Love In Moments: An opposites attract hockey romance (Love Distilled Book 2)

by Scarlett Cole

  Love In Moments

  Love Distilled, Book Two

  Scarlett Cole

  Copyright @ 2021 by Scarlett Cole.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by: Kadelo Group Ltd.

  Editor: Angela James

  Cover designer: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-8382469-4-5

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-8382469-3-8

  Anders is focused on the future.

  Swedish hockey player, Anders “Iceberg” Berg, is counting the days until he’s an unrestricted free agent and can land the contract he’s worth. Yet, instead of recovering and resting at home so he can play to impress his dream organization, he’s in Denver for his brother’s wedding at a gin distillery, watching the pretty brunette who organized the whole thing.

  Olivia is stuck in the past.

  Olivia Dyer can’t wait to put the year behind her. Her father died, and the event hall she ran at her family’s distillery was destroyed. The cost to the business and her mental health more than she could ever afford to repay. Rebuilding both takes all her effort leaving little time for anything else. Except for a single night of fun with the hot hockey player who’s been watching her every move.

  Can they learn to love in the present?

  When a kitchen catastrophe throws Anders and Liv together, it ends with an evening neither of them can forget. It was only meant to be one night. But when Anders is unexpectedly traded to see out the rest of his contract with the Denver Rush, and his plans to leave as quickly as possible are disrupted by the sultry brunette who defines courage, their only option is to give to the attraction they feel for one another.

  Yet with Liv stuck in the past and Anders firmly focused on the future, can they put aside their differences and allow themselves to find love in the present?

  Praise for Scarlett Cole

  "Count on Scarlett Cole to give you everything you want in romance! Love in Numbers is a steamy hot, enemies to lovers story with all the feels. A must-read by one of my favorite authors!"

  Carly Phillips, New York Times best selling author

  "Love in Numbers was an outstanding first book to this series and I'm highly anticipating what Ms. Cole has in store for her readers next."

  Sharon, Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews

  "Five fabulous stars is what I award Love in Numbers, and I am certain that you will love this story just as much as I have."

  Anne, Literary Lust

  "Scarlett Cole is back after a break and she has come back stronger than ever! Seriously, this book was a phenomenal read. I wish I could give it more than 5 stars."

  Rachel, Book Sub Club Books

  "I absolutely loved Emerson and Connor. The progression in their relationship had me sitting at the edge of my seat just waiting for the chemistry to explode in pages and for the shoe to drop."

  Tanja, OMG Reads

  "I love a Scarlett Cole book/series; she writes with such investment into the characters. And within seconds of reading the story, you're invested in these characters and their outcome. And I was definitely interested in the Dyer family, Emerson and Connor."

  Amber, TBR Book Blog

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Also by Scarlett Cole

  To Mercedes Rowinsky

  For reminding me that standing

  strong in your power and passion

  is the greatest part of being human.

  Acknowledgments

  Being back in the writing world is absolutely joyous! I can’t tell you how grateful I am to each and every one of you who have loved and reviewed Love In Numbers and Love in Moments. It really does mean the world to me. I’m not taking any of this for granted.

  Dear bloggers and bookstagrammers. My gratitude is unbounded. Your energy and passion for romance books amazes me.

  To Angela James, Isabel Ngo, and Nicole Bailey. Thank you for taking my words and helping me make them shine.

  To Åsa Maria Bradley. Thank you so much to you and Anders (the real one!) for coming up with Anders’s nicknames for Olivia, and to you for fixing all of my Swedish. Tack så mycket!

  To Wander Aguiar, Wayne Skivington, and Letitia Hasser. Thank you for brining Anders Berg to life on the cover. It’s a thing of beauty.

  To Jenn Watson, Catherine Anderson, and Shan Brown. Knowing you have my back is incredible. Thank you a thousand times over for your efforts on my behalf.

  To Natasha Madison. Thanks for teaching me all the things. You are the best task master a girl could ask for.

  To Carrie Ann Ryan. When women help lift each other up, it’s an act of generosity and a thing of beauty. Thank you.

  To Tanya Baikie. For being there for me when you had more than enough on your own plate. One day we’ll meet, I’m sure of it.

  To my small but mighty Passionistas! Thank you for sticking with me!

  To Mum & Dad. For staying home and staying safe while I wrote this. I’ve missed you.

  To Fin & Lola. Thank you for accepting a global pandemic and home school without a hiccup. Seeing you learn brings me huge joy. But seeing you happy and healthy means the world.

  To Tim. For your faith in me. Always.

  1

  Anders “Iceberg” Berg shook the cut crystal glass in his hand and watched the last remaining sips of whiskey sluice their way around the clinking ice cubes. When he tilted the glass to his lips, he felt the coolness first, tasted the peaty undertones of the whiskey second.

  Even when he wasn’t skating on it, ice still had the ability to soothe his jangled nerves.

  Ice had to be the most contradictory and fascinating substance on the planet, given it was one of the few substances where its solid state was less dense than its liquid state, making it occupy more space when frozen. And then there was the age of the ice on the planet. There was ice on Antarctica that was over a million years old, and ice on the Denver sidewalk that had appeared in the hours since he’d flown in from Arizona that Christmas Eve morning.

  Perhaps the most important ice in Anders’s life was the kind that filled the hockey arena. That ice was magic. That ice held the fortunes of famous players, the hearts of fans from the age of four to one hundred and four, and Anders’s career in the palm of its subzero hand.

  Ice was, therefore, an unforgiving but generous mistress.

  The chaos of his brother’s wedding reception rattled on around him, despite his spot at an empty table in the shadows of the Dyer’s Gin Distillery tasting rooms.

  He caught sight of the woman he assumed worked for the distillery. Long thick waves of hair the color of dark chocolate danced from the elastic doing heroic work holding it back from her face. He was such a sucker for a brunette.

  Occasionally, the woman would pause and simply look arou
nd the room. Then a soft smile would grace her lips for a moment, highlighting her great cheekbones, before her natural efficacy would kick in and she’d finish up whatever she was doing.

  She’d been around all evening, talking to staff, periodically touching base with his brother, Karl, and his wife, Sarah. As an alternate captain for the Canyon, he appreciated her leadership style. Friendly, but direct. She made it look easy.

  “Fan vad snygg hon är.” Karl, who at twenty-six was three years older than him, dropped into the chair next to him while staring at his new wife. Dressed in what Anders assumed was a custom designer gown, Sarah danced with her friends beneath the archway of flowers and fairy lights they’d been married under only two hours earlier. In less than twelve months, Karl had gone from party playboy to a loved up homebird. They’d met when Karl had signed with the Denver Rush and gone house hunting. Real estate agent Sarah had helped him find what had become their home.

  Anders silently vowed to take a puck to the chest without his padded equipment rather than follow in his older brother’s footsteps anytime soon. But he had to agree with Karl’s softly spoken observation. “She does look good. You both look so annoyingly happy it’s nauseating. And English, remember.”

  Anders raised his glass and savored the last taste of the only drink he was allowed. If he drank too much, English words disappeared from his vocabulary and his agility on the ice in the days that followed sucked. Languages came to Karl as easy as skating, while Anders had to focus on languages to be understood.

  “Shit, sorry. I forgot. I’m glad you were able to make it. That was a tough break for you guys last night.”

  Anders shrugged. He feigned nonchalance when the truth was every loss cut a little deeper, to the point where he was almost numb by it. When the hype had started over him being the number one draft pick, he’d been thrilled. The media had called out his explosive speed on the ice. But by draft night, the Arizona Canyon had gained the number one pick, and if he’d had to rank the league in order of teams he wanted to play for, the Canyon would have been at the bottom, literally and figuratively. For the first time in his life, he’d considered taking his foot off the gas to slip to second pick. But his team in Sweden had needed him to win the season. And he couldn’t throw over the men he currently played with, no matter the personal cost.

  Attempts to be let go, to be traded, had failed. So, he’d played out the season in Sweden, and then another, before being signed to a three-year deal in Arizona. Despite his efforts, despite continually maxing out his personal performance bonuses, the team hadn’t gone anywhere.

  “It’s never going to work out,” Anders said. “The lines never quite fit. The team is so committed to players who’ve shown long-term loyalty, but it’s a faster game now. You can’t rebuild with one new player, or with players who can’t think strategically enough on the ice.”

  And, fuck, he’d tried. He’d sent player clips for them to review beyond those provided by the team. Watched hours of video, matched by double those hours on the ice, in the gym, in drills.

  “It is what is it is.” Anders shrugged.

  The brunette carried a box behind the bar and opened it. She smiled at the bartender as she pulled bottles of what looked like champagne out of the box and placed them in the cooler. The bartender said something that made her laugh and her whole face lit up. Yeah. His first assessment that she was pretty was perhaps understated.

  “What does Heinkel say?” Karl asked, referring to the Canyon’s coach.

  “Same old shit. I’m fed up of the same messaging. Guys are training hard. Just need to step up offensively. Just need to step up defensively. Need to work on conditioning. Didn’t hit the season running.”

  Karl, a defensive linesman with the Denver Rush who were on a run to the playoffs, nodded sympathetically. “Do you have a sense of where you are going to end up next year?”

  “Gone. New York. Boston. Perhaps even Toronto. They’ve all shown interest. Somewhere with a strong setup and an open management structure. In a city where I can easily escape to a place where I can breathe.” He’d be a free agent when his contract expired. He knew his value had diminished slightly in Arizona. They’d never given him the best opportunity to show how good he could be. But his agent was already fielding unofficial feelers of significant interest.

  Anders had a document comparing all the teams. He’d compiled the data himself. While his agent was great, and his management team supportive, any situation where they benefitted was good enough for them, no matter where Anders ended up. The only person genuinely looking out for his best interests was himself.

  “Call me if I can help.” Karl patted him on his shoulder and left to join his wife.

  Anders debated excusing himself, although he wasn’t sure Karl or Sarah would even notice if he disappeared. While he played a team sport, he didn’t love being around people all the time. Sometimes he needed a break. And he’d been looking forward to some much-needed downtime during the hockey league Christmas break. Instead, he was nearly a thousand miles away from the quiet he craved. His body hadn’t enjoyed the early wake-up after the previous night’s game, with no time to loosen up or work out.

  He stretched his legs in front of him and looked around the old building. Ryan Hall, Karl’s teammate and captain of the Denver Rush, leaned against the old rustic bar that looked as though it had been carved out of one long, solid piece of wood. Keir Kannunen, the right to Karl’s left on the defensive line, sat on an ivory leather seat next to Ryan. While three of the walls were a soft cream, one had been left in what he assumed was the distillery’s original red brick. With the thousands of lights strung between trees in the courtyard outside, it was a pretty spot for a wedding.

  The woman from the distillery chatted with Sarah, giving him an unobstructed view of her ass in that fitted black dress. He wondered what it would feel like beneath his hands.

  At the stirring of his cock, he glanced away.

  It had been a while since he’d blown off steam with a night of sex. It wasn’t that the drive wasn’t there, because he jerked himself off so regularly it might as well be classed as part of his daily self-care. And it wasn’t a case of there not being opportunity. Puck bunnies were a dime a dozen. And he was comfortable enough in his own skin to admit he was a good-looking guy. Women fell for his tall muscular frame and Swedish looks all the time. Mostly, it was his blond hair. It was so thick—he had a severe undercut and could still tie it back. He bit back a smirk thinking about the number of women who’d called him a Viking in bed because of it.

  It was his desire to focus on his playing, and a litany of other factors he didn’t have the time or inclination to address, that stopped him from finding someone for a night of fun. Three years earlier, he’d found Ines fucking his old junior team’s physiotherapist on a pile of packing boxes on his living room floor before they were meant to leave for Arizona. She’d pleaded for another chance. She’d claimed that it was one last goodbye before she and Anders started their new life in Arizona.

  He’d moved alone.

  The last he’d heard, she’d hooked up with a player who might go in the fourth round of the next year’s draft.

  Poor sucker.

  Anders wasn’t going to be anyone’s paycheck. No, his focus needed to be on his career that balanced on a knife-edge. He’d waited three fucking years to get out of his contract with the Canyon. He needed to play his best, perform at his fittest and strongest, and maintain a clear and focused head. Mind games he did not need. In his experience, women required maintenance. Dinners when all he wanted to do was crash and watch replays. Conversations about tickets for their friends when he was working out.

  But given he didn’t live here, perhaps a one-night stand with the woman was a possibility if she was game. There’d be no awkward “What’s next?” conversations. What’s next would be him getting on a plane back to Phoenix.

  A young server approached the woman, tugging his hair in frustration. They
exchanged a few words and then hurried together in the direction of the kitchen. Interesting. Given he could smell food, he assumed it was a problem with the midnight snacks Karl had promised.

  Before he ate, he needed some air. Quietly, he slipped into the darkness that hovered around the edges of the room. He needed time away from crappy wedding pop songs and disco lights and talkative relatives. When he reached the exit, he stepped outside and sighed. The music died away as the door closed behind him.

  His breath hovered in the air as he pulled the collar of his suit jacket up around his neck. The air was completely still, the sky the color of dark blue ink. A smattering of snow that had fallen during the service twinkled under a million tiny lights. He closed his eyes and let the chill seep through his bones.

  Peace.

  The quiet filled him up more than anything in the distillery could.

  It was perfect, right up until the wail of sirens filled the parking lot.

  Olivia Dyer glanced at the clock as she hurried to the kitchen at the back of the Dyer’s Gin Distillery tasting rooms and pushed both swing doors wide open. Fifteen minutes to eleven on Christmas Eve, and the last thing she needed was a catastrophe. But it appeared that with less than two hours left on the clock before the party ended, she had one.