He’d thought it was only in the desert that hallucinations occurred, but the one he was experiencing right now was so vivid…
He lifted his sunglasses onto his forehead as he stared across the beach.
The beautiful blond hair blowing in the ocean breeze and the long, bare legs visible beneath a pale pink sarong nearly made his heart stop.
It couldn’t be her. Paige didn’t even know where he was, and she barely went anywhere without being fully covered. This woman was wearing a white bikini top, and her skin glistened. He sat straighter and squinted as she stopped in the sand a few feet away.
“Hey, mind if I stalk you?” The sound of the voice he’d been craving made him smile like a complete moron.
He had absolutely zero game, and he didn’t give a shit.
“I was starting to lose hope that you would.” He pushed himself to his feet, brushing sand from the back of his shorts as he stepped toward her. He had to touch her, make sure she was really there.
“Ben told me where you were. He gave me a head start before he came here himself to drag your butt back into the mascot costume.” She gave a nervous-sounding laugh, and her gaze fell to the sand. “Sorry to crash your vacation.”
Reaching for her, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him, savoring the smell of her coconut-scented sunscreen and the feel of her smooth, soft body beneath his hands. She was really there. For him. “Sweetheart, you could crash my life and I’d beg you to do it again.”
She looked relieved as her gaze rose to meet his. “And I’m sorry about the way we left things…”
He kissed her forehead, his hands sliding up her bare back, his fingers feeling the scars at her shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t come after you this time.”
“No. You were right to make me sweat a little,” she said with a sheepish grin. “But this humidity is a little much.” She rubbed her bare arms. “I can’t remember the last time I was this exposed,” she said.
“Me neither,” he whispered against her cheek as he kissed the base of her neck. “You’re beautiful. There’s nothing you ever need to hide. Not from me, not from anyone.”
She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips quickly, before saying, “You were right.”
“About what?”
“Only needing one date to sweep me off my feet.”
He smiled. “Obviously, we are not talking about the first one.”
“Obviously,” she said swatting his shoulder.
He pulled her closer and she fell into him, her lips finding his once more as the warm breeze circled around them.
“Everyone is staring,” she said, pulling back a breathless moment later.
“That’s because they’re all wondering what someone as perfect as you sees in a guy like me. In fact, I can’t stop wondering that myself.”
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered.
God, he loved hearing that. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” She backed away slightly, reached for her cell phone, and dialed a number.
He frowned until he heard his cell phone ring. The sound of “Stir It Up” coming from his shorts pocket made him smile.
She took his hand and pulled him closer. “Dance with me.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “No one else is dancing,” he whispered against her soft skin.
“That’s okay. I don’t want to dance with anyone else,” she said, lifting her love-filled expression to his as they swayed together on the sand.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Are you sure about this? Do you really think I can do this?”
The look on Harrison’s face was one of pure excitement with a tinge of nervousness. Owen understood it perfectly. He’d felt the same mixture of emotions before every game, every season. “Absolutely.”
Next to him, in the empty Avalanche locker room, Paige nodded her agreement. “You are going to crush it.” She handed Owen the Saint Bernard head, and he passed it on to his replacement.
“Bernie’s in good hands, man,” he said, and he meant it. He’d gone to check out Harrison’s high school mascot routine weeks ago and the guy was a natural—he’d motivated the crowd at his school’s first basketball game of the season and his halftime performance with the cheerleaders had more than impressed Owen. Suggesting him as his replacement had been easy. The hardest part had been convincing the boy’s parents that he was ready for the job, but they hadn’t been able to deny him the opportunity when they’d seen his excitement as long as he kept his grades up. “The entire team agrees…in fact I heard Westmore mutter something about you being better than me.”
The kid laughed, the tension easing from his young face.
Owen stepped forward and extended a hand. “Good luck, and have fun out there.” He paused. “But just remember, being Bernie is just a part of who you are, okay?”
Harrison nodded as he put on the mascot head.
“Ready?” Paige asked.
Thumbs-up.
“All right, it’s all you, man,” Owen said, opening the locker room door. Harrison hurried out into the hall. The crowd greeted him in his first appearance as the team’s symbol of hope.
Paige grabbed Owen’s arm as he went to follow, and he let the door close, going to her instead.
“That was really great,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and moving into his arms.
“He’s a great kid and a great mascot. He’s going to be fantastic, and I’m glad I could help him get this gig.” He pulled her closer, loving the feel of her in his arms. For two months, they’d spent almost every night together, and his feelings for her only grew with each day. The fact that she felt as much for him was still something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around, but he refused to question it anymore.
He loved her. She loved him.
“What you did for him was wonderful, but I meant what you said—about his new alter ego only being a part of who he is.” She cupped his face and kissed him softly. “It was very…insightful of you,” she said with a smile.
He laughed, brushing her blond hair away from her face, letting his fingers trail the length of her beautiful, long neck along her scars. He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes. There was something he’d been wanting to ask her, and he wasn’t sure he could be patient any longer. “Hey, I was wondering…What do you think about moving in together?” They never spent a night apart anyway, and he couldn’t imagine a better life than one with her in it…full time, permanently. Asking her to marry him after two months was sure to send her packing, but he hoped he wasn’t pushing too far with this idea. “I mean, if it’s too soon…”
“Shhh,” she said, placing a finger over his lips. “I’ve been packing my things into boxes for a month now.”
A smile curled his lips and he held her closer. “Now who’s getting ahead of themselves?” he teased, kissing her cheeks, her earlobe, and then dropping his lips to her neck.
“Glad you finally caught up,” she said.
Asher Westmore is taking his hockey career to the next level, until an injury forces him to the sidelines. When he turns to physical therapist—and best friend—Emma Lewis for help, Asher starts to realize that the game of his career might be the game of love…
Please see the next page for a preview of Asher’s story, Maybe This Christmas.
Chapter 1
Asher Westmore hated surprises almost as much as he hated parties. Which everyone who’d just jumped out at him, yelling “Congratulations,” should know. He turned to face his best friend.
Wide-eyed and innocent was not a look that Emma Callaway could pull off.
“This is why you were so adamant about coming here?” Asher asked, removing his baseball hat and shaking the snow from it as he ran a hand through his short brown hair.
I should have known, he thought, pushing his hair back and replacing the hat. Emma hated the Grumpy Stump—the local watering hole in Glenwood Falls—almost as much as he d
id. She certainly wouldn’t have turned down his suggestion for the evening to come here unless something was up.
“Your mom is impossible to say no to,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just fake a freaking smile and let’s get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible.” Her own fake smile was already in place.
It was too late for painlessly. The sound of Mariah Carey belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You” was making his ears bleed, and the bright multicolored holiday lights covering every surface in the bar made him squint as he glanced around at the familiar faces. It seemed everyone in town had braved the first snowstorm of the year to come celebrate with him, which sent quickly flying headfirst into a snowbank as well. Everyone would want at least a few minutes of his time, as he was rarely back in his hometown. “This is premature,” he hissed, but he did let his mouth twitch in the best version of a smile he could muster as everyone continued to stare and applaud.
“You’re two games away and the Devils are honoring you in New Jersey. People wanted to be a part of this,” Emma said, as his brothers and their significant others approached.
“Hey, man,” his oldest brother, Ben, said, hugging him first.
Winded by the rib-crushing hold, Asher said, “You could have warned me.”
“Where would the fun be in that?” Ben asked, moving away and handing him his half-finished beer. “Started without you.” He slid an arm around his fiancée, Olivia, who held back, offering him a small wave in greeting.
Her, he liked. Or at least the fact that she valued personal space as much as he did.
“Yeah, what took you two so long?” Abigail, his other brother Jackson’s fiancée, asked, moving in to hug him next.
He squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn’t a hugger. Which they all knew damn well.
When she released him, she shot what he guessed were supposed to be knowing looks between him and Emma.
She didn’t know shit.
Despite what everyone thought they knew, he and Emma were not a couple. They were far too smart to ruin a perfect thing by messing around with feelings and commitments.
“The roads were terrible,” Emma lied.
He hid a grin behind his hand. He’d been terrible. Refusing to leave her condo, trying everything in his power to charm her clothes off.
Okay, so maybe Abby knew a little something. Or at least she wasn’t completely in the wrong about why they were late.
“The roads…right,” she said with a wink. “You know, a triple wedding next year would be so much fun.”
His mouth went dry, and he looked at Jackson to call off the attack. Just because his brothers had found women they wanted to spend their lives with didn’t mean he was desperate to settle down anytime soon.
In two games, three nights from now, he was going to be honored for his one thousandth game on NHL ice. While most players were slowing down at this point, at thirty, Asher was pushing back the clock. Hockey was everything that mattered to him, everything he’d known since he could stand in a hockey net, bubble-wrapped for his protection, and dive to block his brothers’ unmerciful slap shots. Growing up the youngest brother of two NHL-crazed siblings, and even a sister who could play when forced, he’d learned two things: he never wanted to be a goalie, and if it meant playing in the NHL someday, he’d take every ill-timed body shot his brothers could send flying his way.
And he’d made it to NHL, just like his oldest brother, Ben. And just like Ben, he’d made it to a thousand career games.
Almost.
“Come on, we have a table in the back,” his sister, Becky, said, waving the group along. “Mom’s waiting there so we don’t lose it.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I can’t believe all of these people are here to see you,” she said.
He held out his arms. “What can I say? They know greatness when they see it.”
“So you’re saying they’re here to see Ben?” The smart-assery in the Westmore family was strong.
He shoved her gently toward the back of the bar. “Shouldn’t you be pregnant or something?”
She swung around to face him. “Newsflash—your new niece is almost a year old. Visit more, maybe,” she said with her normal teasing tone, but there was a flicker of hope that he actually would reflected in her eyes.
A small wave of guilt washed over him, but only a small one. It wasn’t his fault he’d been drafted to the Devils and not the Colorado home team like his brother.
The wooden bar floor was sticky beneath his hiking boots as they made their way to the reserved table, and Asher hoped it could be blamed for his apparent limp as he shook hands along the way with people he hadn’t seen in years. Unfortunately, the intense pain in his knee wasn’t as easy to hide as his disdain over this premature celebration.
“Are you going to let me look at your knee before you head back?” Emma whispered.
Just once he wished something would escape his friend’s sharp eye. “Nothing to look at. I feel great,” he said, shoving her gently ahead of him through the thick crowd of well-wishers. “Besides, there’s only one ache I’d like you to help me with,” he whispered, the smell of her peppermint-scented body lotion making him want to lick her like a candy cane. And he would have, if hundreds of eyes weren’t watching his every move. He avoided any and every kind of media attention that didn’t have something to do with hockey.
His personal life was private…even from his family. He preferred it that way. And just because he was in his small hometown, surrounded by familiar faces, didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in the crowd who wouldn’t love a shot of him that they could sell to the tabloids.
Pre-Olivia Ben had provided the gossip rags with enough content. Asher kept his head down and his nose clean.
But it was a challenge not to reach out and squeeze Emma’s perfectly round ass, hugged tight by a pair of dark skinny jeans, when she turned to glare at him over her shoulder. “I’m a good therapist. I can help,” she said.
That was the problem. She was a good therapist. One who would tell him to stay off of the damaged ACL in his right leg.
Not happening.
At least not until he’d reached his milestone…two games way. “I’m fine. Besides, you have enough to worry about,” he said with a smirk.
Even her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes were sexy as hell. “Such as?”
“Such as trying not to look guilty as shit around my mom.”
* * *
Right. An evening with Beverly Westmore, the woman driving Emma’s widowed father to the brink of insanity since he’d moved into the house next door. Not that Emma was letting her father off the hook. He was as much to blame for their petty bickering as Beverly. She just wished the two could get along.
Normally, their harmless feuding over property lines and what color to paint the shared fence separating their backyards wouldn’t bother her. But being as crazy, unrequitedly in love with Beverly’s son as she was, the conflict between the families was a concern.
She tucked a strand of short blond hair behind her ear. She had always worn it shoulder-length, but just that day had chopped off the locks to a chin-length bob that framed her face, and she was still getting used to the new style.
She wondered what Asher thought of it. In the few hours since he’d been in town, he’d yet to mention it. She sighed. What did she expect? Her best friend wasn’t exactly the most observant. At least not when it came to anything above her waist. If she changed the look of her ass, he’d definitely notice, she thought wryly, feeling his eyes on it as she walked in front of him.
He better cut that out before his mother saw him.
Beverly gave her the briefest of smiles as they reached the table, then immediately her attention was all on Ash.
“I saved you a seat next to me,” she yelled above the holiday music blaring from the speaker directly above them. She moved over one spot along the long line of empty chairs near the wall. One and only one.
Emma took a seat across from th
em. She couldn’t blame the woman for wanting her son’s undivided attention. Traveling ten months a year with the Devils, Asher was rarely in Glenwood Falls. Even the off season seemed to end prematurely with preseason training camp and living in New Jersey, so the Westmore siblings were rarely in one place at the same time. She knew it was tough on Beverly to hardly ever see the baby of the family.
Not seeing Asher was hard on Emma, too, but she knew the life of a pro athlete. Her days as a pro snowboarder had meant a lot of traveling and dedication to that sport as well. She understood Asher’s commitment to the one thing in his life he was truly passionate about.
She just wished he’d open his eyes and heart to the idea of a different kind of commitment.
Her cheeks felt warmer at the thought, and she prayed the twinkling red and green Christmas lights draped from the ceiling above the table could be blamed for the glow.
Jackson took a seat next to her. “Thanks for getting him here,” he said, shrugging out of his leather jacket and draping it on the back of his chair.
“It wasn’t easy.” Nor was it the way she really wanted to spend the evening. She’d been excited when his schedule had brought him to Denver for his game the following evening. She’d been thinking that maybe this visit might be different, that it might be the opportunity she was waiting for to open to him about the feelings she had.
Feelings she hoped he shared.
Over the last several months, their conversations had grown a little deeper whenever they Skyped. His contract with the Devils was up at the end of that season, and he wasn’t certain of a renewal. He was worried for the first time in his career, and she’d done her best to reassure him that he was still one of the team’s VIP players and they’d be stupid not to re-sign him. Talks had eventually turned to his future plans after hockey, and the truth about how she felt about him was constantly just a deep breath away.
She wanted to be what was next after hockey. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could wait until his pro athlete days were over, and he’d been giving her signs lately that she might not have to. Of course, he’d never confessed feelings…but she knew she meant a lot to him. And she was ready to find out just how much.
Maybe This Summer Page 11
