Reflections

Chapter 1

Who ever had coined the phrase, 'Never work with children or animals!' should have included figure skating superstars in the list!

Roger Moorefield, the owner/manager of one of the most loved, and profitable, professional figure skating shows in the United States, sat between his two highly-paid choreographers and watched the fifteen very highly paid 'Olympic Medal winners' figure skaters turned professional run through their opening number. The thought he would have gotten more pleasure watching his money swirl in tiny circles as he flushed it down the toilet than he was getting watching the fiasco on the ice passed through his mind and he could practically feel the acid in his stomach setting his ulcers dancing!

He'd never seen anything so miserable!

Casting a disgusted look toward the ice, and the professionals before him, he couldn't believe it could get any worse. He was wrong! Right smack dab in front of him, he watched as one of the skaters caught a toe pick, went down hard and before he knew it, half the others had followed suit and there was a pile of bodies on the ice screaming and cursing at each other. There was absolutely nothing like watching a few million dollars worth of prime athletic flesh heaped like discarded chicken fat to make your day complete!

The music came to an abrupt halt, and the screaming on the ice intensified as the finger pointing and assigning blame became louder.

"Care to give me a tally as to how much money we have piled up on the ice right this minute?" Roger growled, looking at each of the choreographers flanking him.

"It's still very early yet. We've got eight weeks before opening night. We'll be ready!" Marcie Reitman chirped optimistically, sending her co-choreographer and partner a look entreating his assistance, pleading for a favorable word that would make the boss happy.

"Marcie's right; we'll be ready. It's just been one of those mornings where no one's feet seem to be under them. Everyone has those days where the smartest thing to do would be to simply stay in bed flat on your back!" Nigel murmured calmly, patting Roger's forearm comfortingly and sending him a condescending smile.

"Do I look like I just fell off a damn turnip truck? They look like shit!" Roger growled, pointing toward the ice and the pile of skaters that were still struggling to untangle themselves and scramble back to their feet.

"It'll come together," Nigel offered again, a bit more enthusiastically.

Roger looked at him in disbelief, and tried to ignore the scattering of glitter that reflected from his cheekbones. Over the years he'd gotten used to men wearing make-up 'on stage'; it still disconcerted him, a bit, when they wore it every day. But that was Nigel; he wasn't happy unless he 'shimmered'. Shaking his head slightly, he once again wondered how he'd ever found himself in the entertainment field. It would have been so much easier being a CPA! It wasn't that he was homophobic, he'd gotten used to the fact that, in the entertainment field, there were those whose ideas about sexuality didn't follow his own. Other than the occasional times when Nigel went out of his way to shock him, just for the hell of it, he didn't have any problems with the man.

And regardless of his sexual preferences, his choreographic skills were not only astonishing; they were legendary! He still considered himself lucky to have stolen him away from the competition when he'd gone hunting for a new choreographer. Casting another derisive eye toward the ice, despite Nigel's beliefs, he had a hard time believing his optimistic words.

Nigel caught his disbelieving look and huffed arrogantly. "Tell you what, Mr. Moorefield. If you're not happy with the way things look in four weeks, you don't have to pay us for the season," he suggested calmly, waving his hand toward his co-choreographer and including her in his offer, before offering his hand to Roger.

Marcie nearly choked at Nigel's words and Roger blinked a bit in surprise but with a slow look of consideration, finally agreed to their bargain and slid his hand into Nigel's, exchanging a firm handshake.

"Four weeks you say?" Roger mumbled, watching as the last of the skaters finally got to their feet again and the cursing and finger pointing continued as they milled around awaiting further instructions.

"Yes and I&ldots;" Marcie coughed to get his attention. If she was in this up to her eyebrows, by God she was going to have a say in things too! "we, get complete creative control and don't have to clear everything through you first," Nigel stated, lifting his chin in challenge as Roger looked like he was about to argue the point, but decided not to.

Roger's gaze became speculative and one finger tapped against his lips as he looked at Nigel in consideration. "Fine, but I still have the ultimate decision making power as to whether or not a program stays or goes. I don't want to find myself getting letters from angry parents because their children were subjected to what they considered tasteless programs!"

Nigel lifted his head arrogantly. "I have never choreographed a 'tasteless program' in my life; I don't intend to start now!"

Roger nodded. "Good, then we understand each other," he murmured agreeably, rising to his feet. With a final painful look at the skaters on the ice, he sent Nigel and Marcie a look of skepticism. "If you can figure out a way to make that motley group of skaters work together, and look good doing it, not only will it be a miracle, it'll get you a guaranteed contract for the next five years and a nice bonus to boot!" he offered temptingly.

For thirty seconds the two watched the group on the ice, their gazes filled with disgust and disbelief at the professionals they saw before them. Eleven year-olds in a beginner's class looked more together than the skaters on the ice did at the moment!

"A guaranteed contract for five years; wouldn't that be nice?" Marcie repeated Roger's parting statement on a wistful sigh, her chin resting in her hands as her elbows rested on her knees.

"Yeah it would! And I don't intend to let it slip through my fingers because of a bunch of prima donnas that can't figure out their right foot from their left! Mount up, Marcie! It's time to kick some ass!" Nigel growled; reaching for the wireless microphone that sat on the seat beside him. A click of the switch had his voice echoing through the huge building and interrupting the tirade on the ice.

"Listen up, boys and girls. As cute as you all looked in a pile on the ice, the boss wasn't too impressed and even I have to admit, I was looking for something with a little more style! So, since you've obviously skimped on your practice time, we're going to start all over. Wipe out whatever you have left in your unused brains pertaining to this number and prepare to work your shapely asses off! I'm giving you one hour to get your feet under you. If you're not ready to skate by then, take yourself off the ice and leave a check for thousand dollars with Marcie. We're working under a penalty clause now! If you're not prepared to skate, you're going to pay for the privilege of being off the ice!"

"Nigel!" Marcie gasped in surprise.

Grumbling and complaining could be heard from the ice, along with comments pertaining to agents, attorneys and asshole choreographers.

"Pissing and moaning and lawsuit grandstanding isn't going to get this show put together in four weeks. You all have signed contracts stating you are being paid to provide a service; namely skating. So far I haven't seen a whole lot of that. And since we're all working under a deadline&ldots;"

"Which you just shortened by four weeks!" one of the skaters yelled out.

"Shit happens; deal with it!" Nigel argued flatly, sending the skater a looked that dared him to make any further comments. Receiving none, he continued. "Since this deadline has been moved up it means we're going to be spending more time on the ice and less time swirling it around in a highball glass!"

Some knowing laughter and accusing glances ensued. It was no secret there were some heavy partiers in the group.

"And with the additional practices, and rehearsals, I suggest you accustom yourselves to my sleeping schedule, because I can assure you, if I'm not sleeping, none of you will be sleeping either!"

"This isn't fair!" someone yelled from the ice.

"Yeah, I know, life sucks and then you die!"

"How much of the choreography we've already set will stay?" Another skater asked.

"It's hard to say. We might be able to salvage some of it, but we're going with a new idea - a new theme," Nigel stated.

Grumbling rumbled across the ice.

"What new theme?"

Marcie looked at Nigel, her eyebrows lifting questioningly. "Yeah, Nigel, what new theme?" she asked in a frustrated whisper.

"Reflections," he stated calmly. "We're going to skate the reflections of life: passion, hate, joy, love, sorrow, etc. There's plenty to choose from!"

Marcie's eyes began to sparkle as all the creative possibilities started to spin through her brain. "I like it," she murmured and sent Nigel a wide smile.

Nigel winked at her. "I thought you might," he countered her softly, his hand covering the microphone as he spoke to her, before bringing the mic back up to his mouth. "We're going to show the world our souls, boys and girls. And we're going to start in an hour, so don't waste your time or mine!"

More mutinous sounds erupted from the ice.

"One hour boys and girls. Be there or have a check for a thousand bucks for the kitty!" Nigel repeated, and clicking off the microphone, pulled Marcie to her feet and headed up the steep stairs, talking as they went.

"I am not girl nor boy; I am man! How can he say I am boy when he wears sparkles like girl?" Nicholai Fedorov growled, watching the two choreographers disappear into the darkness high above the ice.

Yuri looked at the huge man beside him, dressed in snug black pants and a black T-shirt that did nothing to hide, but instead, emphasized his muscular physique, and calmly offered, "I don't believe he was speaking to you directly, Nicholai, but rather to all of us in general."

Nicholai brushed aside his friend's remark with a harsh comment, in Russian, about the now absent choreographer's heritage, and found his friend's eyes widening in surprise as he cast a speculative look his way.

 Nicholai Fedorov was the most emotionally controlled man Yuri had ever met, let alone come to know. Why the man was practically a statue when it came to showing emotions - except when he was on the ice. Then the passion for the sport he loved that raged through his blood showed through clearly and left people breathless as they witnessed the perfect blending of power, grace and speed that had been honed over his lifetime and left him a skating icon at the age of twenty-six.

"You complain like an old man, my friend," Yuri teased his friend, his blue eyes gleaming wickedly.

"And you look like a boy hoping to become a man one day," Nicholai countered, sending Yuri a taunting look that took in his slim, much less developed body, but did nothing but make him laugh.

Spreading his arms wide, Yuri simply shrugged his narrow shoulders and laughed, "Not all of us are meant to be imposing. Some of us must use finesse, instead of brute strength, to survive the idiocy of youth!"

"Then 'tis good you have over abundance of finesse!" Nicholai taunted him in Russian.

Yuri nodded in agreement and added in his native language, "That I do. Of course, 'tis also good to have friends who have an over abundance of brute strength!"

Nicholai couldn't help himself, and the deep laugh that escaped his broad chest echoed across the arena had several of the other skaters looking his way curiously.

It wasn't often Nicholai Fedorov laughed.

But the laughter didn't last long before Nicholai was back to scowling. "The others, they look at me as if I am ogre," he mumbled, his dark look sending the others eyes skittering away in uncertainty.

Yuri looked at the other skaters who suddenly seemed extraordinarily busy avoiding Nicholai's attention, and shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps if you did not act like an ogre, they would not look at you so," he suggested calmly.

Nicholai lifted his chin imperiously, looked down his nose at his good friend, and stated flatly, "I do not act like ogre!"

Yuri's snort of disagreement had Nicholai's eyes flashing hotly. "Pardon me, you are right, you don't act like an ogre. You only look like one when you're scowling and arrogant and thinking about throwing a tantrum!"

Nicholai's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Granted, he could be demanding, condescending, and arrogant occasionally; but then who wasn't - occasionally. But he had never thrown a tantrum! "I do not have tantrums!" he growled dangerously.

Yuri looked unconcerned at his friends growing temper and once again shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Oh, that's right. In America, they call them 'creative disagreements'," he stated drolly.

"Is it wrong to uphold my standards? I will not skate less than perfect programs. I will not let skate less than I can!" One of Nicholai's hands splayed across his heart. "I will not skate programs that are drivel and passionless. If I cannot feel them in my heart and soul, I will not waste my time with them!"

"I understand, my friend. But few skaters hold the same values, regarding skating, that you do." Yuri's hand waved toward the small gathering of skaters that were still complaining. "Most of the skaters on this ice are here for the money. They have proven all they need to prove to themselves and the world. They have won their medals, and now their only expression of success is money. Face it, my friend, when everything is said and done, and it comes right down to it, it's all about the money!"

"Not with me; never with me!" Nicholai's dark brown eyes speared his friend's. "Nor with you!"

"You are right, but we are but two of the few who feel that way." Yuri stated quietly. It saddened him to acknowledge so many of skatings' best athletes let their talents fade away to former shells of greatness. Grace and style and silent edges were becoming a thing of the past; replaced by sheer athleticism and fancy tricks that often tore a skater's body apart years too soon. Surely there had to be a happy medium ground where skating didn't have to be about quads and death defying lifts and throws. Surely there was room in the sport for style and finesse and the ability to inspire emotion on edges that were pure and didn't require one risking their very life!

Nicholai shook his head sadly. "Is there no one that feels passion in their soul when they skate? Is there no one willing to push the limits of their body, their skill; to fly in a way they never have before?"

A flash of movement, in solid black, whizzed passed the two men. The woman moved nearly soundlessly, drawing their attention to her perfect skating form. "She does." Yuri stated succinctly, nodding toward the quickly retreating form of Madison St. Austin.

Nicholai's scowl said he disagreed with his friend's comment. "She is but a child."

"Look again, Nicholai, and this time forget she's American. Believe it or not, nationalities other than Russian can skate!" Yuri suggested truthfully, and with a final nod for emphasis, left his friend's side and began his own warm-up.

Nicholai watched the girl as she moved, and silently admitted his friend might be partially correct, she covered the ice almost silently, her strokes picture perfect, her long legs eating up the ice. "'Believe it or not, nationalities other than Russian can skate,'" Nicholai grumbled in Russian, mimicking his friend, and sent hostile looks to all who came within eye range of him. Within seconds, he found himself alone on one end of the ice, and watching as all the other skaters began to practice their moves on the opposite side of the ice from him - all but one.

In surprise, Nicholai watched as the skater circled the far end of the ice, and skated back his way, sliding to a stop, nearly soundlessly, only a few yards away from him. With a defiant lift of her chin, she challenged him to say a word about her being on his ice, despite the fact his arrogant stance made him look as if he owned it!

Nicholai simply lifted one eyebrow and allowed his gaze to sweep over her arrogantly. Yuri was right. She was no child! Her skin looked as soft as satin and as pale as thick cream, her high cheekbones, flushed and rosy from her exertions. She had large eyes, the color of deep chocolate and fringed with impossibly long lashes, which she kept casting cautiously his way. Her lips, full and only hinting of what might have once been covered in a soft peach colored gloss, now looked swollen as if they'd recently been ravished in a passionate kiss or simply been nervously chewed on. He hazarded a guess it was the latter versus the former. It was a mouth that had him wondering how soft her full lips would feel beneath his own; what she would taste of if he sank his tongue deep into the warmth of her mouth, and a jolt of fire raced through his body at the thought.

The sudden fire that lit his eyes had her breath catching and her lips parting slightly as she tried to ignore his eyes on her mouth, and the wicked look in his eyes, as her breathing began to return to normal. How could the man steal her breath away with a simple look? Not a word had ever passed between them. And other than the expected polite nods, or brief meeting of eyes, as they worked on the ice or happened to pass in hallways, they were still strangers. And yet, today, a single heated look from him had her breath being stolen away. Why were things any different between them today than they had been six weeks ago when the entire cast was introduced to each other and finally took to the ice together? Why did testosterone practically ooze from the man today when she'd paid him no attention before? And how long could she control the urge to run her fingers over his gorgeous shoulders and muscular arms that was practically overwhelming her? So many questions, and what was worse, his eyes seemed to mock her. He knew how she felt; she could see it in his smoldering eyes.

She wanted to smack his smug face! Instead, she stated coldly, "It's impolite to stare!" and sent him, what she hoped, was her best 'Stay away from me or die!' frosty look.

He was neither impressed, nor concerned by her warning, and couldn't help the knowing smile that curved his full lips as he took in her rapidly rising and falling breasts as her breathing became shallow and her eyes glazed slightly. She obviously wasn't as unaffected by his presence as he'd originally thought and his arrogance reasserted itself. Splaying his hands in supplication, he shook his head back and forth, his voice was soft, seductive. "Prasteetye. Ya nee paneemayoo."

She looked at him with wide eyes, not having understood a single word.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand," he murmured in his native tongue. He did of course, perfectly, but for some reason he couldn't name, for the time being, he didn't want her knowing just how much English he did understand.

 The look she gave him was skeptical at best, and her brow furrowed as she turned her back on him and began to stretch carefully, doing her best to ignore him.

In silent appreciation he watched her as she stretched her body, and practiced moves in what appeared to be effortless grace. Tiny tendrils of auburn hair had escaped her French braid, and teased her damp forehead and temples, and were another indicator of her work ethic. While others had been standing in one spot complaining, she'd been constantly moving, keeping her muscles warm and limber, which brought his eyes to her lovely body. Small feet covered in immaculately kept boots lead to gloriously long, beautifully shaped legs that melted into a curvaceous bottom that had his hands itching to touch the tempting flesh. Her hips were narrow, yet shapely, and blended into a tiny waist that seemed to make her ample breasts look even more bountiful. With a tiny frown, he felt his body respond to what his eyes saw and with a growl of frustration, began to skate small warm-up circles.

He didn't like the emotions she made him feel, didn't like the fact his heart was suddenly making his brain stop and wonder if everything his grandfather had drilled into him for so many years was true.

'Americans are evil; they cannot be trusted. They will lie, cheat and steal to win. They have no ethics or morals, and will happily use you and then discard you when they have stolen every ounce of your being. Beware the Americans, Nicholai. They are monsters bent on changing Russians into malleable allies. They will destroy you and never look back!' How often had he heard his grandfather mutter those words? How many times had he listened as his grandfather blamed the Americans for losing his only son, and Nicholai's father, to the wiles of an American skater? How many times had he cursed his son's foolishness and stupidity for turning his back on his mother country, and even going so far as to marry an American woman, only to be lost in an automobile accident? Nicholai had been too young to remember his father, although looking at old pictures, it was clear to see he'd taken after his father in physical appearance. As for his mother? There were no pictures to signify she had ever even existed. Dying shortly after his birth, he had had only his father, and grandfather, to rely upon. When his father had become 'bewitched by the American', as his grandfather constantly reminded him, he had been barely a year old, and had thought it better to leave him home with his grandfather, than traipse about the world with an infant in tow. A world class gymnast, having just won Olympic Gold, he had been touring with a group of elite athletes when the accident had occurred. It had been a sad day for the world when eleven of the best gymnasts in the world had died inside the tour bus they had been traveling in. Who could have ever imagined a freak icestorm could possible occur in April? But it had, and the bus had crashed through the guardrail, rolled down a mountainous incline, and into the river below. Nicholai's father had been thrown from the vehicle. His 'American wife's' body had never been recovered.

It was that day Nicholai's grandfather truly came to hate American's and passed on that hatred to his grandson!

Madison watched the man silently and didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until it had slowly hissed through her teeth as he'd skated away! As much as she hated to admit it, this was the same damn reaction she'd had to him when she'd seen him for the first time six weeks ago, and wondered how she'd managed to keep her physical reaction to him to herself. If anyone had been able to sneak a peek into her imagination, they would have been shocked to see the images that swirled sensuously through Madison's mind, so much for the shy, quiet, self-controlled, unassuming little girl who did her best to separate herself from the crowd. In her mind, she wasn't afraid of failure or rejection, but instead a temptress luring a mortal man into sensual delights, and she could just imagine the delights the gorgeous Russian might be willing to share with her. But here, on the harsh, cold reality of the ice, she'd watched as he'd become friendly with two of the other female skaters in the cast and felt her fantasy dissipate like fog on a hot day. Obviously his tastes ran toward the more blatantly sexual, well-endowed personalities of the other girls, and she cast a downward look of disgust at her less-endowed attributes, wondering why she'd been short-changed in that department as well. With a wistful sigh, she watched Nicholai's magnificent form cover the ice; commanding it, and wondered if she would ever be able to watch him without her breath catching in her lungs and her blood boiling in excitement.

"Amazing isn't he?" Anna Marie's sultry voice spoke from over her shoulder and Madison blinked in surprise as she realized she hadn't even heard the other girl approach her, so lost in the mesmerizing effect Nicholai had over her. Casting a quick look over her shoulder, her eyes widened as she took in Anna Marie's even redder-than-normal short hair. The woman loved to be noticed!

Madison shrugged nonchalantly and pulled her mind away from the Russian. "He's an arrogant jerk who thinks he owns the ice. Simply one more male skater who believes he's the best."

Anna Marie's sultry laugh was one that made you immediately think she was laughing at a wickedly delicious joke. "I've got news for you, kiddo, he's not only amazing on the ice, he is truly amazing off it!" she offered, lifting one arched eyebrow and licking her bright red lips as if she'd just tasted something sinfully delicious. "Those magnificent thighs of his are good for more than just skating!" she stated blatantly.

Madison swallowed the automatic response of denial, deciding she didn't want to get into a pissing match with Anna Marie over whether she spoke the truth or was simply making outrageous comments, hoping to get a rise out of Madison and break through her too-controlled demeanor. Madison was a closed book when it came to her emotions, whereas most of the other skaters were out there, in your face, ready to spill their guts at any moment, and frequently did. She was sure it irked them when she wouldn't reciprocate with wild stories of her own when the bragging started. But when one didn't have any wild stories to share, what were you supposed to do, make them up?

"If you say so," Madison countered in a bored tone.

"Don't tell me you don't think the man's gorgeous?" Anna Marie asked in a voice filled with disbelief.

"I didn't say I didn't think he was handsome; obviously he is. But I prefer someone with a bit more depth; someone interested in how I feel and what I think instead of how long it might take to get me out of my clothes and flat on my back!" Madison stated flatly.

"Who said you have be flat on your back or out of your clothes to appreciate a lovely set of thighs?" Anna Marie asked silkily.

"Who indeed?" Madison countered in a sultry whisper of her own, one eyebrow lifting sardonically, her eyes hinting of secrets she was unwilling to share, but silently insinuated.

Anna Marie narrowed her eyes and looked at the other woman skeptically. Madison simply returned her gaze steadily, until without another word, she simply whirled around and skated away in a huff.

Breathing a sigh of relief at having averted a disaster in the making, Madison found her gaze once more mesmerized by Nicholai as he silently moved over the ice. Simply speaking, the man was huge! Broad shouldered and sculpted in muscle, he was built more like a gymnast than a skater, thanks to years of working out with weights and gymnastic equipment. Hair the color of caramel, that waved softly over a perfectly shaped head, only made his blue eyes seem that much bluer, and it was easy to read whatever was going on inside his head by simply looking into them. High cheekbones, that spoke of royal ancestry added arrogance to his look, but it was his mouth that was truly bewitching. Full lips, and naturally straight teeth, he didn't smile often, but when it did, it was truly devastating to female species and rumor had it, his smile had landed more women on their back than anything else. All in all, he was a pure source of devastatingly sexual male, in a body designed to both torment and pleasure women and he knew it.

Thankfully, there had only been a few times she'd found herself close enough to him to have to worry about his overwhelming presence and well known sex appeal. Then, the only thing she'd had to deal with was how much she hated the fact that she had to look up to look into Nicholai's face and shining blue eyes. It's not that she was short, by skating standards she was almost tall, standing close to five foot five in her stocking feet. It's just that Nicholai was six feet tall without his skates! And, he seemed to take great pleasure in looking down his imperial nose at her, standing even taller than usual, broadening his shoulders and making her feel even more dwarfed beside his imposing form. He seemed to get great pleasure out of reminding her of his superiority, even if it was only physical and the very fact he went out of his way to do it when he got the opportunity made her want to scream in frustration. But she refused to allow him even that much insight into her personality and instead, thickened her defensive wall and looked through him as if he wasn't even there.

He hadn't liked it; not even a little bit! His arresting blue eyes had darkened to a deep sapphire blue and clearly told her he was unused to being ignored by a woman. Her cold treatment of him hadn't set well with his ego and so he hadn't approached her again - until today.

And with everything else turned topsy-turvy, this meeting hadn't gone any better than any of the others had. And so the game of cat and mouse continued.

"They cannot do that to us!" André, France's most medaled skater demanded, sending him the darkest scowl he could manage.

American Olympic Gold Medalist, Bradley Jerome, simply laughed at André's attempt to be a tough guy. It was hard to project the image of being a hard ass when you were barely over five feet tall, skinny as a rail and weighed less than a hundred pounds wearing a wet towel! Add to the fact he was wearing what looked suspiciously like blush, and any delusions of macho disappeared immediately. Still, besides being one of the best spinners in the skating world, the kid had a heart of gold, and always had a tacky joke to share with everyone every day! With a consoling pat on his back, he laughed. "Doesn't look that way to me, André! And if I were you, I'd start carrying your Gold Card. No point wearing your hand out writing check after check!"

"I was not the only one to fall!" André argued.

"No, but you were the one to start the whole damn avalanche!" another skater stated, joining the argument.

And so it went, half the skaters arguing over who had caused the predicament they were in and what to do about correcting the situation, while the other half of them busied themselves with the business of skating.

And when Nigel and Marci returned an hour later, three skaters found themselves busy writing checks, pissing and moaning about the unfairness of it all, but scribbling their signatures nonetheless and handing over the penalty fine.

"Thank you all for your contribution," Marcie offered the two men, and one woman skater sweetly, stuffing the checks into her jacket pocket and zipping it closed for good measure. "We'll try this again after lunch!" she stated, ignoring their looks of disbelief.

"After lunch?" one of the men complained.

"That's what I said."

"What if things don't go any better?" another skater asked.

"Then it will cost you another thousand bucks!" Marcie said with an easy shrug of her shoulders.

"This is not fair!" the woman argued.

Marcie sent her a look filled with fire, but countered her calmly. "Neither is wasting our time by showing up on the ice so hung over you can't skate! Get your act together or stay off our ice." Marcie looked at the two men standing silently. "That goes for you two also."

Without another word, she left the three and headed for the ice.

"So, now what?" one of the men asked.

The other two shrugged and cast questioning looks at each other. "I don't know."

Debating whether or not to drown their sorrows in another bottle of Cuervo Gold or head over to the other ice rink and see if they couldn't find their feet, they decided the Cuervo wasn't worth another thousand dollar fine. Maybe, for the time being, it would be better to simply settle for a big patch of ice, instead of little chunks that clinked sweetly in a glass.

Chapter 2

After a brief break for lunch, everyone was back on the ice, even the three who had been earlier banished (and paid for the privilege). Looks of skepticism swept through the milling skaters as Nigel handed out sheets of paper outlining the new format for the show, and Marcie followed behind him with a small paper bag containing scraps of paper with a specific emotion written on each piece. Each skater had to reach in and select the emotion that he or she would have to skate to. In doing it this way, Marcie and Nigel hoped they would alleviate the problem of too many skaters wanting to skate a specific emotion.

Marcie held the bag in front of Anna Marie and watched as she reached in, pulled out her slip of paper and read it, a frown creasing her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "INNOCENCE! How in the hell am I supposed to skate innocence?" she complained, scowling at the raucous comments that were being murmured around her. "Let Madison skate it; I'm sure she could manage it without trying," she stated cattily, sending Madison a challenging look.

"There will be no trading. We're doing it this way specifically so we don't have you all vying for the same thing. We're hoping it might inspire you to do something you've never done before," Marcie explained calmly, stepping up to Madison and holding out the bag for her.

Madison smiled at Marcie and reached into the bag, pulling her own slip of paper free. "HOPE." Madison murmured the word, showing Marcie the slip of paper and watching as she wrote the word down beside her name.

And so it went. Marcie made her way to each of the fifteen skaters, holding the bag as they picked their future programs and jotted down their selection. Ignoring ribald comments, attempts of bribery, and flat out pleading as some of the skaters were less than pleased with their chosen emotion, she finally found herself standing before Nicholai, holding the bag forward and looking up at him expectantly.

A quick look down into the bag showed him there was only one slip of paper left. "Suppose you say what I skate as you must know what has not yet been chosen?" Nicholai suggested in a deep voice.

Marcie lifted the bag a little higher. "It doesn't matter there is only one piece of paper left. You will pick, as everyone else has, as a show of unity."

Nicholai frowned but did as she requested, pulling the last piece of paper from the bag and looking at it. "PASSION." Nicholai spoke the single word in such a manner that every girl on the ice found herself holding her breath, Marcie included.

"Thank you." Marcie squeaked, and wrote the word down beside his name.

Nigel sent his partner a look of bemusement and clapped his hands together to gain the skaters' attention. "Now that everyone has been assigned their emotion, I want you to each start thinking about music that will best depict your particular choice."

"We didn't get a choice," one skater complained.

Nigel calmly speared the skater with a dark look and continued. "We are hoping you will assist us in finding the music you wish to skate your program to and also hope you will take the program seriously and not waste our time listening to inappropriate choices."

"Inappropriate according to whom?" someone else called out.

Nigel ignored the comment. "You will have twenty-four hours to make your selection. If you haven't found something the three of us can agree on, a choice will be made for you," he stated firmly, including Marcie in the 'us'.

More grumbling ensued, but only from a very few. The rest of the company nodded in silent agreement.

With a final call for questions, clarifications and comments, his eyebrows lifted in surprise at the lack of response and he dismissed the company with a brief, "Good luck. I'll see you all back here at seven tomorrow morning."

Marcie and Nigel watched the skaters make their way off the ice and sent each other quizzical looks.

"No questions or comments? This is either very good or very bad!" Marcie suggested in warning.

Nigel's shoulders simply lifted in a small shrug. "We'll have our answer in twenty four hours. In the meantime, we'd better have some choices of music set aside in the event someone can't decide on a piece of music to use that I can live with."

* * * * *

 With the exception of one skater, whose taste in music had always been questionable, the other fourteen skaters had found their music within the allotted timetable and choreography had already begun. Under the new format, some of the skaters found themselves leery to have their new programs viewed by the others until it had been set, and practiced until it felt comfortable to them. Needless to say, this particular attitude had made scheduling ice time a nightmare. Granted there were those skaters who preferred to sleep in in the morning, thus freeing up the ice for those skaters who didn't want to skate late at night.

For the moment, the opening and closing numbers hadn't been choreographed, but Nigel and Marcie weren't too worried about it. Once they had the solo numbers set, they'd feel much better. After all, the clock was ticking and despite the occasional tantrum, the skaters had basically fallen into line and considering they for the most part only saw each other in passing, personal altercations had become minimal.

All in all, Marcie and Nigel couldn't have been happier with the way things were shaping up. Granted, they were putting in long hours, but knowing that the impetuous agreement Nigel had made with Roger might actually pan out, had the tension level lessening and the pair of choreographers actually believing they might pull it off.

Time was of the essence and so when Marcie called Nigel at four forty-five in the morning from the ice rink, demanding his presence, he pissed and moaned about the hour but still hurried from the hotel.

Twenty minutes later was sitting beside her, twelve rows up from the ice, watching as Madison worked on her program. "Marcie, do you know what time it is?" Nigel growled, not even attempting to stifle the huge yawn as he rubbed his eyes. He'd been up until after midnight the night before working with one of the pair teams.

"Too damn early, but I wanted you to see this," Marcie stated excitedly, never taking her eyes off the skater on the ice. "I've never seen her skate like this; not even when she won her gold medal!"

Nigel's blurry eyes followed Madison as she silently worked her way through her program, her CD player anchored at her waist, her headphones sending her the music she skated to, leaving the building blessedly silent but for the soft whisper of her blades against the ice. For a few moments he watched her, once again impressed by her edging. It wasn't often you found an American skater with silent edges. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she threw a triple axel as if it was nothing and continued her program with a casualness that had him sitting forward in his seat. "Where'd that come from?"

Marcie simply smiled at him secretively. "Keep watching."

Nigel was mesmerized by Madison's program, silent though it was, and found himself holding his breath as he watched her complete jump after jump, seemingly effortlessly, and slid into layback spins and spirals as if they were nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. Even after she slid into her closing position, and turned to look up at Marcie, she didn't look winded at all, even though Nigel felt his own blood racing.

"What do you think?" Madison called from the ice, a little surprised to see Nigel sitting beside her. It was common knowledge Nigel had the night shift, at least that had been the original plan. To see him here now so early was a little disconcerting. She tried not to show the apprehension that immediately filled her at his presence.

"Can I see it with the music?" Nigel asked Marcie quietly. Even from twelve rows up he could see her body language indicating she was uncomfortable with his being there.

"I'd like to see it with the music. Can you be ready to run through it again in five minutes?" Marcie called back.

Madison's fingers fidgeted and she had to remind herself not to chew on her lip in nervousness. "I can run through it again right now," Madison called back.

"No, take five minutes and relax," Marcie countered. "You've been working since three thirty. Go get a drink of water."

Less than thrilled, she did as she was bid but wasn't happy about it. The man just made her so nervous!

Nigel watched her leave the ice and frowned at her obvious nervousness. "She's been here since three thirty?" He asked in disbelief. He couldn't be certain but he thought her scheduled ice time began at four thirty.

Marcie nodded. "I couldn't believe it when I came in at four thinking I'd get an early start on her choreography. We were almost half way through already, but there she was, skating through the entire program."

"She'd finished choreographing it herself?"

Again Marcie nodded. "She said she just skated what the music made her feel." Marcie stopped Nigel before he could comment. "I know, I know; this keeps up, she'll be doing the choreography for the show and we'll be looking for work."

"The program looks amazing without music; I'm almost afraid to see it with music. I don't know if I can deal with this much excitement so early in the morning."

"Well, I'd suggest you hang on, because what you're about to see is going to blow you away!"

Madison took one last sip of water from the drinking fountain, placed her hands flat on the wall above it and dropped her chin to her chest, breathing deeply and trying to stem the desire to run out of the arena. Five thirty in the morning was too early to be dealing with nerves run amuck. She couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was about Nigel that put her on edge; perhaps the desire to be perfect for yet one more person, but she didn't feel that way with Marcie. Regardless, she now had to perform her program for the two, and surely he would see the shoddy choreography she'd put together and scream the roof down around her ears. Whatever had made her think she could finish choreographing her program herself? These people were paid big bucks to do it because they knew what they were doing. She had simply skated what she felt and Marcie had told her to keep it. For the hundredth time she chastised her foolishness at even attempting such a fete. Now she could go out and completely embarrass herself in front of him. Surely he'd fire her on the spot!

With a final deep breath, she pushed away from the wall, turned to head back toward the ice, and found herself looking at the wide, muscular chest of the man who haunted her dreams. Nicholai stood before her, yet again dressed in black, and looking like he'd just slipped from bed, his hair slightly tussled, his blue eyes sleepy and sexy.

In shock and surprise, she backed away from him, and bumped into the water fountain, only to find herself ricocheting off the corner and falling as her blades tangled in the rubber mat. Strong hands kept her from hitting the floor and foreign words spoken in a deep voice reached her ears as he righted her and looked down at her inquiringly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled haltingly. Quick, hesitant glances were cast upward but refused to meet his eyes fully. "Excuse me," she finally murmured, then scurried away without another word.

"Have you made it your life's goal to terrorize the angel?" Yuri asked his friend, having seen her flight from Nicholai as he made his way toward him.

Nicholai's eyebrows lifted questioningly. "Angel? How can you call her such?"

"You haven't seen her skate," Yuri stated.

Nicholai's eyebrows narrowed into a confused frown. "How can you say that when you know it's not true? I have seen her skate many times," he countered in Russian, clearly baffled by his friend's comment.

"That is true; you have seen her skate many times. But have you ever truly watched her?" Yuri asked.

Nicholai's broad shoulders lifted in a small, shrug, clearly not following his friend's explanation. "You make no sense."

Yuri growled in what could only be called a sound of exasperation. "When you have seen her skate, what do you see?"

Nicholai looked at his friend, thoroughly baffled, and spread his hands in supplication. "I don't know; a small American girl doing tricks," Nicholai finally stated.

Yuri sighed disgusted and then looked toward the double doors that lead to the ice and nodded his head toward them. "Come with me."

"Why?" Nicholai asked stubbornly.

"Do not ask questions, simply do as I ask," Yuri called over his shoulder, leading the way into the arena, the cool air of the ice washing over them as they entered the inner sanctum.

The two men quickly headed toward the ice, the sound of Marcie's voice echoing through the building as she asked Madison if she was ready to run through her program with the music. A quick nod from Madison had her music being queued up and Madison slipping her sweatshirt over her head and tossing it into one of the front row seats.

Yuri lead Nicholai into the stands, high enough they were out of the immediate brightness of the lights and far enough away that Madison probably wouldn't notice them and thus be distracted by their presence. The two men watched as Madison removed her sweatshirt and Yuri looked at his friend in surprise as he gasped in surprise at her less than childlike attire. Skin tight black skating pants, capped off by a scooped neck, sleeveless leotard the color of ripe peaches, left no doubt in Nicholai's mind she was miles away from being a child.

Yuri simply speared his friend with a knowing look and murmured. "Forget she is American. Watch her and see her this time," he demanded quietly.

The four in the arena watched as Madison skated to center ice, assumed her opening position and waited for the music to begin. It took only a few seconds and suddenly the building was filled with the lilting opening notes of Mandy Moore's Only Hope echoing through the cold air. Her movements were fluid, her arms flowing weightlessly as she began her program and immediately entranced the four who comprised her audience. Every action was in reaction to the lyrics and melody of the music, casting a spell over all who watched her, leaving them breathless as she became one with the music and her soul sang with joy.

There's a song that's inside of my soul. It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again. I'm awake in the infinite cold. But you sing me over and over and over again. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be only yours I pray, to be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope.

Nicholai's eyes followed her every more, his breath caught in his chest, his heart pounding harshly, his brain dizzy with disbelief as he watched her silently move over the ice. "Dear Lord&ldots;" he murmured in reverence. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Never had he seen such beauty and grace on the ice before. She moved silently and with a fluid grace so typical of the Russians he would have assumed, if he hadn't known better, that she was Russian through and through with hot Russian blood surging through her veins. He looked at his friend in astonishment. Did he dare believe his own eyes? Was he really seeing what he thought he was seeing?

If he hadn't had such a frantic look in his eyes Yuri would have actually laughed in his friend's face. Nicholai's arrogance had always refused to allow him to believe American's could produce as good a skater as Russia. Yet here was proof, staring him the face, taunting him with the fact that particular belief of his was wrong; at least in this instance. "Forget she is American!" Yuri demanded yet again, easily reading the disbelief in Nicholai's eyes. The man was stubborn beyond belief!

Sing to me the song of the stars. Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again. When it feels like my dreams are so far. Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be only yours I pray, to be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope.

Nicholai's eyes never left her as he watched her run through her program. He could feel the passion and joy she felt emanating from her in waves as she skated joyously and with a freedom he easily recognized; he'd felt the same freedom himself. Her feet flew silently across the ice as she covered it with a speed that left him breathless and longing to feel the ice beneath his own feet. And he had to give her credit for her fearlessness as she completed difficult triple jumps as if they were nothing to worry about, when he knew that wasn't the case at all.

On the ice Madison breathed in the cold air and felt herself fall more fully under the spell the words and music cast over her. The music sang to her, filled her with hope that there was someone in the world who could fill the empty places in her heart and share the joy she felt on the ice with her. A hazy image formed in her mind of the phantom who would reach her heart and as the final verse of the song began, she slid to a stop and turned, reaching out toward the stands and found her eyes meeting Nicholai's; even through the shadows.

I give you my destiny. Their eyes held and in that brief moment something clicked between them; connecting them and neither of them were able to breathe over their suddenly pounding hearts. I'm giving you all of me. Nicholai rose to his feet and slowly walked down a few rows, coming to a stop when he reached the row of seats that sat in the bright lights, only a few yards separating him from the ice. He couldn't take his eyes from her. I want your symphony singing in all that I am. At the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back. Madison landed a triple axel that on the crescendo of the music that left them both tingling and aware of each other in a manner neither of them had ever felt before. A bubble of joyous rapture escaped her smiling lips in a lilting laugh that swirled into the air and left Nicholai breathless.

Nigel watched Nicholai from across the ice and found his mouth dropping open as he watched the huge Russian, obviously completely captivated by the skater on the ice, and the wheels in his mind started spinning crazily. Never in a million years would he have even considered the possibility of pairing the two, but that was the idea that was racing like fire through his brain. "Marcie, look," he demanded quietly, nudging her arm as she sat beside him, drawing her attention momentarily from Madison, and nodding toward Nicholai, across the ice.

Marcie followed his line of vision and found herself watching Nicholai as he watched Madison. Returning her gaze to Madison, she caught her casting frequent looks toward Nicholai and she turned her questioning look to Nigel. "What's that about?"

Nigel shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm going to use it."

"Use what?"

"Their attraction to each other."

"They don't like each other," Marcie stated calmly, enunciating each word slowly.

Nigel looked back and forth between the two skaters and watched them as they watched each other. "Doesn't look that way to me."

The music continued, and made its way toward the conclusion of the program. So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours I pray, to be only yours, I pray, to be only yours, I know now you're my only hope.

Madison finished with a layback spin and slid into her closing position, one hand stretched forward as if reaching for someone, her other hand closed in a gentle fist and placed against her heart, looking directly at Nicholai.

For several seconds no one moved, each seemingly frozen in time, afraid to break the spell the swirled through the now-silent arena.

"Holy shit!" Marcie finally mumbled, and looked into Nigel's eyes.

Nigel nodded in barely restrained excitement and murmured. "We've just added another emotion to the list and they're doing it!"

Marcie couldn't help the smile the curved her lips. "Let me guess? Desire."

"Yup! And I know exactly what piece of music I want them to use!"

"Dare I ask?"

"Sarah Brightman's, Anywhere, Anytime."

Marcie practically sighed in ecstasy. She loved the piece of music, had often wanted to use it but hadn't found the right person to carry it off. Obviously, rethinking the problem, it was a piece that really needed to be skated by a pair. It was powerful and sensual and sultry and brought all kinds of images to mind that left her feeling giddy. "This is going to be too much fun!"

"Now all we have to do is convince those two it will be," Nigel stated, returning his gaze to the ice.

The two choreographers watched as Madison finally pulled her gaze from Nicholai's and looked expectantly toward Marcie and Nigel.

Nervousness swept over her when silence continued to surround her. "Well?" she finally called out.

"You're set, Madison. Stop by the office in fifteen minutes. There's something we need to discuss with you.

They hate it! The thought crossed Madison's mind and her heart fell into her feet. She'd felt completely alive for the first time as she'd skated the program with the music echoing in the huge building and now she was going to be told her program was terrible and have to have it re-choreographed. She couldn't trust her voice not to show her disappointment so she simply nodded in response to their request and began to skate slowly around the ice, hoping to calm her racing nerves.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Nicholai was joined by Yuri and the two men walked down the stairs, taking seats in the first row and began the process of putting on their skates. In only moments, the two were laced up and standing, slowly stretching their muscles as they prepared for their practice session.

Hoping to avoid any contact with the man who suddenly disconcerted her so, she stepped off the ice on the opposite end of the arena and slowly made her way toward the section of seats her sweatshirt had been tossed on to. Sneaking haphazard glances at the men now on the ice, she concentrated on the sweatshirt only a few yards away from her and quickened her pace. Only a few more steps and she'd be away from Nicholai and his overwhelming presence. She felt, more than heard him as he skated toward her, rapidly closing the distance between them. The air swirling around her and a light dusting of ice as he slid into a t-stop in front of her and turned to cast his sapphire gaze upon her had her stumbling to a stop. With shaking hands, she reached for her sweatshirt, holding it against her chest as if it was a shield that would protect her.

He said not a word, simply gazed at her, his broad chest heaving as if he suddenly couldn't get enough air. She knew how he felt, the air had suddenly gone out of her own lungs and she couldn't pull her eyes from his, felt herself slipping beneath the drowning allure of his eyes. Time ceased to be and the air hummed with electricity around them, holding them within its powerful grasp.

"Nicholai!" Yuri called from across the ice, and then called again, louder the second time, finally gaining his friend's attention as he skated closer to him.

It was all Madison needed to finally break away, pushing away the magical spell that had enfolded them.

Nicholai frowned as he watched her race away from him, and scowled as Yuri slid to a stop beside him.

"What was that about?" Yuri asked, a curious look in his eyes.

Nicholai's frown deepened as he thought about Yuri's question and couldn't think of a clear cut answer. "Nothing," he murmured deeply.

"It looked like something to me," Yuri persisted, ignoring his friend's darkening expression.

"You told me to see her; I saw her. Is there no satisfying you?" Nicholai growled, and skated away, his powerful legs eating up the ice.

Yuri's eyebrows lifted in amusement. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that something had clicked between the two. Hell, he could still feel the electrical current that had passed between them vibrating in the air. He watched Nicholai's movements across the ice and recognized the stern expression on his friend's face; he was doing his best to push away whatever had happened in the span of a few seconds with the American girl and judging by his expression, wasn't being terribly successful doing it. She was clearly still on his mind. With a knowing smile, Yuri started to whistle a jaunty tune and began his own warm up session, staying out of Nicholai's thundering path and enjoying his friend's discomfort far too much.

It didn't happen often, but every now and then, someone got the better of the infamous Nicholai Fedorov and simply knowing it was an American girl that had done it made it all the more intriguing. Sometimes the most innocent of occurrences changed the course of one's life in a flash of an instant and if Yuri wasn't completely off his rocker, Nicholai had just met the woman who was about to change his life, with or without his wanting it to happen!

Sometimes fate had a really strange sense of humor!

Chapter 3

Madison looked at Marcie in absolute shock, her eyes wide with disbelief. Surely she hadn't heard the woman correctly. There was no way on earth she could have possibly heard what she thought she heard come out of the choreographer's mouth. "You're joking, right?"

Marcie's head moved back and forth. "It's not a joke, Madison. We want you to skate a duo with Nicholai Fedorov," she stated calmly.

Madison's head shook negatively in a tiny, frantic motion. "No. It's impossible! I can't&ldots; I won't!"

"Why is it impossible? It will be amazing," Marcie stated encouragingly. She completely agreed with Nigel on this matter; there was definitely a chemistry between the two and she couldn't wait to get them on the ice together.

"Neither of us are pair skaters. Why, we don't even know each other!"

Marcie crossed her arms over her chest and looked at her skeptically. "I said it was going to be a duo, I never said you'd be doing pairs elements. Although, now that you bring it up, I'm sure you could get a few of the easier lifts and throws down," she murmured, tapping her nail against her front teeth as she pondered the possibility.

Madison sent her a look filled with disbelief. "I am not letting that monster throw me around the ice! This is my first season as a professional; I'd prefer it wasn't my last as well!"

"He's not a monster and at least you know he'd be strong enough to get you into the air. You can't say that about every other male skater in the group," Marcie reminded her.

On that particular point Marcie was right. But it still didn't ease Madison's apprehension, which was quickly changing to fear. Listening to Marcie's plan, she didn't want to even think about what had happened between Nicholai and her on the ice only a few minutes before. If she had to be out there with him, skating with him, touching him, she could just imagine the embarrassment she might cause herself. Better not to even consider the possibility. "That doesn't instill a whole lot confidence, Marcie. I really think this is a terrible idea. Get one of the other girls. Anna Marie would love to do a duo with the man!"

"Anna Marie is interested in doing something other than skating with the man. We're looking for a tasteful program, reflecting desire, for the two of you to skate. We're not interested in watching the two of you fuck on the ice!" Marcie stated flatly with steely determination.

Madison's eyes widened in surprise and shock and her breath stuck in her throat at Marcie's harsh words. Never had she heard such language from the choreographer before. At the same time, a little red light flashed in her brain at the other word Marcie had muttered that had Madison growing dizzy. "Did you say 'desire'?"

"Yes."

"You want me to skate a number with Nicholai Fedorov reflecting 'desire'?" Madison asked in shock and disbelief. This simply could not be happening!

"Yes!" Marcie repeated, exasperation starting to fill her voice.

"This is not happening," Madison moaned quietly, her fingers pressing against her forehead as a headache started to build.

"You're making more out of this than you need to. Cast mates skate numbers together all the time. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?" Marcie asked curiously.

"I'm not making a big deal out of skating with someone else; I'm just not comfortable skating this particular number with him. Don't you think people who are involved with one another; people who have a chemistry together, might do this program better justice than two people you've just thrown together?"

"Madison, whether you want to accept the possibility or not, there is definitely something between you and Nicholai. Nigel and I both saw it while you were running through your number. A bolt of lightening could have gone off and the two of you wouldn't have noticed because you were off somewhere in a parallel universe."

"He just startled me. I wasn't expecting anyone else to be watching," Madison offered lamely, feeling her cheeks blush rosily at her less than convincing explanation.

Marcie sent her a look filled with skepticism. "Yeah, right!" she murmured; the two words flat and clearly filled with disbelief. "But suppose we try it this way? We'll choreograph the program with the two of you separately. When you've both got it down, we'll bring you together on the ice and have you skate it together a few times to see if it will work the way Nigel and I hope it will. If it doesn't play the way we want it to, we'll drop it. End of story."

"You know that would never work! If you choreograph a duet you need to have the skaters on the ice - working together - to see how it's falling together. Doing it your way is going to be nothing but a total waste of time. We're working under a tight time limit and you're willing to risk losing that much more time on a program that might not even work?" Madison asked in amazement.

"I'm asking you to set aside your personal feelings, be a professional and help us put together a program that could be amazing. We wouldn't be asking you to do this if we didn't think you could pull it off." Marcie might as well have said double dare ya! One thing that got a skater moving faster than anything else was questioning their ability to get something done. Their egos simply refused to say I can't!

Madison looked at her knowingly. She was on to the choreographer's game. She might only be twenty, but she wasn't an idiot when it came to mind games. "Anyone ever tell you, you don't fight fair?"

"All the time. But then, how far has fair ever gotten anyone?" Marcie asked calmly.

Madison shook her head in disbelief at what she was about to say and lifted her eyes to meet Marcie's. "I honestly don't see how you and Nigel can believe a duet between Nicholai and I can be anything but a fiasco, but you're the professionals, so I'll go along with your idea; against my better judgment. But I want your word, if the program isn't everything you and Nigel want it to be, we dump it. I will not skate a program that's less than perfect, nor will I skate a program simply for shock value, or audience appeal. If I can't feel it in my soul, I won't waste my time with it!"

"Done," Marcie agreed quietly, extending her hand to seal the bargain and shaking Madison's hand in return. "Here's a copy of the music you'll be skating to," she said, handing Madison a bright red CD with the word DESIRE written across the front of it. "Go listen to it until it's a part of your blood and think about how you might choreograph it yourself. As much as Nigel and I hate to admit it, you're damn good at that particular aspect of the game and we'd like to see what your vision of this program would look like."

"Okay," Madison murmured, both surprised and a little awed.

"I'll see you after lunch. We're going to start working on the new opening number then." Marcie stated.

Madison just nodded in agreement and headed toward the door.

"Oh, Madison, just in case you were wondering, your HOPE number is amazing; one of the best I've ever seen. A little polish and some minute fine tuning and it'll be set, so you don't have to worry about that program anymore."

"Thanks," Madison murmured, a dazzling smile lighting up her face.

* * * * *

When the cast gathered at one thirty to begin practice on the new opening number, it was obvious the rumor mill had already run rampant as speculative glances and sly comments were whispered about the new duet the 'monster and the mouse' (as Nicholai and Madison had been named by an unknown source) were going to skate. If Nicholai's exceptionally surly mood was any indication, he wasn't any happier about the situation than Madison was, and the rehearsal seemed to drag on eternally without anything being truly accomplished.

Two hours later, Nigel threw up his hands in frustration and yelling for everyone to leave a check for five-hundred dollars with Marcie, stormed off the ice in disgust.

"At this rate, we'll be paying them to skate this season," Yuri complained good naturedly and flashed Marcie his Platinum VISA; at the rate the cast was going, it was definitely going to be easier to just say 'charge it!'.

"He has no right to leave and then make us pay for his lack of discipline," Nicholai countered angrily, scowling even as he handed his check for five hundred dollars over to Marcie.

"It isn't his discipline that's in question, but some of your cast mates. It's simple: you skate as a group or you go broke as a group. Don't complain to me, set your friends straight," Marcie argued, lifting her chin in challenge and daring the huge man to disagree with her.

"I am not baby-sitter! It is not up to me to see these idiots do as they should," Nicholai growled in Russian.

"In English, Nicholai, if you please," Marcie murmured calmly despite her exasperation.

Nicholai simply scowled at the woman and skated away, circling the ice in long, powerful strides, clearly frustrated.

Yuri watched his friend and couldn't help the knowing smile that curved his lips. Despite his show of bravado he was obviously nervous about the duet. With a little laugh, he repeated Nicholai's words to Marcie.

"He's right!" Marcie agreed, her eyes watching him as his long legs ate up the ice and he worked out his frustrations.

"Don't tell him that; there will be no living with the man if you do!" Yuri stated with another laugh and stepped aside as Madison came forward and handed Marcie her check.

Madison heard the last of Yuri's words. "You mean there's a way to live with the man at all?" she asked sarcastically, sending a cautious glance at the figure circling the ice with seemingly unending stamina. The man did have style! Too bad he didn't have a more pleasant temperament to go with it!

"Do everything as he wants and the world's a wonderful place," Yuri quipped casually from behind her.

"When hell freezes over," Madison countered with an angelic smile, her eyes flashing with fire.

Marcie gathered the last of the penalty fines and shoved them into her pocket. "Everyone but Nicholai and Madison off the ice. You can either practice on the other rink or go work on your solos, but I want you all back here at seven o'clock. We'll give the opening number another try and maybe it will work better tonight."

Marcie ignored the less than cordial comments she received at her words and turned her attention to the two skaters who remained on the ice. Sending a quick glance heavenward and saying a silent prayer for help, she headed to center ice and called Nicholai and Madison over.

"Okay. We're just going to start with simply skating in time to the beat of the music and getting accustomed to skating with someone. Since this is going to be a duet and not a pair number, it will not require you holding hands throughout the entire program. This program is about desire and obsession, about being so enthralled by someone else you're almost absorbed into them."

"Marcie," Madison began.

Marcie silenced her with a look. "You're playing a part. Set aside your brain and everything rational and just listen to the music and react to it. Let's see what happens and remember, quit thinking." A push of the remote had the music starting to echo through the building.

The two skaters skated warily away, listening as the opening notes filled the air, a sedate, yet suggestive, prelude to the music that in the span of a heartbeat suddenly turned seductive and erotic and brought images of lovers teasing each other to mind. The music, slowly, steadily building in emotion, like desire stirring to life and racing toward completion, swirled around the pair. And even as they tried to ignore the sensual images the music stirred in their own minds, they couldn't keep from glancing at each other and wondering if the other was being pulled beneath the seductive spell of the song.

The song lasted only a little over three minutes, but by the time the final notes dissipated into the cold air, both skaters were stirred in a way neither wanted nor accepted. This was a program, depicting desire, and they were simply actors playing a role. This was not about them. There was nothing between them, emotionally, intellectually or otherwise. They would learn the choreography, perform as Nigel and Marcie wanted them to, and then they would leave the ice, as unaffected, detached and unaware of each other as usual!

Marcie could barely contain her excitement! Watching the two of them, simply skate in wide circles around the ice rink, trying to ignore the other and each failing miserably, she could feel the chemistry between the two washing off of them in waves. The connection the two had for each other, and pretended didn't exist, was so blatantly obvious to Marcie she wondered how no one else noticed it. Except, of course, Nigel, who had seen it half a second faster than she had, and had demanded they skate their duet. Their denied attraction, obvious physical chemistry and the stirring music was going to leave the audience holding their breaths and wondering if what they were seeing was real. Marcie pondered for a moment the possibility it was going to be too intense for the general audience, and her mind swirled as she thought of ways to tone down the visual without losing the intensity of the two entirely.

She was still running through ideas in her head when Nigel came up behind her and murmured, "Christ, they're going to set the ice on fire."

Marcie nodded. "And they haven't even touched each other yet."

Nigel shook his head in amazement. "Never in a million years would I have thought to put these two together; they're as different as night and day."

"I don't know about that. They have the same work ethic: both are experts in their field and both refuse to do anything unless it's perfect. The question is, can we get this program to play in the intensity we're seeing now after they've been skating it for several weeks and in its present state, is it going to be too suggestive for the general crowd?" Marcie asked.

Nigel watched the two, caught the same energy from the two Marcie had felt and shook his head in astonishment. "Watching these two makes me want to reach for a cigarette; I feel like a voyeur!"

"I know what you mean," Marcie agreed, her voice low and husky.

For several more seconds they watched the two circle the ice, watched the speculative glances that passed between them and didn't. They might like the world to think they didn't like each other, but their body language spoke louder than words and these two were looking to collide sometime soon.

"I've got several ideas for their program, but I think we're going to run into problems with the moralists if we don't do something to make their obvious attraction not quite so obvious. I was thinking of swirling mist, low lights and the two of them dressed in shades of gray. What do you think?" Marcie asked.

Nigel pondered the mental picture and nodded approvingly. "Make it look more like a dream than an in your face image? I like it!"

Marcie let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Good. Now, tell me you've got some choreography plans. We can't just have them circling the ice staring at each other."

Nigel smiled knowingly and cast his eyes toward the still circling pair. "I don't know about that. They're sending off vibrations hot enough to melt your clothes without a program. How are we ever going to survive seeing one skated that's supposed to depict desire when it's so obviously out there already?"

"That's your problem, old friend. You're the head choreographer, remember? I'm just your lowly assistant who gets to eat up the crumbs you drop on the ice and hope I'm somehow inspired via osmosis," Marcie stated smugly, sending him a smile that he couldn't keep from sharing.

"The only reason I keep you around is because you can get a smile out of me and you keep me from killing these prima donnas," Nigel stated petulantly.

"I know."

Silence surrounded them as the music ended, and Nigel cast a final look at the two skaters who skated in small individual circles casting combatant glances at each other occasionally. "I say we go to ground and start in front of the mirrors. Doing that will give them a chance to see how they look to us and then help them understand exactly what we're trying to project to the audience."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Marcie agreed and calling to Madison and Nicholai waved them over; within seconds they were standing in front of the choreographers. "We're going to start working on the program in front of the mirrors first, that way you'll be able to see exactly what the audience is seeing and make adjustments and corrections as necessary. With any luck, we can get the majority of the choreography down in a couple of days and then start fine tuning things. Any questions?" Marcie looked at the two expectantly.

No responses were forthcoming.

"Good! Lose the skates and we'll see you in the practice room in fifteen minutes," Nigel demanded, and taking Marcie's hand, pulled her along as they headed off the ice.

Madison cast a quick glance toward Nicholai and blinked in surprise at the dark scowl he was directing toward her. "What?"

He didn't answer her, nor did his eyes leave her, he simply started mumbling in his native language, the words low and deep and sounding entirely too intimate as far as she was concerned.

Madison wished she had something she could throw at him. The man was simply infuriating! "Don't look at me as if this is all my fault; skating with you certainly wasn't my idea!"

Nicholai rattled off something else in Russian, using his hands for emphasis and began to skate away from her, heading for the seat where his skating bag rested.

Madison fumed! "You know, Mr. Russian big shot, generally speaking, it's impolite to speak a language, other than English, when you're speaking to someone who does not speak anything other than English!"

Nicholai sent her a confused look over his shoulder but kept moving forward, his foreign mumbling continuing as well.

Skating after him, she had to summon up every ounce of control she could muster to keep from pounding him on his broad back in exasperation! "And don't pretend you don't understand English. You may think it gives you an advantage pretending not to understand it, but I've seen you talking with some of the other girls and you understand them just fine!" she stormed.

An easy three-turn had Nicholai turning and facing Madison as she moved steadily forward, her eyes blazing with fire as she worked herself rapidly toward a full rage. My God, she's gorgeous flashed through his mind and left him in stunned shock. Had it not been for their forced nearness, he never would have noticed her, and the thought made him strangely sad. Looking at her now, he hated to think he might have missed someone so vibrant and full of life simply because he hadn't taken the time to actually see her. Perhaps Yuri was right? Maybe his arrogant assumptions regarding Americans needed to be revised. Maybe if he let go of the anger his grandfather had instilled in him over the years, things would look much different and he wouldn't be so completely confused.

She continued to pursue, and rant at him, her voice growing huskier in the cool air, her words coming so fast he truly was having difficulty understanding her, and before he knew it, she was barreling into him at nearly full speed. Without even thinking, his hands reached out to catch her as she bounced off the solid wall of his chest, but not before he sensed the softness of her breasts melting against his body. A hiss of awareness escaped his lips, and his fingers wrapped around her upper arms, pulling her back against him, keeping her from falling to the hard surface of the ice.

Instead of the cold, hard ice she'd expected to feel beneath her bottom, she found herself pulled against a wall of hot, hard muscle, her hands automatically grasping at his arms to keep from falling. Her fingers curled around the flexing strength of his forearms, and her chin lifted and their eyes caught, and held. She forgot to breathe at the blatant look of desire that flamed in his eyes and her lower lip was pulled between her teeth as she nervously gnawed on it.

Nicholai's body burned with awareness everywhere she touched him, and it took every ounce of control he had not to simply lower his mouth to hers and taste of her soft, full lips. Instead, he bestowed the most arrogant glance he could muster down into her startled face and stepped away from her, releasing her arms when he was sure she was steady on her feet, his fingers wistfully brushing against the satin softness of her skin. Muttering something in Russian, he turned his back on her and made his way off the ice, grabbed his skating bag off the seat in the first row and headed toward the room that he was certain would present the next form of torment for him.

Madison stood on the ice; her mind swirling crazily as she tried to figure out the startling sensations she'd felt at Nicholai's touch, platonic though it had been. Unable to make any sense out of anything that had happened in the last few moments, she simply lifted her eyes to toward the ceiling towering over her head and screamed out her frustration, the sound echoing throughout the huge open air of the arena.

Did she dare allow herself to trust letting someone close again?

* * * * *

Nicholai would have been happy with torment; instead he was suffering pure, unadulterated torture! The only thing keeping him from stomping out of the rehearsal room in a rage was the simple fact Madison was suffering as much as he was and it somehow lightened his mood. Despite her best efforts to appear unaffected by his presence, let alone his touch, the very fact he noticed the way her breath would catch or her eyes would widen in response to his touch told him otherwise.

"No, no, no, Nicholai, I want your palms flat against her hands as you enfold her in your arms; one hand across her chest, the other across her ribcage," Nigel yelled over the music.

Madison sighed in exasperation and closed her eyes as they repeated the move for the umpteenth time. Maybe the man didn't understand English after all. She might have actually believed the possibility of her earlier thought if she hadn't caught his wicked look in the mirror as her eyes collided with his. Her own gaze narrowed in fury and she stepped out of his arms. "He knows the move, he's just acting like a moron to see if he can't cop another feel off me. Let's move on!" Madison demanded, moving further away from the infuriating man and barely resisting the urge to scream the roof down over his too handsome head.

"I don't have to cop feel; I can make you beg for my touch!" Nicholai countered arrogantly, his voice a study of seductive huskiness, one elegant eyebrow lifting in challenge.

"Not in this lifetime!" Madison argued hotly. "I could be on fire and I wouldn't beg you to spit on me!"

"If you were on fire, my touch would make you burn hotter!" Nicholai promised quietly, his eyes darkening.

Madison reached deep within herself and pushed down the feelings his words and all-seeing eyes had sent racing through her. She was crazy if she thought she had even one iota of a chance of beating him at this game of sensuality. He was passion and wanton desire incarnate, and the very fact her body tingled every time he looked her way, let alone touched her, had her wanting to scream in frustration. How very tempting it would have been to simply give in to her desire and taste of the tempting sensuality he offered. "I hate to burst your bubble, Nicholai, but your touch does absolutely nothing for me," Madison calmly stated, hating herself for the small thrill that went through her when she murmured his name.

The look Nicholai sent her clearly said he didn't believe her, and his softly spoken words simply reinforced his thought. "You lie. Your body burns for my touch."

"That's enough!" Nigel interrupted; sensing the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. "We're here to set a program not determine who's ready to fuck whom!"

"Nigel!" Marcie gasped in surprise. It wasn't often Nigel was quite so graphic.

"Let's get this damn program choreographed and then you two can figure out your relationship," Nigel continued.

"We don't have a relationship!" Madison interrupted, refusing to even look at Nicholai.

"Whatever," Nigel growled and sent them both a censorious look. "Now, if the two of you can act like adults, let's try this again."

And so it went, over the next few hours, the initial choreography was set to the music, the two skaters barely tolerated each other, and the two choreographers began to wonder why they had ever even considered such a career, let alone actually attempted it.

Marcie glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in surprise as she noted the time - six thirty already - and breathing a sigh of exhaustion, turned to look at Madison and Nicholai who were being literally set into position by a more-than-slightly angry Nigel.

"This is the ending position I want!" Nigel growled in explanation, stepping back and taking yet another look at the duo. "As the final instrumental section of the music begins, Nicholai, you will lift her straight into the air, your hands at her waist. Madison, you will lift your arms upward, and then let them drift down to his shoulders as he slowly lowers you down the front of his body while the last notes of the music fade out. I want your right leg straight; your left leg behind you and lifted in a small attitude. On the very last note of music, I want what will appear to the audience to be a kiss."

"No!" The firm answer came from both of the skaters.

"I didn't say you actually had to kiss, I said I wanted what appeared to be a kiss. By the time the final note actually hits, the lights will be fading and you'll be in deep shadow. This program is going to be done in shadows and mist; it's designed to be purely an illusion of passion and desire. If you decide to make it more than what it's been choreographed to be, that's your business!" Nigel growled tiredly.

Marcie sent the three a tired glance. "Nigel, it's six thirty, and everyone is due back at seven to give the opening number another shot. What do you say we take a quick thirty minute break and give our minds and bodies a brief rest?"

Nigel sent the pair a look of disgust but agreed with her suggestion nonetheless with a brief nod. Returning his eyes to the duo before him, he offered tiredly, "Do me a favor and think about what we've done over the last few hours. You're professionals - or so I've been told - suppose you show me you're actually worth the exorbitant amount of money you're being paid?" With a last speculative glance, he held his hand out to Marcie and they left the rehearsal room, and the two combatants alone in front of the mirrors.

The silence descended upon the pair like a ton of bricks and within seconds, Nicholai was scowling at Madison as he heard her stomach rumble in hunger. "We have only short time till we return to ice, you should eat."

Madison sent him the briefest of glances. "I'm not hungry, but don't feel you need to stay here. I'll be on the ice at seven with everyone else," she murmured, stretching her arms over her head as she tried to loosen her tight shoulder muscles, unable to stop the small grimace she made as a muscle cramped up on her.

Nicholai noticed too, and before she could stop him, he was busy rubbing at the tight knot of muscle between her shoulder and neck. "Your body is telling you it needs nourishment. You should listen to it," he murmured over her shoulder. His warm breath lifted the wisps of hair that had escaped her French braid and teased her long neck. His strong, warm fingers eased the knotted muscle in her shoulder and at the same time, sent fingers of heat dancing through her body.

It was all she could do not to close her eyes and sigh in ecstasy! Instead, with a mumbled word of gratitude, she slipped from beneath his magical fingers, hating the emotions his touch instilled in her, benign though his touch had been. Her mind kept reminding her how much she detested the huge Russian, and yet her body was rushing toward an all-out mutiny and taunting her for being a coward and not indulging in what he seemed more than willing to offer. For heaven's sake, the man was simply working a cramp out of her muscle! It wasn't as if he was trying to talk her out of her knickers! Still, the very fact her body was responding to his was enough to have her ready to jump ship. She'd seen him in action and she wasn't about to become another notch on his sexual conquest belt buckle! It was obvious he liked girls, American or otherwise, and it was also obvious what he liked them for. Thanks all the same, but she wasn't of the mind to join his particular fan club!

"I'll see you later," she murmured quietly, not even daring to look at him, and scooping her bag up, left the man standing alone in front of the mirrors with a look of utter confusion on his face.

Alone, in the silence, Nicholai looked down at his hands, and could swear he could see the blood rushing through his veins, as surely as he could still feel the softness of her skin against his fingers. Muttering a curse against women in general, and Madison in particular, he flexed his fingers to try to erase the memory of her touch and walked to the corner of the room, where he picked up his own bag. Heading off in search of something to snack on before the next practice session, he also hoped he'd be able to empty his mind of the woman who now seemed to completely fill his head and body with urges better left not thought about!

But fate wasn't in a generous mood and images of Madison deigned to drive a man crazy continued to swirl unbidden and unwanted through his brain and left him teetering on the sharp edge of need and desire and wondering if he was losing his mind.

Seeking a brief moment of peace and quiet, he returned to the empty arena, only to discover it wasn't empty at all but filled with the very person he was trying to forget. He'd been away from her for all of fifteen minutes but his heart thumped with anticipation and excitement even as he cursed himself in Russian for being seven times a fool. She's a child, a spoiled one at that! he reminded himself, as he sat down and watched her skate silently over the ice, practicing the program they had only moments before worked on in the rehearsal room.

A CD player lay anchored to her waist by a thin belt; the narrow wires of the headphones that fed music to her ears traced a path up her back. Though no music could be heard, her movements and the recently learned choreography was easily recognizable, and he found himself mesmerized by her fluid movements and expressive gestures. It took less than a moment for him to fall under the spell of her skating and she wasn't even being particularly precise with her steps, but more just tentatively walking through the program and getting a feel for it. And for the first time, he realized the magic one was capable of having without being absolutely perfect in their skating. Madison was completely absorbed in the program, oblivious of all that surrounded her, and he watched her become someone he could understand a man could become passionately obsessed by. She was sensuous, and teasing and as sexy as hell, and he found himself wishing he was on the ice with her, sharing the emotions she brought out in him. The thought scared the hell out of him!

"Hey, comrade!" Yuri punched him solidly in the shoulder, jumping in surprise when Nicholai's arms flailed out as if he was being attacked. "Easy, Nicholai," Yuri offered, handing him the bottle of water that had slipped from his friend's hand when he'd been surprised.

"Spaseeba," he murmured quietly, accepting the bottle of water from Yuri and sending him a sheepish look, before he found his eyes drifting back to the skater on the ice.

Yuri's eyes widened in understanding and followed his friend's line of vision. She was certainly pretty to watch; graceful, quiet, filled with poise, and he sent his friend a considering look. "Nice program. Have you decided if she's worthy of being on the same ice you are?"

"I have not much choice in the matter. I have been told to skate with her; I skate with her," Nicholai offered flatly, his glowing eyes saying much more than his bored tone.

Yuri watched Madison as she stopped, fussed with the CD player and again began the program. A small frown of confusion entered his eyes as he watched her start and stop, as if waiting for something to happen, and then started moving again. "It's rather an unusual program, isn't it? Or has it not yet been completely choreographed?"

Nicholai could see the entire program within his mind and his body hummed in anticipation as he watched her skate, knowing the breaks Yuri spoke of would bring the two of them together; would allow him to touch her. His hands flexed as if he were already able to feel her softness beneath his fingers. "The program is finished; it's our duet," Nicholai murmured softly.

"Ahhhh," Yuri acknowledged. "Seeing only her side of the program, it looks interesting. How is it from your side?"

"Tormenting. Tortuous." Nicholai answered slowly with a negligent shrug of his broad shoulders.

Yuri's eyes widened in surprise. "It is tortuous skating with that little bird? I find that hard to believe."

"You haven't had to do it. She is determined that everything be perfect from the very start. It is infuriating!" Nicholai growled.