"Ah, good game, Rafferty. I'd like to see you play that kind of shutout hockey against the teams in the league that have a winning record. We all know that Toronto has the last spot in the standings, but a good effort, none the less."
Mia watched a smile curve on Quinn's lips that never quite reached his eyes. She knew her father was goading the handsome goalie, but Quinn didn’t rise to the bait. He smiled that sexy smile of his and nodded. "Thanks, J. P., coming from you, that’s high praise, indeed."
Some of the other players hid a cough behind their palms, including Adam Piersson, captain of the team and Quinn's close friend, realizing, as Mia did, that Quinn was once again, pushing the envelope when it came to the suits.
"Early practice tomorrow. We have several big games coming up in the next couple of weeks."
Quinn again took his seat and moved so close to Mia, his heat and male presence played havoc with her senses. He once again slid his arm across the back of her chair and met the frowning face of Sinclair, almost daring the old man to comment on his actions.
"I'll drive her home, Sir."
Ignoring her father's presence, Mia couldn’t help but look at Quinn, attempting not to drown in those deep blue depths. Her mind warred with her heart. She'd been attracted to Quinn for some time now, but she dared not fall for him.
One of them would get hurt, and she didn’t want it to be Quinn.
***
The majority of the team began to shrug into their coats and leave the bar, cuffing Quinn on the back, and again praising his shutout victory tonight.
Taking a last sip of his beer, Quinn rose, then took Mia's hand and pulled her up. Helping her into her coat, he teased. "Wouldn’t want you to miss that all important call to St. Louis in the morning, right?"
He gave her a wink, telling her silently that he knew she was nervous in the company of the old man. Not giving J.P. Sinclair the satisfaction of getting in the last word, Quinn waved to the remaining players, shook hands with Adam, and led Mia from the table.
Mia nodded to her father, and allowed Quinn's strong arm to embrace her shoulders as they exited the bar and were hit by the cold bite of winter.
When they were settled in his Mercedes sport car moments later, Mia turned and faced a smiling, cocky Quinn.
"Why do you insist on pissing him off? Does it give you some weird satisfaction to have him target you? Do you have a death wish?"
Quinn started up the car, blasted the heat, and turned to Mia. "Because I can, yes, and no. Any more questions?"
"Ugh," she shook her head. "You drive me crazy, Q. Are you afraid of anything?"
"You want to know what I'm afraid of?"
She nodded as he slid closer to her, wrapping her scarf around her shoulders to push away the cold. His breath expelled in short white puffs as he caressed her cheek with his large calloused hand. "I'm afraid that you don’t want me as much as I want you. I'm afraid that I can't control myself around you." His gaze was anything but fearful and his smiling playfulness was nowhere to be found.
Mia locked eyes with him. "I know he's tough and big and formidable, Quinn, but he's still my Dad and only wants the best for me. I'm all he's got. Surely, you can understand that."
Quinn lifted her hand, slid her glove off, and planted a warm kiss on her cool palm. Ribbons of arousal circled her body, her heart drummed, her center throbbed. All because of a kiss on her hand.
His voice lowered to a raspy tone. "I don’t care, Mia, I want to see you. He knows it, you know it and now, what are we going to do about it?"
He leaned in slowly, and Mia closed her eyes, giving in to her wild attraction to him. She responded to him as his cool lips rested on her mouth, then pressed against her lips, and experienced the power in his kiss.
Without thinking, she gave into her emotions, reveling in the warmth of his body close to hers. His cheek stubble lightly scratched against her face, and she loved the feel of him. Whether she liked it or not, she surrendered to his touch when Quinn's fingers found their way inside her coat and slid across her breasts, causing her nipples to harden and ache. She threw her head back and moaned in response.
"Ah, Mia," he whispered, his voice sending ripples of pleasure and heat through her.
His hands were large, fingers long and calloused, an athlete's hands, goaltender's hands, yet the tenderness in them made Mia sigh. What could this man do to her if she let him? She knew there was a good chance that Quinn would settle for nothing less than bringing her endless nights of ecstasy and pleasure.
But fear soon warred against desire. A little voice warned Mia to stop now or there would be complications. She wanted him, but it wasn’t a good idea. Or was it?
Reluctantly breaking their heated kiss, Mia gently pushed him away, although she already missed his hands on her, his lips, and his blue eyed heated gaze. "Quinn…."
His eyes widened, those dark blue orbs filled with confusion and arousal all at the same time. He stared at her. "What's wrong? I felt you respond to me. You kissed me back. I want to share myself with you. Stop thinking about other things and think of us for a change, would you? When are you going to realize that this is what we both want? You know I'm right."
Mia settled in the car, and Quinn pulled away from her to drive from the curb. She'd been so focused on his kisses that she hadn’t realized they were still parked outside the bar.
"It's more than that, Q. I like you, I really do. I enjoy being with you, but can we take this slow?"
She placed her hand over his and squeezed. "I need time, Quinn, and I don’t want to hurt you."
Heading downtown toward Mia's apartment, Quinn took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it, then holding it tight. "I'm not giving up on you, Mia, you understand?" At the red light, he turned toward her, a tiny smile curving his mouth.
"I'll take you home, but this is not over. You're hot and I'm hard, and all I want to do is get inside you, prove to you we need to be together, so you'll know what I already know. You don't have to be afraid of me, sweetheart."
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he answered for her. "I'll do what you want, for now. I'm not going anywhere."
"Just give me time, Q," she whispered as he continued on to her apartment.
"I know you're thinking about him." Quinn referred to Mia's former relationship with Andre Goyette, and was silently grateful he didn’t pursue the conversation. The subject of her ex was off limits. To say her relationship with him ended badly was a gross understatement.
"I'm not Andre, Mia, and the sooner you stop comparing me with that sadistic son of a bitch, the better we'll both be."
"You're nothing like him, Quinn, I know that. But the bad memories of him are still there."
"Well then, it's up to me to give you new, happy memories, isn’t it?"
Mia couldn’t help but smile back at him. "One day at a time, ok?"
"Don’t take too long. You're sexy and gorgeous, and I'm young and horny." He joked, making her laugh, which she knew was his goal.
Driving onto the ramp to the FDR parkway, he once more slid his hand over hers, squeezed it gently, and Mia turned her hand over to clasp his strong fingers.
The rest of the ride home was quiet and devoid of conversation.
Moments later, Quinn arrived at her building, parked the car, shut off the engine, and turned to her once more.
Leave it to Quinn to always have the last word.
"We're not kids, Mia. Don’t deny us what I know we both want."
She shook her head and needed to distance herself from his closeness, his mouth, those dreamy blue eyes. Weak, she was so weak.
"I don’t deny it, but you can see how he feels about me and you. I'm not a child, but I also don’t want him taking his anger out on you, or the team. I don’t want to be responsible for anything that may seem unprofessional."
Mia sighed and swallowed. She wasn’t going to say what she knew they were both thinking.
His eyes were devoid of all humor now. Mia grab
bed the door handle, but Quinn pulled her coat sleeve toward him, his eyes a storm of blue fire. "Do you actually believe the words you're telling me? Because I think you're afraid of giving yourself to me. The old man may love you, but he sure has a funny way of showing it. He has no idea how lucky he is to have you. I'm not going to hurt you, Mia, and I'll do anything to convince you that it's true."
"I know you won't mean to, and I can't, wont, risk it all again." She slipped her hands from his, instantly missing his warmth, and his touch.
"Kiss me, Mia, just kiss me."
Mia paused, her eyes meeting his. She sighed, touched her lips to his, tasted him there. She couldn’t deny what her body experienced. Hunger, aching and hot, slid from her mouth to her center.
"What do you want from me, Q?"
"Be my date for the fundraiser." He slid his lips to her ear, gently nibbling her lobe. "Please."
She was too weak from his closeness to deny him anything. Besides, he looked so damn sexy when he begged. "Ok, one date."
He smiled and winked at her, knowing he got what he wanted. "That’s my girl."
Mia broke his hold on her, and ran to her apartment, not looking back. Her emotions fought with her brain. She shouldn’t do this.
But it was too late. Her emotions had won.
CHAPTER THREE
Quinn took his place on the ice with the rest of the team for practice session, focusing on the upcoming weekend game series with the Boston Brown Bears. He skated toward the goal, holding his water bottle. He placed the container on top of his net, slid his colorful mask over his face, then grabbed his huge goaltender stick and turned to face his team, now scrimmaging and doing stretching and skating exercises on the ice.
Behind the bench off the ice, he spied Mia, conversing with her assistant, Henry Richter as she made her way out of the arena.
It never ceased to amaze Quinn that each time he saw her, he smiled. His body instinctively tightened, his heart pounded furiously, and her mere presence filled him with emotions he'd never experienced before with any woman.
Sure, he'd had his share of women, he was young and healthy. But since meeting Mia, he didn’t want any woman. Mia was the one. He'd had a serious crush on her from the moment they met, and that crush had steadily grown into something more.
Mia was not only gorgeous, but intelligent, funny and could stand out in a crowd without effort. Possessing a contagious laugh and eyes that could make a man beg for mercy, Mia Sinclair was one tough lady, although it seemed the person who intimidated her most was her father.
Struggling to turn his gaze from her, Quinn managed to focus solely on his teammates, who were now relentlessly pummeling him with the dozens of pucks that were there for their practice shots. Quinn hunkered down, and turned on his athletic prowess.
His defensemen, James Morrissey, and Adam Piersson, team captain, nicknamed the Dynamic Duo, charged toward Quinn, armed with pucks, like a runaway train.
Gripping his heavy goaltender stick with his stick glove, Quinn took a squatting position in front of his net. Like a panther waiting to pounce, he positioned his large stick across his skates and waited for the onslaught.
He loved the speed, strength and power of the game. Quinn fell in love with the game of hockey from a young age and his affair with the sport continued through the years.
After years of struggling in street leagues, and paying his own way through college, Quinn's dream of becoming a major league hockey goaltender had come to fruition. Playing for the New York Thunder and being a part of a great organization was his ultimate goal. He loved being part of a team and sharing in the wins, losses and leading his team to victory.
At the blue line, the centers and wingers gathered to join the battle. Quinn prepared himself, took deep breaths, and slapped his stick against his pads, signaling his teammates he was ready for their coming onslaught.
The Thunder's most proficient and consistent player, center, Greg Vail, skated toward Quinn, faked a back hand shot, then circled around the net and tucked the puck into Quinn's glove hand. Save.
"Nice try," Quinn taunted, pushing his wingers to take more aggressive shots toward the goal, and him. He was the team's unofficial cheer leader, always calling out to them during a game, shouting at the top of his voice to direct his wingers or defensemen, warning them an opposing player was on the attack.
This time, defenseman Jerry Donnelly skated towards Quinn's stick side and took a blistering slap shot, only to be stopped by Quinn's lightening quick reflexes. Save.
"That all you got, Donnelly?" Quinn called out, goading his teammate to try harder the next time around.
On and on it went, until their coach, Terry Gilbert, blew his whistle to cease play.
Reaching for his bottled water resting on his net, Quinn lifted his face mask, took a long pull, then squirted the rest over his head to cool off. He grabbed a towel from the top of the net and wiped away the sweat. The coach whistled for the next drill, skating and exercising legs and arms, all done with full equipment.
Forty minutes later, after a dozen turns on the ice, after drills that strengthened and pushed the limits of the team's strength, the workout was over.
The team, breathing hard, gathered around the coach. Terry Gilbert possessed an excellent sense of the game, a natural leader for whom Quinn had much respect.
Gilbert nodded and addressed the team.
"Good work, you all look sharp out there. We leave for Boston in the morning. The old man is on my ass to make sure we're on our toes out there. Like I don’t already know that."
"Vail, your line will start tomorrow's game, along with Piersson and Morrissey on defense. Rafferty, that glove hand looking mighty sharp. We'll be able to get ice time as soon as we get off the bus in the morning in Boston. Let's play hard, get a win, and we'll secure first place for home ice advantage through the play offs."
Quinn and the rest of team agreed. When the meeting ended, however, Quinn opted to work out some more by himself, taking the ice for fifteen more turns in full equipment.
Breathing hard, tired but feeling great, Quinn skated toward the gate to the dressing room.
The moment his focus left the ice, his mind once again centered on Mia. Where was she now? What was she doing?
Quinn was almost to his car when he realized he'd left his cell phone in his locker. He turned and headed back to the arena, and made his way to the dressing room to retrieve it.
Approaching his locker, he opened it, retrieved his phone, then slid it into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket.
Exiting the locker room, he noticed that the arena lights were still on. Strange. Curious, Quinn strode through the tunnel that led to the ice from the locker rooms, and heard the telltale noise of skates scratching the frozen surface.
He walked to the gate that led to the ice and there she was.
Mia.
The lone figure, dressed all in black, glided and slid on the ice as if born to it. Quinn stood, mesmerized, hypnotized.
She was truly a vision.
He felt slightly voyeuristic but he couldn’t turn away even if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to.
Right about the time he joined the team, she'd been involved with a scumbag by the name of Andre Goyette, who was, at the time, a big part of the Thunder.
After the incident with Mia, Goyette was shuffled off to Toronto, and deposited behind a desk. Even that was too good for the son of a bitch, as far as Quinn was concerned.
He'd once seen Goyette arguing with Mia, treating her like shit, and it was all Quinn could do not to knock the pretty boy on his ass, but he never got the chance.
There was talk that Goyette hit Mia. What Quinn couldn’t figure out was how could the old man let the jerk get away with hitting Mia?
He'd never understand.
Focusing on Mia's beautiful, long legs, slender and toned, skating and gliding, kicking up ice, aroused him. His body came alive just looking at her, imagining his h
ands on her. He imagined her soft flesh respond to his touch, kissing her senseless, burying himself deep inside her.
Watching her at the other end of the ice, skating backward, performing little spirals and holding out her graceful arms in ballet positions, Quinn stood behind the gate and enjoyed her sensual ice show.
Mia had been a figure skating coach until she'd broken her ankle when she slipped on the ice and fell into the boards. It was obvious that she could still skate beautifully, but she'd never coach again. Her ankle would never bear the pressure of endless hours on ice.
Yet to look at her now, you'd never know it. She was breathtaking.
Sitting on the team bench, he followed her actions, her long legs pushing and gliding, her arms stretching to her sides, balancing herself on her good ankle, skating in circles, performing a perfect pirouette in center ice, then coming to a stop, and ending her mini-performance with a poised bow.
He wanted to talk to her, be with her, to let her know he cared.
Should he let her know he was here?
And then the question was taken out of his hands.
"Hi."
She glided effortlessly toward him. Her voice was breathless, her chest heaving slightly from her workout. Sexy, long and lean, breasts perfect for his hands to caress, he swallowed hard and smiled at her.
"Hi."
Small beads of sweat dotted her forehead and Quinn handed her the towel she asked for. "Thanks. I don’t always have time to skate, so when I find a few minutes, I grab it. Feels good."
"You look good."
She chuckled and patted her neck and arms with the towel. "Thank you Mr. Rafferty. So, do I make the team, coach?"
His smiled disappeared as he whispered. "You could be on my team anytime."
She playfully bowed to him. "High praise from the Mighty Quinn. If hockey ever puts together a cheerleading squad, I'm your girl."
She opened the gate and walked past him to the locker room, and Quinn followed.
"I'll hold you to that. By the way, are you hungry? Let's have dinner together. I know a little café in the Village."
Playing for Keeps/Body Check (Rules of the Game) Page 8
