“See?” crowed the rookie. “Dad vehicle. Just like I said. Come on, Holly. I’ll show you what a real man drives.”
“Says the guy who rolled up to his first practice in a Ford Fiesta,” J.C. shot back.
“That was my old life. Now my ride lives up to my standards. Wait until you see it,” he promised, bouncing like a toddler on a sugar high. “Cherry-red Lamborghini with black leather interior. It’s so sweet, you might get diabetes just looking at it.”
“Jesus, rookie,” Luke warned. “You remember the first three years of your contract are flat-rate, right? Pace yourself or you’re going to outspend your bank account before you start raking in the big bucks.”
Holly hadn’t even considered that. Sillinger was only making about three hundred thousand a year. Not chump change by any means, but it made it tight to rock two-hundred-thousand-dollar cars and a place to live, on top of day-to-day expenses. And the kid was not rolling in endorsement deals. Not yet, anyway.
“Don’t you worry about me. If you got the fame, there’s always a way to bring in the money.”
Holly tried not to react outwardly to the sentiment, but she filed it away for parsing later. Under the guise of sending a text, she typed it into the Sillinger file on her phone, but when she glanced up, it was to find Luke watching her with narrowed eyes. She shot him a bright, innocent smile and followed the rookie out to his car.
* * *
LUKE INHALED DEEPLY and let the cool scent of arena ice soothe him. The lights were off, except for a few spotlights shining down from the press catwalk high above and all the seats in the building were bathed in shadows. No one clapped, no one jeered, there was just the rhythmic sound of the cut of his blades echoing through the empty rink as he skated a slow, easy lap. To Luke, it was heaven, a balm to his battered nerves.
There was nothing better than a moment alone on the ice. It reminded him of his early childhood, before his family had moved to Oregon when he was nine. He’d spent many a Michigan winter outside, whiling away the hours pretending he was Gretzky or Hull or Lemieux on the patch of ice his dad had made for him in the backyard.
He’d needed this, a minute to himself, so he’d bailed on Holly’s car tours, suited up and come out here under the guise of breaking in his new gloves. Truth was, he wanted to clear his head. Thanks to a neatly folded piece of yellow legal pad and a certain blonde in sky-high heels, everything was too complicated right now. One of his guys was putting himself ahead of the team by playing the inside man on a point-shaving operation.
And if Holly was aware of it and just waiting until she had enough evidence to expose one of his guys, he needed to beat her to it. It was imperative that he deal with this quickly and quietly. The Storm couldn’t weather another scandal.
He snagged the puck he’d brought out with him as he skated past and bounced it off the boards to himself. He’d dreamed of winning hockey’s ultimate prize for as long as he could remember. But now that he was finally back in the play-offs, his play was lackluster, at best. He needed to do better, play better.
He owed that to his team, who were counting on their captain and looking to him to set an example. He owed it to his parents, who had sacrificed so much to support him on his hockey quest. And he owed it to Ethan. His little brother had always been the better hockey player, much as Luke had hated to admit it. But it had become obvious by the time the little punk turned ten that he was destined for big things. Even through his jealousy, Luke had always been proud of Ethan, cheering him on, pushing him harder.
And since Ethan couldn’t be in the play-offs himself because of the accident, it was Luke’s duty to succeed on his behalf.
Yet despite the pressure, and the hoopla, and his messed-up shot, Luke was having a hard time focusing on anything but Holly.
She was ballsy. He liked that about her. Most reporter types, though dogged, kept a reverential tone when they talked to the players, as if they were trying to butter them up. Not Holly. She was a straight shooter, which he appreciated. But it was also the reason he couldn’t quite buy her ditzy routine. He’d met plenty of women who couldn’t care less about hockey during his lifetime, and she wasn’t quite pulling it off.
He’d been unwillingly impressed that she hadn’t taken the Ethan bait, though. Despite all the red flags, he liked her. What was that about? He hadn’t been “in like” with a woman since, well, since ever. “In like” was for mooning high school students.
All his recent relationships had been about good fun, good conversation and good sex...not necessarily in that order. But when it was time for him to suit up, hockey reigned supreme. So why was she always creeping into his thoughts now?
Luke stopped at center ice and sent the puck sliding toward the net, watching until it crossed the goal line and came to a stop at the back of the net.
Maybe Sillinger was right. Maybe it was just lust and he should get it out of his system. Maybe if he spent some time with her, he could break this ridiculous and ill-timed crush on the infuriating woman who kept popping into his mind at the most inopportune of moments.
He turned to leave the ice but stopped short. As if he’d conjured her, Holly Evans was standing in the players’ box, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him. And every single reason that he should stay away from her left his brain.
* * *
“YOU CAN’T HIDE from me forever.”
Luke skated over. “Who says I’m hiding?”
“You’re the one out on the ice, avoiding the interview we’re supposed to do. I’m the one who’s here, questions at the ready, reporting for duty.”
“You calling me a coward?”
“Hey, if the skate fits...”
He smiled at that, and her heart stuttered. She’d never seen him smile for real before. He’d flashed his PR smile on a couple of occasions during their on-camera stuff, but his real grin was something to behold. It was the first time he’d looked carefree. Like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. And it suited him. She had the irrational urge to make that smile come out more often.
“You think I’m gonna fall for some thinly veiled reverse psychology? I play hockey for a living. Trash talk doesn’t faze me. You’ll have to do better than that.”
Luke stepped off the ice and over the boards like they were nothing—God, why was that so hot?—and sat down on the bench. Holly turned her back to the ice and leaned against the boards, facing him. He set his stick against the side of the box and divested himself of his hockey gloves and his helmet. Then he ran a hand back and forth over his helmet hair. Somehow, after just a few careless swipes, his short brown coif looked photo ready. Holly lamented the hour and a half it had taken to make herself camera presentable.
“You don’t like me very much, huh?” she asked.
“I don’t like that you take the team’s focus off the game and disrupt our routine. We need to be at our best, mentally and physically. I have to trust that every man on that ice is playing for me, and they have to believe I’m playing for them, too.”
“Admirable sentiment, Captain Maguire, but there’s really only one person you have complete control over. Sometimes you just have to keep it simple and play the game for you.”
“I know exactly who I’m playing for,” he countered. Then he went on the offensive. “So, Ms. Reporter, what kind of hard-hitting questions do you have for me tonight?” he asked, pulling his elbow pads off and setting them beside him. “What I ate for breakfast? The last song I downloaded?”
Luke pulled off his shoulder pads and jersey together and set the amorphous mound on the bench. Just like that, he was stripped down to a T-shirt—a T-shirt that was damp and clinging to his muscles. Suddenly his leg seemed very close to her bare thigh, and the fact he was wearing shin pads and hockey socks didn’t deter a warm tingling from spreading through her body.
“F
avorite sexual position?” he continued.
Oh geez. That warm tingling upgraded to hot throbbing in a split second.
He stood up. His skates made him incredibly tall. He loomed over her, but she didn’t feel threatened. On the contrary, she felt sort of powerful—like she wanted to tame the beast. The smoldering look in his eyes said he’d let her. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of her brain, a warning light flashed.
She was here to do a job. She shouldn’t get romantically involved with a story. Especially not a top suspect in a betting scandal that had the potential to rock the sports world. Her head knew walking away was the smart play right now, but her body overruled the call, especially since he’d provided the perfect opening. “So what is your favorite sexual position?”
His eyes darkened like a stormy sky. “Off the record?”
“Of course.” Her words were a breathless rush.
“I like all of them.” He reached for her, his big hands biting into her hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he hoisted her onto the edge of the boards and stepped between her legs. Her short skirt slid farther up her thighs, but she barely noticed the cold plastic against her skin. His mouth came down on hers, stealing her breath and wringing a moan from her.
God, she wanted him. Something about Luke Maguire called to every cell in her body.
Screw journalistic integrity, she decided. Finding out hockey players’ favorite colors barely counted as journalism anyway. Then she stopped thinking altogether.
There was nothing but his lips against hers, his hands tugging her blouse from the waistband of her skirt and the sexy thrill of knowing that he was the only thing keeping her from falling onto the ice. Despite that imminent danger, she trusted he’d keep her safe.
He groaned as he slid his warm palm under her shirt and up the bare skin of her back. She returned the sound. The dichotomy of the cool, icy air and the warmth of his skin was a delicious push deeper into the sensual spell he’d cast.
She resented the T-shirt he was wearing and she tugged it up, revealing those washboard abs Paige had been so enamored with in the pages of Sports Illustrated. They were even better in real life, and Holly took pleasure in revealing each ridge, the definition of his pecs, his beautiful big shoulders and the flex of his muscles as he raised his arms so she could divest him of the shirt entirely. And then he was all naked torso and harsh wanting.
Holly couldn’t get enough.
* * *
LUKE WAS OVERWHELMED by the desire inside him, clawing to get out. He was used to being in charge, but something about Holly unleashed the beast in him, made him want to lose control.
He let go, let himself drown in the lust, because he needed the escape. He needed her.
He wished he hadn’t suited up, because there was no way he could shuck his skates, shin pads and hockey pants, but he wanted inside her too much to resist the desire. He ran his hand up under her skirt, groaning when he found her most intimate place.
He brushed his knuckles against the damp swath of her panties. She gasped and buried her face against his neck, her arms tightening around him.
Luke was certain he’d never felt more turned on in his entire life while wearing so many clothes. There was something so amazingly sexy about the feel of her warm, smooth skin and the sounds of pleasure that escaped her throat, juxtaposed with the cool air and the familiar scent of ice and concrete that he loved so much. The heady scent of passion mixed with the comforting smell of the rink.
“Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t change anything,” he panted. He pulled her underwear down her thighs. The first touch of his fingers on her clit made her stiffen. “I still hate that you interview my team like we’re appearing in a teen magazine.”
Slowly, he eased a finger inside her, and his gentle invasion was almost his undoing as he imagined himself sliding into her the same way. Her body, which had been tense, relaxed as he built her pleasure up. After a few strokes, he used two fingers to give her the friction she was craving so badly. His hips mimicked the thrust of his hand, increasing the pressure on her clit.
“Fair enough. And just so we’re crystal clear,” she breathed, arching toward him, unable to hold back any longer, “I’m still going to do it.”
He could tell when he found her G-spot because she bit her lip and her fingernails dug into his back, pulling him closer. The sound of her breath grew choppy and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. Until she moaned his name.
It short-circuited his brain and he sped the pace of his fingers, rubbing his thumb against her clit, moving his hand to the rhythm of her desire until she came apart in his arms, her cry of release echoing through the arena.
She sagged forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, but all he got was a lungful of her, a scent that was warm and female and sweet...like apples.
“That was amazing.” Her smile was radiant, free.
He fought back a flood of testosterone that hit him so hard it was tough to think straight. He hadn’t seen a smile like that maybe ever, and definitely not after sex.
The women he’d been with usually tried to act coy, or feigned modesty, or seemed embarrassed. Holly looked like a satisfied lioness who’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
“Paige was right. I definitely needed that.”
He needed deep breaths and to not think about all the things they hadn’t done together yet. “Who’s Paige?”
“My best friend. She’s been threatening to hire me a male escort because she’s worried that my ‘special flower’ is crying out for some water. Her words, not mine.”
Okay. Well, that was as good a mood killer as any. “She sounds like something else.”
“Oh, she’s something else all right.”
A sudden crack followed by a loud hum echoed through the arena, and one by one, the big overhead lights fired up.
Luke swore as he, half-naked, and Holly, barely dressed, both instinctively dropped down behind the boards. It took him a moment to process what had happened.
“It’s just the cleaning crew,” he explained. He was about to get up, but when he looked over, instead of the panicked or angry woman he expected to find, Holly had both hands clamped over her mouth. “Holly?”
He was about to ask if she was okay when a giggle slipped out from behind her fingers. Her shoulders were rocking and she was laughing so hard that Luke couldn’t help but join her. God, she was pretty.
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Why are we still hiding?”
“Because my contract specifically states I’m not supposed to fraternize with members of the Portland Storm franchise. A clause, may I point out, that does not appear in my cameraman’s contract.”
Her put-out frown made him chuckle. “Well, they may not be a very enlightened bunch, but in management’s defense, I’ve never seen Buchanan’s practical white cotton panties.” He grabbed said underwear from the ground beside his hip and held them out to her.
“Hey, these are really comfortable,” she said, snatching them from his fingers. With a pretty blush, she glanced over at Luke’s naked torso. “And touché. But I’d rather not get fired for engaging in an illicit affair with a member of the team because we were stupid enough to let the cleaning staff catch us.”
“Is that what this is?” Luke asked, grabbing his T-shirt from the bench and pulling it back on. “An illicit affair?”
“This,” she said, “was a mistake. A big one.”
She had a point. He’d let her goad him into losing control. And boy, had he lost it. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Or stop himself from imagining Holly in his bed.
“I still owe you an interview. I’m going to head back to the dressing room and grab my stuff. Give me a couple minutes’ head start so that no one suspects an
ything, and I’ll meet you at the exit to the player parking lot.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
She made a face at him before she hurried out of the box and down the hallway with speed and stealth, despite her high heels.
As she disappeared around the corner, Luke leaned back against the boards, relishing the bracing sensation of cold plastic against his overheated skin. He’d never admit it aloud, but that had been the most genuine fun he’d had in a hockey arena in ages.
* * *
HOLLY WALKED THROUGH the parking lot beside the man who was responsible for her first non-self-induced orgasm in over a year. And thanks to his prowess, she found him even more attractive, something she wouldn’t have thought possible before he’d unleashed a tsunami of delicious endorphins in her system. She’d forgotten how freaking fantastic sex could be. Holly vowed in that moment she’d never let herself forget again.
She couldn’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile as they headed toward his black Ford F-250 pickup truck. Holly knew it was his because it was the last vehicle left in the fenced-in players’ parking lot. He walked her over to her side of the vehicle and pulled the door open for her, and she crawled up into the black leather cab, waiting as he headed around to the driver’s seat.
Get it together, girl. Time to focus.
“So,” he said, crawling into the bucket seat beside her, “this is my truck.”
He looked nervous, like he cared what she thought. She smiled and let him off the hook. “It’s nice.”
His answering grin was tinged with equal measures of relief, pride and embarrassment. The combination was utterly adorable.
“It’s my one real indulgence. Money’s been tight, so I try to keep the extravagances to a minimum.”
Holly frowned. She was trying to keep it light and in standard Women’s Hockey Network territory, and he just kept dumping incredible openings in her lap. Luke’s latest contract was for just south of six million dollars over three years. How tight could money be? “Not a sports car kind of guy?”
Playing to Win Page 6
