Defending the Reaper: A Standalone Steamy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 5)

by G. K. Brady

  Smooth segue. Except the spotlight settled on her. “Well,” she coughed, “we’re sort of between projects at the moment, so if I get the van—”

  “Not if. When. I fully expect to see you driving off in something when we’re done today.”

  She suppressed the ridiculous “uh” that wanted to slip from her mouth as she ordered her thoughts. Getting a new van today hadn’t occurred to her. In fact, she was still wrestling with the whole notion of having him buy her a van outright. Was it legal? The idea both made her uncomfortable and sent a thrill through her. Had she ever had a brand-new car before? No. And totally paid for? What were the tax consequences? Why hadn’t she thought of this beforehand? Maybe her brainpower had been compromised in the accident.

  Finn rushed into the pause. “Ellie’s been working really hard on a project for Denver Habitat for Humanity. It won’t pay much—”

  “It won’t pay anything,” she corrected, “but it should give our company good exposure that will hopefully pay off in the near future.”

  “What she said,” Finn directed at Dave, who leaned forward on the table with his beefy arms crossed. “And the plan she designed is amazing.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes to mask her embarrassment.

  “It’s true,” Finn continued. “But she keeps telling herself it’s not good enough, even though Habitat gave her their rubber stamp a while ago.” He tore wooden chopsticks out of their wrapper and pointed them at her. “I see you messing with the plan, El, thinking it’s not good enough.” To Dave and Sonoma, he said, “The fact of the matter is, it’s a damn good plan, and these guys are wetting themselves over it. What she doesn’t understand is that they’re grateful and would be happy with just about anything as long as it doesn’t come out of their pockets. Ellie’s a landscape architect, and a damn good one. If it weren’t for all the time she has to put into running the business, she’d be back doing that exclusively.”

  “Finn—”

  Wooden platters of sushi suddenly hovered before them, held by three servers. Ellie laughed as Dave and Sonoma rearranged the items on the table to accommodate the overflowing trays. “Who’s eating all of this?”

  Sonoma cut her a look. “This is your first time eating with Dave, but have no doubt, nothing will go to waste. And it’s not unusual for him to order more.”

  “I’m a growing boy,” he mumbled as the servers slid the platters onto the table, arranging them like a jigsaw puzzle. He waited until everyone had filled their small plates before serving himself. “So you’d be back to landscape design,” he said. “Sounds like that’s what you really love and not running the landscape company. What changed?”

  Ellie popped a piece of fresh salmon in her mouth to keep from answering.

  Finn smirked as he loaded up his soy sauce boat with wasabi. “Dave’s not the only one with unfortunate taste in relationships.”

  An urge to choke Finn welled inside her, but she hoped an extra dollop of wasabi would do the deed for her. Or maybe she and Dave could tag team—he could strangle Sonoma while Ellie strangled Finn.

  “I wouldn’t be talking if I were you, Romeo,” she retorted instead.

  Sonoma whipped her head toward him. Ha! At least now she knows who she’s dealing with—if she even wanted to deal with him in the first place. To Ellie’s disappointment, her cocky stepbrother seemed unfazed. Of course he did.

  Dave, who’d been silently shoveling sushi into his mouth, put his chopsticks down and finished chewing. “Tell me about the Habitat project, Ellie. Sounds really interesting.” He twisted his body so he faced her.

  She sent him a mental thanks for diverting the conversation away from her failed love life, and for asking about the project in the first place.

  While he gave her his undivided attention—no food passed his lips—she filled him in. “Unfortunately, the event isn’t getting anywhere near the publicity I’d hoped for. It looks like I’ll be donating labor for a good cause, but not much advertising beyond the little signs they let me put up.” An extended sigh escaped her lungs. It hurt to say it out loud.

  He stared at her with an intensity that was as intriguing as it was unnerving. What thoughts were streaming behind his bright eyes? Eyes a color she’d never seen before: deep mossy-green with amber starbursts around the pupils and dark blue flecks that matched an ultramarine ring around his irises. They reflected light like a pool of clear Rocky Mountain water—like something she could dive into and drown in. Stunning.

  She looked away abruptly for fear of getting swallowed up in their depths—and to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks.

  “What if,” he began, snapping her out of his electrifying gaze, “I can help?”

  Finn and Sonoma leaned in.

  Ellie’s gaze dashed back to his. “How? I can’t imagine having you do manual labor. Besides, we have volunteers for that.”

  “Not so much, El,” Finn chirped. “Remember what Damian said? His volunteers are spread thin the day of the project.”

  Damn you, Finn! Of course she remembered—it was one more obstacle in a course more challenging than the one aspiring athletes tackled in American Ninja Warrior. But no way would she let a hockey player—a celebrity, no less—do grunt work on her project. Especially if he was nursing a hurt hand. Hockey was a foreign language to her, but among other useless bits of trivia stored in her brain was the knowledge that hockey players were tough as nails. They would play through injuries that would bring someone like her to their knees. Broken legs, torn up ankles, busted collarbones. But didn’t they need healthy hands in order to play? Like a concert pianist. On ice.

  “I can think of a couple ways to help,” Dave said. “What if this were a joint PR event? Your good deed plus some guys from the team there to help out and do a meet-and-greet at the end? If potential volunteers are fans, it could boost your recruits.” He paused and stroked his bearded chin. “The Blizzard has a dynamo PR team that knows how to play this stuff up and get lots of splash. It’d be good for Habitat, good for the Blizzard, and good for you. A triple-crown win.”

  Finn threw himself against the back of the booth. “Oh wow, El. Think what that would do.”

  Her eyes searched Dave’s. Was the man serious? From what she could tell, he was always serious. Wonder what it takes to make him laugh? “You’d actually do that?”

  “Absolutely. Let me talk to the PR folks and to the boys, and you talk to Habitat. If it’s cool with everyone, then we’ve got a date.”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t want to find anything likable about Dave—male magnetism and forest-green eyes with gold starbursts aside—though the exact reason why escaped her at the moment.

  Chapter 9

  Why Won’t Yoda Stop Talking?

  Dave bit back the laugh threatening to erupt from his chest as the Toyota saleswoman gave Ellie a crash course on her new Sienna’s features. Those expressive blue eyes bounced from focused to bright and back again, depending on what the woman was showing her, and he nearly forgot the throbbing in his hand as he basked in his double victory. Not only had he finagled his way into helping Ellie with her project, but he was enjoying the satisfaction of finally wrangling the stubborn woman into a vehicle. His chest ballooned.

  She’d protested most of the day about him buying the van, but when they’d hit the Toyota dealership, she seemed to fall in love and make a snap decision. He got it. He felt the same way when he found that perfect vehicle, and if the Sienna was the right one for her, fine by him. It was reliable, easy to maintain, and she was used to driving one. Plus, of all the vans they’d looked at today, the Sienna was the most fun to drive. How did he know? Because she’d insisted he test-drive every single vehicle she did.

  The saleswoman stepped away, and Ellie shot him a glance. “Are you listening? You should know what you’re getting.”

  “I’m not planning to repossess it,” he countered.

  “I’m going to will it to you, so if I get bumped off by a roving p
ack of Ents tomorrow, it’s yours.” The corners of her pretty mouth tipped up.

  “Ents rove? I thought they … lumbered. Trudged. And why would they want to bump you off?”

  “Because I’m responsible for ripping up their relatives and moving them to new holes?” she offered with a twinkle in her deep blues.

  He let go the laugh. Damn, that felt good! “So you’re a granola-crunching tree hugger?”

  “Hmm. Not exactly. I don’t like granola—I’m a Lucky Charms kind of girl—and I don’t exactly hug trees, but I’ve been known to talk to them and stroke their trunks.”

  Breath halted in his throat because his brain was blowing a circuit over her stroking trunks. Things twitched south of his belt.

  She visibly winced. “That sounded bad, didn’t it?” Then she bit her lower lip in a way that had the twitch in his pants swelling into a bigger problem. He managed a bland half-smile and was rescued when the saleslady returned.

  With Ellie once again occupied, he studied her, reminding himself that while her looks might have struck him dumb when he first saw her this morning—and were still having a disturbing effect on him—he was not interested in her. He wasn’t interested in anyone. Especially if he was getting traded and moving to a different city. A different country.

  He was already flirting with trouble enough by buying her a car. His attorney was going to blow a gasket over that alone, and Dave didn’t need to add to the verbal drubbing he’d just set himself up for. Besides, she broadcast an aloofness that said she was even less interested in him than he was in her. Even if a moment of weakness prevailed and made him contemplate taking a run at her, his ego didn’t have the spare parts.

  “Are you sure about this?” she hissed at him when the saleswoman beckoned him toward her office to sign paperwork. “I’m just as happy with the white one, and I don’t need a tow package.”

  But I’m not getting you the white one. Of course she’d pick the stripped-down model over this flashier high-end hybrid version he insisted on. An all-wheel-drive, dark burgundy Limited Premium with black-out wheels and every bell and whistle imaginable.

  “Yes. I’m positive,” he whispered back, adding a wink. “Besides, you never know when you might have to pull a trailer full of garden gnomes.”

  “But this one’s twenty thousand more than the white one!” she protested, keeping her voice hushed.

  “It’s just money,” he tossed back and got a Delta Blue glare for his trouble.

  Maybe he’d been overbearing with his car knowledge and money today, throwing them around like he threw his weight around on the ice, but she’d given as good as she got, throwing her own weight around—what little she had to throw. Small but mighty. Hadn’t there been a cartoon mouse that fit that description? Ellie was like that, minus the superhero beefcake chest. Which was a good thing because her chest was perfect as it was. Not that he’d noticed.

  He gave himself an inner slap and fell in behind the saleswoman.

  In the locker room after another lame practice the following day—for him, not his teammates—Dave shucked his jersey, chest protector, and elbow pads while the room buzzed with players talking, laughing, razzing each other. He turned his back to his stall and whistled. “Can I have your attention for a sec?”

  The droning died down, and he swept the room with his eyes. “I’ve got an opportunity for those looking to do some extra work in the community. Some of you need to up your PR game”—he gave Wyatt a pointed look, and to his credit, Wyatt flinched—“and this one should get lots of attention. It’s a Habitat for Humanity gig. We put in a few hours of work, then stick around for a fan meet-and-greet.”

  Players started buzzing again. Damn, he was losing them already.

  “Shut the fuck up and listen to your captain!” a voice barked. Dave swiveled his head toward the voice. T.J. stood with his arms crossed and a do-not-fuck-with-me expression. He gave Dave a chin jerk. “You have the floor.”

  Dave wanted to hug him but dipped his head in appreciation instead. “I only need a few guys, so if you’re interested, speak up.” To his relief, half the boys threw up their hands. Some were the regulars—they always chipped in—so he zeroed in on the slackers. “Wyatt, you’re in. Hadley, you too. Rookie,” he directed at Viktor, a fresh-faced Czech center who had made the roster this season.

  “The rest of you, I thank you.” Dave executed a goofy curtsy, plucking at his breezers like a skirt. What possessed him, he had little idea, but it garnered numerous chuckles.

  Soon he was surrounded by his three recruits. “So what are we doing and when, Cap?” said Hadley.

  Dave filled them in, including what Serena, head of Blizzard PR, had laid out.

  “Hads will get all the female attention, and he’s not even single anymore,” Wyatt whined.

  To which Hadley replied, “That’s right, dickhead, because I’m way better looking than you. Besides, everyone knows gingers have no soul. But I’m bringing Sarah with me for protection. She’ll push the talent your way.”

  This made everyone within earshot laugh, except Wyatt. Sarah feared no one, as far as Dave could tell. How Hadley had pulled off catching that girl, Dave had no idea. For that matter, he had no clue how T.J. had bagged his wife, Natalie, or Nelson had wrangled Lily. Dave found himself envying his teammates, all younger than he. He’d once thought he had what they had with Nicky, but he’d been dead wrong—just like every other relationship he’d tried. Maybe Sonoma had been right and he really was clueless about picking the right ones because, in the end, they all seemed the same. Then again, he probably didn’t deserve a woman like those the guys had won. Those ladies were bright, independent, and couldn’t have cared less about the celebrity. In fact, the spotlight that usually drew women like wasps to syrup had gotten in his teammates’ ways when it came to their SOs, but somehow they’d persevered.

  Perseverance. What every hockey player needed to make it to the Big League and stay there. Dave had it too, which was why he was still in the NHL in spite of his screw-ups. That had to count for something.

  Now all he had to do was try to get healthy, stay healthy, and get himself traded. If he couldn’t get traded, he needed to find a way to make his teammates respect him again because the current situation was downright intolerable. Might as well add finding a girl I don’t deserve and making her fall for me to the Mission Impossible list.

  He yanked off his Under Armour shirt with a mirthless laugh. Yeah, right. Piece of cake. His mind once again meandered to Bobby and the performance-enhancing drugs he offered, how easy it would be, how much better his hand would feel and how soon—

  “Once you start down the dark path, consume you, it will,” damn Yoda huffed at him.

  Shut up, Yoda. Give me back Han.

  Chapter 10

  Of Nefarious Soccer Mom Vans

  Ellie climbed into the van and carefully shut the door. Though it was parked in the alley behind her office, she looked out the windows and checked the rearview mirror, reassuring herself she was alone. With a long, satisfying inhale, she closed her eyes, pulled in that new-car smell, and smiled. Nothing else like it. She’d only had it a week, but she wanted to savor that smell for as long it lasted. Should she be enjoying something she’d fought against accepting? Something so extravagant? Sure she should. Besides, she was going to pay Dave Grimson back. He didn’t know it yet, but when she finally got her insurance check, she was signing it over to him—and she’d continue paying him until she’d given him back every penny.

  A knock on her window jolted her from her amble along Grimson Lane. A man who resembled a shorter version of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson stood outside. As she was debating the wisdom of opening her door, he held up a badge. The word “ICE” flashed its bright gold, and Ellie’s heart plummeted to the fancy new car mats.

  She hit the power window button, but nothing happened. Shit! Key! She reached for the ignition, forgetting it was a push button start. Shit! Shit! Another knock came as she fum
bled for the button. Finally, she stabbed the right spot, and the engine purred to life. With a deep inhale, she located the power button and lowered the window.

  “Miss Eleanor Hendricks?” he rumbled.

  The name made her cringe. Loved the late grandmother she’d been named for but hated the old-fashioned name. It always brought to mind fussy lace doilies covering every surface.

  “Um, I’m Ellie Hendricks.”

  “Miss Hendricks, would you please step out of the vehicle?”

  Panic rushed from her gut and constricted her throat such that, “Am I under arrest?” came out in a squeak.

  “Just step out of the vehicle, please.”

  Her legs wobbled as she complied, and she leaned against the van to keep herself steady, square, and tall—well, as tall as one could be at five-three. “What is it?”

  His eyes flicked over the van. “Nice wheels. Hybrid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Looks new.”

  What does that have to do with anything?

  When she didn’t answer him, he continued. “And judging by the temporary tags, it’s brand new. What did it set you back? Fifty-five, sixty grand?”

  Ellie crossed her arms. “Is that why you’re here? To look over my company’s new van because you’re thinking of one for yourself?”

  Seemingly ignoring her snarky question, his eyes traveled back to the Sienna. “It’s interesting that your company’s been on its financial deathbed the last two years, yet suddenly you’re able to pay cash for the wheels.”

  Alarm bells clanged in her head. “How would you know about my company’s finances and how I paid for the van?”

  He simply smirked.

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage so hard she worried he might hear it and mistake her fear for guilt. She slowed her breathing. “Well, Mr. … I’d like to see that badge again, please.”

  He pulled it from a pocket and held it inches from her nose.