by Jill Shalvis
Outside the office, a couple of the team higher-ups walked by and Axel gave them a wave. The documentary series had brought in all the big brass, who were excited at the idea of more ticket sales in their future.
“What do you mean?” Jen frowned, and for the first time since he’d seen her today, she didn’t look quite so tense.
“I mean she has a hell of a story, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I, on the other hand, don’t have a story. Something I’ve already made damn clear to you.”
“Right.” She chewed on her lip, an auburn wave snaking forward to land against her cheek as she looked down. “The trouble is, I don’t have a romantic story line. I have a team full of hot athletes, and every one of you is either married, in a committed relationship or too married to the game to think about women.”
Ha. Did she really believe that he wasn’t thinking about her right now? He’d be lucky to have his head in the game by tomorrow with memories of touching her playing over and over in his brain. Even now, he wanted to get closer to see if he could catch that scent of hers that drove him crazy.
“So follow around one of the guys with a girlfriend. Done deal.” Why couldn’t she film Kyle and Marissa, the matchmaker his brother had fallen for who now occupied all his free time?
“And do I chronicle a happy relationship with no conflict that will put viewers to sleep? Or a relationship on the rocks—and there’s no lack of those, according to preliminary research—and really piss off one of your teammates by showcasing his marital problems to the world?”
“Point taken.” More than one guy was going through a messy divorce. Some guys’ marriages broke up because their wives messed around while the team was out of town.
Then there were the guys who did the messing around themselves. Ax tried to stay out of stuff like that, but he’d seen enough in his short time with the Phantoms to know there were a few team Casanovas.
“So you see my dilemma.” Idly, she ran a fingertip up a stack of paperwork piled on one corner of the desk. Behind her, an open laptop flashed her production company’s logo for a screen saver.
“I wonder where you got all your research.” He was surprised at the twinge of jealousy that spiked for whoever had gotten to fill her in on the team dynamics last night. “I thought I was the go-to guy for the inside information.”
“A good journalist never reveals her sources.” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
“Was he as entertaining as me?”
She studied her nails—filed short but painted with blue and purple stripes.
“Let’s just say the anonymous party didn’t try to scare me off with the scent of sweat and too much testosterone.”
“In other words, you missed me.” His testosterone levels seemed to stir when drawn into conversation. He might have taken a step closer to her, too, because he caught a hint of her perfume.
“I was still stinging from your rejection, so you can hardly hold it against me if I was driven into someone else’s arms.” Glancing up from her nails, she gave him a grin that managed to be wicked and innocent at the same time.
And even knowing that she was messing with him didn’t stop a surge of possessiveness he had no business feeling.
“Then I hope you’re prepared to start naming names before I have to take out my teammates one by one.”
“Hmm. I’d hate for you to sacrifice your season to a jealous streak when I got the inside scoop from the head coach’s wife.”
The ridiculous wave of relief he experienced was a very bad sign. Knowing that she flirted with him only made it tougher to hold back. This time, she was the one sidling closer.
Good thing they’d left the office door open, right? Too bad the hallway outside had been quiet for a while. All the action was down in the players’ area where preparations were being made to transport all the team’s gear for the road trip.
“Nico Cesare’s wife was your source?” He couldn’t resist tracing the cinnamon wave along her cheek, liking the way her eyelashes fluttered a little at his touch. “I’d be curious to know how exactly you ended up in her arms.”
“It wasn’t easy, but after some girl talk and margaritas at a local bar, I gave her a hug as a thank-you for the lowdown on the team.”
Axel cupped her chin. Tilted her face up. He really needed to kiss away that knowing smile. Remind her that he wasn’t the only one whose senses were keyed up and ready to fire into hyperdrive.
Except he couldn’t do that.
“Yesterday wasn’t a rejection,” he said instead, his voice gravelly and harsh, revealing too damn much.
Her nod was the smallest of movements, but he felt it in his hand.
“I know,” she whispered, her fingertips landing softly on the back of his hand, as if to hold him there.
With all the time in the world to back off, Axel stared, transfixed, at her soft pink mouth. She would taste perfect. Feel perfect.
And soon, that was all he could think about. How damn good she’d feel. How impossible it would be to keep away.
When their lips met, he gave in to the inevitable, knowing that fighting this would be an uphill battle. He had to give some ground or he’d lose his mind. He wanted Jen too badly.
The slide of her lips over his, the gentle press of her breasts against his chest, created a roar in his ears. A demand in his blood.
He reached for the door, needing to shut out the world for just a minute. Not finding it with a blind swipe, he cocked open one eye enough to orient himself. But as his hand wrapped around the knob to swing the barrier closed, he found a whole lot more than a frosted glass office door.
A handheld-camera operator stood in the hall, the red Record light blinking while the lens trained on them.
5
CAUGHT ON TAPE!
It sounded like a tabloid headline, but it was Jennifer’s life thanks to the traitorous cameraman who’d turned the lens on her. Now, skin still tingling from Axel’s touch, Jennifer was back in the conference room on-site at the practice rink. After what had happened, she had no choice but to dial in for a teleconference with her boss, hoping like hell she couldn’t get fired for a lip-lock with a guy who was supposed to be her film subject.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she told Axel, who’d gone stone-cold silent ever since the incident.
Great. He was cool as ice while she’d seethed like molten lava ever since their kiss.
The only emotion she’d seen from Axel was when he’d ripped the camera out of Steven’s hands, of course. Unfortunately, the problem couldn’t be solved by tearing film out of the back of the camera since the digital model streamed a live feed accessible to anyone on the crew. The footage all went directly to a live link.
“I never guessed your crew would film you.” Axel paced around the long conference table where she had set up her laptop and notes. He couldn’t seem to sit, though, his body language restless and tense at the same time.
At least he was still speaking to her, right?
“I never thought they would, either. But to be honest, I haven’t worked with this particular crew before.” She hit the redial button on her laptop when her boss didn’t pick up.
Axel stopped pacing.
“Don’t tell me this is your first time directing.” He pinned her with his gaze, the air between them still crackling with awareness.
“Of course not.” She adjusted the angle of her screen and her elbow hit a stack of tentative storyboard ideas. The papers spilled onto the floor in a messy sprawl. So much for trying to stifle her attraction to him. “I just usually tackle social rights subjects, things that demand an artistic approach with a photo crew that specializes in that kind of cinematography. This time, I was assigned a different crew to capture more commercial hooks.”
She’d been on this job for two days and she already hated both words—commercial and hook. Oh, and of course she was utterly distracted by the hot hockey player prowling around the conference room.
On the screen, Colin Bennett’s face filled the dialogue window, his tie crooked and his shirtsleeves already rolled past his elbows as he hunched over a table in the editing room back at Bennett Film Works. She could identify the room by all the screens filling the space behind his head.
Screens that contained still shots of her kissing Axel.
Oh, crap.
“Colin, I can explain,” she blurted, wishing she had more business savvy to go with her artistic eye.
“Good work requires no explanation,” her boss returned, tugging off the glasses he only wore when editing film or watching dailies. “This is exactly the kind of angle we need to give the piece more human dimension. But I want a signed waiver from you ASAP, granting permission to use the footage.”
She bristled while across the room and out of view of the laptop, Axel froze.
“I’m not granting permission.” Thank goodness she had this way out. “I have not signed a waiver and I do not grant permission. Colin, I am filming the team, not joining the cast.”
“Get real, Jen.” Colin frowned at her from his techno-palace in New York. “If you didn’t want to join the cast, you shouldn’t have stepped into the story. But you did and the footage is perfect.”
Axel sank into one of the big leather chairs that surrounded the long oval table. He stared at her across the polished oak veneer, his blue eyes cold and remote. Hard to believe they’d been kissing less than an hour ago. Although the proof remained in a wrinkle in his shirt where her hand had fisted the fabric. Her fingers itched to smooth it even now.
“Perfect? It was completely accidental and without my knowledge—”
“Which usually makes for the best unscripted television. You know that.” Her boss of three years, the man who’d given her a chance to make the kinds of films she wanted right after her apprenticeship as his assistant, glared at her. “Jen, I made it clear this project wasn’t going to be another social diatribe that raked in awards and made no money. This is prime time for a mainstream audience and we’re using the footage if you expect to remain on the team.”
She felt her jaw drop. Her stomach knot. She couldn’t lose this job and Colin knew it. Her credentials were showy but not worth much in the filmmaking industry. Who would hire a director who made beautiful documentaries that only found a viewership through the nation’s libraries and a few specialty theaters?
Worse, how would she ever make the film about the dangers of social media in youth culture if she didn’t pull off this project first?
“If I sign the waiver—” she paused as Axel bolted out of his seat and resumed his restless prowl around the conference room “—what is my role on location? Am I still directing?”
“Absolutely.” Perhaps sensing he had her in an impossible position, Colin turned gracious once again, smiling at her as if he hadn’t just threatened her job. “You make the decisions for all the other story lines and you can handle your personal life however you wish. But I reserve the right to keep your story as one of the threads in the final mix, which means you’re as apt to be filmed as anyone else.”
No wonder Colin had handpicked the camera crew to accompany her to Philadelphia. He’d wanted to ensure the commercial angles were covered, giving the film guys carte blanche to record her as she tried to develop the series. But no matter what she thought of her boss’s ruthless tactics, she knew when she’d been beaten.
“Fine,” she agreed. Or at least, she agreed until she saw Axel’s pacing come to an abrupt halt.
Covering the laptop microphone with her hand, she turned the screen away from them both for marginal privacy.
“What else can I do?” she asked the hulking hockey star whose magnetic appeal had gotten her into this mess. “I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“Are you sure?” He pinned her with a cool blue gaze. “This guy seems like a prick to work for.”
Jennifer pressed her hand tighter over the microphone.
“He’s a big-time name in indie film and believe it or not, he usually gives me a wide berth creatively.”
Axel lifted a brow. “Blackmailing you into a cameo appearance in your own documentary doesn’t sound like a wide berth to me.”
“He’s letting me make a project that means a lot to me if I do this series first.”
“More coercion,” he muttered.
“No one else is going to let me develop the other project the way I want and it’s…important to me.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more. Argue the point. But he straightened and rolled his shoulders.
The massive shoulders of a toned athlete. Gulp.
She shook herself free of his allure. Focus, damn it.
“It’s your call, obviously.” His words were clipped but polite. “But I’ve got to warn you that I’ve shot my last scene in this thing. I’ll be on the phone the rest of the day doing damage control. From now on, I’m making sure the only images of me in the final cut feature on-ice action.”
Under her hand, she could hear her boss calling to her through the teleconference screen. She ignored him, hopeful he wouldn’t fire her now that they’d cut a deal.
“No more kissing. I get it,” she whispered in an aside to Axel as she muffled the microphone on her computer.
She didn’t like it, but she agreed restraint was for the best.
“I didn’t say anything about no more kissing,” Axel clarified. The stern look he gave her made her grin ridiculously. “From now on, I’m only touching you behind locked doors.”
“Wicked man.” She really should draw better boundaries. But she was starting to see what he’d meant when he’d said the attraction was like a freight train headed their way.
“I mean it.”
Her temperature rose just thinking about clandestine embraces and stolen touches. How could she possibly continue working with him without acting on the draw between them?
“I know.” Her voice hitched on a breathy note and she had to clear her throat before she turned the laptop back toward her again. “Let me just finish things up with Colin and then we’ll find somewhere to…talk.”
Her cheeks heated just thinking about being alone with Axel. She knew it was only a matter of time before the spark between them flared out of control, and she was on a tight deadline for this piece. The documentary series was supposed to air in episodes that were as close to real time as possible, so she needed to edit the first installment as she went to be ready for the Friday air date.
Maybe she could buy a little time before things with her and Axel came to a head. First she needed to edit some film. Downplay the role of the kiss in the first installment that would be aired by week’s end. Only then would she have to face the truth of her attraction to him. And only in private. They’d been interrupted before she’d gotten a good taste of him, but that was a problem she could rectify once she was certain they wouldn’t be caught on film…again. Whatever happened between them was private and it was bound to burn itself out by the time she wrapped up her documentary series.
“You want to talk?” Axel nodded slowly, his arms folded over his broad chest. “Good. We’ve got a flight to Montreal to catch. We’ll have lots of time for you to tell me all about the film you want to make so badly you’re willing to cut a deal with the devil.”
* * *
IT WAS EASY TO PACK FOR a road trip when you lived out of your car.
Chelsea Durant jogged through the back entrance of the Phantoms’ practice rink into the spring sunshine, ahead of schedule to meet her friends and the camera guy—Bryce someone or other—for the ride up to Montreal. Her beater SUV wasn’t technically her place of residence anymore since she currently rented an apartment downtown. But the SUV had been her first home after living on the streets for three years on her own. And even though she’d been in an apartment for two years since those days of living out of the vehicle’s carg
o compartment, she still kept a bag packed in the back in case she needed to hit the road in a hurry.
Old habits died hard.
Spotting her Ford Escape in the parking lot, she stopped short. There was a man next to the SUV, his features shadowed by a hat and the bright noonday sun. But he was big and looming. Scary.
Heartbeat firing into high gear, she turned on her heel.
“Chelsea?”
The deep male voice from behind didn’t slow her down as she headed back toward the building. Toward safety.
“Chelsea?” The man called again, a hint of his Minnesota accent drifting through her consciousness. “It’s me. Vinny.”
Vincent? The rookie right wing who’d gone out of his way to be kind to her since joining the team this fall?
That made sense. No one wanted to attack her in the Phantoms’ parking lot. Wherever the team was, she’d always felt safe. Protected by her own crew of hulking bodyguards.
Feeling a little foolish, she slowed. Turned.
He grinned from his spot in the middle of the parking lot, as if he wasn’t sure he should follow her. She took a step toward him and that seemed to be the cue he’d been waiting for. He jogged over to her, a beat-up baseball cap jammed on hair still damp from his shower.
A normal woman would have jumped through hoops to talk to him. Vincent Girard was not only a gifted young athlete on the road to a successful NHL career. He was also handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way. His dark blond hair was clean-cut and short, the bristles standing almost straight up on the top of his head like a 1950s crew cut. A crooked smile hinted at an old facial injury where a series of thin scars spread from a white line on his upper lip. His hazel eyes veered the gamut from gray to green with flecks of brown. And yes, she’d watched him closely since she felt an absurd love for Phantoms players.
How could she be a good groupie unless she knew the life story of every last man on the team?
