Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  PLAYING HIS PART

  A York Bombers Hockey Novel

  Book 7

  Lisa B. Kamps

  PLAYING HIS PART

  Copyright © 2019 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 York Bombers™ is a fictional semi-professional ice hockey team, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.

  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.

  Photographer: CJC Photography

  http://www.cjc-photography.com

  Cover Model: David Wills

  https://www.instagram.com/cdavidwills/

  Artwork and Cover Design by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art

  http://www.simplydefinedart.com/

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  The Protector: MAC preview

  About The Author

  Other titles by this author

  For Sarah Jillain.

  The Kellerman's Retreat was amazing because

  that's where I got to meet you!

  So thankful for your friendship and support and the memories.

  And the watermelons.

  And Bloody Mary's with a side of bacon.

  And spoons...we'll always have spoons (and the scar should eventually fade, right???)

  Other titles by this author:

  COVER SIX SECURITY

  Covered By A Kiss, A CSS Novella, Book 0

  The Protector: MAC, Book 1

  The Guardian: DARYL, Book 2

  The Defender: RYDER, Book 3

  The Warrior: DERRICK, Book 4

  The Rescuer: SEBASTIAN, Book 5

  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

  Delay of Game, Book 6

  Shoot Out, Book 7

  The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy

  Books 1-3 Boxed set

  The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy

  Books 4-6 Boxed set

  On Thin Ice, Book 8

  Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  One-Timer, Book 9

  Face Off, Book 10

  First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story

  Game Misconduct, Book 11

  Fighting To Score, Book 12

  Matching Penalties, Book 13

  THE YORK BOMBERS

  Playing The Game, Book 1

  Playing To Win, Book 2

  Playing For Keeps, Book 3

  Playing It Up, Book 4

  Playing It Safe, Book 5

  The York Bombers Boxed Set 1

  Books 1-3

  Playing For Love, Book 6

  Playing His Part, Book 7

  THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES

  Winning Hard, Book 1

  Loving Hard, Book 2

  Playing Hard, Book 3

  FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN

  Once Burned, Book 1

  Playing With Fire, Book 2

  Breaking Protocol, Book 3

  Into the Flames, Book 4

  Second Alarm, Book 5

  Feel The Burn, Book 6

  Coming Soon

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Time To Heal

  Dangerous Passion

  Dangerous Heat

  Illicit Affair

  Coming Soon

  Want to receive updates on my releases, preorders, and sales? Then follow me on BookBub.

  And be sure to sign up for my monthly newsletter, Kamps' Korner, for exciting news and sneak peeks! You don’t want to miss it!

  Can't wait for the newsletter? Want exclusive content before anyone else? How about fun, games, and giveaways? Then please join me and a great group of readers and fans at Kamps Korner on Facebook.

  Chapter One

  It was her wedding day and she'd be more enthusiastic if she was getting ready to jump off the Hoover Dam. At least if she did that, she'd know exactly what was waiting for her at the end: death.

  But with this...with this, there was only uncertainty.

  And more than a little fear.

  Natalie Kenney pulled in a deep breath and pressed the palm of one hand flat against her stomach to calm the nerves threatening to turn her entire body inside out. She'd use both hands if she could, but her left hand was tightly fisted around the small bouquet of flowers the groom had thrust at her ten minutes ago.

  Roses. Vibrant red roses, the color deep and rich against the pale skin stretched across her tight knuckles. If she squeezed the bouquet any tighter, the stems would break—if they hadn't already.

  She didn't even like roses. Not that the groom would know that. How could he, when he didn't know her? They weren't total strangers—he was her friend's brother. A friend she hadn't seen since she was sixteen, almost nine years ago, but still...that counted for something, right? The fact that he wasn't a total stranger. The fact that she at least knew him.

  A little bit.

  Kind of.

  And he had recognized her last night when they ran into each other—literally, because she'd been hurrying through the marble-floored lobby when she plowed right into him. He'd caught her, steadying her with firm hands, the skin of his palms callused and warm and somehow reassuring in spite of the flash of annoyance that crossed his face. His brown eyes had been carefully blank, almost cold, for a long minute as he stared at her. Then he dropped his hands and stepped back, his head tilted to the side as he studied her. She knew exactly when he recognized her—at least when he thought he might recognize her. Not because of any flare of recognition that lit his face, but because he came right out and asked if he knew her.

  He had invited her to the bar for a drink, which turned into five, which made Natalie spill her entire life story, every single woe and regret and sorrow and failure that had made up t
he last pathetic five years. The story ended with the vaguest retelling of the lowest of low points in her life: the catastrophe that had left her stranded in a city unforgiving of mistakes.

  He had leaned in closer, so of course she leaned toward him, thinking that maybe he was getting ready to kiss her because suddenly the thought of being kissed by him filled her with more than a few sparks of excitement. He was attractive, with jet black hair and a square jaw and a full mouth. More rugged than handsome. Natalie had thought he was cute the few times she'd seen him all those years ago, too. Not crush-worthy cute—he was too aloof and arrogant even back then, too wrapped up in hockey and whatever else drove him—but still cute. And kissing him—being kissed by him—suddenly seemed like the perfect way to turn what had been a totally crappy week around.

  Only he hadn't kissed her. Instead, he leaned in, his deep voice a little rough, and said, "Let's get married."

  Let's get married.

  And like the impulsive fool she was, Natalie had accepted the lifeline he'd thrown her and agreed to the insane proposal.

  Now here they were eighteen hours later, at one of the many chapels that lined the Vegas strip, ready to commit themselves in matrimony.

  Commit. Somehow that word seemed appropriate. The only thing more appropriate would be if they were in a padded room instead of this quaint and nowhere-near-as-tacky-as-she-expected little chapel. Because they had to be crazy for doing this, right?

  She glanced over at the groom-to-be, his brows lowered over dark eyes as he reviewed the different vows they could say to each other. The blunt end of one long finger finally tapped the small booklet as he nodded.

  "We can do this one." He seemed to finally remember that she was standing there with him because he looked over, that frown still in place. "If you're okay with it, I mean."

  Natalie didn't bother to look at whatever he was pointing to—she wouldn't have been able to read the words anyway, not with the way her mind was reeling. She just nodded and offered her soon-to-be-husband a quivering smile.

  "Sure. That's fine. Whatever you want."

  His dark gaze slid from hers to the minister. "We'll do this one."

  The man nodded. Was he really a minister? A Justice of the Peace? Something else? She didn't know and figured it was safe to call him a minister. No matter what title he went by, he was just a regular guy, not someone dressed in an Elvis costume, thank you very much. He moved the book out of the way then motioned for the two of them to follow him to the front of the room.

  Natalie took two steps and tripped, felt a warm hand close around her bare arm to steady her. She almost pulled her arm from the groom's grip, stopped herself at the last second. He was only trying to help. Not just by steadying her so she didn't face-plant on the thick runner, but by marrying her.

  Marrying.

  Her.

  And oh God, were they really going to do this?

  Yes, they were.

  She almost spun around and took off running. Almost. But running wouldn't solve anything—if it did, she wouldn't be in this predicament now. If it did, she wouldn't be here, getting ready to commit herself in marriage.

  Getting ready to commit herself, period.

  Instead of listening to every screaming instinct and running for the door, she offered the groom a quick smile and let him walk her down the short aisle. There were no attendants, no friends to act as witness. It was just the minister, his assistant, and the two of them.

  Natalie was faintly aware of some music playing in the background. Maybe it had been playing the entire time and she only now just noticed it. Or maybe it had started when she and the groom began their walk across the small room. She didn't know, realized she probably shouldn't care. This wasn't anything special. Certainly nothing she'd tell her kids or grandkids about because there wouldn't be kids or grandkids, because this wasn't a real wedding or a real marriage. No, she shouldn't care about the music. And normally she wouldn't care, except it gave her something to focus on instead of her rolling stomach.

  At least, until the music abruptly stopped and the minister started talking. None of the words made sense, not until the older man looked at her with an expectant smile and an encouraging nod before turning to the groom and asking for the rings.

  Heat filled Natalie's face when she realized they didn't have rings. Why would they, when this wedding wasn't real? When nothing about this was real? She started to say that but the groom was already reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a black velvet box and opened it before passing it to the minister. Natalie had just enough time to register the bright light glinting off matching silver and gold bands before the minister looked at her with a soft smile.

  "I just need you to repeat after me."

  Natalie blinked, her mind scrambling to catch up with what was going on. Repeat? Why would she need to—

  Oh. Their vows. Yes, of course. She forced a wobbling smile to her face, nodded at the minister, then turned to face the groom.

  He stood there, tall and stoic. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Wide chest. The dark suit fit him perfectly, tailored for his build. It wasn't the suit that held her enthralled, though—it was his eyes. Deep. Intense.

  And totally focused on her, like he could see past every single lie she'd ever told, straight down to the frightened little girl she'd always been and always would be.

  Benjamin Leach.

  Her soon-to-be-husband.

  She almost did turn around and run away right then and there, would have if not for the steady hand that held hers in its iron grip. And then the minister was talking, his voice steady as he gave her the vows to repeat.

  "Benjamin, I take you to be my h-husband from this day forward. To join with you and to share all that is to come. To be your faithful wife—" Her voice faltered on the last word. Wife. Oh God, she was going to be his wife.

  Ben squeezed her hand, the corner of his mouth quirking in an almost-smile. She swallowed, cleared her throat, forced a steadiness to her voice she didn't feel. She owed him at least that much.

  Didn't she?

  "To give and to receive. To speak and to listen. To inspire and to respond. A commitment made in lo—" A deep breath, then another one so she could speak through the lie. "—made in l-love, kept in faith, and eternally made new."

  Then it was Ben's turn. His deep voice rang out in the small chapel, each word strong and steady. His gaze never left hers, holding her prisoner as much as the grip of his hand on hers. There was only the slightest pause when he said "faithful husband", a pause only she heard.

  Or had she imagined it? They hadn't discussed this part of it. They hadn't discussed anything at all, not after she had foolishly agreed to his proposal. If the simple cream-colored silk dress she was now wearing hadn't been delivered to her room earlier this morning with a note that Ben was picking her up at four in the afternoon, she would have thought the entire thing had been nothing more than a dream. A nightmare. A joke.

  But it wasn't a joke—it was the real thing because the minister was now pronouncing them husband and wife and telling Ben he could kiss the bride.

  Kiss her.

  Her eyes widened in momentary shock a second before Ben's arm slid around her waist and pulled her close. She had just enough time to register the strength in that arm, the solidness of his broad chest, the fact that his brown eyes were really more hazel and ringed with the barest hint of gold. Then his mouth closed over hers and she was lost.

  Lost in the warmth of the kiss. The softness of his lips. The gentleness of his mouth as he slid his tongue across the seam of her own lips before it met hers. And his taste, like mint and desire and sin all wrapped up together in a feast meant to tempt a starving woman.

  Meant to tempt her.

  She sighed and leaned in closer, pressed her body more tightly against his, suddenly needing more—

  Only to be left gasping for breath when Ben suddenly pulled away.

  He stepped back, allowing
cold air to wash over her. That more than anything snapped her to attention and made her realize she was in over her head. Way over her head. If Ben could reduce her to a quivering puddle of need with one simple kiss, she was in even more trouble than she had been in before running into him last night.

  Natalie swallowed back her disappointment, hoped the sudden worry and regret she felt didn't show on her face. They followed the minister to another room and signed their names on a piece of paper—the marriage certificate.

  Oh God, she was married. They'd actually done it!

  She didn't have time to ponder the full reality, not yet, because Ben was leading her outside into the warm evening air. A private car waited for them, the driver holding out two glasses of champagne. Natalie accepted hers, took a small sip, watched from the corner of her eye as Ben tossed his back in one long swallow.

  Benjamin Leach.

  Her husband.

  She climbed into the car, careful not to destroy the red roses still clutched in one fist. Ben slid in next to her, his muscular thigh resting against her leg. Then he gave the driver their destination and Natalie shook her head.

  "But my room's at—"

  "Not anymore. I had your things moved over to the suite at my hotel." He shifted on the leather seat, one arm draped casually behind her. Not quite touching her, but close. "We have dinner reservations in thirty minutes. A little celebration of sorts."

  Natalie started to tell him that wasn't necessary—she didn't expect dinner, or a celebration. This, what they'd just done, wasn't real. But there was something in his voice that stopped her. Something a little too flat, a bit too unenthusiastic. A shiver ran across her, pebbling the skin of her bare arms. Why would his lack of enthusiasm bother her when her own lack of excitement had probably been apparent to him earlier?

  She kept her mouth shut and offered him a quick nod instead then stared down at the ring on her finger. The bright lights of the strip reflected off the band and she lifted her hand, looking closer. It wasn't just a simple band as she'd first thought—there was intricate scrollwork embossed on the band, a delicate pattern of ivy that wound around the entire ring. She ran her thumb over it, slowly turning it around on her finger.