Flirting on Ice

by Veronica Forand

  You and a room full of mistletoe. The words nearly slipped out of her mouth. “I’d like to see my pet project with the girls’ empowerment group double in size.”

  “The work you’re able to do with your family’s foundation is really making a difference. You lit up like a Christmas tree when you talked about the girls you’re helping.”

  That he’d remembered their conversation from their lunch together warmed her heart. “I love my job. Some of those girls never view themselves as anything special, but I believe we’re helping them become more self-confident.”

  “You’re a good influence.” His lips closed over a bite of cake, and he groaned, and then his lips lifted into a sexy smile.

  She forced her gaze back to his eyes. “I hope so. I helped organize a career day at the center. Over twenty professionals have agreed to speak about their jobs. Showing the girls the limitless possibilities that exist for their futures will inspire them to work hard and dream big.”

  Zac continued to watch her with that smile on his lips. Heat flushed her cheeks. Sitting back against the seat, she raised her coffee cup to her lips. “I didn’t mean to drone on so much about the girls.”

  His leg brushed against hers. Instead of moving it, he kept the connection, and the subtle pressure broke her concentration. “It’s nice that you care so much. If I hadn’t had hockey, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. My high school coach was my first role model, pushing me to get good grades and stay out of trouble. Without him, I never would have worked so hard.”

  No wonder he devoted so much of his time to the Hustlers’ youth hockey program. So many of those kids looked up to him as an older brother or father figure. “Remember the time we helped Tyson Wagner learn to skate? We each held one of his hands for three or four sessions until he could skate around the rink on his own.”

  “Poor kid didn’t have anyone to help him at home. I’m glad he’s doing well now. I saw a lot of myself in him when we first met.”

  She remembered reading that his mother had abandoned him and his dad, and how his father fell apart afterward. She couldn’t imagine life without her parents. “Where’s your coach now?”

  His smile sobered. “He died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

  He nodded and shrugged, his expression clouding over. “It’s okay.”

  Desperate to lighten the mood, she lifted the last bite of cheesecake to his lips. When he took it, she wanted to climb over the table and touch her mouth to his. “So, what do you want for Christmas?”

  The smile returned. “I want to make the play-offs. And to win the championship.”

  “Your first wish should be a sure thing. The team is stacked at every position. I can’t guarantee the second but if it helps, I wear team colors on game days for good luck.”

  He grinned. “So you’re the reason for the five-game winning streak. If you wear my jersey, maybe I’ll win MVP.”

  “Whatever I can do to help. Maybe I’ll pick one up for tomorrow’s game. My mother and I are headed to New York to celebrate my aunt’s birthday. Dinner, a show, and a stay at the Plaza.”

  He dropped a wad of bills on the table. “Careful. Those New York fans aren’t fond of the red and black.”

  “Division rivals are pretty rough, but I’m tough enough to handle the fans’ ribbing.” She stood to retrieve her wrap. Zac beat her to it. He placed the soft cashmere over her shoulders and tucked her into his side. Heat rushed through her limbs as he escorted her to the car.

  The drive to her apartment ended too soon. She reluctantly turned toward him. “Thanks for dessert.”

  His blue eyes darkened. “I’ll walk you up.”

  He escorted her through the garage, crossed the lobby, and waited for the private elevator to the penthouse. Zac’s hand rested on the small of her back. The heat of his touch ignited her desire for him. As they ascended the twenty-eight floors to her apartment, she studied his reflection in the mirrored wall. His open suit jacket revealed a crisp white shirt and a festive red tie. Her gaze must have brought his attention to his formal attire. He tugged on the tie as though the constraint choked him.

  “Here, let me help you.” She slipped her fingers under his hands and loosened the silk. “I’m really glad we talked tonight.”

  “Me, too.” His hands grasped her shoulders then trailed up her neck.

  She shuddered. He outweighed her by a hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle, yet a sense of security filled her.

  With a quiet ping, the doors opened. She breathed in slowly, let it out, trying to relax. His presence affected her ability to think about anything but him.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they exited the elevator. At her door, he released her slowly and turned to face her.

  High heels made her taller, but still only put her eye level with his chin. Breathing in his musky scent, she lifted her arms around his neck, and tugged his head to meet hers.

  Firm lips moved over her mouth, igniting a firestorm of frenzied desire. Her hands tore at the buttons of his shirt, sending several skittering to the floor. Exposed, the warm skin of his well-developed pecs flexed under her hands. A groan sounded from deep in his chest as his fingers tugged the back of her dress lower.

  Pulse skyrocketing, she rocked against him, and her cravings intensified. He slid his hands beneath the fabric, ripping the seam as they descended.

  A thrill skittered up her spine.

  One wide-palmed hand glided up her back and into her hair. The strands pulled as his long fingers fisted, holding her tight.

  She moaned and melted against him. Her pulse raced, her blood pumped, and her heart opened wide, allowing him in.

  She pressed closer, desperate to touch him. Her brain screamed at her to stop, but her body refused to cooperate. No man had ever made her feel this way, and she was lost in his arms. She traced her fingers over the hot skin of his abdomen, and he stilled his erotic exploration.

  Breathing hard, he lowered his forehead to hers and captured her hands in his. After a long expulsion of air, he pulled back an inch, still holding her hands captive. “I should go.”

  She shook her head to clear the cloud of passion and stared at his torn shirt, his hard muscles exposed. “You could come in. For coffee.”

  “We both know if I come in, we won’t be having coffee.”

  “So, cooler heads prevail.” She nodded to convince her own cravings to settle. Zac was in the middle of contract negotiations. If they started seeing each other, the press and the fans would see their relationship as a glaring conflict of interest. And they’d be right. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  He trailed gentle fingertips down her cheek. “I agree. Seeing each other wouldn’t be smart.”

  His agreement set off shards of disappointment. She forced a smile onto her face, even though her heart bled. “Well then, Captain, I guess I’ll wish you luck in your next game.”

  Chapter Three

  Zac woke the following morning, alone in bed, missing Heather. Intoxicated by her depth and beauty, he’d almost taken her in the hallway. Stopping had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. No matter how much she fascinated him, life and circumstances were in their way.

  After a five-mile run and some weights, he headed to his living room to watch a few replays of the previous night’s games. Heather’s scarf, a sweet reminder she’d left in his car, was draped over the edge of his couch. The corners of his mouth tilted up at the memory of their kiss. He was headed straight to hell for wanting more of Patrick Ryan’s daughter, but that didn’t deter the hunger building inside him for the classy brunette. She didn’t want him for money or status. She did, however, want him physically. And he’d left her alone at her apartment. He regretted his decision, even if it had been the right one. Certain parts of his body didn’t give a shit about making the right decision.

  The prospect of a morning alone had never bothered hi
m before, but now the next few hours offered him nothing as interesting as Heather.

  He programmed her number into his speed dial and called.

  “Hello?” Her voice was raspy and soft.

  “It’s Zac. Did I wake you?”

  “Yes, but it’s okay. I need to get up.”

  She yawned through the phone. He imagined her hair loose and sexy, long legs partially covered by a sheet, and eyes that blinked awake with a sensual invitation for more.

  “You left your scarf in my car. I could drop it off this afternoon, if you’re free.”

  “Mom and I are leaving in about two hours for New York. I have to pack and shower first. I’m a bit behind today, because someone kept me up way past my bedtime.”

  If only he’d joined her in bed, perhaps he wouldn’t be craving her so intensely. Her body, laugh, intelligence, sense of humor, hell, everything about her intrigued him.

  “What about Tuesday?” she asked.

  “Tuesday’s pretty far away.” Need roughened his voice. He gripped the phone in a useless attempt to refocus his thoughts.

  “You’ll survive.” Her playful tone washed over him.

  “Barely.” He flopped on his couch. “Have fun this weekend.”

  “I will. And thanks for everything. I really enjoyed last night.”

  “So did I.” And he had. More than he wanted to admit, especially considering all the crap he’d get if anyone found out about their attraction to each other.

  “I’d better go or we’ll miss the train. See you on Tuesday.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She hung up, and he turned on the television screen and tried to concentrate on the best plays to use against Chicago’s killer power play unit in Sunday’s match-up. Heather continued to color his thoughts. A relationship with her would be chaos, not only pissing off her father, but probably the team as well. He’d never risked his career for a woman before, but this woman changed the rules. Going against the odds was his specialty. If she was interested in exploring this connection they shared, so was he. And he always played to win.

  …

  After the longest two days of his life, Zac woke at 5:00 a.m. Monday to a loud banging at his front door. What the hell? He jogged over to the door only to find his agent, Eric Griffin, waving the newspaper and carrying a large cup of coffee.

  He opened the door slowly, still not entirely awake. “You are one knock away from being fired. Do you know what time it is?”

  Eric, a former college football player with a Yale law degree, pushed his way into the foyer and slammed the newspaper into his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Heather Ryan? I shouldn’t be finding this stuff out via Google alerts.”

  “Dating Heather? We had lunch together, and if you want to count Friday night, a slice of cheesecake.”

  “Dating the boss’s daughter in the middle of contract negotiations makes my bargaining position impossible, tarnishes Patrick Ryan’s reputation, and will piss off every one of your teammates forced to field the media’s frenzied questions. You were always my smartest player. Now you’re battling Leo Earnhart, who just crashed his third car, for biggest moron on my roster.”

  Zac opened the paper to the sports section. Atlantic City Hustlers Star Center Moves in on Ryan’s Daughter. The article described their late-night escape from the fund-raiser and suggested she’d clouded his focus during the previous night’s loss to Chicago.

  Damn. Someone must have seen them drive away from the party, or maybe at the diner. He’d signed a few autographs, but he didn’t recall any paparazzi. His hand tightened into a fist, crushing the paper like an accordion. “That doesn’t prove anything. I drove her home from the party. She wasn’t feeling well.”

  “That’s your story?”

  “Yeah.” The last thing he needed was the press speculating on his time with Heather. He’d contact her to tell her how to spin their time together.

  “Hurry up. We have a meeting with her old man.”

  “Are you serious? Is he going to ground me for talking to her?”

  “He can do anything he wants with you. He owns you for the rest of the season.”

  Dread settled in his chest. He loved his team and didn’t want to jeopardize his position. “I don’t believe this.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Zac gulped down a spinach-and-apple juice concoction as Eric drove him to the arena. When they arrived, a few reporters stood at the entrance.

  Eric shook his head. “I need them to comment on your goals and assists, not your bedroom antics. Keep your mouth shut and head straight into the building. Don’t even look at the vultures.”

  They exited Eric’s Lexus at the same time. Five photographers and a few other people swarmed Zac and hurled questions in his direction.

  “Zac, is it true you’re dating the boss’s daughter to improve your chances for a three-year contract extension?”

  A camera blocked his view. He dodged it and hurried onto the sidewalk. The mob followed on all sides.

  A loud-mouthed woman in a khaki jacket and faded jeans called out to him. “Did you have to sneak past her parents to escape the party together?”

  He ignored her and headed toward the door.

  “What’s she like in bed?” someone yelled from behind a line of photographers.

  He paused, his hand tightened into a fist, until Eric shoved him through the door into the facility. The mob remained outside.

  “What the fuck was that?” He stormed down the hall.

  Two defensemen saw him coming and paused outside the training room. Finally. He’d have friends who understood how overblown the situation was. He slowed his steps.

  Eric’s hand on his shoulder forced him forward. “Let’s go to Ryan’s office. After I leave, you can head to the locker room and see your teammates.”

  Zac acknowledged the guys with a nod and continued walking. Probably better to wait until his temper cooled. Right now, the first person to make a comment about Heather would receive a fist in the face.

  They climbed the stairs to Patrick Ryan’s office, overlooking the Atlantic City skyline through one window and the ocean through the other. They didn’t bother knocking. He’d be expecting them.

  And he was, along with Martin Green, the head coach, Freddy Hall, the general manager, and Ben Shaffer, the little shit. All standing in a pack on the right side of the office.

  Patrick radiated tension, his jaw tight. His hands rested on his hips, and one graying eyebrow lifted toward Zac. “Sit.”

  Zac took the seat at the conference table next to Patrick. A strategic position. He didn’t want anyone acting as an intermediary in this situation. Not when it concerned Heather. Eric could negotiate to hell and back on the monetary aspects of his contract, but not his personal life.

  “Mr. Elliott,” Ben began, sinking into his chair. A slight smirk curved his mouth. He spun a pen around his fingers as though he had enough clout to weigh in on Zac’s love life. “According to recent reports in the news—”

  “Shut the hell up, Ben.” Zac turned his attention to Patrick. “I’d like to speak to you alone, then we can call in our backups to clean everything up.”

  Ben spoke louder. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  Patrick stood and raised his hand, silencing him. “Everyone out.”

  When the room was clear, Patrick walked over to a small bar in the corner of the office and poured himself a cup of coffee. He lifted the pot in silent offer.

  “No, thanks.”

  When Patrick faced him again, his expression had softened to something less than hostile, but not entirely pleased. They’d always had a good relationship, and Zac wanted to keep it that way.

  Zac took a deep breath and spilled his thoughts. “I ran into Heather on the boardwalk a few weeks ago. Then on Friday night, we left your party early and grabbed some dessert at a diner. That’s it. End of story.” Her father didn’t need to know about the elevator ride.

  “You put
me in a bad spot. What am I going to explain to your teammates when I have to renegotiate their contracts? Fifty-thousand-dollar signing bonus if you date my daughter. A million if you sleep with her, and you’ll inherit the team if you can get a ring on her finger. Damn it all, Elliott. Did you use even one brain cell before sneaking out with her?”

  “I didn’t think through the ramifications.”

  “No kidding.” He sat down at the conference table and took a sip of coffee. After a minute he sighed, placed the coffee down, and glanced at Zac. “I’ll tell the press you agreed to drive her home from the party at my request. I expect to see a model on your arm by the end of the week to end any further speculation about Heather. We’ll recommence negotiations next week when everything dies down.”

  Zac’s insides knotted, adding to his frustration. He didn’t want to replace her, couldn’t replace her. She wasn’t a car. She was Heather. Irreplaceable. “I refuse to replace Heather with a cheap imitation.”

  “I don’t want her reputation destroyed being seen with you. If I ever have to choose between Heather and you, I’ll send you so far away, you’ll need a private jet to make a home game.”

  He’d never hurt Heather, although hadn’t he already harmed her by their escapades the night before? “I promise to stay away from her until the story dies down.”

  Would the story die down? Because as long as he was captain and as long as she was the owner’s daughter, the media would never leave them alone. He stood, walked out the door, and prayed he could speak to Heather before the press did.

  …

  With her thoughts on the summons to have dinner with her parents, Heather exited the foundation’s headquarters. Cold air stung her cheeks.

  The local paper’s gossip columnist leaped from her huddled position on the stone bench next to the door. “Heather, your father claims he asked Zac Elliot to drive you home during the team Christmas party on Friday. Is this true? Were you ill or drunk on eggnog?”

  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed past the smirking reporter and dodged the microphone thrust into her path.