Game On Box Set: Time OutHer Man AdvantageFace-OffBody Check

by Jill Shalvis

  Pres looked distinctly ill at ease at the mention of Hayden. “I think she went out on the patio,” he said.

  And there was his cue.

  Brody didn’t feel bad leaving Becker in the clutches of the obviously plastered team owner. Sam Becker had been in the business long enough to know how to handle every situation thrown at him, and he usually handled them as well as he did the puck. The man was a pro, through and through.

  Brody stepped away, glancing around the enormous ballroom for the patio entrance. Finally he spotted the French doors and made his way toward them.

  His breath caught at the sight of Hayden’s silver-clad figure. She was leaning against the railing overlooking the grounds of the estate, her long brown hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her delectable ass hugged by the silky material of her dress.

  He paused at the doors, admiring her. To his surprise, she turned abruptly as if sensing his presence. Their eyes locked. And that’s when he saw that her sooty black lashes were spiky with tears.

  He was by her side in seconds. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he murmured, resting both hands on her slender waist and pulling her toward him.

  She sank into his embrace and pressed her face against his shoulder as she whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  “I tagged along with a friend.” He gently stroked her back. “And I’m glad I did. You look awful.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Her voice came out muffled against the front of his tuxedo jacket.

  “Oh, quit sulking. You know you’re the sexiest woman at this party.” He swept a hand over her firm bottom. The feel of her warm, curvy body made his pulse quicken, but he reminded himself that now was not the time.

  “Now tell me the reason for these.” He brushed the moisture from her lashes. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hayden.”

  She lifted her head, chin tilting with defiance. “It’s not a big deal, Brody. Just go inside and enjoy the party.”

  “Screw the party. I came here to see you.”

  “Well, I came here to see my dad.” She turned her head away and stared out at the landscaped grounds.

  The temperature had dipped drastically and the thick gray clouds littering the night sky hinted at a storm. Already the endless carpet of flowers on the lush lawn was starting to sway in the wind, sweeping a sweet aroma in the direction of the cobblestone patio.

  It was the kind of night he usually enjoyed, the moistness of the air, the hint of rain and thunder, but he couldn’t appreciate it when Hayden looked so distraught.

  And beautiful. Damn, but she also looked beautiful. The slinky silver dress, the strappy heels, the shiny pink gloss coating her sensual lips. He wanted her, as strongly and as violently as he’d wanted her that first night in the bar. And not just sexually. Something about this woman brought out a protective, nurturing side in him he’d never known he possessed.

  “Please, Hayden, tell me what happened.”

  She hesitated for so long he didn’t think she’d say anything, but then her mouth opened and a string of words flew out like bullets spitting from a rifle.

  “I think my father is drinking. He blew up at me when I questioned him about it, and then he made a few remarks about bad investments.” She looked up, her eyes wide with anguish. “I’m worried he might have done some of the things everyone is accusing him of. God, Brody, I think there’s actually a chance he might have bribed players and bet on games.”

  Brody’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket, hoping to bring warmth to hands that had suddenly grown ice-cold. Damn it. He didn’t want to have this conversation, especially with Hayden. Not when his own flags were raised.

  So he just stood there in silence, waiting for her to continue and hoping she wouldn’t ask him any questions that might force him to reveal something she probably wouldn’t want to hear.

  “I don’t know what I should do,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know if he’s guilty or innocent. I have no proof he has a drinking problem, but it’s obvious after tonight that something is going on with my dad.”

  “You need to try talking to him when he’s sober,” Brody advised.

  “I’ve tried,” she moaned with frustration. “But he’s determined not to be alone with me. And if by chance we are alone, he changes the subject every time I try to bring up my concerns. He won’t let me in, Brody.”

  They stood there for a moment, silently, his arms wrapped around her slender body, her head tucked against his chest.

  “I never thought my relationship with my dad would get to this point,” she whispered. “He treated me like a stranger tonight. He snapped at me, cursed at me, looked right through me, as if I was just another headache he didn’t want to deal with instead of his only daughter.”

  Brody threaded his fingers through her hair and stroked the soft tresses while he caressed her cheek with his other hand. “Did you two used to be close?” he asked.

  “Very.” She gave a soft sigh. “Nowadays, the team comes first.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Tell me, in all the years you’ve played for the Warriors, how many times has my father mentioned me?”

  Discomfort coiled in his gut. “A bunch of times,” he said vaguely.

  Her eyes pierced his. “Really?”

  “Fine, never,” he admitted. “But I’m just a player to your father. He’s certainly never treated me as a confidant.”

  “My dad is obsessed with the team,” she said flatly. “He’s always loved hockey, but when he was just a coach, it wasn’t this bad. Now that he owns a team, he’s almost fanatical. It used to be about the game for him. Somehow it’s become about making money, being as powerful as he can be.”

  “Money and power aren’t bad things to want,” Brody had to point out.

  “Sure, but what about family? Who are you supposed to rely on when the money and power are gone? Who will be there to love you?”

  A cloud of sadness floated across her pretty face, her expression growing bittersweet. “You know he used to take me fishing a lot? Every summer we’d rent a cabin up at the lake, usually for an entire week. We moved around so much, but Dad always managed to find a place to go fishing. I hated to fish, but I pretended to love it because I wanted to spend the time with my dad.”

  She moved out of his arms and walked back to the railing, leaning forward and breathing in the cool night air. Without turning around, she continued speaking. “We stopped going once I moved to California. He always promised we’d go back to the lake during my visits home, but we never got around to it. Though we did go out on the yacht last summer.” She made a face. “Sheila spent the entire trip talking about her nails. And Dad was on the phone the whole time.”

  The wistful note in her voice struck a chord of sympathy in him. Despite his busy schedule, he always made sure to return to Michigan a few times a year to see his parents. In the off-season he stayed with them for a month and spent every available moment with his folks. Although it irked him a little that his mom refused to quit her hairdressing job and take advantage of her son’s wealth, he loved being home with his folks. And they were always thrilled to have him. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever being too busy to hang out with their only son.

  Presley Houston was an idiot. There was no other explanation for why the man would pass up the opportunity to spend time with a daughter as incredible as Hayden. She was intelligent, warm, passionate.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she burst out. “There’s no point. Dad and I have been drifting apart for years. I was stupid to think he might actually value my support.”

  “I’m sure he does value it. It’s obvious he’s been drinking tonight, babe. It was probably the alcohol that made him snap at you like that.”

  “Alcohol is no excuse.” She raked her fingers through her hair and
scowled. “God, I need to get out of here. I want to go someplace where I can hear my own thoughts.”

  He glanced at the watch he’d picked up from the arena earlier in the morning, saw it wasn’t that late, and threw an arm around Hayden’s shoulders. “I know just the place.”

  She studied him warily, as if she suddenly remembered what had transpired between them two nights ago. He saw her hesitation, her reluctance to let him back in, but thankfully she made no protest when he took her hand. Instead, she clasped her warm fingers in his and said, “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “THIS IS IT? The place where all my thoughts will become clear?” Hayden couldn’t help but laugh as she followed Brody into the dark hockey arena twenty minutes later.

  She’d let Brody drive her car, but hadn’t thought to ask where he was taking her. She’d been content to sit in silence, trying to make sense of everything her father had said to her tonight. Now she kind of wished she’d been more curious about their destination.

  The night guard had let them in. He’d seemed surprised at the sight of Brody Croft showing up at the practice arena way after hours, but didn’t object to Brody’s request. After digging up an old pair of boys’ skates for Hayden from the equipment room, the guard had unlocked the doors leading out to the rink, flicked on the lights and disappeared with a smile.

  “Trust me,” Brody said. “There’s nothing like the feel of ice under your skates to clear your head.”

  “Uh, I should probably mention I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid.”

  He looked aghast. “But your father owns a hockey team.”

  “We’re not allowed to talk about my father anymore tonight, remember?”

  “Right. Sorry.” He flashed a charming grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t fall flat on your ass. Now sit.”

  Obligingly, she sat on the hard wooden bench and allowed Brody to remove her high heels. He caressed her stockinged feet for a moment, then reached for the skates the guard had found and helped her get a foot into one.

  “It’s tight,” she complained.

  “It belongs to a twelve-year-old boy. No figure skates here, so you’ll have to make do.”

  Brody laced up the skates for her, then flopped down on the bench and kicked off his shiny black dress shoes. He’d retrieved a spare pair of skates from the bottom of his locker, and he put them on expertly, grinning when he saw her wobble to her feet. She made quite a fashion statement in her party dress and scuffed black hockey skates.

  She held out her arms in an attempt to balance herself. “I’m totally going to fall on my butt,” she said.

  “I told you, I won’t let it happen.”

  He stood, took two steps forward and unlatched the wooden gate that ringed the ice. Like the pro hockey player he was, he slid onto the rink effortlessly and skated backward for a moment while she stood at the gate and muttered, “Show-off.”

  Laughing, he moved toward her and held out his hand.

  She stared at his long, calloused fingers, wanting so badly to grab onto them and never let go. Yet another part of her was hesitant. When she’d picked him up at the bar five days ago, she hadn’t imagined she’d see him after that first night. Or that she’d sleep with him again. Or that she might actually start to like him.

  And she did like him. As much as she wanted to continue viewing Brody as nothing more than a one-night stand who’d rocked her world, he was becoming unnervingly real to her. He’d listened when she’d babbled about art, he’d let her cry on his shoulder, he’d brought her to this dark arena just to take her mind off her worries. One-night stands weren’t supposed to do that, darn it!

  “Come on, Hayden, I won’t let you fall,” he reassured her.

  With a nod of acceptance, she took his hand. The second the blades of her skates connected with the sleek ice, she almost keeled over. Her arms windmilled, her legs spread open, and her skates moved in opposite directions as if trying to force her into the splits.

  Brody promptly steadied her. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

  “I told you I wasn’t,” she returned with an indignant glare. “Ask me to lecture you about Impressionist art, I can do that. But skating? I suck.”

  “Because you’re trying to walk instead of glide,” he pointed out. He clamped both his hands on her waist. “Quit doing that. Now, take my hand and do what I’m doing.”

  Slowly, they pushed forward again. While Brody’s strides were effortless, hers were clumsy. Every few feet the tips of her skates would dig into the ice and she’d lurch forward, but Brody stayed true to his word. He didn’t let her fall. Not even once.

  “There you go,” he exclaimed. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. Once she’d taken his advice and stopped treating the skates as shoes, her movements had become smoother. She felt giddy as they picked up speed, gliding along the ice like a pair of Thoroughbreds rounding a racetrack.

  The boards, the benches, the bleachers—it all whizzed by her, the cool air in the arena reddening her cheeks. Although there were goose bumps dotting her bare arms, she didn’t mind the cold temperature. The chill in the arena soothed her, cleansing her mind.

  She cast a sideways glance at Brody and saw he was enjoying this, too. God, he looked delicious in his tuxedo. The jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and powerful chest, and the slightly loose trousers didn’t hide his taut behind. She noticed his bow tie sat a little crooked, and resisted the urge to reach out and straighten it. She didn’t want to move her arms and risk falling, so she tightened her fingers around his instead.

  He looked down at their intertwined fingers, his mouth parting slightly, as if he wanted to speak but was being cautious. She knew exactly what was on his mind, because the same thing was running through hers. God help her, but she wanted this man in her bed again.

  He was arrogant, yes, and pushy sometimes. But he also turned her on in the fiercest way, and every time he fixed those midnight-blue eyes on her, every time he wrapped those big arms around her, she melted.

  They slowed their pace, and she forced her thoughts away from the dangerous territory they’d crossed into and tried to come up with a neutral topic of conversation. One that didn’t make her think of Brody, naked and hard as he devoured her body with his tongue.

  “When did you start playing?” she finally asked, deciding his career was as safe a subject as any.

  “Pretty much the second I could walk, I was learning to skate. My dad used to take me to this outdoor rink near our house in Michigan.” He chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t much of a rink. Just a crappy pond that froze over every winter. My parents couldn’t afford the membership fee for a real arena, so I used to practice my slap shots out on that pond while my dad sat on a folding chair in the snow and read car magazines.”

  “Did you play on a school team?”

  “Uh, what team wasn’t I on?” He dropped her hand and began skating lazy circles around her. “In high school I played hockey, rugby and baseball in the spring. Oh, and I was on the lacrosse team until the practices started to interfere with my hockey schedule.”

  “Huh. So you were one of those guys. I bet you were voted Most Likely to Become a Pro Athlete in your high school yearbook.”

  “Actually, I was.”

  He told her a bit about his early years in the league, then made her laugh with some anecdotes about his parents and their overwhelming pride in him. At times a twinge of bitterness seeped into his voice, giving her the feeling that his childhood was tougher than he let on, but she didn’t pry. She remembered him telling her money had been tight for his family, and it was obviously something he didn’t like talking about.

  A few minutes later, a cramp seized her leg and she wobbled to a stop, leaning against the splintered sideboards as she rubbed the back of her thigh. On the West Coast she jogged every morning before heading over to the university, but she was obviously not in the great shape she’d b
elieved herself to be in. Her legs were aching and they’d only been skating around for twenty minutes.

  “Wanna take a break?” Brody offered.

  “Please.”

  They stepped off the ice and climbed up to the bleachers. Brody was an expert when it came to walking on skates. She wasn’t so fortunate. She almost pitched forward a half-dozen times before she finally sank down on the bench and exhaled with relief.

  “I think I pulled a muscle in my butt,” she grumbled.

  “Want me to rub the kinks out?”

  She stiffened, wishing his voice didn’t contain that husky note of erotic promise. Damn it. She couldn’t fall into bed with him again. As thrilling as it would be to continue exploring the sexual canvas they seemed so skilled at painting together, she couldn’t help remembering what had happened the last time she’d given in.

  As if sensing her concerns, Brody let out an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry about the other night, Hayden. I acted like an ass.”

  She didn’t reply, just offered a pointed nod.

  “I know I’m rough around the edges. I’m demanding, I like getting my way and I’m definitely not the kind of man who’s content with playing second fiddle.” He held up his hand before she could cut in. “I shouldn’t have hassled you about, you know, Doug—” he said the name like it was contagious “—but damn it, Hayden, it drives me crazy knowing there’s someone else in your life. I’m not used to sharing.”

  “You’re not sharing. Doug and I are on a break.”

  “There’s a giant difference between a break and a breakup.” He frowned. “Do you think you’ll go back to him?”

  “I don’t know.” Deep down, though, she knew the answer to that question and it probably wasn’t one Doug was going to like. But she couldn’t talk about it, not now, and definitely not with Brody.

  She could tell he wasn’t happy with her answer, but instead of challenging her the way he had two nights ago, he simply nodded. “Guess I’ll have to live it with then. And I can live with it, especially if it means I get to spend more time with you.”