On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen Page A

them.
    Eking out a thin breath, he waited a moment and then eased himself out of the tub. Noting the placement of the towel, he pulled it off the shower rod, rubbed his head dry and placed it back where he’d found it. Quickly completing his inspection of Sasha’s toiletries and cosmetics, he checked inside the toilet tank, felt around behind it, and then walked back into the bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around.
    Well, this didn’t make a damn bit of sense. A messy explosion of lingerie from a half-opened drawer caught his eye and he crossed the room. Picking up a minuscule pair of leopard-skin print satin panties from where they’d fallen on the carpet, he stood pulling them through his fist, thinking about the result of his search as he stared down with unseeing eyes at the rest of the jumbled lingerie, scarves, and costume jewelry that spilled out of the drawer.
    Usually, the only people who came up this clean when their room was tossed turned out to be . . . innocent. But hell, he knew that wasn’t the case.
    No, either she used the hotel safe or there was a key somewhere, most likely one that she kept on her, which would open a safety deposit box. Or a locker. Or something. He just had to get closer to her.
    And he would, dammit.
    Absentmindedly tucking the minuscule panties into his hip pocket, he looked around to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind that might alert her. Then he let himself out of her hotel room.

F IVE
    All of a sudden Sasha couldn’t seem to turn around without tripping all over Mick Vinicor. He was everywhere she went.
    How he had managed to get himself included in every damn social situation going these days was beyond her, but the man definitely got around. If she joined the ever-fluctuating group of skaters, techs, and stage crew who met for lunch daily in the various hotel coffee shops, he was there . . . and somehow always managed to end up seated right next to her. A group of them went out on the town after the show one night . . . and Mick was there. They played poker in Connie’s room another night . . . Mick was there. They arrived in Portland Friday night and when six of them went together to rent a car to drive to the Saturday Market on Sunday . . . Mick was one of them. It was making her nuts.
    God, she was so aware of him, and the methods he used to enhance that awareness were so subtle she was hard pressed to identify exactly what he was doing to make her feel this way.
    Not that she had dared to even speculate as much aloud, of course. Her mama hadn’t raised no fool, and Sasha didn’t voice her suspicions to a soul—well, except to Connie—because she knew darn good and well that it made her sound paranoid beyond belief. The determined way he was pursuing her was already grist for the rumor mill and it appeared to amuse the hell out of a lot of people. She refused to contribute to their entertainment by suggesting that there might be something calculated in that pursuit.
    Sasha nevertheless recognized that Mick was acting deliberately. She didn’t know how she knew and it didn’t make a lick of sense . . . but she couldn’t quite grant herself permission to trust him all the same. She could lust after him a little, but she would not trust him.
    After wasting too much time thinking about it, she decided her skepticism over his motives had to do with the appraising look in his eyes that she had chanced to see more than once when she’d looked up unexpectedly to find him watching her. At the same time—and this was the confusing part—not discounting the chilling calculation she saw when he trained those assessing eyes on her, there was also a very real heat in the cool, blue depths that she found equally undeniable.
    It was too damn confusing for words. Just admitting she experienced this rampant sexual curiosity in the first place was enough of a shock. Her public skating style to the