“So now what?” he asked, unable to hide the desire that was tenting his pants.
“Now,” she said with a wicked grin, “we get to the naughty stuff.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
She leaned down and kissed him with a brute force he hadn’t expected. But he liked this take-charge side of her, the way her tongue plunged into his mouth, the bite of her nails on his chest.
When she pulled back, the look on her face undid him. She was this incredible mix of sweetheart and vixen, and the sugar-and-spice combo was proving to be never-ending fun.
She maintained eye contact as she stood on the mattress, stripping off her jacket, then her skirt. His breath came faster at the sight of her curves, highlighted by a purple bra and matching panties.
She dropped to her knees, then crawled forward between his legs. “Your turn.”
Luke couldn’t help the groan that escaped as she grabbed his pants and tugged them slowly down his legs. The torturous rasp of the elastic waistband against his hard flesh culminated in a harsh gasp when his erection was finally freed of its confines.
She tossed his pants to the floor and then stretched to grab the cherry lube. He loved her body, loved watching her move. She was a real woman, not a skeleton with boobs, and when he got free from his knitted prison, he was going to do some exploring of his own.
The lid on the oil tube opened with a soft click, and the intent look of concentration on Holly’s face as she drizzled cool liquid on his hot flesh made his hips buck.
Dropping the recapped bottle on the mattress, she reached for his straining cock. But then she jerked her hand back. “Wait!”
“What?” The word came out harsher than he meant it to.
“Can we jump right into this, or do you need to knit first?” she asked. The fact that she would stop to tease him just then made him want her even more.
“Only if you can’t come up with a better way to get my mind off the game and tire me out.”
Her smile said she had some ideas that he just might enjoy.
He was not disappointed. She wrapped her hand around his cock and pumped once, twice, three times to ensure an even distribution of the oil.
Then she put her hands on the bed beside his hips and took him in her mouth. His whole world shrank to the warm, wet pressure of her lips and her magical, magical tongue.
“Mmm.”
The vibration of her sound sent another level of pleasure humming through his veins, and he flexed his hips, seeking more but unsure how things could get any better.
She lifted her head, releasing him from her mouth after a hard suck of his crown. “The cherries taste good, but next time, I’d rather just taste you,” she said. Then she grasped his cock firmly in her right hand and proceeded to push him farther toward oblivion.
He was dying to bury his fingers in her soft, blond curls and set her pace, but he was also loving the torture of being restrained. The soft, suctioning sounds of her mouth were his undoing.
“Holly, I need inside you. I want to make you feel as good as I do right now.”
He slipped his hands free of the yarn shackles so he could reach for her, pull her up the bed, taste her lips and move her body beneath his.
She sighed as he drove into her, slow and deliberate, but it didn’t take long until he gave in to the roar of his blood and sped his pace. Holly didn’t seem to mind. She drew her knees up, hooking her legs around his waist. The change in position forced him even deeper, and she started chanting his name against his lips.
He gave her everything she wanted, following her whispered orders until her breath grew choppy and her fingernails dug into his back.
Then Luke redoubled his efforts, plunging harder, faster, deeper, until he felt her body clench. And then he let her cries of ecstasy pull him over the edge right along with her.
* * *
SHE WOKE UP to find the bed empty. But the curtains blowing in the warm Portland breeze solved the mystery of Luke’s whereabouts before she even had a moment to be curious. With a sleepy smile, she stretched and slid out of the bed. As she was grabbing her shirt, a familiar mix of navy, white and teal caught her eye. She padded across the hardwood floor to the chair in the corner of the room.
No way was Luke getting away with this blatant show of hubris without a goodly amount of teasing. She pulled the jersey on and headed toward the balcony.
Luke stood on the balcony wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans, staring contemplatively out at the city. He looked so damn yummy that certain parts of her anatomy perked up at just the sight of him.
Down, girl.
“Seriously, Maguire. You have your own jersey in replica? That is so wrong.”
He glanced over at the sound of her voice, and she could tell she’d surprised him. His jaw flexed as he took in the jersey, her thighs, calves, bare feet. His eyes tracked every inch of her and when their gazes met, there was an appealing cockiness to his expression.
“No, what’s wrong is how much it’s turning me on that you’re wearing it. I like seeing my name on you.”
“How very Neanderthal,” she joked, walking over to him.
“What can I say? Me horny, you hot.”
She laughed as Luke stepped behind her, placing one hand on the railing on either side of her hips. With a contented sigh, she leaned back against his chest. They stared out at the city as the sun came up over Portland.
It was romantic, standing in his arms and watching the world wake up. But after awhile, Holly couldn’t silence the niggling voice in her brain, the one that said Luke was not the type of guy to indulge in blatant self-worship, and she turned in his arms to face him.
“So seriously, why do you have your own jersey? And why is the number wrong? Misprint?”
Luke shook his head. “No. It’s not a misprint. It was for Ethan. I bought it for him after they gave me the C. I thought maybe he’d come to a game or something.”
Holly’s heart went a little melty. She traced a finger down his bare chest, hoping he’d say more.
Luke tightened his grip on the balcony railing. It took a moment, but he finally spoke.
“He’s the reason I’m the captain now. Because I have to play for both of us. It was just my way of saying thanks. But you saw him. He’s been so down, I just didn’t have the heart to give it to him.”
Holly suddenly realized the significance of the twenty-eight on the back of the jersey. Forget melty, her heart was liquid goo, sliding down the inside of her rib cage. “Eighteen plus ten. You added both of your jersey numbers together.”
Luke shrugged, as if it wasn’t the sweetest thing she’d ever heard.
“Like I said, it was dumb. It’s been sitting on that chair for three months now.”
“I’m sorry I put it on. I didn’t realize it was so significant. I was just giving you a hard time.”
“You know what? Keep it. No one else is going to wear it.”
Holly had plans to the contrary, but she kept those to herself. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind? You look sexy as hell in it.”
She smiled at that. “Well, if that’s what you think about me in it,” she teased, ducking under his arm and heading for the door, “then you should see me out of it.” Luke followed her back to bed and she proceeded to prove her point.
* * *
AFTER ANOTHER HARD-FOUGHT win at home, they’d split away games in Montana, losing the first and winning tonight. And while Luke was glad they’d managed a win, he found he owed more of his good mood to the prospect of seeing Holly again than to the game result. Luke loosened his tie and looked out the oval window at the lights of whatever city they were currently flying over.
“Mags, you okay?”
Luke glance
d over as J.C. took the aisle seat beside him.
“You’re staring off into nothing. I thought you’d had a stroke or something.”
“How did you know Tania was the one?”
J.C. laughed. “What?”
“I’m serious, man. You two are getting married, having a baby. How did you know she was the one you wanted to do all that with?”
Normally the stymied expression on his goaltender’s face would have made him laugh, but tonight he just wanted answers.
“Where is this coming from? Wait a minute, are you dating someone?”
Luke took a deep breath. He wasn’t really ready to spread the news around. He certainly didn’t want to put Holly’s job at risk. But he was dying to tell someone, and J.C. was his best friend. He couldn’t help his smile when he said her name. “Holly.”
“Holly? As in, Holly Holly? Of Women’s Hockey Network fame? The woman you don’t trust because she is undermining the sanctity of the game and threatening the team? That Holly?”
Luke accepted the ribbing as par for the course, but when he didn’t fire back, J.C. sobered a little. “You’re serious? You have feelings for this girl.”
Luke shrugged, which in guy talk was as good as a yes.
“Huh. Never took you for the kind of guy who’d end up with a ditz just because she’s got a nice rack.”
Luke’s shoulders stiffened. “That’s over the line, man.” His voice was all steel, and J.C. held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“My bad, man. Just testing the waters. I wasn’t expecting to come back from the can and have you start talking about your emotions and shit. Stand down.”
Luke relaxed in his chair, but not until he’d stared J.C. down, let him know he meant what he said. “And for the record, she’s not a ditz. She just plays one on the internet.”
“Whad’ya mean?”
“The dumb blonde routine is all an act. She’s actually as smart as she is beautiful.” He sent his buddy a sidelong glance. “And she knows more about hockey than you ever will.”
“So then what’s with all the secrecy?”
Luke shrugged. “I guess the top brass doesn’t think we’re good enough actors to answer the questions if we thought she was only joking.”
“Ha. They believe us well enough when we line up to kiss their asses at all their hoity-toity events.”
Luke smiled at the dig. Everyone was aware of how much J.C. hated putting on a tux and schmoozing with the bigwigs.
“So what’s Holly’s deal then?” his friend asked. “She’s like, a reporter or something?”
“She wants to be.”
J.C. nodded. “Cool. Good for her. And good for the two of you. I’m happy for you guys. Truth is, Mags, the fact that you’re asking me how you know? That probably means you already know.” J.C pushed the button that made his seat recline. “I’m gonna catch twenty minutes before we land.”
“’Night.” The word came out distracted, though, as Luke let the words settle in.
That probably means you already know.
13
THE GAME WAS going well until the hit. The sight of Eric Jacobs lying on the ice and clutching his knee was too much.
With a feral growl, Luke dropped his stick and his gloves and launched himself at six feet, two hundred pounds worth of smug left-winger. He grabbed a fistful of Wolfpack jersey with his left hand and landed a solid hook with his right. He only had a second to relish the roar of the crowd and the sting in his knuckles before his punching bag recovered and launched a counterattack.
But Luke wasn’t about to back down. He might not have gotten the chance to punish the man who put Ethan in a wheelchair, but he wasn’t going to let the one who’d just sidelined Eric Jacobs get away with it unscathed.
Despite Chris Powell’s attempts to wrestle him into submission, Luke managed to land a few more good blows to the jerk’s face before the two of them overbalanced and fell to the ice. Luke swore when his nose made contact with Powell’s helmet, his eyes welling up at the sharp sting.
He didn’t have time to worry about it, as he struggled to gain the upper hand even as someone grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
“That’s enough, you two. Break it up.” The ref’s voice managed to penetrate the angry haze that had overtaken Luke’s brain, but he was too worked up to obey.
With a final jab to Powell’s left cheek, he let himself be hauled off the asshole who’d just lambasted Eric Jacobs with a dirty, knee-on-knee hit.
He watched his nemesis scramble to his feet, only to be detained by the referee.
“Nice fight, Powell,” he taunted, ignoring the linesman’s attempts to wrestle him over to the penalty box. “I think you might have even broken a nail trying to hug me into submission.”
“You should thank me for not messin’ up your face there, pretty boy. Might lose your ‘hottie of the month’ status and then you’d have to play hockey for a living. How many games has it been since you last scored?”
The idea that he and Powell had been linemates a mere four months ago, before the other man’s giant ego and philandering ways had sent the bastard to Montana, seemed ludicrous in that moment. Obviously things changed. Loyalties faded. You couldn’t trust just anybody.
“Tell your boys I said good luck in the play-offs, Maguire. It’s gonna be a battle without your top scorer.”
Luke followed Powell’s gaze toward the net, where Cubs was being helped off the ice by the trainer. Luke didn’t like the way his centerman was hunched over, his left leg bearing no weight.
The ref skated up. “Shut your mouth and get moving, Powell.” Then he turned to Luke and gave him a shove. “That goes for you, too.”
The other linesman skated up, handing Luke his stick and gloves. The memories that came flooding back were not happy ones, and even though Eric’s injury wasn’t as serious as the one that was haunting him, it was cold comfort.
With a sigh, Luke headed for the penalty box. He’d gotten two minutes for instigating and five for fighting. Powell got two minors and a game misconduct.
The Storm ended up winning the game and the series with it, but Luke barely made it through the post-game press junket. By the time he and Holly got to his place, his palms were clammy and he couldn’t stop shaking.
Everything with Ethan had been so close to the surface lately. To see another talented player—another centerman, for God’s sake—get taken down on Luke’s shift...it made his heart feel too big for his rib cage, like it might puncture any second.
“I can’t do this again.”
“He’s going to be okay, Luke. Here, just crawl into bed, okay?”
“But what if he’s not? His grandma had a heart attack a few months ago. He needs to be able to take care of her.”
“He can. He got off the ice himself. He’s not as badly hurt as Ethan was. And even if he had been, there’s nothing you could have done to stop it. It’s not your fault.” Her voice was soft. Reassuring. He liked hearing it. It made him feel better.
“I’m the captain. I’m responsible for my team.”
“I know you are. But you couldn’t have stopped this.” She crawled in beside him, and for the first time since the fight with Powell, he began to breathe normally.
“Maybe I could have. I should have tried. I should have done something.”
“Luke. Stop. You did everything you could.”
Holly wrapped her arms around him. His heart slowed to its standard pace.
“Will you stay tonight?” he asked.
“Sure, of course.”
Her warm fingers stroked his hair. It wasn’t too long after that, that Luke surrendered to sleep.
* * *
IT WAS SIX THIRTY in the morning when the sun streaming through
Luke’s window woke Holly. He was slung out on the mattress beside her, and she was glad to see him resting after his post-game panic attack. He’d been through so much lately. Too much. And there was more to come.
He shifted on the mattress, sliding his hand over her hip and tugging her closer. She turned to face him. His blue eyes blinked a few times before they opened for good. “Hi.”
She smiled and ran a finger down his stubbly cheek. “Hi back.”
“Sorry about last night.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
Luke sighed. “Holly, I can recognize a panic attack when one hits. I had them really bad right after, well, right after Ethan got hurt. Last night wasn’t anything compared to those ones, but I really appreciate you staying here and talking me down.”
“It’s not a problem, because...” she trailed off.
“Because?”
I love you. She did, but she couldn’t say it yet, though, so she kissed him instead.
He kissed her back and shifted closer. Before she knew it, they were naked and entwined, his body driving into hers with such an elemental force that for the first time in their relationship, there was no need for sexy words, or woolen shackles, or flavored oils. They were beyond all that. And when her climax rolled in like soft tides instead of roaring waves, it was the most exquisite thing she’d ever experienced.
They were holding hands and trading kisses and indulging in a dreamy discussion about breakfast—he was firmly in camp bacon and eggs, while she was leaning more toward French toast—when the “Charge” anthem intruded on their blissful post-coital haze.
Luke rolled away from her so he could locate his phone, and the loss of his body heat sent a chill down her spine. It took him a few moments of searching—he’d been in such rough shape last night that most of his before-bed routines, like putting his phone on its charger, had been annexed by the panic attack.
She watched as he followed the familiar music toward the chair where she’d slung his suit jacket after she’d helped him take it off. He flipped the expensive fabric around so he could access the interior breast pocket. Finally he got hold of his ringing prey.
Playing to Win Page 15
