On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen Read Free Book Online Page A

soft.
    And that laugh.
    God, what a gut grabber that was.
    Somehow all his expectations had gotten knocked for a loop, in the space of a few measly minutes. Where he’d expected a demeanor that coolly invited all comers to drop dead, she’d instead been all flustered apologies, soft hands, and big eyes.
    Mick shook himself like a wet dog. So what? So she was pretty and had big, curious eyes. Big deal. Plainly the woman knew how to run a con even better than he did. That didn’t mean he had to be first class A-I chump and fall for it, did it?
    Arriving at the area that passed for the wings, he stood back out of the way, arms crossed over his chest, and surveyed Sasha’s firm little butt in its skimpily cut, glittery red briefs while she was bent over tugging her skate laces into place. He watched her lift her head up to grin at something a stagehand said to her and told himself sourly that her apparent friendliness was probably all part of the scam.
    â€œAnd NOW, ladies and gentlemen, PLEASE give a BIG WARM WELCOME to OLYMpic Silver Medalist, SA-SHA MILLER!
    Sasha tossed aside her jacket and the Nikes she’d just exchanged for her skates, slid her palm along Connie’s as they passed each other when the line skaters streamed off the ice, removed her guards from her blades, and stepped up onto the ice. Propelling herself into the arena proper, she glided around the rink, head back, arms raised, and laughed with pure joy while the crowd applauded. God above, she loved this.
    Every single show, it never failed that her initial appearance on the ice managed to provoke an identical response from her; and the musical director, who knew a commercial sound when he heard one, had been quick to cash in on it. He’d ordered a recording made of her contagious laughter and it played back now over the loud speakers, climbing to the topmost seat in the house, making people smile in reaction. Making men shift in their seats.
    The opening strains of “Angel from Montgomery” poured out of the loudspeakers and Sasha launched into her routine. Mick left his post against the wall and came up to the arena entrance to watch her performance.
    Because the music in Bonnie Raitt’s song was too slow throughout to sustain a long program, the musical director had recorded it in abbreviated form. Sasha glided with lazy ease, swooping and spinning languorously.
    Then the music changed. It segued into Richard Marx’s “Playing with Fire” and the tempo and style radically altered. The little fringed scarf tied around Sasha’s hips came off, exposing the almost thong-cut panty of her costume, and she began to move her hips and shoulders in subtle rhythms to the music. Mick, watching from the wings, found himself swallowing dryly before the song was halfway through.
    Connie Nakamura came up to stand beside him. Interested as always in catching people’s reactions the first time they saw Sasha perform, she studied his features carefully. Vinicor’s face was perfectly expressionless, but she noticed his Adam’s apple make several slow slides up and down his throat.
    â€œShe’s something, isn’t she?” she finally demanded with typical enthusiasm. “It’s funny, because there are only so many moves a skater can make, so hers shouldn’t look all that different from what everyone else is doing. And yet”—her eyes on her friend’s performance, she pursed her lips and shook her fingers as if they’d been scorched, a gesture with which Sasha was very familiar—“when Saush does it, it’s pure sex appeal.” Then she turned her attention back to Mick once again.
    â€œYou should’ve seen her with her old pairs partner,” she said. “I saw them once at a Pan American competition and they were so hot I kept expecting steam to rise up off the ice. I have never seen a program like it . . . before or since.”
    â€œYeah?”