The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  There won’t be many more than twelve years of hockey for me.

  It was scary shit to think about. Almost as scary as coming around the bend to find Savannah’s door closed and locked, her lights off. She’d already left.

  Hoping he might still catch her, he took off at a run, ignoring the increasingly sharp pains shooting down his leg. Bobby had left the locker room right after practice, and from there, Garrick had no idea where he’d gone. Maybe out with the sycophants he called friends. Or home with an unfortunate fan who didn’t know which players should be avoided.

  Or maybe he was waiting in the parking lot, knowing Garrick was tied up in a meeting. Knowing Savannah would be alone.

  Shit. He ran faster.

  He should have asked Rhian to walk her to her car, but he hadn’t thought his meeting would take long. Christ, Rick would have dissected the best shot strategy for another hour if they’d let him.

  Running on concrete sucked for his hip, but when he pivoted toward the doors, his groin pull protested too, a line of fire dropping into his nuts. He frowned and moved through the pain. He wasn’t an idiot. It was time to move on from hockey. The question was, to what?

  To whatever you were going to do when you went off to McGill and got that shiny degree in finance and economics.

  Trying out for the McGill team, joining up and playing all four years, had been a lark. Something to keep him busy between classes and studying and partying. A way to keep fit. When the Eastern Hockey League scout had first approached him, he’d been astounded. And, of course, flattered. But some sane part of him had been tempted to send him packing.

  Hindsight was a bitch.

  Not that he’d do it any differently if he could go back. He was glad for the opportunity to play for his home team. He just couldn’t figure out how he’d launched a career that could only last a dozen years and not given any thought to what would be next. Now next was bearing down on him like a freight train.

  He swung around the last corner and stumbled to a halt. Savannah stood a few feet away in the little lobby, bundled up against the weather, her phone in her hand. The squeak of his sneakers on the smooth floor brought her head up.

  She’s waiting for me.

  His heart beat harder and it wasn’t from the run. “Hi,” he said, trying not to grin.

  “Hi.” She smiled almost shyly.

  He resisted the urge to clutch at his chest. Christ, she was adorable when she was prickly. But a shy smile? If she flirted with him, he just might collapse on the spot.

  “I hope it’s okay.” She gestured to the door.

  “Of course.” He shook himself out of his momentary stupor, opened the door and walked through first. She’d broken him of the habit of trying to hold the door for her, but it still felt wrong.

  She moved to his side in the glare of the fluorescent lights ringing the arena. They didn’t say anything as they made their way toward her car in the far corner of the lot. Garrick burrowed his face into the collar of his parka, feeling like a love-struck fourteen-year-old when their arms brushed and he got a little zing. She didn’t normally walk this close to him, did she?

  They were passing under the last row of lights, almost to her car, when a pickup truck roared to life at the end of the aisle. Wheels squealing, the huge truck peeled out of its parking space and gunned toward them. Garrick leaped forward and yanked Savannah between two cars. The truck accelerated past them, gravel spitting from beneath its tires, careened through the main exit, and disappeared around the corner.

  Savannah stood frozen, her mouth hanging open. “Holy shit. Please tell me that wasn’t Bobby’s truck.”

  Garrick tried to bring his blood pressure back down from the stratosphere. He’d been so preoccupied with Savannah’s arm brushing his, he hadn’t seen a fucking thing until the truck had practically been on top of them.

  Savannah turned to him, her eyes wide.

  He blew out a breath, trying to think. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I don’t think so. He has that awful canary yellow one, and that truck was a darker color.”

  Savannah paced a few yards away, into the bright orange glare of the sodium vapor lamp, before coming back to the patch of shadows where he stood.

  “Regardless, that was Bobby’s work, wasn’t it?”

  Garrick grimaced. “Yeah, I think so.”

  Savannah paced another circle. He watched her, helpless.

  “What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t complain that someone peeled out of the parking lot. Just like I can’t make a stink about him standing so close to me, the stupid creep, especially since my job requires it half the time.”

  Garrick was torn between his need to comfort her and the desire to rant and rave right along with her.

  “Shit!” She strode faster, her hands jammed in her coat pockets. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed Bobby Kramer would be so good at stalking. He’s such a dumb fuck. He must have read a manual or something.”

  Garrick was surprised he could laugh. “They have a manual for that?”

  She threw her hands in the air. “They must!”

  He put out a hand with the intention of stopping her maniacal pacing so they could talk, so they could make a plan. He was completely unprepared when she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his parka. Whatever he’d been about to say left him in a quiet “ooof.”

  He stood, stunned, until instincts and months of repressed desire kicked in. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “You’re the only friend I have here. I just need…”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, ridiculously pleased that she thought of him as a friend. It felt like a huge victory.

  She started to pull away, but he held fast, rubbing a hand down her back, trying to offer what comfort he could. Her arms tightened around him again, her hands fisting in the material at the back of his parka as she clung to him.

  Lots of victories tonight.

  She sighed, her breath warm on his neck as she relaxed against him. He cradled her close, her soft hair teasing his cheek, her legs bumping into his.

  He was disappointed when she finally released him, but he let go, too, ducking his head to peer into her face in the dim light. He blinked, uncertain but mesmerized by her warm gaze and slightly parted lips. He wondered if the vapor lamps were playing tricks on him.

  She touched his cheek and he closed his eyes, his heart leaping in his chest. He wanted to nuzzle his cheek into her palm, but held himself in check. This was Savannah. Discreet. Driven. Fully capable of opening the door herself.

  She had to be the one to make the first move. Even if it fucking killed him.

  She traced her fingers over his skin, her light touch igniting every nerve ending. His hands trembled where they gripped her coat as the soft pads of her fingers bumped over the corner of his lips.

  He wanted to pounce. Leap. Beg. He didn’t.

  Her touch was hesitant, and it felt as if they stood on the edge of a cliff, teetering. So close. He would gladly hurl himself off into space, into the unknown. But would she?

  He jolted at the brush of warm, soft lips along his, accidentally jerking away as his entire body clenched with need. His eyes flashed open to see her upturned face, her eyes closed, her long lashes shadowing her cheekbones, her lips seeking his.

  He was dizzy with a mixture of hope and elation. Her mouth rubbed against his once more, her hand cupping his jaw to hold him still as she nibbled along his lips. God, she was really kissing him. And all he could do was stand there, heart pounding, brain stuttering as blood poured south, the sweet ache of arousal burning through him.

  He’d let her lead, let her take the leap. Then her tongue tentatively brushed against his lower lip and he knew he had to charge after her. He had to.

  Groaning, he captured her mouth and wrapped his arms around her until her feet barely touched the ground. His lips and teeth worsh
ipped the full lower lip he’d dreamed about for weeks. His tongue danced into every corner of her mouth. God, she tasted sweeter than he’d ever imagined. He shifted his legs and she immediately slipped between them. He was so enamored with the feel of her writhing in his arms, arching against him, he was totally unprepared for her to check him back against the car behind him.

  Uh oh.

  He grunted as his ass slammed against the cold metal, his mind reeling, ready to apologize, though he felt no remorse. He’d no sooner opened his mouth when it was captured in another kiss. She slid her hip forward until it nudged his cock, making him shudder and pinning him to the car. He gripped one firm, lush ass cheek and held her in place as she undulated against him. The rush of blood left him lightheaded, but he held fast. Nothing was going to drag him away from the silky texture and cinnamon taste of Savannah’s lips.

  She brought his head closer with a tug of his hair, danced her mouth along his jaw, the stinging nip of little teeth setting his skin ablaze. He tilted his head, granting her access, delighted by her aggression. She fearlessly took the lead, and he relished the outright honesty of her passion.

  His cock was engaged in a pitched battle with his zipper, one he ached to end, or at least ease, but he couldn’t unwind his arms from Savannah. Wouldn’t.

  She used her long legs and his position against the car to plaster them together. He could feel her heat through parka and wool and bitter cold. He couldn’t remember any woman so determined to take what she wanted from him. What he freely, happily gave.

  She writhed and whimpered. He damn near whimpered back. She licked and teased. He coaxed her mouth back to his and bit into the soft pillow of her lip before sucking it into his mouth. Every parry, every return, took them higher. Her fingers traced over his face again before threading through his hair to clasp his head. His cock ached with every responsive jerk of her hips.

  He’d spent hours imagining what it would be like to kiss Savannah Morrison, and the reality blew his best fantasy out of the water.

  He smiled, breaking the kiss, the cool air slipping into the cocoon of heat they’d created between them. And with it came the reassertion of his true nature.

  Being taken was nice. Fun. Interesting. But good god, he liked to take.

  Spinning, he used the hand grasping her gorgeous ass to lift her, pulling her up to his height. She wrapped her legs around him, welcoming his hips as he slammed her back against the car.

  She groaned when his hard cock dug intimately against her. For the first time he really appreciated those damn stretchy yoga pants.

  Gasping for air, for control, he glimpsed her flushed face, her swollen lips. He rubbed his nose against hers, then captured her lips again. His thumb traced her wildly fluttering pulse as her low moan vibrated along his spine and set up a hot, teasing echo in his balls.

  He pushed closer, rolling his hips. Threading his tongue through her lips, he took complete possession of her mouth. Her response was instant. Her acquiescence absolute.

  If he hadn’t been so intent on kissing her, he would have thrown his head back and howled. Holding her was like trying to wrap his arms around the sea, her response surging up against him, washing over him. She liked to play at taking control, but judging by her response, he suspected Savannah would much rather relinquish it.

  Which suited him just fine. Perfectly, in fact.

  His heart hammered, his ears pounded with his blood, and his cock leaped against the jerk of her hips. Images filled his head. Of what he wanted to do. What he would do the moment he got her alone.

  The bang of the heavy metal service door was a rude reminder that he didn’t have her alone. Yet.

  With a gasp, Savannah shoved him back and practically fell out of his arms, staggering two steps away before catching herself on the next car. Cold air swept over him, chilling where her warm body had been. His arms hung empty at his sides. Shit.

  “Savannah, I—“

  She held up her hand. “No. I’m sorry. That was my fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He couldn’t agree less. “Please don’t apologize. I wanted—“

  “No,” she said quickly. “Please, don’t say anything. I’m so sorry. That was a huge mistake.”

  Not one single second of that had been a mistake. Not one. He wanted to argue with her, the words choking him, but he couldn’t ignore the pleading, the horror, in her gaze.

  Just as she was capable of opening the door herself, she was equally capable of slamming it in his face. And as usual, he was at a loss how to deal with her.

  “I hope we can still be friends,” she said quietly.

  He couldn’t possibly be any more confused by this woman. “What? Of course we can. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  She grimaced, clearly not convinced. “I should go before I fuck this up any worse.” She sighed. “Thanks again for the escort.”

  “Anytime.”

  When she turned toward her car, he put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  “I mean it, Savannah. Anytime. Don’t let what just happened make you uncomfortable or hesitate to reach out. I’m still your friend. I still want to help.”

  She studied his face in the dim light. “Okay.” She nodded. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” Or at least it had been for a while there.

  He stayed where he was as she ran to her car, got in, and drove away. The sting of the cold air seeped into him while he waited for his heart rate to return to normal for the first time since her lips had touched his.

  He didn’t have a clue what the hell had just happened, or why, but he couldn’t help thinking it was a step in the right direction, even if she was running scared.

  Chapter Six

  Savannah sat on the bus, absurdly grateful the seat next to her was empty, and stared out the window as the beautiful countryside of the Canadian Maritimes flew past.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  She’d asked herself that question a dozen times in the last five minutes alone, and too many times to count since the night before when she’d totally lost her fucking mind.

  Three months. Three whole months in Moncton before she’d thrown sanity out the proverbial window.

  She’d called Grace in the middle of the night, after she’d stumbled into her apartment in tears and tried to lock out the world beyond her slammed door. Grace had calmed her down, or had tried for the first five minutes of the conversation until she’d gleaned enough details to figure out what Savannah had done.

  Then she’d been no help at all.

  “What’s wrong with you kissing this Garrick guy? You said he’s your friend.”

  “He’s on the team!” Savannah had wailed, desperate to make Grace understand.

  “So? If he’s your friend, he’s not some blabbermouth asshole, right?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So, what’s the problem? I mean, I agree you don’t want to advertise to the entire team, let alone management, that you’re in bed with the guy, but if you’re discreet…”

  “I’m not in bed with him!”

  “Yet.”

  “Never.”

  And from there it had been twenty minutes of trying to get Grace to understand the impossibility of the situation. Grace had relented on some points, but when they’d gone to hang up, she’d ended the call with, “At least think about it, Sav. And if you decide to do it, do it wholeheartedly.”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. There was nothing to think about. And there was definitely no wholeheartedly. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself again with Garrick or anyone else. Ever.

  Savannah dug her fingernails into her palms, forcing herself not to turn around and look at Garrick, four rows back and on the opposite side of the aisle. She swore she could feel it every time his eyes brushed along her back.

  Which, in reality, was probably happening far less often than she was letting herself believe. When she’d bumped into Gar
rick while they were loading up the bus, he’d acted as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night. For which she should be grateful, not irritated.

  He was doing the right thing. Again.

  Big, dependable Garrick, who wasn’t at all like his awful reputation. In fact, now that she thought about it, she’d never once seen him with a puck bunny, or any other woman in or around the arena. Or at any event. And he always did those scout events with the pictures and the autographs. She’d watched one once, and he’d been as patient and attentive to the twenty-fifth scout as he had been to the first.

  He was—she was galled to admit—a good guy. A good guy who had apparently had one bad moment shortly after she arrived in the arena on her first day. His presence in the parking lot last night made up for that ridiculous indiscretion about ten times over.

  Her indiscretion last night made his initial misstep pale by comparison.

  Once she’d stopped replaying that kiss in full Technicolor detail, her imagination had kept her up half the night picturing a thousand grim scenarios of what might have happened had Garrick not been there. But he had. And she’d kissed him.

  She could still taste every lick, feel every touch, hear every groan, whimper, and gasp.

  God, was she ever going to stop thinking about it?

  With an exasperated sigh, she threw herself back in her seat to stare at the carpeted ceiling above her. She was being stupid. She’d made a mistake. A huge, stinking mistake. She couldn’t change it, so she would have to let it go.

  She was about to give in to her compulsion to look back and see if Garrick was, in fact, looking at her again, when she picked up on the low murmur of conversation from the row in front of her.

  Normally the team’s management sat at the front of the bus so they could hold impromptu meetings and various people could give out marching orders as needed. If they weren’t talking business, they generally weren’t talking at all. Today, though, Mark and Rick sat with their heads bent together, and from the tone of their voices, the subject was serious.

  The gap between their seats was small enough that she couldn’t really see them, but with their heads turned toward each other, she could hear their conversation clearly.