich, and the crowd cheered when they recognized the timeless love song.
And we began.
We moved together, our timing aligning perfectly. The skate opened with the most important part—the Dirty Dancing–style lift. The ice was freezing on my legs, but I ignored it. Moments after the skate started, my hands were on her waist and she was in the air, hovering above me. The bright glow of the studio lights illuminated her face as she smiled.
We weren’t even a millisecond out of time—the lift was perfect.
As I lowered Matilda and she pressed against me, I couldn’t think of anything other than how perfect her body felt against mine.
But then she rolled, and I stood, taking her hands, guiding her up and forward into the following sequence.
Our blades etched precise, slashing lines across the ice, muted beneath the strains of violin music. I matched Matilda’s twirls with solid, sharp strokes. Her skirt fluttered with each movement, catching the light and making the crystals sparkle. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She had never looked more alive.
Everything blurred into a sheet of sparkling white, leaving the two of us dancing as one, moving as one. The music swelled, and our movements grew faster. We spun across the ice, building to our final position.
I stopped a second before Matilda did, facing the crowd. She dug her blades into the ice, sending up a spray of shards before twisting and free-falling into my waiting arms. I caught her, dipping her body backward in a lover’s embrace. Our breaths mingled, and her eyes sparkled with joy.
And I pressed my lips to hers.
Luca kissed me. He. Kissed. Me.
In front of the crowd. On national TV.
My brain had a tough time forming coherent thoughts. It played the kiss on repeat, the warmth of Luca’s lips against mine, and how it felt like finally they were exactly where they were supposed to be.
I didn’t care about the potential fallout or the repercussions. The only thing that mattered was how incredible it felt to know Luca wanted me.
We’d smashed our performance; it was our best yet. Not only did we score the highest of that week, with thirty-two out of forty, but it was also the highest of the season so far.
However, I couldn’t attribute the buzz of anticipation pulsing through my veins to the score alone.
As soon as we stepped off the ice and took off our boots, we were separated by the crew backstage. But I spotted Luca a few minutes later near the exit, both sets of skates in hand. My toes curled, a warm heat coursing through my lower belly as I took in his flushed face and heated eyes.
Luca and I had grown closer over the past few weeks, but I was sure he would never take it any further. And yet…the kiss had felt real. I’d seen it in his eyes the second before our lips touched. I knew he felt the same pull to me as I did to him—the late-night dinners, the rehearsals, the trips to the beach, the almost-kiss.
And it felt good to be kissed and wanted by someone who I could be myself with. He didn’t want me because I’d served him a version of me that I thought he would want; he had kissed me for me.
I weaved through the crowd and made my way toward him. Just as I reached him, the corner of his mouth curved up ever so slightly—
Something caught his attention behind my shoulder. A flicker of frustration danced across his face as his eyes flashed with something.
I spun to see who was behind me, and Jack was standing there, beaming.
“I fucking told you that an on-screen kiss would work! My phone has been blowing up with the media wanting to get you two on shows and newspapers,” Jack declared, tapping on his phone incessantly.
Luca’s eyes locked with mine, and he grimaced.
Oh my god.
My stomach dropped, and a burning heat spread up my neck and across my face.
Any remaining lust from our kiss vanished, replaced with embarrassment. My heart sank as I grappled with the glaringly obvious fact.
He had kissed me for publicity.
Laughter bubbled out of me, but it was bitter.
How could I have been so stupid? He hadn’t kissed me because he liked the real me; he’d done it to ensure the public continued rooting for us. And I couldn’t even blame him. Sure, we hadn’t agreed to the kiss, but we had decided that we’d flirt to cause a stir.
I had just assumed it meant more.
“Matilda,” he started. “That sounds bad out of context.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Jack’s brow furrowed before understanding dawned on his face.
His expression was almost worse than Luca’s. Pity.
An ache formed in my temples, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from my tears or the sheer embarrassment of them knowing I’d believed the kiss was real.
“Um…I think I’ll catch you tomorrow,” I said, turning on my heel and darting away.
“Stevens, wait!” Luca called after me, but I picked up my pace. “Well done, dickhead.” His muffled voice carried over the chaos as I hurried in the opposite direction.
Had all of our stolen moments served only to make our ruse more believable? Were the dinners, the flirting, and the smiles merely to ensure we made it to the final?
I actually told him I’ve never been fucked.
A glance behind me as I raced down the hallway to our dressing room confirmed I’d lost Luca. I had to get out of there. I wasn’t sure where I would go yet, but I would save that particular meltdown for the car.
I turned and pushed through endless doors, taking every shortcut I could. I was only two corridors away when I ran straight into a very livid-looking Mark.
“You.” He pointed at me, his voice menacing, just as his walkie-talkie crackled and a voice filled the hallway. Something about needing him backstage. We were still mid-show, after all. I brushed past him, grateful for whoever was on the end of the device. “I’ll deal with you properly later,” he shouted after me.
I didn’t bother acknowledging his threat. I needed to get out.
“Oh—fuck!” I shrieked, shocked as I rounded the corner into our dressing room and found Luca already there, chest heaving, skates still in hand. “Matilda,” he rushed out. “What Jack said—”
“Honestly, don’t worry,” I interrupted, deciding that my ego could only take so many hits in one night. The thought of Luca feeling guilty because I had misread the situation made me want to run for the hills. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I do,” he argued, dropping the skates.
I grabbed my bag and stuffed it with a few essentials before I made a run for it. “You don’t.” I avoided his gaze. “I have to get going anyway. My phone’s blowing up, and—Oh my god, my mum—” The burning behind my eyes intensified at the thought of having to explain this to her.
“Fuck, stop! Stop moving, Matilda.” Luca grabbed my shoulders. “It’s me. Stop pretending everything’s OK.”
“It’s fine.” I shrugged, trying to slip free from his grasp.
“Stop saying it’s fine.”
“It is.”
“Are we back to this again? Telling me what you think I want to hear?” he demanded.
“I am giving you an out, Luca. Let me leave, and I promise we can forget any of this ever happened.”
“Why the fuck do you think I want to forget? I chased you through the studio.”
“Because you feel guilty!” My voice cracked as I shouted.
“Do you believe I’d do something I didn’t want to out of guilt? Do you know me at all?”
“I don’t know! I’ve been getting some pretty mixed signals.” The embarrassment gave way to anger, surging and rising with my words.
“Then stop pretending everything’s fine!” His voice rose to match mine.
“What else do you want me to say?”
“The truth, Matilda! You’re on the brink of tears, and you’re telling me you’re OK? Even if you weren’t almost crying, you forget I know you.”
“I’m embarrassed, Luca! For some ridiculous reason, I thought you kissed me because you wanted to, not because Jack orchestrated it as some PR stunt. And if you’d just told me at the start, you know I would have agreed to it, so I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask me instead of doing all the stupid extra stuff—”
“I kissed you because I fucking wanted to! Do you think I’d do anything I didn’t want to do? Or do you think I’d knowingly manipulate you after I’ve told you how important the truth is to me?”
I paused, searching his face for any hint of his true feelings as I processed his words.
“So why did Jack say that, then?”
“Because he did suggest it.” I flinched. “But it was days ago and I promise, I had forgotten he’d even said it. I kissed you because I wanted to. I’ve been telling myself that we couldn’t—it wouldn’t work—that our lives are too different. I’ve tried so fucking hard not to be selfish with you, not to put my need for you above the consequences.”
I shook my head, struggling to believe he wasn’t telling me this to make me feel better. I bit my lip to stop it from wobbling.
“But I’m selfish to the core, Matilda. I do things because I want to, and I don’t care for the consequences.”
I shifted the bag on my shoulder, but his hands reached for my face, gently pulling my attention back to him. His gaze was so intense, but I willed myself to hold my ground.
“I take that back.” His voice deepened, his eyes roaming over my face, lingering on my lips. “I haven’t been doing the things I’ve wanted to.”
“Huh?” My voice was barely audible above the beating of my heart.
“I mean…” He moved an inch closer. “You’ve been driving me insane for weeks. I’ve been dying to touch you for weeks, but I’ve resisted.” His words sliced through the air. “I was trying so hard not to be selfish with you, and that was my problem.” He stroked my bottom lip, staring at my face. “It’s the exact opposite of what you’re accusing me of. I didn’t kiss you and not want to; I haven’t been kissing you because I want to so fucking badly.”
“Then why don’t you?” I whispered as his words sank in and a sense of trust washed over me.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed, before crushing his lips to mine.
The second our lips touched, Luca groaned into my mouth, the most delicious, deep sound, sending liquid heat straight to my core and overwhelming my senses.
His hands left my face, one pushing the bag off my shoulder and the other gripping my waist, pulling me in until my body was flush with his. No other kiss had ever felt like this, so consuming that my body was fueled entirely by need.
