HOT ICE: Complete Sporting Romance Series

by Lily Harlem

  He kissed me passionately and thoroughly, his tongue exploring every part of my mouth as his body trembled through several deeply profound spasms. I swept my hands over his broad shoulders. They were laced with sweat, the heat pouring from him as hot as any fire.

  Suddenly I landed back in the real world, our precarious, risky position taking control once more of my thoughts. I pressed against his chest and tore my lips from his.

  He seemed reluctant to move and, despite my best shove, stayed over me, still kissing me, still rocking into me as we both caught our breath.

  “We have to get dressed,” I panted.

  “Mmm, in a minute.”

  “No, now, someone might come in.”

  “No one is coming in.”

  “They might, get off me.”

  He straightened, stood tall, but stayed buried inside me as he ran his calloused palms over the outside of my thighs, which were spread around his hips. “You’re so soft,” he said in an awe-filled voice, looking down at where we were joined. “So soft and such a perfect fit for me.” He pulled out a little then smoothed back in, swiping over my clit with his thumb.

  “Oh God, please, stop,” I said, wanting nothing more than to go all night. I’d had hot, fast sex before but nothing had ever matched this, never had I blasted out three orgasms from a quickie.

  “Your words don’t match your physical response,” he said, a note of humor in his tone now. “I don’t think you want to stop at all. I think you want to keep fucking me all night.”

  I summoned up the last dregs of my pathetic willpower and shifted up the table. His barely softening cock slid from me and he released my thighs. “I have to go check on the fireworks,” I said.

  “Babe, I think we just made our own damn fireworks.” He chuckled, stooping for my panties then swinging them from his index finger in my direction.

  “And we shouldn’t have, it was a huge mistake.” I snatched my panties from him.

  His face creased into a frown. “Ouch, say it how it is, why don’t you? You want to physically kick me in the nuts, too?”

  I sighed and slipped from the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  Shit, I did mean it. I’d just blown two years of celibacy.

  “I said I wasn’t dating. That’s because I don’t need the complication, the distraction of a man in my life right now.”

  “But you clearly needed a man, me, just then. What was it you said?” He tugged off the condom and tucked his cock away. “Oh yes, I remember.” He made his voice high and breathless. “‘Yes, yes, I love it, don’t stop’. Now that to me sounds like someone who’s been denying herself something she needs for too long.” He dropped the condom in the wastebasket.

  I wriggled my skirt straight, adjusted my blouse. “I was denying myself for a reason.”

  “Explain.” He reached for his shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves, the noise of cotton against flesh suddenly loud in the silence of the room.

  He carefully did up his buttons.

  “Explain,” he said again when his clothing was neat. “I want to know why a sexy woman like you hasn’t been taking a man to her bed.” Shadows from the dim lamp sliced across his face and highlighted his now very messy hair.

  I tightened my lips. There was no way in hell I was going to explain to him that I’d been busy burying a past I wasn’t proud of, shaping a new image not just to the outside world but also to myself. “You have to leave,” I said, stooping and banging things back onto the desk. “I still have a few hours of work to do.”

  His eyes narrowed as he lifted up the laptop. “Then when you’ve finished come back to my place,” he said, his voice as thick and inviting as sticky, sweet molasses. “Come back and sleep in my bed and let me remind you exactly what you’ve been missing.”

  “No, that’s impossible.”

  “Seems perfectly possible to me.”

  “No,” I said in a harsher tone. “I don’t want you, Rick, I don’t want any man. What part of you doesn’t get that?”

  Suddenly he curled his arms around my waist. He snapped me to him, pressing his lips against my ear, his body burning hot against mine. “The part of me that just felt you ripping at my clothes, grinding your pussy against my thigh, then writhing beneath me begging me to fuck you, that’s the part of me that doesn’t get it, Dana. That is the part of me that just can’t fucking believe you don’t need a man in your bed and your life.” His voice lowered. “A man like me.”

  I pushed at him, twisted my body, and was thankful when he released me. “Go,” I said, biting back a rush of regret. If only he’d come into my life several years down the line, maybe things could be different. “Go, or I’ll call security and have you hauled out.”

  He huffed and grabbed his jacket. “Yeah, you try that, but the way my life is going they’ll probably think you’re more of a danger to me than I am to you.”

  I cocked my head, wondering what he’d meant.

  He frowned and turned, reached for the door handle.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips. “Wait,” I gasped, staring at several scarlet dots seeping into the stark white of his dress shirt, right over his shoulder blades. “Shit, sorry, you better put your jacket on.”

  He twisted to look at me, confusion etched on his face. “Why?”

  I held up my hands, wriggled my fingers so my long nails caught the light. “You have spots of blood on the back of your shirt.”

  “Perfect, absolutely fucking perfect,” he muttered and disappeared out of the office, banging the door behind him.

  Chapter Two

  “Maddie, Maddie, where’s the damn file?” I asked two days later, handbag swinging from my shoulder and laptop case clutched beneath my arm.

  “Here.” She pushed a slim new file forward and I grabbed for it. “You’re not going to bother driving all this way back afterward, are you?”

  “No.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ll finish my emails at home.”

  “Good, then I’ll lock up in half an hour after I’ve sent these potential venues to the Callahans.”

  “Yes, great, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Yep, and good luck.”

  I paused in the doorway. “Why would I need luck?”

  “Well, from Carly Flannigan’s phone call this morning, she wants her engagement party pulled together in less than two weeks.”

  I blew out a breath. “Yes, I know, as if we haven’t got enough going on. But still, we can’t turn away business.”

  “Absolutely not,” Maddie agreed with a grin. “Now go, boss, or you’ll be late.”

  I strode across the lot, beeping my Mercedes to life. I had seriously considered, for the first time ever, turning down this job. Carly Flannigan and The Brick’s engagement party would inevitably include an invite to a certain hot hockey captain who’d made me fall off the celibacy wagon. Fall off so spectacularly that by the time I’d realized I’d hit dirt it had driven into the damn sunset, leaving nothing more than a trail of dust in its wake.

  But I’d decided the answer was to send Maddie to attend this particular party. That wasn’t Best Laid Plans’ normal way of doing things. I liked to be in attendance. It was part of the package to have me there. But that would have to start changing. We were getting so many events it was bordering on ridiculous to have me attend every one. Yes, Maddie could start sharing the load, starting at this particular engagement party. If she managed well I’d be able to give her a pay raise, too.

  I piled my stuff onto the passenger seat and climbed in, flicking the air-conditioning to full-blast. My emotions had been in a whirl ever since my crazy, sexy meeting in the office with Rick “Ramrod” Lewis over the weekend.

  Well, at least I know one of the reasons for his nickname!

  On the outside I’d gone about business as usual. But, on the inside, I’d switched from feeling nauseous, hunting for something to kick, and falling into a deep well of self-loathing, to having butterflies jumping in
my stomach and my flesh on fire at the thought of his body over mine—hot and hard, ready and demanding. It had been good, so damn good and I couldn’t recall ever having a lover look at me so hungrily, so appreciatively, or be so pissed that I drew a line under it and made him walk away.

  I sighed at what could have been, tapped Carly’s address into the GPS and headed for the freeway, reminding myself to make an appointment with my manicurist. Scarlet polish just wasn’t doing it for me anymore—too many wagon-falling memories.

  Before long I pulled up at a large, gated villa with palm trees lining the front of a towering cream wall. I reached out the window and pressed the intercom. After I stated who I was, the wrought iron gates swung open and I crunched up the gravel path and parked between a red Ferrari and a white Lexus. Wow, these hockey players earned some serious money.

  I climbed out and, struggling in my new heels, stepped past three more cars and a motorbike, the combined worth of which would probably pay off an entire third world country’s debt.

  Smoothing down my blouse and skirt, I tossed my dark curls over my shoulder. Just as I was reaching for the knocker, which was shaped like a hockey stick, the door burst in on itself. A very slim, pretty girl with long, sleek black hair stood before me. I recognized her as Carly Flannigan, Olympic gold medalist and fiancée of Vipers right-winger, The Brick.

  “Hi,” she said, beaming. “You must be Dana from Best Laid Plans. Thanks so much for coming at such short notice.”

  “My pleasure and, before I say anything else, congratulations on your recent engagement.”

  “Thanks, yes, it’s exciting, isn’t it?” She grinned broadly. “Please come in.”

  I stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind myself.

  “This way,” she said. “I’ve just made coffee if you’d like some.”

  “Sure, thanks.” I followed her across the enormous foyer hung with large pieces of abstract art and through a wide archway, all the time aware of my heels clacking noisily on the marble tiles.

  “You okay to sit in the kitchen?” she asked, stopping at a huge breakfast bar lined with silver and black leather stools. “I’m half watching the game.”

  “No, not at all.” I placed my bag, laptop and file on the sparkling granite surface and turned to the sound of the TV.

  Oh, good lord!

  It wasn’t the size of the flat screen that had my heart ramming up against my ribs like a puck hitting the back of a net. And it wasn’t the sheer opulence of the room, either. It was the sight of five hulking Viper players lounging on a low L- shaped couch that had taken every nerve in my body, twisted it and set it alight.

  I reached out to the granite to steady myself, my knees ridiculously weak. I didn’t need to see his face to know the captain was there. Just his tousled jet-black hair and the sheer width of his shoulders identified him to me.

  “Milk or cream?” Carly asked as though everything in the world was perfectly normal.

  “Er, milk please,” I said, my voice a whimpering squeak.

  “Ah, that ref is blind,” shouted Phoenix, banging a beer onto the wooden table in front of him. He was one of the Vipers’ longest standing players and when I’d seen him and his wife at Mae and Wolf’s wedding, she’d been pregnant.

  “Yeah, he’s crap,” said another player I didn’t recognize, who had long, sleek raven-colored hair pulled into a low ponytail.

  “Yeah, at this rate the Islanders are gonna win.” The sound of Rick’s deep, rasping voice shot up the hairs on the back of my neck. It was as if they traitorously craved the feel of his breath breezing across them.

  “Then I’ll have to whoop that loser’s hairy ass again,” Rick went on.

  I watched his head tip back as he chugged on a beer.

  “Ah, we’ll soon take him out,” Brick said. “Worth a trip to the sin bin to see him messed up.”

  Carly pushed a mug of coffee in front of me. “Sorry,” she said, making a face. “Jets are playing the Islanders today and Brick invited the guys to watch the game.”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” I said, my mouth dry and my stomach somersaulting. Shit, I was in the same damn room as him. How the hell had that happened? I’d been so busy planning on how to avoid him at the party and now here he was, at the first damn meeting. Still, at least he hadn’t seen me. He was too involved in the game. Perhaps if I quickly outlined the main aspects of the party I could slip out unnoticed and catch up with Carly over the phone. Better still, let Maddie run the whole damn thing.

  “So,” Carly was saying, “we’re holding the party here, so no problem with venues being unavailable.”

  I nodded and slid my butt onto a stool, angling my shoulders away from the noisy gaggle of hockey players.

  “And I was thinking of a theme, Roman. I imagine everyone in costume, maybe togas, and with lots of fruit and champagne.”

  I nodded. That sounded simple enough to organize.

  “And maybe we could bring in a fountain. We don’t have one here, not even at the back by the pool.”

  I scribbled down, Roman/Togas/Fruit/Champagne/Fountains onto the first page of her file. “I don’t know what you think, Carly, but how about having the bar and wait staff dressed as gladiators?” I suggested in a quiet voice.

  “Oh, yes, that would be great.” Her eyes widened. “And I could dress up as an Empress and Brick as the Emperor. We could have crowns and everything.”

  “It would work well,” I said, though I did wonder if Brick would actually agree to an Emperor’s costume and a crown. I guessed Carly would have to use her womanly powers of persuasion for that one. “The Romans were great ones for parties,” I went on, “lots of overindulgence and wild entertainment.”

  But please don’t ask for lions, I prayed silently. I had enough to cope with being in the same room as my nemesis, and lions would tip my sanity over the edge.

  “I don’t think we’ll have lions, though,” Carly said. “I’ve never been a big cat lover. Those teeth and claws just give me the creeps.”

  Phew.

  “And would you like the invitations done in both English and Latin, with the dates in Roman numerals?” My mind was racing through all the standard questions.

  “Oh, yeah, great idea, and what about chariots?”

  “That was a lousy result for the first period,” a deep voice boomed.

  “Yeah, shit. Get me a beer, Brick,” Rick ordered.

  “Get it yourself,” Brick replied.

  I tensed. Thoughts of chariots fled and I reached for my coffee in the vain hope I could hide behind it if Rick came to the fridge, which was dead opposite me.

  “Grab me one,” Phoenix said.

  “Yeah, yeah, what did your last slave die of?” Rick muttered, his voice coming from just over my right shoulder.

  “Can’t you do chariots?” Carly asked, her eyes studying mine.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, wishing I had an invisibility cloak. This was soul-squirmingly embarrassing.

  He was in front of me now, a mere ten feet away, tugging open the fridge door and clinking bottles together. I tried to force my gaze from the curls of hair at the nape of his neck, away from the sheer size of his deliciously broad back, from the memory of those tiny dots of blood seeping through his shirt—wounds that had been caused by my frenzied passion during those three wonderful, heart-stopping orgasms he’d just about blown my mind with.

  He turned, placed the beers on the opposite side of the breakfast bar and picked up an opener. His face was relaxed, his eyes soft.

  Then he saw me.

  His jaw tensed and his swirling brown gaze locked on mine.

  As I sucked in a breath, I saw him do the same, his chest swelling with the sharp intake of air.

  “If chariots are a problem then that’s okay,” Carly was saying, “as long as we’re both there and our families are with us that’s the main thing, I just need a hand with the details. I haven’t done anything like this before.”

 
“I’m sure we can figure out chariots,” I said then swallowed down a lump in my throat the size of a damn coliseum.

  “Oh, okay, cool.”

  Tension fizzed between Rick and me like a live wire, the air above the breakfast bar sizzling with awareness and unspoken words. Finally, I tore my eyes from his.

  Damn, the man is even better-looking than I remembered.

  I banged down my coffee. Reached for my pen and scribbled chariots, then underlined it twice, with hard, heavy strokes. The tinny sound of the beer lids hitting granite rattled toward me and I resisted looking up at him again.

  “What about food?” Carly asked. “Any thoughts?”

  “Um, well.”

  Come on, brain, work.

  “I guess lots of fruit, like you already said, and cheese, olives and bread. And the wine could be served in ceramic pitchers, that’s how the Romans would have served it.”

  “Oh, you have so many lovely ideas, Dana, I’m so happy Mae recommended you.”

  I smiled a tight, forced smile.

  Oh God, this is just the most nerve-jangling thing I’ve ever had to endure.

  Without a word, Rick stepped past me. He didn’t pause, he just headed back to the couch, leaving a hint of his incredibly sumptuous aftershave wafting in the air, just enough to send every cell in every erogenous zone I possessed into a skittering frenzy.

  “Would you like me to show you around?” Carly asked. “So you can get a feel for the size and see where to add in the chariots and fountain?”

  “Yes, that’s helpful.” I grabbed my stuff. I had to get out of there before I either exploded with suppressed desire or became a boneless heap on the floor, unable to function anymore because of sheer embarrassment. But thank goodness he hadn’t said anything about our meeting in my office. That would have been mortifying in front of a client.

  Chatting excitedly, Carly showed me around the opulent home she now shared with her fiancé. It had eight bedrooms, a gym, a formal living room and dining room and a pool big enough to moor several yachts in. It was incredibly tidy and ordered, and in the upper hallway I paused to admire Carly’s impressive collection of cycling medals, including the gold medal she’d won at the Beijing Olympics.