Longest two hours of his traveling career.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait once they’d unloaded at the hotel. He was keeping one eye on Savannah, another on Bobby, and all the while trying to retrieve his bag, when Mark came up to him.
“Hey, I need you to do me a favor.”
In the eight years Mark had managed the Cats, he’d never once asked Garrick for a favor. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Savannah needs to check out the facilities here and at the arena. Wants to do it all before dinner.”
Garrick kept his face perfectly straight, careful not to let any of his internal happy-dance show. When Mark looked at him as if he should be able to intuit what this information meant, he stared back.
He was still trying to get the hang of this friendship thing with Savannah. Until he had it nailed down tight, he wasn’t giving one damn thing away.
Mark sighed. “So I need you to go with her, because I don’t want her running around alone. For now. Though, if anyone asks, it’s because she’s never been here before and as a veteran, I thought you’d be the best person to show her.”
Garrick pursed his lips, fighting his smile. “You tell her all this?”
Mark grinned. “No, I’m giving you that job, too.” With a laugh, he walked into the hotel.
An hour later, Garrick stood next to Savannah in the sultry air of the pool room, staring down into the rather small, oddly-shaped, azure-tiled pool.
Savannah sighed, her hands on her hips. “This pool sucks ass.”
Garrick’s laugh echoed in the tiled box. It was good to feel something other than the heavy dread that had been dragging at him since Savannah had revealed what she’d overheard on the bus. She’d managed to relay the entire conversation and have a passionate, albeit professional, freak-out in the course of one elevator ride. Since then, neither of them had said much at all.
Until the pool observation anyway.
“I think it’s nice.” Garrick pointed to the faux-teak chaise lounges and white and cobalt tiled walls. “Very soothing. And the hot tub looks good.”
Savannah glanced at the huge octagonal tub. “Yeah, well the good news is I can probably fit three defensive lines in there.” She paused. “If they still have their jobs tomorrow.”
Garrick put a hand on her shoulder, trying to give comfort when there was little to be had, and ignored the zing of awareness when his finger brushed her bare neck.
She allowed it for all of ten seconds before she shrugged him off and got back to business. Kneeling by the pool’s edge, she dipped her hand in the water. “Yikes!” She yanked her hand back out. “You get in there and you won’t have to ice anything. Stay in too long and things might fall off.”
He laughed again, but this time his heart wasn’t really in it. Frustration gnawed at him. There has to be a way. A buyer. Someone who could be convinced to give the Cats a chance. We need more time.
Staring down at the pool water rippling from Savannah’s touch, Garrick didn’t even notice her come back to his side until she put a hand on his arm.
Even with his thoughts on the future of his team, he enjoyed a bolt of pleasure that she was voluntarily touching him for some reason other than her job.
She patted him, taking a turn at offering comfort. They were both doing a lousy job at it. “Maybe there’s a buyer in the wings. Maybe someone will come forward soon.”
“Maybe.” But I doubt it.
“In the meantime, I’d like to find Lamont and kick his boney old ass.”
Garrick smiled, still staring into the water. “Yeah, well, you’ll be in his neighborhood in about three days. Maybe you should do that.”
“What?”
Garrick stopped day dreaming and looked at Savannah. They would be in Lamont’s neighborhood later that week. The next game on this road trip was on Cape Breton Island—home of the Sydney Snow Dogs, the Cabot Trail, and Edwin Lamont.
“You’re a genius.”
“I am?”
He smiled. “Yes, you most certainly are!”
She was watching him like he was a few cards short of a full deck. “Care to tell me why?”
“Nope,” Garrick replied, his mind already racing to what he’d have to do to make it work. He grabbed Savannah by the upper arms, hauled her up to him, and kissed her on the forehead before she could do more than squeak out a feeble protest.
“Hey!”
“You are a genius though. I’ll explain the rest later.” He let her go before she could even think about shoving him away.
“You better!” she called as he jogged out of the pool room, dialing Rhian’s number to ask him to meet Savannah in the gym and escort her to the arena.
She wouldn’t like it, but she’d survive. And so, maybe, would the Ice Cats.
Chapter Seven
Four nights later, Savannah stood outside the Sydney Harbor Hotel, the blistering cold, damp wind coming off the Atlantic chilling her to the bone. Of course, her bones were a lot more exposed than usual, which didn’t help.
Shifting, she stomped her heels on the red carpet, trying to find some warmth for her virtually bare legs. She might as well have been naked from the knee down for all the protection her thin stockings offered.
In hindsight, how she’d come to be standing outside the team’s hotel dressed in a skirt, blouse, and actual high heels was a complete mystery to her. In the days since Garrick had declared she was a genius, she’d seen very little of him except to prepare him for the games against the Halifax Thunder, while he was on the ice for those games, and when they’d taken the team bus here to Sydney for their series against the Snow Dogs. Not during any of those times had they had a chance to speak privately.
Not that she’d missed him, of course.
She shivered and burrowed her chin deeper into the lapels of her wool coat, wishing she’d left her hair down and that the hem of her coat went a hell of a lot closer to the ground than mid-thigh.
Okay, she had missed him. Mostly because without him to keep her company, she’d been foisted off onto Rhian, Mark, and even Mike and Alexei at various points. Having Garrick as her shadow was frustrating. Having all these men aware of her situation and forced to traipse around after her was humiliating. She’d been ready to call Garrick and leave him a scathing voicemail about his big mouth until Mark made an off-handed comment about having to call Rhian for his shift. With horror, she’d realized that Mark was now the one arranging her constant escorts.
Somehow, no matter how annoying Garrick had been with his attempts at subtle machinations, it had never pissed her off like learning Mark was doing it. If he thought Bobby was that fucking dangerous, why didn’t he fire the asshole?
Guess it paid to have a father who owned half a city.
Another shiver shook Savannah and she looked longingly at the warm lobby through the glass doors. What she wouldn’t give to be in there by the fire.
Actually, she knew what she wouldn’t give. Her reputation. The escorts were bad enough. Being spotted dressed up in a skirt and heels and going out with a teammate would be a disaster.
So here she stood, freezing her buns off after having sneaked through the lobby like a truant teenager. She stomped her feet again and prayed for the car Garrick had promised would pick her up. Soon.
He’d called her hotel room at midnight two nights ago to ask if she had anything she could wear to dinner.
“What?” she’d asked, astounded. After all this time, he was asking her out again?
“I have an idea. A way we might be able to help keep the Cats going for a while longer.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Now do you have anything you could wear to a business meeting? Something like that?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
She’d hated the disappointment in his voice and responded without thinking. “But I can hit the Halifax Shopping Centre tomorrow before the game.” As soon as the words had popped out of her mouth, she’d wondered w
hat the hell she was doing.
“Great! I’ll see to everything else.” And with that, he’d hung up on her.
Irritating bastard. What “everything else”?
Damn lucky for him she’d actually enjoyed her sojourn to the mall—a few minutes alone without a hockey-player-sized shadow or the constant fear of bumping into Bobby. She’d found some great shops and even better sales—the only reason she’d splurged on the silk thigh-high stockings and a lacy bra and panty set. Really, she could have worn her serviceable cotton bikinis under her new tweed wool skirt, but no way was she going to wear a Lyrca sports bra under the white silk blouse she’d purchased to go with it. And the bra and panties came as a set. And they were on sale. And the stockings felt so good.
She sighed and stomped her feet again. She had spent the last day making excuses for wearing such outrageously sexy, feminine things. The truth was simple, though possibly perverse—it tickled her to wear a little secret under her conservative clothes. No one would ever know. And they were cute. And comfortable. And a good price.
And if she kept telling herself this, she might convince herself it made sense.
The shoes, on the other hand, had been nothing but an indulgence. Brown, round toe, high stacked heels and soft leather with the classic details of a pair of men’s wingtips.
Somehow, wearing shoes that reminded her of every stodgy old man who’d ever told her girls don’t belong in hockey made the silk against her skin feel even softer. Made her feel bolder. Standing a little over six feet tall didn’t hurt either.
Of course, why she should feel bold was another mystery. All she knew was what Garrick’s note—which she’d discovered upon returning from the arena at midnight the night before—said. A car would pick her up in front of the hotel at six o’clock tonight, and she should wear the clothes she’d bought.
So here she was, like a well-trained lap dog, too curious to know what the man had up his sleeve to worry about whether this was a good idea. As much as it galled her to admit it, she trusted him and was more than willing to go along for the ride.
Her feet began to feel warm, a very bad sign when standing in twenty degree weather with an even colder wind chill coming in off the ocean. She had no choice but to go back into the lobby. She had the door handle in her grasp when headlights streaked across the glass, the soft hum of an engine drawing near.
A black town car glided to a stop under the portico. The driver immediately opened his door and stood to look at her over the roof of the car.
“Ms. Morrison?”
She blinked at the trim man in black. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry we’re late, ma’am.” He hurried around the nose of the idling car. “Please get in and warm up.”
She hesitated, then moved to the car. Bottom line, she trusted Garrick.
She slipped a leg through the door held open for her and caught a glimpse of grey flannel trousers. It was too late to try to get in the car in some way that wouldn’t hike her skirt so high.
Her ass landed in the soft leather seat and she came to two conclusions. One, heated seats were heaven. Two, Garrick cleaned up well. Really well.
Shifting against the warm leather, she clipped on her seatbelt and gave herself a few seconds to adjust to the effect Garrick was having on her senses. A hint of his cologne teased her nose and made her think of the woods and lemon and something muskier, like hot sweaty sex. His hair had been trimmed, the dark curls tamed by a clever cut. He was wearing a well-fitted blue shirt, his sports coat cut to accommodate his broad shoulders. His grey slacks hinted at the strength in his thighs, the fit accentuating his height. His tie pulled everything together perfectly—from his perfectly polished wingtips to the twinkle in his amber eyes.
He was smiling at her, amused, and she was gawping at him like some kind of rube.
“Hi.” At least she hadn’t stuttered.
“Hi.” His voice seemed deeper than she remembered. Or maybe her raging hormones were affecting her hearing.
The car quietly slipped out into traffic and turned north. She sucked in a deep breath and collected herself as they drove out of the heart of the city and into a neighborhood with large homes and quiet streets.
She opened her mouth to ask Garrick where were they going, but words stuck in her throat when she caught his gaze trailing over her new shoes and slowly devouring the length of her legs.
Her heart gave a funny beat. The logical, professional side of her brain screamed at her to object. Maybe kick him in the shins. The rest of her body insisted there was nothing wrong with putting that look in a smart sexy man’s eyes.
Garrick was transfixed. Mesmerized. Bamboozled.
Never once in all the time he’d spent studying Savannah, watching her, walking with her, seeing her in the gym and at her office—not even when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her—had he imagined those legs.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, they went on forever. His palms itched with the desire to run over her firm, muscled calves and softly curved thighs. When she’d stood outside the hotel, her skirt had brushed the top of her knee. Now the hem rested mid-thigh, a delight to be sure, but not quite as completely heart stopping as the glimpse of lace and bare skin he’d been granted when she’d first slid her leg into the car.
He shivered, reminding himself he was her friend, and while he was still trying to figure out what the hell that meant and how the soul-searing kiss in the parking lot fit into it, he was ninety-nine percent certain that fantasizing about wrapping his friend’s long, lean legs around his waist was a violation of the rules.
Though, god help him, he was only human.
A soft cough, more of a gentle throat clearing, startled him. He yanked his eyes up to meet Savannah’s amused gaze.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He couldn’t process the question through the buzzing, jumbled thoughts banging around his head. Mostly he was thinking he was going to buy some ZZ Top on iTunes later tonight. Legs. “What?”
“Tonight? A business meeting? You said something about saving the Cats.”
“Oh, right. Yes. We’re having dinner with Edwin Lamont.”
“What?”
He grimaced. Maybe he shouldn’t have sprung that on her as they turned into the recluse millionaire’s driveway. “I called from Halifax and explained we were with the Ice Cats and wanted to talk to him about the sale.”
A massive stone and timber mansion rose above them as they crested the hill that hid it from the street.
“Tonight? Now?”
Garrick sighed and ran his hand through his freshly cut hair. He missed the curls but had to admit he looked more like a business man and less like a hockey jock this way. He didn’t think Edwin Lamont would give him the time of day either way, but Garrick was determined to put his best foot forward, regardless.
A gentle hand on his arm brought him back to the more immediate issue.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was so focused on the invitation and getting us here, I didn’t give you time to prepare.”
Savannah looked around. “Whose car is this?”
“I hired the car. I didn’t want to show up in a taxi, plus I didn’t think a taxi would be willing to pick up two passengers at two different doors of the hotel.”
She cocked her head. “Two different doors?”
“So you wouldn’t be seen going out with me all dressed up.” He paused. Had he blundered again? “I thought you would be more comfortable with that.”
He tried to gauge her response. It would be fucking terrific if someone would write down the male/female friendship rulebook for him. This playing by feel thing was a bitch. Every time he—
Her smile brought his thoughts to stuttering stop. She put her hand on his arm again. “Thank you. That was very considerate.” She hesitated, frowning. “I imagine I seem paranoid to you.”
Two months ago, Garrick would have said “hell yes” without a thought. Two weeks ago, even, he might not hav
e understood. These days, though, he was getting the hang of Savannah.
“No, not paranoid. Careful. Smart. I get it.”
“You do?”
He smiled. “I do.” The car came to a stop and Garrick watched over Savannah’s shoulder as a solemn older gentlemen opened the front door.
“Holy crap. He has a butler.”
Savannah glanced behind her before turning back to him. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“We are going to convince Lamont not to shut down the team until he finds a buyer.”
“How the hell are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed, watching her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open, “but it’s going to work.”
The door opened behind her and the driver’s hand appeared, ready to help her from the car.
“Are you insane?” she asked in a furious whisper.
It was a fair question.
“Not insane.” He wrapped his hand over hers where it still gripped his arm. “Determined.”
“Are you insane?” Edwin Reese Lamont III asked Garrick before looking at Savannah for confirmation.
“He prefers the term determined,” she said.
Garrick flashed her a quick grin and she couldn’t help but smile back. Whatever the two of them had thought they were getting into that night, it certainly hadn’t been this.
For starters, she’d assumed Edwin Lamont, recluse millionaire, heir to a family fortune and Ice Cats owner, would be a crusty old miser with grey hair, rheumy eyes, and maybe even one of those silver-handled canes rich people called “walking sticks”.
Instead, here stood a thirty-something year old man, chestnut hair perfectly coiffed, clear green eyes so direct they could look right through a person and see into her heart. He was tall, slim, fit. Built like a swimmer, with good shoulders and strong hands.
Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) Page 6
