PLAYMAKER
A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Seduced By The Game Cancer Charity Collection
Lisa B. Kamps
PLAYMAKER: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Seduced By The Game Cancer Charity Collection Edition, January 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
The Baltimore Banners© is a fictional professional ice hockey team, created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of copyright.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.
Cover Design © 2015 Fiona Jayde
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Other titles by this author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Thank you
Other titles by this author
About the Author
For those who are fighting the fight, never giving up.
For the friends and families fighting by their sides.
And most of all, for all those taken from us too early.
Thank you.
Thank you for purchasing this copy of PLAYMAKER: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella. All proceeds from your purchase will be donated to support cancer research and patient care.
Please take a moment to visit Seduced By The Game to learn more about this project and find out latest donation amounts.
Other titles by this author:
THE BALTIMORE BANNERS
Crossing the Line, Book 1
Game Over, Book 2
Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3
Body Check, Book 4
Break Away, Book 5
Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Seduced By The Game Cancer Charity Collection
Delay of Game, Book 6
Shoot Out, Book 7
Available April, 2016
FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN
Once Burned, Book 1
Playing With Fire, Book 2
Available May, 2016
Breaking Protocol, Book 3
Available July, 2016
STAND-ALONE TITLES
Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)
Finding Dr. Right
Time To Heal
Chapter One
Could this night get any fucking worse?
Derek Caulton pulled the collar of the wool coat tighter around his neck and studied the shadowy interior of the cold garage.
Just as he thought: empty.
Except for his new silver Lexus LX 570. And, three spaces up in the aisle across from his, a beat-up rusted red sedan of indeterminate age. With the hood up.
He couldn’t go back inside, not when the girl standing next to the car had already seen him. And he couldn’t just get into his SUV and drive away. Even he wasn’t that ignorant.
Laughter and snorts of disbelief echoed in his mind, auditory ghosts of his friends and teammates, letting him know that yes, he really could be that ignorant.
He shook his head, dislodging the imagined laughter, and walked across the garage. The soles of his expensive Italian loafers made very little noise but each step still echoed around him. Where was the parking attendant? Shouldn’t he be around here somewhere? Yeah, probably three flights up in his booth, watching something on the sorry excuse of a portable television.
Damn. Why had he waited so long to leave the arena tonight? If he had left with everyone else instead of hanging around, hoping to talk to Melanie, he wouldn’t be stuck right now.
Karma. No doubt about it, she really was a bitch. But damn, Melanie was fucking hot. A walking wet dream, with her huge boobs and tight ass and full mouth. If he could just get her alone for five minutes, he had no doubt he could convince her to go back to his place for an extended sweaty session of hot monkey sex.
But Melanie was playing hard to get, despite her coy looks and suggestive comments and sly come-ons. They had been playing their little games for over a week now and Derek really thought tonight would be the night.
Yeah, karma was definitely a bitch.
Melanie had left with her girlfriends, her pouty mouth teasing as she gave him yet another excuse. So here he was, the last one to leave.
And he couldn’t leave without at least offering assistance. He stopped in front of the stranded car and cleared his throat. “Did you need a hand?”
The girl turned to him, an expression of wariness mixed with appreciation crossing her face. She looked vaguely familiar and Derek knew he had seen her around. His eyes raked over her outfit in a quick assessment: dirty white athletic shoes, dark blue nylon pants, a matching dark blue jacket pulled over a baggy sweatshirt that hid her body. The Banners logo was embroidered on the left chest of the jacket, just above her name. Bridget. And below that, in a plain script, were the words Banners Ice Crew.
Of course. That’s why she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe. She was part of the ice crew, the team that came out between plays to clean the ice. Derek never paid them much attention. He didn’t think anybody did. Why would they, when the dance team was so much hotter?
“I think I need a jump.”
Derek’s eyes darted to hers and he wondered if she saw the brief expression of horror that crossed his face. He hoped not. She so wasn’t his type. “Excuse me?”
“A jump.” She frowned, her eyes narrowing behind her silver-framed glasses. “A hot-shot? A charge? You know, for a dead battery?”
“Oh. Sure. I knew that.” Derek looked away before she could see his relief. Relief, and embarrassment at taking so long before realizing what she meant. He shifted and glanced over at his SUV, eager for escape, then looked back at her. “I don’t have any of those things—”
“Cables?”
He smiled, one of his high-wattage ones. Escape was imminent and he could leave without feeling guilty. “Yeah. Cables. Sorry. I can let the attendant know—”
“I have some.” She turned away from him and leaned into her car, pulling on something at the floor next to the driver’s seat. A small pop echoed like a shot around them and he almost jumped before realizing the sound was nothing more than the release of her beat up car’s trunk.
He watched as she walked to the rear of the car, disappearing behind the dented metal for a minute before reappearing with a tangled mess of greasy cables. She stopped, a frown on her face as she just looked at him.
“If you could pull your car around?”
“What?”
“Your car. So I can hook the cables to the batte
ry?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.”
Derek walked over to the Lexus, hitting the remote to unlock the door. She was a bossy thing. And a little too uptight, too. Why was it that the unattractive ones were always uptight?
He climbed in and started the engine, then looked over at her. She was leaning against the side of her car, her arms crossed in front of her, waiting. Well, maybe she wasn’t completely unattractive. If he had to describe her, ‘average’ might be a good word. Maybe. At least her hair looked like it was nice, the color a deep rich red. But that was all he could tell about it, since she had it pulled completely off her face and secured in a tight ponytail.
Christ, he needed to get laid soon, if he was sitting here actually thinking about little Ms. Uptight’s hair.
Derek pulled the SUV closer to her car, angling it so the engine was next to hers. He sat there, the engine running, wondering why she was staring at him with that frown. She shook her head and he swore she rolled her eyes at him, too, before walking toward him. He hit the window button to lower it and looked at her.
“Can you pop the hood?”
He nodded, feeling like an idiot. He knew that. Of course he did. He leaned forward, looking at the instrument panel, searching for the hood release. The driver’s door opened and he jumped back, startled and a little irritated when she reached in, looked around, then pulled something somewhere below the steering wheel. The hood popped open and she straightened up, giving him an impatient look.
“It’s a new car.”
“Uh-huh.” She shook her head then walked around the front, opening the hood all the way. Damn. He felt like a complete idiot now. And he couldn’t just sit here, waiting. Not after that little fiasco. He had to at least make an attempt at looking like he knew what he was doing.
He climbed out of the SUV and walked to the front, watching as the girl hooked metal clamps to his battery. She tossed him another impatient look then moved to do the same to the battery of her own engine. There was nothing for Derek to do, just wait and keep his fingers crossed while she climbed into her car and turned the key.
Please, let it start. Please.
The engine cranked. Coughed, sputtered. And yes, thank you, finally turned over with a reluctant rumble. He gave her a smile when she climbed out of her car, surprised when she smiled back.
Whoa. Holy shit. She had a gorgeous smile, wide and bright, with the cutest dimple in her right cheek. He hadn’t expected that.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” He watched as she leaned across the engine, his eyes drifting down to her ass. Not bad. A little full for his taste, definitely not as tight as Melanie’s. In fact, her ass almost looked like it was padded. He started leaning closer for a better look when she glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed.
“Could you unhook the cables for me?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Derek turned back to the engine, stepping closer so he could disconnect the cables. His hand hovered over the clamps, not quite sure which one to grab first. Wasn’t there a specific order—
“The red one comes off first.”
Derek clenched his jaw, feeling like an idiot. Again. He should have known that. Didn’t most people know that? It was basic auto mechanics for dummies. It didn’t matter that he never had to worry about things like this, not when there had always been other people there to do it for him. He should have still known.
He reached in and grabbed the red clamp, disconnecting it, then did the same for the black one. Christ, could the cables be any dirtier? The last thing he needed was grease all over his hands. And all over the front of the SUV. Dammit.
He tugged the cables, worrying about scratches to the hood, then jerked on them so he could toss them to the side. He wasn’t looking, focused more on searching for scratches. Something snagged the cables, pulling them tight a second before they flew from his hand. Then he heard a soft grunt and a hiss of pain as the cables clattered to the concrete floor.
Derek turned just as the girl stumbled toward him, her face contorted in pain. His arms came around her, catching her before she fell. He had just enough time to register the soft lushness of the warm curves pressed against him before she stumbled again. One hand clutched at his coat, the fingers twisting in the thick material. He almost made a comment, something about her not needing to throw herself at him, but then he noticed the grimace of pain on her face, the widening of her eyes behind the glasses.
Green eyes. Deep, lush, vibrant.
His breath caught in his chest, tight and burning. He had never seen such green eyes before, deep and alluring.
Filled with pain.
Derek mentally shook himself, finally realizing something wasn’t right. The girl’s head turned, looking down and to her right. He followed her gaze and muttered a curse.
The cables had caught and twisted around her right ankle. She finally let go of him, leaned down to free her ankle, then tried to stand. And immediately stumbled again, her breath a sharp hiss.
Shit.
He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her, guiding her until she was leaning against the front of the SUV. Derek bent down and pushed the cable out of the way then lifted her right foot toward him. He eased the nylon pants leg up, surprised to see she was wearing sweatpants underneath. He pushed those up, too, his fingers skimming along the smooth pale skin of her calf.
Sure enough, the skin above her shoe was already turning red, a little puffy. He undid the laces of her shoe and pulled it off then gently eased the sock down. The ankle was swollen, the skin an angry mottled red.
Fuck. Yeah, definitely a sprain. Not a bad one, at least from what he could tell. But she wouldn’t be walking on it, at least not for a few days. And of course it was her right ankle. Her right foot—her driving foot.
Guilt flashed through him, quick and unaccustomed. He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened but he could guess. If he had been paying more attention to what he was doing instead of worrying about imaginary scratches on his car, he wouldn’t have jerked the cables to the side the way he had.
And if he hadn’t jerked the cables, she wouldn’t have tripped over them.
Yeah. His fault.
Had he really thought this night couldn’t get any worse? Damn that bitch, karma.
He released her foot and stood, surprised to see the wariness in those odd green eyes, surprised to see her chewing on her lower lip as she watched him.
“I think it’s sprained.”
“Of course it is. Great. Just wonderful.” She shook her head and looked down at her foot, then up at him. She held her hand out, silently asking for her shoe. Derek handed it to her, wondering what she planned to do.
The obvious answer was leave. She placed her hand on the hood of his Lexus, sucked in a deep breath, then tried to hop on her left foot. Derek reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get to my car. I need to get home.”
“You can’t drive, not with your ankle like that.”
She pulled her arm from his hold and took another little hop, stumbling for a second, then another. Hop, stumble. “I don’t have a choice.” Hop, stumble. “I need to get home.” Hop, stumble.
“Are you usually this hard-headed?”
She tossed him a quick glance, fury momentarily replacing the grimace of pain on her face. “Only when I don’t have a choice.”
Derek stepped in front of her, stopping her slow progress. “You can’t drive like that.”
“Then how do you suggest I get home?”
Fuck. Derek glanced down at her foot and felt another surge of unaccustomed guilt. Dammit. She wouldn’t be hurt if not for him. He couldn’t let her drive like that. But she was right: how else was she going to get home?
“I’ll take you.”
He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe an argument, maybe a little surprise—he sure as hell surprised himself. But whatever he thought t
o expect, it certainly wasn’t the sudden bubble of clear laughter that echoed around them.
Chapter Two
Bridget could have driven herself.
She probably should have driven herself. But the offer had caught her so completely unaware, her body still reeling from the sudden pain in her ankle, that she said yes.
Well, she had managed to say yes after that little bout of maniacal laughter. And really, what was up with that? She wasn’t the kind of girl who laughed for no reason or got cases of the giggles. Or turned into a melting puddle of simpering hormones.
But feeling Derek’s arms around her, feeling the heat of his body pressed flushed against hers…her brain short-circuited. It had to be her crazy schedule and lack of sleep, that was the only explanation that made any sense.
Because Derek Caulton was, by her standards, the poster boy for egotistical asses. Too handsome, too certain, too cocky—and too sure of all the above. Bridget tried to listen to the advice her mother had given her all those years ago and not judge a book by its cover but in this case, she couldn’t help it.
Because in this case, she was pretty sure the cover was all there was.
Too bad her body thought otherwise. Damn him.
She glanced over, trying not to be obvious as she studied him. Thick blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, thick lashes. And not washed out pale lashes. No, his were darker, almost black. And long. Too long for a man’s. And of course he had a strong profile, with chiseled cheekbones and a straight nose. Nice full lips. Straight white teeth.
Oh God, had she really noticed his teeth? How pathetic. She grunted, telling herself they probably weren’t his. He was a professional hockey player, for crying out loud. Certainly they couldn’t all be his.
“Is something wrong?”
“Hm?”
He stopped at a traffic light two blocks from her apartment and turned to look at her, his sculpted face bathed in light and shadow from the corner streetlamp. “You grunted. Is it your ankle?”
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