by Jill Shalvis
But with rumors about a possible league investigation swirling, thanks to allegations made in a recent interview with the team owner’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Brody might end up with more free time than he wanted. Mrs. Houston apparently had proof that her husband had bribed at least two players to bring forth a loss and that he’d placed substantial—illegal—bets on those fixed games.
While there was probably no truth to any of it, Brody was growing concerned with the rumors.
A few years ago a similar scandal had plagued the Colorado Kodiaks. Only three players had been involved, but many innocent players suffered—other teams were reluctant to pick them up due to their association with the tarnished franchise.
Hell would freeze over before he’d accept a payout, and he had no intention of being lumped in with any of the players who might have. His contract was due to expire at the end of the season. He’d be a free agent then, which meant he needed to remain squeaky clean if he wanted to sign with a new team or remain with the Warriors.
He tried to remind himself that this morning’s paper was filled with nothing but rumors. If something materialized from Sheila Houston’s claims, he’d worry about it then. Right now, he needed to focus on playing his best so the Warriors could win the first play-offs round and move on to the next.
Resting the cue between his thumb and forefinger, Brody positioned the shot, took one last look and pulled the cue back.
From the corner of his eye, a woman’s curvy figure drew his attention, distracting him just as he pushed the cue forward. The brief diversion caused his fingers to slip, and the white ball sailed across the felt, avoided every other ball on the table and slid directly into the far pocket. Scratch.
Damn.
Scowling, he lifted his head just as the source of his distraction drew near.
“You could do it over,” Mike said quickly, fumbling for the white ball and placing it back on the table. “It’s called a mulligan or something.”
“That’s golf,” Brody muttered, his gaze glued to the approaching brunette.
A few years ago an interviewer for Sports Illustrated had asked him to describe the type of women he was attracted to. “Leggy blondes” had been his swift response, which was pretty much the exact opposite of the woman who’d now stopped two feet in front of him. And yet his mouth went dry at the sight of her, his body quickly responding to every little detail. The silky chocolate-brown hair falling over her shoulders, the vibrant green eyes the same shade as a lush rain forest, the petite body with more curves than his brain could register.
His breath hitched as their eyes met. The whisper of an uncertain smile that tugged at her full lips sent a jolt to his groin. Jeez. He couldn’t remember the last time a single smile from a woman had evoked such an intense response.
“I thought I’d play the winner.” Her soft, husky voice promptly delivered another shock wave to Brody’s crotch.
Stunned to find he was two seconds away from a full-blown erection, he tried to remind his body that he wasn’t a teenager any longer, but a twenty-nine-year-old man who knew how to control himself. Hell, he could control the puck while fending off elbows and cross-checks from opposing attackers; getting a hold of his hormones should be a piece of cake.
“Here, just take my place now,” Mike burst out, quickly pushing his cue into her hands. His gaze dropped to the cleavage spilling over the scooped neckline of the brunette’s yellow tank top, and then the kid turned to Brody and winked. “Have fun, man.”
Brody wrinkled his brow, wondering if Mike thought he was graciously passing this curvy bombshell over to him or something, but before he could say anything, Mike disappeared in the crowd.
Brody swallowed, then focused his eyes on the sexy little woman who’d managed to get him hard with one smile.
She didn’t look like the type you’d find in a sports bar, even one as upscale as this. Sure, her body was out of this world, but something about her screamed innocence. The freckles splattering the bridge of her nose maybe, or perhaps the way she kept biting on the corner of her bottom lip like a bunny nibbling on a piece of lettuce.
Before he could stop it, the image of those plump red lips nibbling on one particular part of his anatomy slid to the forefront of his brain like a well-placed slap shot to the net. His cock pushed against the fly of his jeans.
So much for controlling his hormones.
“I’m guessing it’s my turn,” she said. Tilting her head, she offered another endearing smile. “Seeing as you just blew your shot.”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”
Snap out of it, man.
Right, he needed to regroup here. He played hockey, yeah, but he wasn’t a player anymore. His love-’em-and-leave-’em ways were in the past. He was sick to death of women fawning all over him because of his career. Nowadays all he had to do was walk into a place—club, bar, the public library—and a warm, willing female was by his side, ready to jump his bones. And he couldn’t even count the number of times he’d heard, “Do you like it rough off the ice, baby?”
Well, screw it. He’d been down the casual road, had his fun, scored off the ice as often as he scored on it, but now it was time to take a new path. One where the woman in his bed actually gave a damn about him, and not the hockey star she couldn’t wait to gush to her friends about.
The sexual fog in his brain cleared, leaving him alert and composed, and completely aware of the flush on the brunette’s cheeks and the hint of attraction in her eyes. If this woman was looking to score with Mr. Hockey, she had another think coming.
“I’m Hayden,” his new opponent said, uncertainty floating through her forest-green eyes.
“Brody Croft,” he returned coolly, waiting for the flicker of recognition to cross her features.
It didn’t happen. No flash of familiarity, no widening of the eyes. Her expression didn’t change in the slightest.
“It’s nice to meet you. Brody.” Her voice lingered on his name, as if she were testing it out for size. She must have decided she liked the fit, because she gave a small nod and turned her attention to the table. After a quick examination, she pointed to the ball he’d failed to sink and called the shot.
Okay, was he supposed to believe she genuinely didn’t know who he was? That she’d walked into a sports bar and randomly chosen to hit on the only hockey player in attendance?
“So…did you catch the game last night?” he said with a casual slant of the head.
She gave him a blank stare. “What game?”
“Game one of the play-offs, Warriors and Vipers. Seriously good hockey, in my opinion.”
Her brows drew together in a frown. “Oh. I’m not really a fan, to be honest.”
“You don’t like the Warriors?”
“I don’t like hockey.” She made a self-deprecating face. “Actually, I can’t say I enjoy any sport, really. Maybe the gymnastics in the summer Olympics?”
He couldn’t help but grin. “Are you asking or telling?”
She smiled back. “Telling. And I guess it’s very telling that I only watch a sports event once every four years, huh?”
He found himself liking the dry note to her throaty voice when she admitted her disinterest in sports. Her honesty was rare. Most—fine, all—of the women he encountered claimed to love his sport of choice, and if they didn’t truly love it, they pretended to, as if sharing that common interest made them soul mates.
“But I love this game,” Hayden added, raising her cue. “It counts as a sport, right?”
“It does in my book.”
She nodded, then focused on the balls littering the table. She leaned forward to take her shot.
He got a nice eyeful of her cleavage, a tantalizing swell of creamy-white skin spilling over the neckline of her snug yellow top. When he lowered his eyes, he couldn’t help but admire her full breasts, hugged firmly by a thin bra he could only see the outline of.
She took the shot, and he raised his brows, impressed, a
s the ball cleanly disappeared into the pocket. She was good.
All right, more than good, he had to relent as she proceeded to circle the table and sink ball after ball.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asked, finally finding his voice.
She met his eyes briefly before sinking the last solid on the table. “My dad.” She smiled again. Those pouty lips just screamed for his mouth to do wicked things to them. “He bought me my own table when I was nine, set it up right next to his. We used to play side by side in the basement every night before I went to bed.”
“Does he still play?”
Her eyes clouded. “No. He’s too busy with work to relax around a pool table anymore.” She straightened her back and glanced at the table. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
At this point, Brody didn’t even care about the game Hayden was certain to win. The sweet scent of her perfume, a fruity sensual aroma, floated in the air and made him mindless with need. Man, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so drawn to a woman.
After sinking the eight ball, she moved toward him, each step she took heightening his desire. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, and a new aroma filled his nostrils. Strawberries. Coconut.
He was suddenly very, very hungry.
“Good game,” she said, shooting him another smile. Impish, this time.
His mouth twisted wryly. “I didn’t even get to play.”
“I’m sorry.” She paused. “Do you like to play?”
Was she referring to pool? Or a different game? Maybe the kind you played in bed. Naked.
“Pool, I mean,” she added quickly.
“Sure, I like pool. Among other things.” Let’s see how she handles that.
A cute rosy flush spread over her cheeks. “Me, too. I mean, I like other things.”
His curiosity sparked as he stared at the enigma in front of him. He got the distinct impression that she was flirting with him. Or trying to, at least. Yet her unmistakable blush and the slight trembling of her hands betrayed the confident air she tried to convey.
Did she do this often? Flirt with strange men in bars? Looking at her again, now that he was able to see through the fog of initial attraction, it didn’t seem like the case. She was dressed rather conservatively. Sure, the top was low-cut, but it covered her midriff, and her jeans didn’t ride low on her hips like those of most of the other women in this place. And sexy as she was, she didn’t seem to be aware of her own appeal.
“That’s good. Other things can be a lot of fun,” he answered, unable to stop the husky pitch of his voice.
Their gazes connected. Brody could swear the air crackled and hissed with sexual tension. Or maybe he just imagined it. He couldn’t deny the hum of awareness thudding in his groin like the bass line of a sultry jazz tune, but maybe he was alone in the feeling. It was difficult to get a read on Hayden.
“So…Brody.” His name rolled off her lips in a way that had his body growing stiff. That didn’t say much, considering that every part of him was already hard and prickling with anticipation.
He wanted her in his bed.
Whoa—where had that come from?
Five minutes ago he was telling himself it was time to quit falling into bed with women who didn’t give a damn about him and look for something more meaningful. So why the hell was he anticipating a roll in the hay with a woman he’d just met?
Because she’s different.
The observation came out of nowhere, bringing with it a baffling swirl of emotion. Yes, this woman had somehow managed to elicit primal, greedy lust in him. Yes, her body was designed to drive a man wild. But something about her seriously intrigued him. Those damn cute freckles, the shy smiles, the look in her eyes that clearly said, “I want to go to bed with you but I’m apprehensive about it.” It was the combination of sensuality and bashfulness, excitement and wariness, that attracted him to her.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly closed it when Hayden reached out to touch his arm.
Looking up at him with those bottomless green eyes, she said, “Look, I know this is going to sound…forward. And don’t think I do this often—I’ve never done this actually, but…” She took a breath. “Would you like to come back to my hotel?”
Ah, her hotel. An out-of-towner. That explained why she hadn’t recognized him. And yet he got the feeling that even if she did know what he did for a living, she wouldn’t care.
He liked that.
“Well?” she said, fixing him with an expectant stare.
He couldn’t stop the teasing twinge in his voice. “And what will we do in your hotel room?”
A hint of a smile. “We could have a nightcap.”
“A nightcap,” he repeated.
“Or we could talk. Watch television. Order room service.”
The little vixen was teasing him, he realized. And, damn, but he liked this side of her, too.
“Maybe raid the minifridge?”
“Definitely.”
Their eyes met and locked, the heat of desire and promise of sex filling the space between them. Finally he shoved his pool cue in the rack and strode back to her. Screw it. He’d told himself no more sleazy bar pickups, but damn it, this didn’t feel sleazy. It felt right.
Barely able to disguise the urgency in his tone, he curled his fingers over her hot, silky skin and said, “Let’s go.”
2
DEAR GOD, he’d said yes.
She’d invited a gorgeous stranger back to her hotel room for a nightcap (translation: sex) and he’d actually said yes.
Hayden resisted the urge to fan her hot face with her hands. Instead, trying to remain cool and collected, she said, “I’ll meet you outside, okay? I just need to tell my friend I’m leaving.”
His smoldering blue eyes studied her for a moment, making her grow hotter. With a quick nod, he exited the bar. Tearing her attention away from his criminally sexy backside, she spun on her heel and hurried back to Darcy, dodging people along the way. When she reached the table, Darcy greeted her with a delighted grin. “You bad girl, you,” she teased, wagging her finger.
Sliding into the chair, Hayden swallowed hard and willed her heartbeat to slow. “Jesus. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I take it he said yes?”
Hayden ignored the question. “I just propositioned a complete stranger. Granted, he’s a very sexy stranger, but hell! I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Of course you can.”
“But I don’t even know him. What if he hacks me to pieces and hides my dismembered body parts in the air-conditioning system of the hotel or something?”
“You have your cell phone?”
She nodded.
“If you see any sign of trouble, call the cops. Or call me and I’ll call the cops.” Darcy shrugged. “But I wouldn’t worry. He doesn’t seem like the serial-killer type.”
Hayden blew out a breath. “That’s what they said about Ted Bundy.”
“You can back out, you know. You don’t have to sleep with this guy. But you want to, don’t you?”
Did she want to? Oh, yeah. As the image of Brody’s chiseled face and scrumptious body flashed through her brain, some of her nervousness dissolved. He was hands down the most gorgeous man she’d ever met. And she got the feeling he knew his way around a bedroom. The raw sex appeal pouring out of him told her she might be in for a very stimulating night.
“I want to.” Newfound confidence washed over her. “And I probably shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Darcy winked. “Have fun.”
“Are you going to be okay here alone?”
“Of course.” Darcy gestured to her fruity pink drink. “This daiquiri will attract the fellows like flies to honey. For the purpose of this analogy, I’ll be the honey.”
Hayden laughed. “Whatever you say.”
With a quick wave, she threaded through the crowd toward the door. When she stepped into the cool night air, she
spotted Brody standing near one of the potted plants in the entrance, his hands slung in the pockets of his jeans. A shiver tickled her belly as she took in his profile. He really was spectacular. Her gaze lowered to his lips. She wondered what they would feel like pressed against her own. Would they be soft? Hard? Both?
“Hey,” she said, her voice wavering.
She took a step forward just as he turned to face her. His expression, appreciative, anticipatory, sizzled her nerves. “Your car or mine?” he asked in a rough voice that made her toes curl.
“I don’t have a car. My friend drove here.” A squeak, her voice had come out in a damn squeak.
“My car’s over there.” He nodded, then began walking toward the parking lot. He didn’t check to see if she was following. As if he just assumed she was.
This was her chance to walk away. She could hurry into the bar and pretend she’d never asked this man to come back to her hotel. She could phone up Doug, have a heart-to-heart, maybe entice him into engaging in some phone sex…. Ha! Fat chance.
She hurried to keep up with Brody’s purposeful strides.
“Nice car,” she remarked when they reached the shiny black BMW SUV.
“Thanks.” He pulled a set of keys from his front pocket and pressed a button. The car’s security system beeped as the doors unlocked, and he reached for the passenger door and opened it for her. Hayden settled against the leather seat and waited for Brody to get in.
After he’d buckled his seat belt and started the engine, he turned to her and asked, “Where to?”
“The Ritz-Carlton.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, just pulled out of the parking lot and made a left turn. “So where are you from, Hayden?”
“I was born in Chicago, but I’ve been living in San Francisco for the past three years.”
