by Jill Shalvis
Kyle Murphy had recently become involved with a professional matchmaker whose mother was a former pop star. And, apparently the right winger was falling for the gift shop girl.
All in all, the documentary was about more than sports. It would capture a moment in time, a tough season full of gifted athletes trying to be a team in spite of the distractions. There would be something transcendent here, a human drama beneath the fierce action of the game. But Jennifer would be damned before she’d throw Chelsea Durant under the bus just to serve the commercial hook and a cameraman’s ego. If she wouldn’t agree to her increased role in the series, the tender footage of her squeezing Vinny Girard’s hand over the dinner table would have to go.
Jen’s new relationship made her more sensitive to a person’s desire to protect their privacy. She just hoped she could manage the feat with Axel. An on-screen romance with him would be much more than personally awkward.
It would be downright dangerous.
* * *
A TEAM FLIGHT FROM NEW YORK to Philadelphia wouldn’t have been a good spot to find privacy even on a regular day. But with two cameras rolling through the Boeing jet’s main aisle, Vinny Girard figured there was little chance that any conversation with Chelsea wouldn’t be overheard or recorded.
He’d have to content himself with his other small victory for the day—convincing Chelsea to take the team flight home. She’d let Misty drive her car back to Philly so her friend could stop and see some family in New York.
All around them, his teammates hammed it up for the camera crews, reenacting a particularly rough play when Axel Rankin got a penalty for slashing and the Phantoms on the ice went nuts. Vinny hadn’t been skating at the time, so he felt no need to chime in. Plus it was obvious Ax wanted no part of the extra attention. Normally, the guy was as boisterous as the rest of the team, but he’d dialed it down ever since the camera crews had joined them.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Chelsea sat beside Vinny in the last row of seats after another Phantoms win. They were two rows back from their nearest neighbors. “I hope it wasn’t totally presumptuous of me to get on board.”
She tugged at the knit cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt with the Conference Champions logo from two years ago. He’d noticed she owned almost every piece of team clothing the gift shop sold, which was probably in part because she got a discount but also because fan gear happened to be her uniform when she was on duty.
“You belong here,” he reminded Chelsea, thinking about what it would be like to lean over and kiss away the worried frown from lips that were pink and plump without a trace of makeup. “Remember? The Phantoms pay your salary because you’re the best team supporter we have.”
Wrapping her arms around herself against the blast of cool air blowing from the overhead vents, she rolled her eyes at him.
“I think they just figured I practically lived at the rink anyhow, so why not put me to work?” She straightened as the attendant closed the plane door and asked the camera crew to have a seat. “Are we taking off?”
“Yes. Looks like we’re all set.” He turned down the vent and shifted the nozzle away from her while she leaned closer for a better view over the seat rests.
For a moment, he wondered if she was a nervous flyer. Then he realized the truth.
“You’ve never flown before, have you?”
“Not unless you count a vicarious drug trip I took sitting beside an older woman doped up on mushrooms.” She said it matter-of-factly, still watching the flight attendant prepare the cabin for takeoff. “I held her hand while she screamed that giant mosquitoes were coming to get her and described flying around on one of them.”
“My God.” He could picture Chelsea, unfazed and strong, talking the woman down from her high. “If I stop to think about the things you must have seen during those days…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Chelsea turned toward him, eyes wide with genuine surprise. “I never minded nights like that. And the old lady wasn’t an addict, she just had a lot of health problems and occasionally when she tried to buy something for the pain, the dealers would sell her whatever they had leftover at the end of the night.” Her jaw tightened, chin lifting. “If I ever run my own shelter, I’m going to make sure my guests have access to health care. Or aspirin, at the very least.”
Hearing the fierce note in her voice, Vincent reminded himself never to stand between her and the aspirin counter. What a strong advocate underprivileged people would have in someone like Chelsea. Her lean figure and delicate features belied the drive and determination inside her.
“I think you’ll find this kind of flying is less eventful.” He wanted to take her hand and hold it this whole trip. Feel her pulse throb under his thumb. Connect with her in that small way that wouldn’t attract attention and wouldn’t advertise a wealth of intense attraction on his part.
Memories of the kiss he’d placed in the center of her palm were more powerful—more sensually vivid—than the recollections of a handful of one-night stands he’d had since leaving his junior year in college. He’d broken up with his high school girlfriend that year, a girl from back home who’d never understood his need to pursue his dream of playing hockey.
He’d learned then that love didn’t grow when you stifled each other, which was why he was going to try not to push Chelsea for too much, too soon.
Now, as the plane picked up speed on the runway, he looked over at her in the seat beside him. She gripped the armrests with both hands, her shoulders tense. Her cheeks seemed pale as she worried her lower lip, yet she’d never told him she was nervous. Never let on the idea of flying scared her.
That’s when he knew, ready or not, he had to touch her.
“Hold my hand,” he told her by way of warning, sliding his fingers under her forearm to pry her loose from the armrest. “It’ll be easier.”
She didn’t say anything one way or the other, but she locked gazes with him for a moment. Nodded.
His heartbeat stuttered for a second as he took her left hand in his and—God help him—wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. She thought she was scared of takeoff?
She’d know exactly how terrified he was of scaring her off when she got a load of his heart banging the hell out of his chest where she settled her cheek. The scent of her hair wafted up, teasing him with something clean and floral.
After months of watching her and wanting her, having her curled against him felt better than a winning season. His last girlfriend had given him an ultimatum—hockey or her. And Vinny had chosen to pursue his dream.
But right now, with Chelsea in his arms, he knew he could set down his stick and not think twice about it. She was it for him. The One. He liked everything about her, from how easily she loaned her car to a friend to how she pulled people into her circle, from homeless women to hockey players. She had a natural warmth that people gravitated toward.
Him included.
He would have been content to spend the whole flight home like that. No, more than that, he would have felt privileged to touch her that whole time.
But they’d barely leveled out at flying altitude when the director lady made her way down the aisle, her eye on the two of them. Her red curls fought a ponytail, with kinky pieces sliding free along her cheek. She held a clipboard under her arm, a large silver bracelet clanking against it with each step. A sense of foreboding clanged nearer along with her.
Vinny couldn’t have said why he felt like trouble was on the way, beyond the fact that a visitor would surely make Chelsea sit up and let go of his hand. But he did.
“Hi!” Jennifer Hunter slid into the seat beside him, her long skirt brushing his knee as it swirled to settle after her. “So sorry to bother you, but I wanted to speak to you both about the series.”
Chelsea must have heard her despite the engine noise, which was loudest in these seats at the back of the plane. Releasing his hand, she straightened.
“It’s no bother,” Chelsea a
ssured the other woman while Vinny mentally disagreed vigorously.
His body had memorized the feel of Chelsea’s already. The sensation of her against him would remain imprinted on his skin for days. Months. Maybe forever. He sure as hell hadn’t been ready for it to end.
“Great.” Jennifer set the clipboard on her lap and leaned closer. “I’ve got some footage of the two of you I’d love to use in this week’s show, but it was filmed at a distance. And while our agreement with the team covers that kind of shot, I wanted to make sure Chelsea felt comfortable with it.”
Beside him, Chelsea tensed. He could sense it without even looking at her. That’s how in tune he was to this woman.
“What kind of footage?” he barked, the surly note totally out of character for him, but damn it, he felt protective.
“I can show you on my laptop.” She spoke to Chelsea, looking right past him. “There’s a snippet of you two talking after the game in Montreal, and since that was on the ice, it’s well within our right to use. However, there’s a scene of the two of you having dinner—”
“No.” Incensed, he could only imagine how Chelsea would feel to have her privacy invaded like that. “Absolutely not.”
“I’d like to see it,” Chelsea said, her hand coming to rest on his knee as if to placate him.
Quiet the beast.
It worked like a charm since he was stunned silent. He could hardly believe his luck after all these months of trying to get her alone. Chelsea didn’t ever date, that he saw. She admitted to issues with men, a fact that made him feel slightly homicidal toward whatever guy had scared her.
Yet Chelsea had reached out to him. Touched him. Come into his arms willingly today. Things were looking up, except that she seemed ready to sacrifice her privacy for the sake of the documentary. Why would she give permission for the camera crew to broadcast a private moment between them?
“Great.” Jennifer stood, her long, cherry-colored skirt catching on the armrest until she yanked it off. “Would you like to come up front with me to watch the clip?”
“Sure.” Chelsea rose carefully, watchful of the overhead compartment that was low next to the window seat. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Take your time,” the director urged, bracelet clanking as she walked away.
“You don’t have to do this,” Vincent assured Chelsea once the filmmaker was several rows away from them.
“I know.” She tried to slip past him into the aisle, but he stood up so she would have more room.
He was prepared to take his time with her, but he didn’t think his long-suffering libido would handle those kinds of tight quarters.
“I think you can just refuse, don’t you?” He kept his voice low, even though the other guys were still revved up from the game, the noise level high. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked, she would have just used the footage.”
“I agree.” She flipped a dark brown wave out of one eye. “But last night. That dinner we had together. It was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I wouldn’t mind reliving it.”
Before he could yank his jaw off the floor, she sauntered her way up the aisle, her gorgeous figure hidden in loose-fitting jeans that didn’t attract any particular attention, thank God. Though his teammates knew better than to hit on her.
But he, in the meantime, was apparently one of the best things to ever happen to her. Hunger for Chelsea surging to an all-time high, Vinny decided he was going to up his game.
Tonight.
10
“I HATE PLAYING GAMES for the cameras,” Axel growled in Jennifer’s ear, the clear cell phone connection making it feel as if he was there in the car with her instead of driving his own vehicle ahead of her. “I wanted to catch hold of that long skirt you were wearing on the plane and use it to pull you closer to me when you were marching through the cabin like you owned the place.”
Tucking the earpiece tighter to her ear, Jennifer smiled as she followed the taillights on Ax’s big black Escalade through the Philadelphia suburbs toward his house. Heat warmed her chest, sending pleasant sensations all over her body. How on earth was she going to go back to New York as if none of this ever happened? She knew a relationship with a hockey star would not be the right life for her. She had her own goals and dreams, and they didn’t involve following around a world-famous athlete. Still, she couldn’t imagine walking away.
“You couldn’t have done that even if there were no cameras,” she chided, thinking how much she would have liked falling into his lap. “Unless you’ve got exhibitionist tendencies.”
“You’d be surprised what I could do to you very discreetly in a seat on a plane.”
Jennifer nearly missed the turn he’d taken, distracted by the idea.
“How perfectly shocking.” She tried to sound scandalized, but wound up sounding breathless and sex-starved.
“They give out blankets if you ask for them, you know.” He put on his signal light well in advance of the next turn.
The houses kept getting bigger in this part of town, the streets lined with honest-to-goodness mansions, the manicured lawns illuminated by extensive landscape lighting.
“And why would you need a blanket? Does the idea of being with me make you sleepy?” she teased, hoping his house was close.
She’d wanted him since the moment she’d rolled out of bed with him this morning. Watching him play via close-up shots, seeing his passion and intensity channeled into the game, had only made her want him more.
“I’d need a blanket to hide the fact that I would have had my hand under your skirt.”
“Shameless,” she chastised, practically drooling. She shifted in her seat to ward off the ache for him, but that only intensified the heat.
“For the sake of touching you? Absolutely.”
Her heart pounded so hard she felt light-headed.
“Can I ask you a question?” She slowed for a speed bump beside a Tudor mansion that looked as though an English king ought to be living there.
“Does it involve specific sexual requests? Because I can already say yes.”
She licked her lips, distracted by the possibilities. A perfectly honed athlete to fulfill her every sensual fantasy.
“Um. Actually, no. But I’d like to get back to that offer.”
Ax’s Escalade turned into a driveway and she realized the long, looping horseshoe drive was for the Tudor mansion.
Holy crap. He lived here?
“I’m ready.” His voice was a masculine rumble in her ear, prompting her out of her goggle-eyed appraisal of the multimillion-dollar property.
She followed him toward a converted carriage house in the back where an overhead door opened and light flooded onto the lawn. Two pristine sports cars sat inside the glorified garage, the floor so neat it could have been a showroom. Jennifer shoved her rental into Park and turned off the engine.
“I just wondered. What do you think causes sexual chemistry to come barreling out of the blue?” She pocketed the car keys while he got out of his vehicle.
“Just a sec,” he answered, disconnecting the phone call as he jogged back to open her door. Then, offering his hand to help her out, he continued, “That sounded like a question that needed a personal answer.”
Gazing up at him, she visualized him in a slow-motion shot that would capture him the way she saw him now. All hard angles and intensity, a brooding heat in his eyes even as he dusted off the chivalrous manners to draw her to her feet. He closed the door behind her and folded her hand onto his forearm as he guided her across the driveway to the sidewalk.
“I don’t know why I asked.” Nervousness tingled over her and she felt out of her depth with him suddenly. It was one thing to tease and flirt with a Neanderthal hockey player trying to intimidate her with the scent of sweat. It was another to sleep with a wealthy athlete who traveled the world acquiring exotic cars. “I guess I just wondered why this hit us so hard when we don’t really have much in common.”
&
nbsp; Winding around some wrought-iron patio furniture, he took her to a back door entrance where he keyed in a code to disarm the security system. More exterior lights clicked on, revealing an outdoor living area under a covered pergola, complete with easy chairs and a huge television screen against one wall, protected by a clear plastic casing. Outside the man cave, a multilevel pool beckoned despite the cooler spring temperatures.
“I have a great answer to this.” Opening the door, he flipped on lights in an expansive kitchen and dining area with lots of white tile and windows overlooking the backyard.
“Really?” She still half expected him to give her some outrageously flirtatious response to distract her completely. But she was curious about the immediate connection she’d felt to him, a draw she knew he’d felt, too.
“I think sexual chemistry is nature’s wake-up call.” He set his keys on a long kitchen table that looked like a reclaimed door from a turn-of-the-century home. He must have left his travel bag in the car because he hadn’t brought it inside.
“How so?” She ditched her purse beside his keys and toed off a pair of worn ballet flats. There was no need to pretend she wasn’t spending the night when she’d been daydreaming about him for hours.
“It’s a cosmic alarm system that tells you to pay attention to someone you might miss out on otherwise.” He reached up to twine a finger through one of her curls, winding it loosely around his knuckle before he let it slide free again. “Think about it. If we were only attracted to the people who made for the most logical partners—ones who shared all our interests and thought like we do—life would be pretty boring.”
“So sexual chemistry leads us into crazy relationships that could never work in the real world.” She shivered in the wake of his touch and tried not to be disappointed that his answer had brought him to the same conclusion as her.
“That’s not it at all.” He tipped her chin up, meeting her gaze. His sea-blue eyes seemed to peer deep inside her. “All that hot attraction helps us find people who challenge us. People who have the potential to make us better. I learned a long time ago that taking the easy path isn’t always a smart idea. Sometimes you need to try the unexpected.”
