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“Do you believe in second chances, Chaney?” His voice rumbled near, tickling the bare skin on her neck.
Was he referring to them? Or to his skating career? The air compressed from her lungs, but somehow she managed to squeeze out a raspy, “Yeah.”
His gaze never left her face, but his fingers moved to toy with the ends of her hair. Sliding the strands through his fingertips, a tic tightened his jaw and his lips firmed into a straight line.
Of its own accord, her palm reached up to cover his cheek, his whiskers scratchy against her skin. It wouldn’t ease the pain or regret over his past choices, but perhaps she could offer small comfort now.
“Do you think we might have a second chance?” His lashes dipped to hide his expression from her. She almost missed the naked vulnerability, the loneliness.
“A second chance at…?” She held her breath, waiting, hoping he wasn’t referring to their Olympic dreams.
“Us.” His lips covered hers, gentle and tentative, soft and tender. When her hand curled around his neck and dragged him closer, he deepened the kiss and slid one arm around her waist while the other cupped her cheek, his thumb wreaking havoc with her pulse.
Oh, dear God in heaven, I love this man. What will I do if he leaves again?