by Anya Nowlan
Double Bear Secret
Hockey Bear Season
Anya Nowlan
Contents
A Little Taste…
Copyright
Prologue
1. Lily
2. Connor
3. Crash
4. Lily
5. Connor
6. Lily
7. Crash
8. Lily
9. Connor
10. Crash
11. Lily
12. Crash
13. Connor
14. Crash
15. Lily
16. Crash
17. Lily
18. Connor
19. Lily
20. Crash
21. Lily
22. Connor
23. Lily
24. Crash
25. Lily
26. Connor
27. Lily
28. Crash
29. Connor
30. Lily
31. Crash
32. Lily
33. Connor
34. Lily
35. Crash
36. Lily
37. Connor
38. Lily
39. Crash
40. Lily
41. Connor
42. Lily
Epilogue
Want More?
About the Author
Thank you for reading!
A Little Taste…
The heels she slipped on next were definitely not her style, but she was used to putting her personal preferences aside. She had worn more than a couple of unflattering uniforms lately. And if she’d never have to wear a hairnet again, it would be too soon. Sliding her arms into the sleeves of a white dress shirt, she could hear heavy steps approaching her way.
No one was assigned a bedroom on this floor, she thought.
She didn’t have time to mull that over, though, as her door was suddenly swung open, just as she was in the middle of buttoning up her shirt.
“Excuse me,” she exclaimed, covering her breasts with her hands as two hulking men stood at the door, staring right at her.
It only took her a second to recognize them as Crash and Connor Rawlins, twins and rising superstars. Now also proud members of a relatively small club of men who had seen her boobs in a state of semi-undress.
Despite the awkward circumstances, she couldn’t help but think the pictures she’d seen of them did not do the men justice. With their chiseled features and clear, green eyes, they were movie-star handsome, and entirely too good to look at.
“Sorry, we didn’t think anyone would be in here,” Crash said.
That’s a lie, she thought immediately, catching the way Connor dragged at the air with his nose.
They must have been able to smell that someone was close by.
Despite the apology, he didn’t move to turn or look away, letting his gaze sweep over her instead. For some odd reason, it didn’t feel leering. It seemed like he genuinely couldn’t look away. And the shiver that ran down her spine at the hunger in his eyes was entirely involuntary.
“Well, do you mind?” she asked after a moment of loaded silence.
“Yeah, our bad,” Connor quickly replied, nudging his brother. “We’ll go now.”
But they didn’t go. Instead, they both just continued looking at her, with a grin slowly spreading across Crash’s face.
“You’re the coach’s new assistant, aren’t you?” he asked.
By that point, Lily was growing more frustrated than anything. Both with herself, and the men. Usually, she would have either kicked them out or kicked their asses by now, but somehow she felt as stuck as the brothers seemed to be.
Something about Crash and Connor made her feel like she wasn’t standing on solid ground anymore, and it had nothing to do with her high heels. It was entirely unsettling. So to snap herself out of it, she grabbed the first thing she got her hands on out of her suitcase, and threw it at them.
“Get out!” she said forcefully, realizing way too late she had just chucked her bra at Connor’s face.
Copyright © 2017 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Double Bear Secret
Hockey Bear Season
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover © Jack of Covers
Prologue
Crash
There were so many people writhing in some close approximation of dance in the club that Crash scarcely had enough space to move. He preferred it that way.
“Hey, we need to talk,” a man Crash had never seen before yelled at him and his brother, struggling to be heard over the thumping of the bass and buzz of voices.
Well, he looks pissed off, Crash mused, watching the man squeeze past dancing bodies.
Denver wasn’t exactly the party capital of the states, but Crash knew how to have a good time anywhere. This new club that just opened up that he had dragged his twin brother Connor to was the hottest place in town at the moment.
Fresh off of a win against a rival hockey team, Crash was hopped up on testosterone and on a rush from the victory. And with two lovely ladies and one cocktail waitress having already given him their numbers, he had high hopes for the evening.
Which was why the meathead currently trying to get his attention was especially annoying.
Bald head gleaming, wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt and a gold chain around his thick neck, Mr. Meathead looked like a stereotypical douchebag if Crash had ever seen one. And he’d seen a few.
“You know this guy?” Connor asked, sitting next to him at a private table Crash had booked.
“I don’t think so…” Crash replied, brow furrowing as he tried to place the man.
“Please tell me this isn’t another angry boyfriend,” Connor groaned. “Or worse yet, a husband.”
“Come on, that’s unfair,” Crash protested. “It’s not like you’re some saint, either.”
Playing for the Denver Predators, the up-and-coming team to beat this season, both of the brothers did their share of partying, and had their share of… devoted female fans. Somehow, though, it was always Crash who kept stumbling into trouble.
“At least I didn’t get my car keyed when Sheryl found out you’d slept with her sister,” Connor commented drolly, stretching out his muscled arms over the backrest of the gaudy couch they were both sprawled on.
Colorful lights slid across the walls around them, as the DJ encouraged everyone to put their hands up. Meathead was now shoving and elbowing his way towards the table, followed by another guy who looked to be his friend from the way he was following the man.
“I told you not to bring that up,” Crash warned. “I had to get both sides repainted,” he muttered to himself.
That one still hurt.
“You always go for the crazies,” Connor shook his head, a smile hovering over his lips.
“I like the wild ones,” Crash shrugged. “They know how to keep things interesting.”
“Too interesting,” Connor remar
ked.
“I never make any promises, I never lie. It’s not my fault they want more than I can offer,” Crash replied.
He wasn’t about to apologize for consensual, adult relationships that he never tried to make out to be something they weren’t. Crash had no plans of settling down, which would be pretty evident to anyone even remotely paying attention to how he lived his life.
With how many followers he had on his social media accounts, there were a lot of people who liked to keep up with Crash Rawlins, one side of the twin duo that was making waves in the National Shifter Hockey League.
“You know, you should really join Twitter, at least. It would help boost our public profile,” he commented to Connor, who was sipping his beer and keeping an eye on the meathead closing in on the steps leading to their private lounge area.
“So I can post shirtless photos of myself all day? No, thanks,” Connor scoffed.
“I know my audience,” Crash shrugged in response, still keeping one eye on the unwelcome intruder. “You should see the pictures I get back,” he winked.
“I’m not looking for that right now. Especially after the arrangement we had with Alison blew up,” his brother replied.
“Hey! I know you can hear me,” Meathead bellowed, climbing the stairs with his buddy in tow.
“I’m having a conversation with my brother here. Do you mind?” Crash shot back, his annoyance slowly turning to anger.
“Let’s not cause a scene,” Connor sighed, glancing at the club security, already throwing looks their way.
“I do mind,” Meathead said through gritted teeth. “I’m here because of Amanda.”
“Amanda… Amanda… You’re going to have to be more specific,” Crash replied, now trying to place her.
There had been a few Amandas. For whatever reason, they made up a sizable portion of his fanbase.
Meathead was now practically shaking with rage. His friend, a short but muscular man with a tribal tattoo around his bicep, wasn’t looking too happy, either.
“She’s a redhead, with big…” the tattooed man said, gesturing towards his chest, before being cut off.
“Shut up, Billy,” Meathead snapped at his friend.
“Ah, I think I remember now,” Crash chuckled as a memory of a particularly bendy redhead with a decent set of lungs on her popped into his mind, still casually splayed across the sofa. “What about her?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Meathead snarled.
“Knew it,” Connor called out, throwing his hands up in the air.
Crash just rolled his eyes at his brother before turning back to Meathead.
“Look, dude. Amanda wanted to come home with me. That was her choice. It’s not my responsibility to make sure she’s single. That’s between you two,” Crash replied.
But it didn’t look like Meathead was big into the idea of listening to reason. The man was obviously too angry and his pride too hurt for him to think clearly. His personal relationship issues were not Crash’s problem, though.
You are starting to really get on my nerves, Crash thought, noting the way Meathead’s hands were balling into fists at his sides.
“You arrogant son of a bitch,” Meathead thundered.
“Let’s just kick his ass,” Billy interjected, giving Crash his best attempt at a deadly glare.
“And what’s your issue with my brother?” Connor asked Billy, placing the glass he was holding back on the table.
“Amanda wasn’t the only girl he took home that night,” Billy reluctantly replied, avoiding Connor’s gaze.
Turning to Crash, Connor’s expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“You fucked his girlfriend, too? What are you, going for some kind of a record?” he asked.
“How am I on trial here? These douches barged in on our victory celebration, and you’re questioning me?” Crash retorted.
“Hey,” Billy objected at being called a douche.
“Shut up,” Crash and Connor said in unison.
“Rude, butting in like that when other people are talking,” Connor shook his head. “You’re right,” he said to Crash, before turning to the two unwelcome additions to their table. “These two obviously have no manners, and no common sense. Go home to your girlfriends while you still can.”
“Is that a threat?” Meathead demanded, red in the face.
Crash scanned the crowd behind the men, noting at least one photographer among the bodies moving to the beat.
“Coach is going to be pissed if we start a fight in the middle of a party,” he groaned.
“True,” Connor nodded. “What do you say, guys. Want to take it outside?” he asked Meathead and Billy.
But Meathead was already leaping towards Crash over the table, hands outstretched like he wanted to wrap them around Crash’s neck. Quickly getting to his feet, Crash dodged the man’s attack easily. Bottles of champagne went flying off the table as Meathead belly-flopped onto it. The legs of the table gave way, collapsing under the man’s weight.
“Look at what you did now,” Crash sighed. “That was really good stuff.”
Luckily, the music was loud enough to cover the crash, and most of the people just kept dancing. Billy tried to lunge at Crash next, but was stopped in his tracks by Connor. It was downright comical, the way the man ran into Connor’s chest. Connor wasn’t at all fazed.
It was like Billy had bumped into a wall.
Towering over Billy, Crash could hear his brother snarl as he pushed the man backwards, hard enough for Billy to go sprawling on the floor.
“I told you to leave,” Connor growled. “You should have listened.”
Meathead had managed to get back upright, now holding what was left of one of the bottles and aiming the jagged edge at Crash. More than done with trying to reason with the man, Crash let his animal side float closer to the surface, the bear within him roaring under his skin.
“You’re even dumber than you look,” Crash remarked, brushing drops of champagne and beer off his white shirt. “And that’s saying something.”
The comment only fueled Meathead’s rage, as he ran towards Crash again, brandishing the broken bottle in his hand. Jerking his spine back, Crash avoided the glass when the man swiped at him.
Stepping backwards onto the couch behind him, Crash used his higher ground to jump down onto the man, bringing his elbow down on his back. Meathead hit the ground with a groan and a loud thud. Pressing his foot against the back of his neck, Crash applied just enough pressure to dissuade the guy from getting back up and trying anything again.
Billy’s eyes grew wide as he looked from Connor to Crash, to finally his friend on the ground. Meathead’s face was pressed into the dirty, champagne-soaked carpet beneath their feet as he weakly protested, asking to be let up.
“I don’t want any more trouble,” Billy said, backing away and almost tripping when he got to the stairs.
The two security guards walking up the steps caught his fall, though.
“What’s going on here?” the taller, dark-haired one asked.
“Just a small disagreement,” Connor smiled, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a wad of cash. “All settled now,” he added, holding the money in between his fingers for the security guys to see.
“I see,” the guard replied gruffly, snatching the money from Connor’s hand.
Crash took his foot off Meathead’s neck and the man scrambled to his feet.
“Get out of here before I change my mind and snap your spine in two,” Crash quietly warned him.
Meathead didn’t need to be told that twice as he quickly left, brushing past the security guards and almost stumbling to the floor when he tried to run down the small steps that led out of the VIP section. Billy followed, shooting glances at Crash and Connor over his shoulder, like he was scared the brothers would follow.
A waitress chose that moment to approach the table, carrying a tray of shots Crash had ordered earlier. Her eyes fixed on
the mess of glass and splintered wood on the ground, as she skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Crash said cheerfully, taking the tray from her. “Oh, and we’re going to need a new table,” he added, winking at the woman. “Someone displaced our champagne and we can’t celebrate without the stuff.”
One
Lily
“Have fun in divorce court,” Lily murmured to herself, her camera’s shutter clicking.
The man she was photographing was named Dirk Williams, and the woman on his arm was definitely not his wife. Lily would know, she had met Julie Williams just a few days ago. Julie was suspicious of Dirk and his new secretary, with her husband staying to work late all of the sudden and putting a password on his phone.
Julie was one smart cookie.
As much of a cliché running around with your secretary was, Dirk didn’t seem the least bit ashamed or cautious as he lead the woman into a no-tell motel.
Could have at least sprung for something a little nicer, Lily thought, pursing her lips.
This wasn’t the kind of gig she was used to. Not anymore, at least. When she was just starting out as a private investigator, she had pretty much accepted any job that came her way. Now that she had built up a reputation for herself, she could afford to choose her projects.
But Julie Williams was a friend of a friend, and that made this an exception. Lily could go back to catching thieving employees and protecting trade secrets as soon as this was over, and it looked like she already had more than enough evidence to confirm Julie’s suspicions.
Why is it always the dudes that stray? she wondered idly, feeling her leg cramp up as she tried to get the best shots from the backseat of her red Mini Cooper. I never get any juicy pictures of soccer moms ushering their hot pool boys into sleazy motels. Which probably speaks to the weakness of the husbands’ character more than anything else.
Never had a man come knocking at her door, asking her to track down his cheating girlfriend or wife. Having run around the PI circles for a while now, she had never heard a story like that from any of her friends, either.
