The Heart (Ice Dragons Hockey Book 2)

by RJ Scott

“I think Stanford is a good choice,” Iris said, “All that sunshine. Your dad would agree, I’m sure.”

  And then it was Jo’s turn, and she didn’t know what to say, until abruptly she did.

  “So I met this man, Dad. He’s taller than me, but when I wear heels we’re the same height.” She glanced at her mom, who looked at her with surprise on her face. “He has this blond hair that’s kind of too long—it falls all around his face, and he keeps pushing it back. I kind of want to sit him in a chair and cut his hair, but I think it’s his trademark. I looked him up on the internet, and they call it his flow. He has good flow, or so they say. He has blue eyes, really blue, you’d think he was Scandinavian or something, but he’s from Canada. Whistler, actually, but his father was from Quebec. I don’t know about his mom.” She stopped. Was that enough?

  “You looked him up?” Mom said. “Is he famous?”

  “He’s a professional hockey player; plays for the Dragons in Burlington.”

  Iris nodded but didn’t seem to be judging.

  “I don’t even watch hockey,” Jo said. “But flow is a hockey thing, or so Wikipedia tells me.”

  “Where did you meet him?” Mom asked the question super carefully.

  “A party. No, wait, I met him before that, but he tried to kiss me and I accidentally kneed him in the groin. He sent me gifts to apologize for the kiss—a beautiful journal for my studying, and a pen. I really think I could like him a lot,” she admitted.

  “What’s his name?” Mom asked, and Jo ducked her head. Admitting that to her and Dad was like putting a seal of approval on it or something.

  “Alexandre Simard. I call him Alex. His teammates call him Simba, because of his last name and his blond hair, at least I think it’s the hair. They all have nicknames on the team, you know.” She realized she was rambling, and stopped.

  “You should bring him to dinner once before we leave the house,” Iris murmured. “So he can see where you grew up.”

  Jo linked arms with Mom, Rose on the other side. “That would be nice.”

  Chapter 12

  Alex paced.

  From front door to kitchen to check coffee, and to the lounge to make sure everything was perfect. He’d only just managed to get back from the longwinded meeting in which he’d defended his right to have a say in the team, and yes, he was still simmering gently with the dregs of anger.

  “We’ll take your input under advisement, but you have to look at the bigger picture,” was what Coach had said, even though he’d winced as he said it. He knew damn well that without unity in the team, which was from the captain down, the Dragons were going to be scrabbling for points come March.

  “Take it under advisement? Assholes,” Alex muttered as he turned sharply in front of the huge glass windows looking out over his covered pool. Something caught his eye; a cat prowling along the wall, stopping right where Alex could see it, and stretching. It wasn’t the first time that particular cat had spent time in his garden, and given how many acres he was sitting on, it would have to have made it quite some way to get there. The cat turned, wrapping a tail under it—him, her, whatever—and stared in at him. At least seeing the furry visitor meant that he’d momentarily forgotten the meeting.

  The praise that Gooly and Vaz were working so well together, the fact that Rafferty and Ryan hadn’t killed each other. These things made the management team, and Coach, preen like everything was working to plan.

  Only Gooly wasn’t going to be there after New Year. He would ask to be traded, and if they didn’t trade him, what would Gooly do? He was playing his heart out, but what if he let everything slide because of his temper which, once started, was hard to stop?

  The gate alarm sounded, and he crossed to the small monitor, selecting “gate open” and watching the tail lights of Jo’s car vanish into the next monitor covering the drive. He hadn’t actually put most of the security in; the last owner, someone big in cybercrime, had added cameras for every viable angle. From there he could see Jo’s car stop on the wide semi-circle outside, and he watched her step out and stare up at the house.

  What did she see? The place was huge, way too big for him alone, and it sprawled like a maze to the left and right of an impressive entrance atrium. Would she see money? Success? Ostentatious greed? Not for the first time, he worried over the purchase. A gust of icy wind must have caught her; she shivered into her jacket and took the steps, and he realized he hadn’t moved and was just staring at her image on a screen.

  He rushed to open the door just as she reached the top of the steps, and for a second they were frozen looking at each other. Was she feeling as nervous as he was, or were his nerves more to do with losing his temper that morning when that wasn’t something he did most of the time? Another gust of icy wind, carrying snow, swirled up around them, and the chill of it reminded him they were standing like statues.

  “Hey,” he said, “come in.”

  “Is it okay to come in?” she asked in all seriousness. “Won’t the other ten families need to okay it?”

  He blinked at her. “Sorry?”

  “This place has to be big enough for more than one,” she explained, then wrinkled her nose. “I was making a joke,” she explained.

  He held out a hand, and she took it, her fingers cold to the touch, and he tugged her in and shut the door all in one motion before pulling her in for a close hug.

  “It was a good joke,” he said into her ear.

  She snuggled in closer, and he held her until she began to feel warmer. He slipped off her coat, and she toed off her boots, and for the first time he saw what she was wearing. A pair of painted-on jeans and an even tighter T-shirt. He pulled her back into his arms and held her again.

  “I could get used to you warming me up whenever I get cold,” she murmured, and burrowed her face into his neck.

  How was it that he’d always been attracted to shorter women when it was clear that Jo was exactly his type? He hummed a response, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then to her forehead.

  “You ever get cold, you know where I am,” he said.

  “On an ice rink,” she teased.

  He loved that about her—she made him smile, she made him feel lighter, and the last vestiges of anger drained away.

  “You want to come in?”

  “I am in,” she said, and gripped his shirt even harder so that it pulled against his back. He copied the action, only his hands went straight to her ass, holding her firm and pressed close to him. He was hard. Hell, he’d been hard the moment he’d seen her car at the gate, the promise of sex and losing himself in her sweet body too much for his overactive libido to ignore.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “You are. You want some coffee?”

  “Is that a euphemism for sex?”

  “No.”

  “How long will it take to drink the coffee?”

  “Ten minutes?”

  “That only leaves us two hours fifty minutes for long, drawn-out fucking.” She shifted a little, the center of her right there, right where he was hard and ready. The way she said that word, drawing it out, making it sound crude and nasty, hit every single one of his buttons.

  “You want to use a bed, or you want us to do this right here in the hallway?”

  “You have condoms here?”

  He groaned. In his head he’d thought there would be coffee, and talking, and the long, slow slide into making love—he hadn’t thought to drop supplies right at the front door. But god, he wished he had, because right here, right now, he could go all the way and not even think about the fact that it was a tiled floor. Decision made, he scooped her up, hearing her soft huff of surprise. She wriggled a little but soon gave up, relaxing into his hold and raining kisses on his throat, wrapping her free hand around his neck.

  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she warned as he bumped into the wall going up the stairs.

  “You weigh nothing,” he said.

  “Your coach will kill me.”

  “Not if he d
oesn’t find out.”

  He set her on her feet inside his bedroom door, wanting at least to give her the chance to make her own decision on what to do next. If this wasn’t what she wanted, then he would back off right now.

  “Clothes off,” Jo demanded, and crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her slim-fit tee off in one go and unfastening her bra, letting it all drop to the floor. “I want your mouth on me,” she added, supporting the weight of her breasts with her hands and almost…fuck…offering him her nipples. He couldn’t say no if he tried, pushing her back against the wall until there was nowhere else to go and bending his head to suckle first one, then the other nipple, his fingers pinching and her hands moving to bury fingers into his hair.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, and sucked a little harder, drinking in the volume of her moan and the way she bent in to him. She wanted the sharp edge, and abruptly he wanted his hands on her. Still sucking, he flicked open her jeans and shoved them down enough that he could press his fingers against the heat of her folds through the silk of her panties. She was wet, he could feel that, and the heat, and she gripped his hair harder as he just pressed against the material and stretched it over her clit. She whimpered, and he pressed harder, loving how she ground down on his fingers and the silky underwear. He could take her there, hold her and take her, but he had so many plans he didn’t know what to do first. He rubbed softly, pressing and releasing, and all the time he sucked soft then hard on her nipples, sharing equal time between them, as much as he could when he was losing control.

  She bucked against his fingers, her breathing heavy, and he slid one finger past the silk and inside her, crooking it, adding another, and she whimpered through her orgasm until the only thing holding her up was him.

  He was the strongest man in the world.

  “I could do better in bed,” he murmured, and scooped her up again, loving how she nuzzled into his neck.

  “Too many clothes,” she murmured, and pulled on his jersey. He laid her carefully on the covers and stepped back to strip off his jersey and jeans, before easing her jeans and panties off her long legs. For a second he stared at her, at the way she stretched the length of the bed, lifting her hands above her head and looking right back at him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. In answer, he pushed down his underwear and held his cock as he wriggled out of them until, finally naked, he clambered onto the bed. He wanted so badly to be inside her, but he needed to slow them down.

  Which was when she closed her fingers around him and let out a satisfied purr, or at least that was what it sounded like to him. He crawled up the bed and caged her, kissing her deeply, enjoying her nails scratching his head, and half resting his weight on her.

  “More,” she said between kisses, and reached for the bedside cabinet. He beat her to it, pulling out condoms, and cursing when he realized the box was new and he needed to get the damn thing open. She laughed at him, took the box, and in a smooth move had a condom in her hand.

  “I thought you were good with your hands,” she said, and he kissed the smile right off her face as she fumbled to get closer to his cock. He couldn’t handle it, and he sat back on his haunches so he could get the condom on himself; the idea of her touching him was too much to think about. He’d lose it after a few strokes. Instead, he pictured everything and anything to stave off orgasm, including sweaty jockstraps and that time Loki was sick in Alex’s Ferrari.

  Finally under control—well, barely under control—he settled in between her legs, and she tilted her hips. They were silent, kissing, the rhythm slow, and then he was pressing against her folds, and pushing inside, and they stopped with him balls-deep and her arching up into his arms. It wasn’t a hurried coupling, it wasn’t dirty motel sex, it wasn’t fucking a stranger; the most precious thing in his heart was there in his arms, and he wanted it to last forever.

  “You need to move,” she demanded, although her voice was broken and she worried her lip with her teeth.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said against her warm skin, kissing a freckle on one strong shoulder. “Pretty.”

  “More, please…”

  “Touch yourself. I want to see you get yourself off while I’m inside you.”

  He reared back and pushed inside, one long move, before pulling almost all the way out. She trailed her fingers down her chest, paused at each nipple, rolling and pulling, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t watch, the orgasm building in him; he was so close. And then he felt her fingers on his cock, circling him briefly, and then she moaned, and he knew she was touching herself.

  And he couldn’t help but look.

  Just one look was all he needed, seeing her face as she was coming, and he fucked up into her, once, twice, and it was game over.

  “Jo,” he groaned into a kiss, and swallowed her soft curse.

  Only when they were lying in each other’s arms, counting down the minutes until he had to leave for the plane, did he realize one thing. For the first time ever in his life, hockey wasn’t his first thought.

  “I can’t believe how fast three hours go,” he murmured against heated skin, kissing his way up to her mouth and drawing her in for one last kiss.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, and stretched like a cat. He could never get sick of looking at her body, and hated that he was leaving on a road trip.

  As a captain, he saw road trips as a time to bond and work on friendships; they were a necessary evil that every team had to manage. A good captain had a solid team around him who spoke to each other and were friendly, with shared experiences. There was even excitement at playing in the opposing team arenas, the adrenaline when there was booing, winning after a hard-fought battle.

  But today he just wanted to pull the covers over his head and stay exactly where he was, and he guessed that must be why Ryan was so reluctant to go on road trips. He had Kat, and now Alex had Jo.

  I want Jo.

  But he was feeling more than just want. She made him laugh, and fall in lust, and he couldn’t even begin to put that into words.

  She rolled up and off the bed, pulling on her panties and bra before slipping the rest of her clothes on.

  “I don’t like you having to put them away,” he said, and curled up onto his knees on the bed, tugging her close and burying his face in the dip between her breasts and inhaling the scent of her. She cradled his face and guided him up for a kiss.

  “New Year’s Day, okay? Me, you, a bed?”

  When he walked with her to the car, they kissed one last time.

  And it was the hardest thing to let her go.

  Coming off two wins on the road was one thing; knowing he was seeing Jo tomorrow had Alex grinning like an idiot for most of the big New Year party that Gooly had thrown. He did the same thing every year. The Americans had Thanksgiving, Gooly always said, “I have New Year.” The entire team was invited, as were the coaches, and no one should have been surprised when Vasiliev showed up with Ryan. Not that he’d come with Ryan, just that Ryan had dropped Kat back on duty and arrived back, meeting Vaz on the doorstep.

  “I let him in,” Ryan had half-whispered, leaning in so only Alex could hear. Vasiliev had just been standing there under the porch, looking frozen near to death.

  He was still standing now, only this time he was just inside the door.

  Alex went from grinning and happy to knowing the shit was going to hit the fan. Vaz had been included in the blanket invite posted to the board back in the players’ lounge area right under the massive TV screen. No one was ever excluded—team was team, no exceptions—but Jesus, no one had actually expected him to turn up.

  I am a shitty captain. I didn’t want him here; this is fucking ridiculous.

  He stepped forward, ready to encourage him into the group, but the crosscheck into the wall he received was enough to tell him that Gooly knew damn well Vaz was in the house.

  Gooly had lost any semblance of control. At first it was shouting, a torrent of Russian, and then it moved on to shovi
ng. Alex stepped forward, but Ryan held his arm, and Loki had his other side.

  “You need to let them do this,” Loki said.

  “It worked for me and Rafferty,” Ryan added.

  “No.” Alex pulled himself free. They didn’t know what he did. “This is different. Gooly will kill him.”

  Which was when Gooly wound up a punch, and Vaz just stood there, not cowering, not moving. Not even raising his fists to defend himself. The only thing he did was close his eyes as Gooly’s massive fist connected with his cheekbone. One punch was all it took, and Vaz slid down the door to the floor, dazed.

  Fuck, their center was giving his winger a concussion. How the hell was Alex going to explain that to management?

  “What the hell is going on here?” Coach shouted in his ear. He tried to shove past Alex, but something inside Alex, some instinct that he knew Gooly better than anyone, had him pushing Coach back.

  “Go back to the party,” Alex said, firmly, respectfully, or at least as politely as he could after he’d just shoved Coach out of the way. “I’m dealing with this.”

  “Alex—”

  “You’ll let me deal with this.”

  He stared Coach down, and after a few moments, Coach muttered a curse and left, and Alex looked meaningfully at the others who had gathered. Loki and Ryan formed a barrier between what was happening and the rest of the party, which left Alex alone with Gooly and Vaz. In that short time, things had changed; the atmosphere of the fight had gone from a violent punch to hissed words and the occasional shout. Seemed like Gooly was doing most of the shouting. And Vaz? He just sat there, back against the door, and nodded every so often.

  Alex placed a hand on Gooly’s shoulder, “Nikita?” he asked softly. Gooly shrugged him off, and Alex stepped back just far enough that he could get between the two men if he needed to. Gooly stood quietly, looking down at Vaz, then he did something Alex didn’t expect; he offered a hand to Vaz, helping him to stand. Alex expected them to bro-hug, or talk, or even look at each other. None of which happened. Gooly released Vaz’s hand and went straight through the party like a knife through butter, not caring who he knocked out of the way, disappearing up the wide stairs.