Page 17 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The emerald dress had been Karen's idea, a borrowing from her extensive "formal events I'll never attend" collection.

It hugged curves I usually hid under baggy team gear and highlighted eyes that Liam hadn't stopped staring at since he'd picked me up.

The hospital charity gala was exactly the kind of event I'd normally avoid, but my original plus-one – a safely platonic lab partner – had canceled with the flu, and Liam had volunteered before I could think of a reason to say no.

Now, standing in the gala ballroom surrounded by Pinewood's medical elite and donors with more money than sense, I was hyperaware of every point where we touched.

His hand on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd burned through the silk.

When he leaned in to whisper commentary about the increasingly ridiculous silent auction items, his breath against my ear made me shiver.

"Five thousand dollars for a week in someone's Hamptons time-share," he murmured, lips quirking. "I'll stick with Frank's family cabin. At least there the wildlife is outside the house."

"The wildlife at Hamptons parties is probably more dangerous than actual bears," I replied, trying to ignore how good he looked in his tuxedo. Hockey players shouldn't be allowed to clean up this well. It was unfair to those of us trying to maintain professional boundaries.

"Dr. Harrington!" I called out, spotting the head of oncology near the silent auction tables. "Thank you again for the invitation."

"Gemma! So glad you could make it." Dr. Harrington's eyes slid to Liam with undisguised interest. "And this is?"

"Liam Delacroix," I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Ah, the boyfriend!" Dr. Harrington's face lit up with understanding. "The hockey player! My grandson is obsessed with you. Says you're going to revolutionize the center position in the NHL."

I felt heat creep up my neck at the assumption, but the words to correct him stuck in my throat.

"That's very kind," Liam said smoothly. "Though I'm more interested in hearing about the oncology program. Gemma's told me about the groundbreaking research you're doing with targeted therapies."

Dr. Harrington blinked, clearly not expecting a hockey player to engage with medical research.

But Liam continued asking intelligent questions – ones that showed he'd actually listened when I'd rambled about my career dreams during our late-night study sessions.

My chest tightened with something dangerously close to pride.

"You've got a keeper here, Gemma," Dr. Harrington said eventually, beaming at us both. "Someone who supports your ambitions is worth their weight in gold."

"I'm the lucky one," Liam said, and the sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. "Watching Gemma tackle her goals with such determination has been inspiring."

As the night wore on, we navigated the cocktail hour side by side.

The oncology faculty, spotting us together, naturally assumed we were a couple—it was easier for them to assume than to ask who Liam was—and we didn't correct them.

His hand stayed warm against my back as we drifted between groups, each touch kindling a heat beneath the silk of my dress that had nothing to do with the crowded room.

I found myself effortlessly slipping into our shared rhythm.

"You're good at this," I murmured when we paused by the bar for champagne.

"At what?" He leaned closer, ostensibly to hear me better over the band warming up.

"Playing the devoted boyfriend." The words came out more bitter than intended. "Very convincing."

His eyes searched mine. "Who says I'm playing?"

Before I could process that, the band struck up a waltz and couples began moving onto the dance floor. Liam set down his champagne and offered his hand. "Dance with me?"

"I don't really—"

"Trust me," he said softly, and I was lost.

He led me onto the floor with confidence that shouldn't have surprised me – my dating lessons were clearly paying off – but the way he pulled me into proper dance position made my pulse skip. One hand settled at my waist, the other cradled mine with gentle strength.

"Where did a hockey player learn to waltz?" I asked as he guided us into the music with surprising grace.

"Cotillion classes," he admitted with a rueful smile. "My mother insisted. Said even hockey players needed to know how to behave in polite society."

"And do you?" I teased. "Know how to behave?"

His hand tightened fractionally at my waist. "Depends on your definition of behaving."

We moved together like we'd been doing this for years instead of minutes. The room faded away – the other couples, the observers, the weight of pretense. There was just Liam's eyes on mine, the warmth of his body, the way he guided me through turns like I was something precious.

"Gemma," he started, voice low and serious.

"Well, well. Gemma Spears in a dress. I thought I'd seen everything."

The familiar voice shattered the moment like ice water. I stumbled, but Liam's steady presence kept me upright as we turned to face my ex, Devon, and his date – a delicate blonde dripping in diamonds who looked like she'd stepped out of a society magazine.

"Devon," I managed, proud when my voice came out steady.

"Liam," Devon nodded curtly, clearly remembering their previous encounter. "Still playing the devoted boyfriend, I see." His arm tightened possessively around his companion. "I don't think you've met my fiancée, Bethany. Bethany, this is Gemma, the girl I told you about."

Bethany's smile was perfectly practiced and completely cold. "Oh yes, the swimmer turned medical student. How... ambitious."

"And this is Liam," Devon continued, "Gemma's current... project."

"Boyfriend," Liam replied smoothly, his arm sliding around my waist. "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you." Devon's smile turned smug. "I have to say, finding Bethany really put things in perspective.

See, Bethany understands what it means to be a partner.

She's supportive, agreeable, never creates unnecessary drama.

" His eyes flicked to me pointedly. "She's everything a man could want in a wife. "

Bethany preened under the praise, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light as she adjusted her hair. "Devon deserves someone who appreciates his ambitions. Someone refined."

"Unlike some people," Devon added, his gaze traveling over my dress dismissively, "Bethany actually knows how to be feminine. She doesn't spend her time in chlorinated pools ruining her hair and skin. She takes care of herself—"

"Can she swim?" Liam interrupted quietly.

Devon blinked. "What?"

"Your fiancée. Can she swim?" Liam's tone was conversational, but I felt the steel underneath. "Because Gemma's not just good at swimming – she's extraordinary. Olympic-level extraordinary. She's dedicated years of her life to perfection in something most people can't even attempt."

Bethany's laugh was sharp. "Swimming is so... high school. I prefer more civilized activities. Yoga, Pilates—"

"Right," Liam nodded. "So when you say 'refined,' you mean someone who's never pushed herself to excel at anything challenging. When you say 'elegant,' you mean someone who's never fought for anything meaningful." His gaze moved between them. "Got it."

Devon's face darkened. "There's more to being a woman than athletic achievements. Bethany has class, breeding—"

"Bethany has money," Liam said bluntly. "Which is probably what you really meant to say.

But money can't buy the kind of strength Gemma has.

The discipline. The heart." He pulled me closer.

"You're an absolute fool for letting her go, Devon.

But honestly? Thank you. Your loss is the best thing that ever happened to me. "

Devon's jaw clenched. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"I know exactly what I'm dealing with," Liam said, his voice dropping to something dangerous.

"A woman who's strong enough to walk away from someone who didn't deserve her.

Smart enough to see through bullshit." He stepped forward slightly, and Devon actually took a step back.

"Everything you were too weak to handle. "

"Come on, Bethany," Devon said finally, his face flushed with anger. "We're wasting our time here."

They stalked off toward the bar, Bethany's heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. I watched them go, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Gemma," Liam said softly, turning to face me fully. "Look at me."

I did, finding his eyes blazing with protective fury that was slowly softening into something gentler.

"He's wrong," he said firmly. "About all of it. You're not too intense or too competitive. You're passionate and driven and absolutely incredible. And anyone who can't see that is an idiot who doesn't deserve five minutes of your time."

"Thank you," I whispered, overwhelmed by the conviction in his voice. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." He cupped my face gently, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "Because someone should have been defending you all along. Someone should have been telling you how extraordinary you are instead of making you feel like you need to be less."

The words broke something open in me. I surged forward, one hand fisting in his tuxedo jacket as I pulled him down to meet my lips. This wasn't the gentle exploration of our previous kisses – this was desperate and claiming, pouring all my gratitude and confusion and want into the connection.

He made a sound low in his throat and responded immediately, one hand tangling in my carefully styled hair while the other pulled me flush against him.

He kissed me like he was trying to prove a point, like he could pour certainty into me through touch alone.

When his tongue swept across my lower lip, I opened for him without hesitation, the taste of champagne and promise making me dizzy.

We broke apart only when oxygen became necessary, both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, and I could feel the rapid beat of his heart where my hand pressed against his chest.

"That was..." I started, not sure how to finish.

"Real," he said quietly. "That was real, Gemma."

Panic fluttered in my chest. This was too much, too fast, too dangerous. I stepped away, wrapping my arms around myself. "Can we just... can we pretend this was part of the show? Shutting down my ex, playing the protective boyfriend? You were very convincing."

Something shuttered in his expression. "Right. Convincing. That's what I was going for."

The rest of the gala passed in a blur. We maintained appropriate couple distance, but the easy intimacy from earlier was gone, replaced by careful politeness. When he drove me home, the silence stretched between us like a living thing.

At my apartment door, I turned to thank him for the evening, for the performance, for defending me. But he caught my hand before I could speak.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I meant every word. Devon is an idiot who lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And someday, when you're ready to believe it, I'll still be here."

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles that somehow felt more intimate than our desperate gala kiss. Then he was gone, leaving me standing in my doorway with my heart racing and my carefully constructed walls in ruins.

Inside, I found Karen waiting with wine and expectant eyes. "Tell me everything," she demanded.

But as I recounted the evening – Devon's cruelty, Liam's fierce defense, the kiss that felt like claiming – I found myself focusing on that final moment. The quiet promise in his words, the patience in his eyes, the suggestion that he'd wait for me to catch up to what he already knew.

"Oh honey," Karen said when I finished. "You're so fucked."