Chapter 7

The cold had seeped into my bones, a sharp, biting chill that lingered even hours after we had left the rink. But here, in the nest of down feathers and thick wool blankets, I was melting. I woke slowly, the heavy, sweet drag of sleep pulling at my eyelids, before the reality of the morning rushed in. The air in the hotel suite was warm, artificially heated to combat the winter storm raging outside, but the true warmth came from the body pressed against my back. I shifted slightly, the silk sheets sliding over my thighs, and felt the immediate tightening of his arm around my waist. He was already awake. I could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his chest against my spine, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with mine. I didn’t open my eyes right away. I let myself drift in that liminal space between dreams and reality, savoring the weight of him, the solid, immovable fact of his presence. It was a different kind of cold than the ice had been. The ice was sharp, clean, and distant. This was heavy, humid, and intimate. His hand, large and calloused from years of holding skates