Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  Connect with her on…

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  Also by Lena Hart

  Brides of Cedar Bend series

  Something Old

  The Queen Quartette series

  His Flower Queen

  His Bedpost Queen

  Queen of His Heart

  His Diamond Queen

  City of Sin spin-off series

  B is for Bedpost

  The Devil’s Bedpost

  Because of Love… series

  First Love (prequel)

  Because You Love Me

  Because You Are Mine

  Because This Is Forever

  Ransom (The Player)

  by

  Nana Malone

  To my husband, you are always my inspiration. I love you to infinity, hundred thousand and back.

  1

  Ransom Cox fisted his hands into blonde hair, relishing the silken texture, as he kissed the lithe woman in his arms. When she'd come on to him in the bar downstairs, he didn't think much of it. Hell, he was a Ragin' Cajun. Women threw themselves at him all the time. And considering they'd just won the championship, the afterparty was like a pussy buffet.

  Usually, Ransom stayed out of the fray. He liked a little less desperation in his women. But considering he gotten a call from Callie earlier today, he needed to blow off some steam.

  His ex-wife had a way of worming her way under his skin without even trying. Sometimes just her name was enough to do it. Oh sure, he'd thought he was in love with her once. But he'd mistaken that desperate urge, the buzz of electricity and attraction, for something real.

  You're too difficult to live with. All you care about is hockey. You never take me anywhere fun. Why don't you ever spend any money on me? Why do you want so much sex? Those were just a few of her complaints, that ran on a constant reel in his head. Her biggest complaint was that he wanted too much sex. Of all the things, that was the craziest. She said he was too demanding in bed, wanted more than she was willing to give. Wanting to have sex with your wife? How was that a crime?

  Ransom shook his head. Focus on the woman in your arms, not the woman who ran from you like her hair was on fire. The blonde melted into his arms, and he tried to focus on the party going on in his pants. Okay, not really a party. Truth was, he was on autopilot. His brain wanted to focus on other things. You probably should take that as a bad sign. Nevertheless, he tried to force his attention back to the woman in his arms. But like so many times before, when he'd hooked up with some anonymous pro ho, he mentally replaced her with someone he hadn't thought about in a long time.

  Silky, dark hair, wide, chocolate-colored eyes, full lips that were usually running at about a mile a minute.

  It would make a lot of sense if that's what Callie looked like. But oh, no, his fantasy woman wasn't his ex. He was picturing the girl he’d barely even talked to back in high school.

  Lexa Carlisle.

  She hadn't even been necessarily the hottest girl in school. But there was something about her constant chatter, upbeat personality, and fast-talking that always made him smile. And then there was that tight, compact, little body, that guaranteed to put any guy in just the right kind of mood.

  The woman currently wrapping herself around him, cooed, interrupting his little daydream. "Oh, my God. I see the rumors about you weren't wrong."

  If he'd been paying attention, if he'd made an attempt to focus on her words, he might've understood that this hookup wasn't about her wanting to be with one of the Ragin' Cajuns. If he'd been thinking clearly, he would've noticed that she was here for an entirely different reason altogether.

  But he wasn't thinking clearly. Instead, his mind had latched onto the fantasy, replacing the anonymous woman with the one he'd used as his personal, private material for far too long.

  He pictured Lexa’s dark hair sliding over his fingers. Her full lips opening under his. How her lips would part in surprise when he picked her up and encouraged her to wrap her legs around him.

  Yeah, that was a fantasy he could get behind. And sure enough, his dick was all-in. As long as he kept pretending he was with Lexa, he was all good.

  Never mind that this woman smelled all wrong. Never mind that the way she scratched at him and attempted to climb him like a tree said that there was something too desperate about what she was doing. Never mind that as far as he was concerned, she might as well be anonymous. Yeah, never mind all that, because in his head, he was finally kissing Lexa Carlisle.

  Ransom softened his kisses, and gently backed her against the desk in the hotel room. Because with girls like Lexa, you didn't rush things. You didn't drag off their clothes, ripping them and tossing them to the floor. You took your time. Took things nice and easy. Made it last.

  But this girl wasn't Lexa. As he kissed her, she had her hands under his T-shirt and was dragging it off him with an expertise that gave him pause. But still, he held on tight to the fantasy.

  When was the last time he'd slept with anyone? Months? It would do him some good to work out some of the tension, some of the frustration. When she reached hurriedly for his belt, flipping the latch like a professional, Ransom frowned. "Easy," he muttered around their kisses. She was in a hurry. Why was she in such a hurry? Because in his head, fantasy Lexa was enjoying everything. This chick, it was like she was in a hurry to get to the prize, not because they had any crazy-great chemistry, or anything.

  His frown deepened and he pulled back. "Hey, what's the rush?"

  She gave him a wide smile. "You don't need to do all that, or take your time with me. I'm ready. Super excited."

  Oookay, then. Again, alarm bells tried to ring. But he didn't pay them enough attention.

  He unzipped the back of her dress, and it fell straight to the ground, the soft fabric not making any sound as it fluttered to the carpet. And, yeah, her body was top-notch. Clad in black lace and thigh-high stockings, he salivated. She might not have been exactly the woman he wanted, but he was still a guy, and she was beautiful. He leaned in to kiss her neck, and she shivered.

  Taking his belt, she finally managed to pull it through the loops, then unsnap his jeans. Yeah, it had been too long. Far too long. When she stuck her hand down his boxers, he groaned. Hell, yes. This was what he needed.

  Her breath hitched. "Oh, my God. Seriously?" She pulled back, his jeans sliding down over his hips, then off his ass, revealing his erection.

  Ransom held still. This was the moment of truth. Ever since Callie had written that tell-all book, he found his bedroom partners fell into one of two categories—those who were up for the challenge, and those who were…not.

  Callie's tell-all had been the beginning of all his trouble. Women he encountered either wanted some insane BDSM fantasy, or they wanted to be told what to do and controlled. And that was not his style. He liked a woman who took charge of her own life.

  Of course, then there were the gawkers, who didn’t believe what Callie had said about the size of his dick, and they wanted to have a looky-loo for themselves. Half the time, he felt like an animal at the damn petting zoo.

  His anonymous partner slid her hands through the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. When his cock sprung free, she gasped. "Oh, wow."

  Okay, so far so good. She reached out and wrapped her slim hand around him tightly. Ransom grunted. "Easy does it."

  "I should be saying the same thing to you." She licked her lips. "I mean, I heard you had this monster dick, but I never expected..." Her voice trailed off.

  What? His brain was still fuzzy because, well, she had him by the cock. All he could think about was that he was about to get laid.

  "I mean, this is big. Maybe I could just blow you. Or you could go down on me."

  Ransom swallowed his disappointment. "Okay. There's a lot of other—" What the hell? There was a faint clicking noise, but he couldn
't figure out where it was coming from. It wasn’t until then he noticed that her free hand had taken something off the table behind her. Oh, shit. Was that a phone?

  Ransom leaned over her, as if he were going to kiss her again, all the while gently peeling her hand off his dick. When he had himself free, he tugged his boxers back up, and then, he reached for the phone. Snatching it out of her hand.

  "Hey, that's my phone!"

  "Yeah, and that's my dick you were taking pictures of just now."

  She scooted back on the desk. As if afraid of him. "Are you going to punish me?"

  What. The. Holy. Fuck? He wasn't sure if he should be more worried that she was afraid, or more worried that she seemed to want to be afraid. He could kill Callie for that stupid book she'd written. In it, she talked about his epic, monster dick, and his insatiable appetite. How after a fight, they'd fuck for hours, and how she felt like she was being punished. Well, far be it from him to give multiple orgasms.

  She also talked about his brooding. "Like there was a well of anger deep inside him." Which was just bullshit, because he wasn't angry. He was quiet. But women met him and expected this brooding, crazy guy. Some of them were afraid.

  "You can't take my phone like that."

  "Yes, I can. Especially if you're infringing on my privacy. You realize that you can't take pictures of me without my permission? Pictures of my dick, no less. Ever heard of consent?"

  "What do you care? Getting pictures taken would just make you more of a legend."

  Ransom shook his head. Seriously? What the hell was wrong with him? He clearly couldn't pick the right chicks for shit. Or maybe Callie was right. You do deserve to be alone. The deep ache in the center of his chest spread. After all, wasn't that what his father said? That Ransom was too much trouble. He didn't want to bother to take care of him, so he'd taken off. Then Callie and that disastrous marriage. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be with anybody. Because every time he made the attempt, something shitty happened.

  "You can have your phone back. But I'm just going to hard system reset. What's the code?"

  She gave him a mutinous glare. "I'm not giving you the code. I've got pictures I care about on there."

  "You should've thought of that before you took pictures without my consent. Code? If you don't give me the code, you lose the phone. Your choice, really. With all these gold crystal thingies on it, I figure you care about the phone, so code."

  She stared at him as she tried to figure out if he would actually break her phone.

  This part of Callie's book probably helped him. "I will do it. Give me what I want."

  She mumbled the code and he tapped it in. First, he deliberately went and deleted all the pictures she'd taken that night. He just hoped she hadn't uploaded to a cloud server. And then he performed a hard system reset before handing her back her phone.

  "You are a supreme asshole."

  Ransom just shrugged. "An asshole you won't be sleeping with tonight."

  He crossed to the door, yanked it open, and held it for her.

  She stared at him. "You're really going to make me leave? You're not giving me money for gas?"

  He crossed his arms. "Now, how did you get to the hotel in the first place?"

  "With friends."

  "Then I suggest you make some more so you can get home."

  She stepped back into her dress and zipped it up, cussing him out the whole time she adjusted the straps of her shoes and grabbed her purse. "You are going to regret this."

  He closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He already did.

  2

  Where the fuck was he?

  Ransom Cox forced himself to take a deep breath. There was no point in freaking out if there was nothing he could do to control the situation. Eddie would get there when he got there.

  Eddie Motts was the Keeper of the Cup. The cup that Ransom and his teammates had toiled over for months. For the right to own it. The right to have it for the season. The right to be on top. Today was his day with the damn cup, and Eddie was already late. The dude hated to be called Eddie, but somehow, it was a nickname that stuck. Kind of like yours?

  Eddie was all right. A tech billionaire kind of kid. And man, did he love hockey. And that was something that he, Ransom, and every other Ragin' Cajun had in common. Which was why Ransom was staring out the window, like some poor teenage girl who'd been stood up for her prom.

  "Honey, scowling at the window won't make whoever you're waiting for show up any faster."

  The only woman who could make him smile these days stood right behind him, but Ransom didn't turn around. "Mom, now is not the time. The time will be after I have what I need in my hands.” Where the hell was he? Anything could have happened.

  She chuckled. "What exactly is it you’re waiting on?"

  Nope, that was a surprise. He wasn't telling her. He'd come home from New Orleans a few weeks ago to spend time with her, and he'd arranged for the cup to be delivered here. He could just imagine what some of his teammates had gotten up to with the thing. He shuddered, pushing the thought away. All he knew was that winning wouldn't feel real to him until he had it in his hands. Each member of the team was allowed twenty-four hours with it. Ransom had been very specific about what day he wanted. He'd requested it, and made a couple of deals to get it. He checked his watch again. Six-fucking-AM, and there was no bloody cup.

  "Mom, why aren't you in bed enjoying breakfast?" He’d made all her favorites. Okay, so the croissants were from Mills Bakery in town. But he'd made the eggs and pancakes on his own.

  "Sweetheart, just because you need 4000 calories a day, doesn't mean I do. And my Lord, where did you get the lox from? It tasted fresh."

  "You let me worry about that, Mom. It's your birthday. I wanted the day to be special for you. So, can you please go upstairs, and enjoy your morning?"

  "You know I can't lay around in bed. Come on, let's spend the day together. I took it off, just like you said. And you know how I love to work."

  She was a features reporter for the Hope Gazette, as well as the town librarian. She'd always worked too hard.

  He nodded. "We will spend the day together. But this part is important, so I need you to go upstairs and lay down. Get a book. Something. Just relax for once." Ever since he was a kid, Ransom had seen his mother run herself ragged. She always said she enjoyed it. But, as newspapers had cut their staffs, and she'd been reduced to working on features, she'd added the library, too. And until he'd made it into the majors, she'd often picked up odd jobs around town when money was tight. Sometimes going to the city to work on weekends.

  As soon as he'd hit the majors, though, he'd put an end to that. He paid off her house, because she refused to move to anything bigger. And he'd made sure that she only worked because she wanted to, not because she had to take care of him. He even bought a small patch of land in town and built a little place on it, just so he could look out for her during the off-season.

  Though, while she appreciated having him home, she already said more than once that she didn't need him hovering over her. But coming home was as much for her as it was for him. Not like he had any kind of life, anymore. Not since Callie.

  No. He was not thinking about her today. "Just do me the favor and go upstairs."

  "What are you planning anyway?"

  "You'll see. Now upstairs. Go."

  For once, his mother listened to him. He grinned as she turned around and mumbled underneath her breath. Never in her life had Sherry Cox ever listened to anyone. Someone should write an article about that. And thank God she'd gone, too, because the moment she rounded the stairs and he heard her footsteps on the landing, there was a knock at the door. "About fucking time."

  Ransom yanked open the door and glowered at Eddie. "You're fucking late."

  Eddie blinked rapidly, but he held his ground, and Ransom had to respect that.

  Eddie rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Handsome. My maps app sucks. I need yo
u to sign here."

  Ransom ignored Eddie's use of his nickname as he signed the paper attached to the clipboard. Eddie'd done it on purpose, because Ransom was being a dick. Eddie was a good guy. And Ransom needed to check his attitude. He'd been telling himself that for months. Shit, nearly two years, now. Problem was, it wasn't getting any easier to do so.

  He'd sort of settled into his role as team grump. Unfortunately, being an asshole didn't stop his teammates from messing with him. Or the press, for that matter. They all used that goddamn unfortunate nickname. And there was no fucking changing it. Not since that New City Post article had dubbed him Handsome Cox. Once it was out, everyone used it.

  He handed the clipboard back to Eddie and modulated himself this time. "Sorry. It's for my mom's birthday." Just because you feel like a churning cement grinder inside, doesn't mean everyone needs to know you're a twat.

  Eddie shrugged. "No big deal. I know how much this means to you. Can't imagine what it's like for you. I'll see you tonight, and we can arrange pick-up in the morning."

  Ransom nodded. "Yeah. That's cool." He hesitated. "Anything I need to know? You know, about what the cup's been through lately?"

  Eddie shuddered. "You don't want to know. I had it cleaned though, so enjoy it. Have a good day."

  Ransom chuckled and nodded. "I plan on it. Mom's gonna go nuts when she sees her."

  Eddie's brows popped. "Her?"

  Ransom pinned him with a glare, but Eddie didn't budge off the front step. Damn. He was losing his touch. That look usually made goalies cower. Not Eddie though. "Yes, her. The Cup is a she. Like a car or a boat. She’s for my Mom. I wanted to win it for her. So…" Shit. Did he sound as lame as he thought he did?

  Eddie smiled at him. "That's cool, man. Have a good day. The cup's already had one too many adventures. Maybe a quiet day home with your mom is just what the poor thing needs. Please don't tell me your mom is the jump-out-of-a-plane type. Because I may have a heart attack if she does it with the cup."