Pairing Off (Red Hot Russians #1) by Elizabeth Harmon Page B

that what you did?”
    She nodded. Her four years at UCLA had been a blur of classes, studying and training. The busier she stayed, the less time she had to think. But she didn’t want to talk about that. “What did you study?”
    “Kinesiology and sports management. I spent two years at University College in London, then finished at Moscow State.” He lifted the kettlebells. “I just got offer to be director of new training center up in Lake Shosha. I’ll use my management diploma and get to coach. What about you?”
    “My degree’s in broadcasting. Of course, after Cody and Halifax, the networks aren’t exactly beating down the door.”
    He grinned. “Not now. But after success in Lake Placid, that will change.”
    Carrie didn’t want to talk about that either, so she turned it around with another question, one that had been on her mind for several days. “Why is Olga so taken with Evita?”
    “Olga believes that in past life, she was Evita,” he said, between kettlebell reps.
    “That’s weird.” Then she remembered his defensiveness when she’d criticized Olga before. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t believe in reincarnation.”
    He shrugged. “Me either. I think in Evita, Olga sees girl who came from nothing and grew to be rich, famous and loved by everyone. That’s what she wants.”
    Kind of like a girl from a South Georgia trailer park who parlayed a regional pageant title into a Nashville recording contract, and snagged an old money Prince Charming. Carrie felt unexpected sympathy for Olga. “Why do people think if they’re rich and famous, they’ll automatically be happy?”
    He paused, one dark brow raised. “Spoken like someone who never lacked anything, let alone place to sleep.”
    She couldn’t deny she’d been more fortunate than most. She had also been here long enough to realize the standard of living was much different. “Did you?” she asked, carefully.
    “Not me. But Olga and her mother were very poor.” He resumed his reps.
    “Being rich doesn’t mean you won’t have problems. It only means you have different ones.” Aware of his gaze, she began her plyometrics workout with unusual vigor. Instinct always warned when she revealed too much.
    * * *
    The next morning, Galina scheduled an early practice in the pool, to work on lifts and throws. Carrie donned her conservative red tank suit and came out onto the pool deck, shivering. Too damn cold. She could only imagine the water. Through the window into the gym, she spotted Galina talking to Max. Was she asking him to turn up the heat? Probably not. Russians seemed accustomed to hardship.
    The 1980s music that was always playing in Max’s gym bounced off the tile walls. Katrina and the Waves’s “Walking on Sunshine” didn’t exactly fit with gooseflesh or chill-hardened nipples. Two little peaks poked against her suit. Fortunately, Anton hadn’t arrived. Time to brave the water.
    She inched down the ladder, gritting her teeth as she submerged her knees, then her thighs and wiggled her already-numb toes. Pools ought to feel like bathwater, this was more like a Siberian lake. She blew out a breath and braced for the next step. Then came the smack of flip-flops on the pool deck.
    Anton kicked off his shoes and stood at the edge, his toes curled over the side. With his shaggy hair, olive skin and baggy, aqua trunks, he was the quintessential beach bum. A seriously ripped beach bum. A thin line of dark hair trailed down from his chest, across his perfect six-pack, and disappeared under the waistband of his trunks. Her gaze followed it, then she glanced up and their eyes met. He tossed his hair back and winked.
    Then he jumped in, tucking his knees to his chest in a cannonball, sending up a plume of frigid water. As it rained down, she screeched like a drenched cat. “What the hell?”
    He bobbed up and brushed his hair from his eyes. “It’s easier if you just jump in.” He swam forward,