by Anna Sugden
“I’m her sister. I’m helping her out until she’s back on her feet.”
“We heard about her busted appendix.” He sounded concerned. “Is she doing okay?”
“Yes, thank you. She’s recovering nicely, but frustrated she’s not healing faster.”
“I bet,” he muttered.
“Do you know her well?” She was curious about his reaction.
“She helped me find my town house last summer.”
From his tone, there was more to that story than the single, bald sentence, but she didn’t have time to explore it, as Tru motioned her toward the open bedroom door.
“Since you’re here on business, you should go on in.”
When Maggie hesitated, he urged her on. “You’re not interrupting anything important. Besides, the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can join us for a drink.”
Swallowing her apprehension over what she’d see within, she gripped her briefcase tightly and stepped into the doorway.
In the large sitting area of the suite, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a group of women fluttered around a tall, dark-haired man like a flock of brightly colored exotic birds. That must be Jake Badoletti.
Her mouth went dry.
None of the photos in Tracy’s file had done him justice. She’d known he was good-looking, but that didn’t begin to describe the man in person.
Heaven help her, he was gorgeous!
Square jawed and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and a crooked grin. He was clearly a warrior of the ice, but his broken nose and scars somehow added to his appeal and made him more intriguing. Unlike the hulking bodies of the thick necks, Jake had the firm, solid lines of an athlete in peak condition. Lean, corded muscle shaped the snug-fitting black shirt and faded jeans. Exciting and enticing, he brimmed with charm and hints of danger.
No wonder he had that reputation—any woman would have a hard time resisting the pull of this particular bad boy. Once upon a time, she’d have been in that crowd, fighting for his attention. Not anymore. Never again.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little relieved that she probably wouldn’t see him again.
He’d be Tracy’s problem, assuming Maggie did what she had to do in this meeting. Pushing aside a last-minute nervous quiver, she donned her polite but reserved media smile and entered the lion’s den.
* * *
“WHAT CAN I get you, Bad Boy?”
A skinny blonde in a figure-hugging yellow microdress and spiked heels offered a champagne flute and a shot glass, but the message in her baby blue eyes said, “Choose me.”
Jake held up the beer bottle he’d been nursing for the past hour and forced a smile of regret he didn’t feel. “I’m good, thanks.”
Her full lips pursed in a disappointed pout that six months ago he would have been tempted to kiss away. Now he couldn’t dredge up any interest. He was relieved when she and several of her friends flounced off.
The high-pitched chatter of the women who remained reverberated in his head, making his temples throb. The sickly mix of their perfumes made him yearn for fresh air. He had to get out of here. If it wasn’t for the paparazzi camped outside the building, Jake would have gone for a walk. He would take the heat and humidity of the city in August if it meant he got some respite.
This party had been a mistake. He should have been in his element. Instead, he felt dissatisfied. Empty, with a lingering sense his life was incomplete.
He wouldn’t even be hosting this shindig if Tru hadn’t insisted. His childhood friend had said that the best way to celebrate the transfer from Chicago was to invite Jake’s new teammates to one of his famous star-studded bashes. Though he hadn’t felt like partying since the accident, Jake had given in. Which was why his apartment was filled with the cream of Manhattan’s glitterati mingling with stars from the other pro sports teams in New York.
Jake wished he was somewhere, anywhere, else.
He bit back a sigh. His move home was supposed to be a fresh start. God only knew why he’d been lucky enough to survive that crash, but Jake had promised Adam, at his friend’s graveside, that he’d make the most of the second chance he’d been given. He’d change his life. Show the world, and himself, that he was more than his reputation. More than his nickname.
He knew nothing would bring Adam back. Nor erase the guilt that lay heavy and hard, like a frozen puck, in his heart. But he’d sworn to honor his friend by fulfilling the dream they’d both had since peewee hockey. The dream that had died for Adam on that back road in Chicago. Jake would win the Stanley Cup and raise it above his head in his friend’s memory.
It wouldn’t be easy. Hell, it would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d come close before—even made it to the final, before losing in six games to the Penguins. But this time he had to go all the way. Coming second was not an option.
A husky voice interrupted his thoughts. “Come and dance with me, Bad Boy.” The invitation came from a brunette dressed in scarlet with lips painted to match. “They’re playing our song in the living room.”
He shook his head, softening his rejection with a smile. “You go ahead. I’ll catch you up shortly.”
She shrugged and waggled her fingers in farewell before leaving with a few friends.
If only the rest would follow her.
Jake swigged his beer, grimacing at the flat, warm brew. Once this party was over, his fresh start could begin. He would have one goal, one focus. No more high-octane living, nothing that could be a distraction. No women, either. Dating was off the cards until next June. He’d find somewhere else to live, too. This Trump Place apartment was pure Bad Boy. The old him, not who he needed to be now.
That reminded him—he was meeting someone from Making Your Move this evening. He was glad he’d deliberately scheduled the follow-up during the party; he had an excuse to duck out of the fun.
A movement by the door caught his attention. He glanced over, wondering idly whether the newcomer was a celebrity, a socialite or a puck bunny, and mentally braced himself to switch on the charm.
His attention caught and held.
The woman standing there clearly wasn’t a party guest. She wore little makeup and her dark brown hair was scraped back. A few curls had escaped to softly frame her face. Her neatly tailored brown outfit draped nicely over her curves, but there wasn’t an inch of skin visible from midcalf to neck. Even her toes were covered.
Instead of turning him off, she had him wondering if those shapely calves meant her legs were gorgeous all the way up. Did she paint her toenails fire-engine red or shell pink? How much smooth, creamy skin would be revealed if he undid one of those large jacket buttons?
Unexpected heat flashed through Jake.
This was crazy. He was surrounded by the most beautiful women in New York, yet his body chose to spring to attention at Miss Prim and Proper?
Pull yourself together, Badoletti. He shook his head to clear it.
“Is something wrong, Bad Boy?” A model in a hot-pink crop top, which emphasized both her tan and her jutting shoulder and pelvic bones, touched his arm.
Fighting the urge to brush off her hand, he shook his head again. “Excuse me. There’s someone I need to see.”
She followed his gaze. “Sure,” she said, flicking a dismissive glance at the woman in brown before sauntering away with a deliberate swing to her hips.
As Jake walked across the room, Tru appeared beside the intriguing newcomer.
“Hey, bro, this is Tracy’s sister, Maggie.” Curiosity gleamed in his green eyes. “Apparently, you have a meeting.”
“We do.” Jake grinned. “Thanks for coming, Maggie. Hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all.” She shook his hand.
Her accent made her sound cool and polite. Yet the instant their fin
gers touched, tiny sparks of heat danced across his skin. Desire speared through him, even as she pulled her hand away.
“Don’t keep her working too long. This is a party.” Tru laid his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Hope to see you again very soon.”
“Thank you for your help.”
Her soft smile at his friend as he left caused Jake’s stomach to tighten.
“Let’s find somewhere quieter to talk,” he suggested, motioning for her to precede him out of the master suite.
“All right.”
Maggie’s expression was stony as they walked down the hall, past several laughing, tipsy couples, toward the spare room he’d commandeered as an office. He was surprised by her stiff attitude until he noticed the wariness in her chocolate-brown eyes.
Realization dawned. She thought he wanted to turn their meeting into a private party.
Disappointment twinged. It was his own damn fault. He’d spent too long living up to his image and courting publicity, relishing every column inch and glossy photo.
That would all change after today. And she was here to help.
Jake reached past her to fling open the door. She flinched when it banged against the wall. Jeez, the woman was uptight.
“I’m sorry for the mess.” He gathered up folders from the marble-topped coffee table and tossed them into a box. “There’s so much paperwork associated with a transfer.”
Maggie scanned the room, then joined him. A hint of her light, fresh fragrance teased his nose as she handed him some files.
“I’ve seen worse. Besides, the boxes help distract you from the—” she waved a hand to indicate the purple-and-gold-flocked wallpaper, the matching curtains and gold-leaf-encrusted furniture “—unusual decorating style.” Her lips twitched.
So Miss Buttoned-Up had a sense of humor.
“Yeah, it’s kinda over-the-top.” He grinned, feeling a kick of pleasure at her answering half smile. “The owner’s a young basketball phenom who’s moving to Miami. He didn’t want to give up his apartment and it suited me to rent from him.”
Maggie pulled a folder and pen from her briefcase. “We should get started. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”
He didn’t bother to correct her assumption that he wanted to return to the party.
“Grab a seat.” He shifted some boxes from a pair of purple-and-gold silk-covered armchairs.
As she sat, Maggie’s hem hitched higher, momentarily displaying more smooth leg. She quickly straightened her skirt so it covered her knees once more.
The tantalizing glimpse sent a spike of heat through Jake. He brushed it off, annoyed. He wasn’t some long-haired dude in those romance novels his mom read, who got turned on by a nice ankle. Then why did his body tighten uncomfortably as he watched her undo those big buttons on her jacket to reveal a demure neckline? He’d been right about the creamy skin.
Focus.
Maggie put on black-framed glasses. They should have made her look worse, but they actually made her look cute. He imagined her removing them and letting down her hair like in those old movies.
Concentrate, damn it.
She turned her earnest gaze on him. “Is there anything you need me to do for you?”
Her businesslike tone should have doused the crazy feelings. But his traitorous body found another meaning to the innocent question, responding in a way that would have shocked her down to her covered toes.
Jake looked up at the mirrored ceiling with its etched gold crown motif, and tried to calm the heat raging in his groin with thoughts of ice. A great big sheet of ice.
What the hell is wrong with you? Nervous, mousy brunettes weren’t his type, even with a sexy accent—he preferred cool, confident blondes. Plus less than ten minutes ago he’d reaffirmed his decision to cut women from his life until he’d won the Cup. His focus had to be on hockey. No distractions. No exceptions.
His body obviously hadn’t got the memo.
“I want to move,” he blurted, desperate to focus on the meeting.
She frowned, surprise evident in her voice. “You just said this suited you.”
“I thought it did, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“I see.” The surprise turned to concern. “May I ask what’s wrong? Is it the location?”
Jake nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Manhattan. But it’s a long, grueling season—eighty-two games from October to April, half on the road, then a play-off run that will hopefully last through June. It’d be better if I lived closer to the arena and the airport.”
“Won’t you miss everything the city has to offer?”
How did he explain that that was the point? Staying here would be a mistake. Too much temptation, too easy to get sucked back into his old lifestyle, to be distracted. When he’d rented this place, he’d been sure he could handle it. But tonight was proving otherwise. “I’ll still be able to get into the city if I need to.”
“Fair enough.” Maggie pulled some papers out of her folder. “We should complete this questionnaire. It’ll help me figure out the kind of place you’re after.”
“Okay.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “Go for it.”
Maggie tensed and scooted way back in her seat.
What the hell? Stunned, he froze.
It took a moment to register that she was uncomfortable with him sitting that close. Carefully, he shifted and eased away. She relaxed visibly, making him wonder why she was so skittish around him.
“So,” she said briskly. “You want to be in New Jersey. Do you have an area in mind?”
“Somewhere near where my parents live.”
Her brown eyes widened. “You want to go home?”
Her question struck a chord. Was that what he wanted?
Six months ago, he would have laughed at the idea of living in the quiet, leafy-green suburbs alongside the workaholic commuters and the soccer moms. Now it seemed like the perfect solution. He could buy a house with a yard. Have room to breathe, the time and space he needed to cope with the stress of the season. Somewhere to chill or hang out with Tru and Ike. A place to be himself—whatever the hell that meant.
Best of all, there would be no distractions in Jersey.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I want to go home.”
CHAPTER TWO
“ANOTHER WEEK of bed rest!”
As her sister slumped against her pillows, Maggie bit her lip to hold back a smile.
“But you’re home, Auntie Tracy, and we’ll look after you.” Emily danced around the room with the boundless energy of a seven-year-old. “We’re much nicer than Nurse Attila.”
“That’s true.” Tracy crossed her arms. “I expect the best service in this establishment. You’ll have to wait on me hand and foot.”
“Will you give me big tips?” Emily widened her eyes innocently. “You said that’s how you get the best service.”
Maggie swallowed a laugh.
Her sister groaned. “I thought a niece did those things for her favorite aunt out of the goodness of her heart.”
“Does that mean for free?”
“I don’t know where you get that precocious streak from,” Tracy grumbled.
“Don’t you?” Maggie arched an eyebrow.
The doorbell rang with a familiar double peal.
“That’s Amy. Can I go and play with her?” Emily skipped from foot to foot.
“What happened to looking after me?” Tracy whined theatrically.
“Mummy can do that. Besides, Amy’s mum is making brownies. With pecans and everything.” Emily turned to Maggie. “Please.”
“You may, but...” Her voice trailed off as her daughter thundered downstairs. “Make sure you’re back at noon,” she called out.
“Thanks, Mummy. You’re the best.” The front door opened, then slammed shut.
“Tossed over for brownies,” Tracy groused.
“Not just any brownies. They have pecans and everything.” Maggie tucked the quilt more closely around her sister. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”
Despite her banter with Emily, Tracy was pale, with dark circles under her eyes and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. The journey from the hospital hadn’t been easy, with every bump taking its toll. “I’ll have plenty of time to rest, thanks to that doctor.”
“At least he agreed you could come home.”
“Only if I promised not to work for a week. I bet that’s Nurse Attila’s proviso.”
“She wants you to heal properly,” Maggie said.
“She doesn’t want me landing back in her ward anytime soon.”
“And you, such a model patient.” Maggie gathered some magazines and placed them nearby. “Time for more painkillers. Are you hungry? I could make you a snack.”
“I’m fine.” Tracy waved her hand impatiently. “Grab a chair and tell me what happened at the party.”
Maggie hesitated. She’d spent most of last night tossing and turning, her body strangely hot and prickly. Though she’d wanted to blame the heat, she knew full well what, or rather who, had caused her inability to relax and sleep.
Jake Badoletti.
The unwanted attraction that had flared during the meeting had remained with her long into the night. She’d berated herself for being susceptible to his roguish smile and easy charm. After everything she’d been through, she should have been immune to the tall, dark and dangerous sports star. His touch shouldn’t have made awareness tingle through her. His deep, rich voice shouldn’t have made her pulse skip as if each word was a seductive caress.
Why? She hadn’t reacted to a man in ages. She didn’t want to react to a man like Jake ever again.
Though he hadn’t acted like she’d expected—no superstar superiority complex, no outrageous demands or sleazy flirting—Maggie had learned the hard way not to be fooled by a handsome facade. To know a devil-may-care smile could hide darkness. She ran her finger over her cheek, the small scar a visible reminder of her last mistake.
