The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  “Smythe called to tell me himself,” Mark muttered.

  “Did he give you a timeline?” Rick asked.

  Savannah had never heard the coach sound so anxious. She leaned forward in her seat, hoping no one would notice she wasn’t really tying her shoe.

  “No, no dates. But he was clear that if the Cats don’t sell soon, Lamont is going to shut them down.”

  Rick whispered a heartfelt f-bomb but Savannah barely heard him as she slumped back in her seat.

  Shut down the Cats? Kill the team? How soon was soon? Today? Next week? The end of the season? All of those were too soon for her. She didn’t have a full season under her belt yet.

  And what about everyone else? Garrick wouldn’t get picked up by another team at his age. Rhian hadn’t been pulled up to the big leagues, yet, but she was sure he was close. And Sheila? No team meant no box office.

  Without a thought for the previous night’s debacle, Savannah leaned into the aisle and looked at Garrick. He was already looking back.

  She didn’t have to say a word or make a gesture, whatever he saw on her face enough. He immediately stood.

  Shit. He couldn’t come sit with her on the bus. And even if he could, she couldn’t tell him what she’d overheard when the two people she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping on were less than two feet away. She stared at the seat in front of her and racked her brain for a means to get the message to him.

  His broad frame blocked the light from the windows on the other side of the bus and she darted a glance up at him, shaking her head as subtly as she could before turning to stare out the window.

  She held her breath, afraid he hadn’t understood her admittedly mixed signals and would sit down next to her. Though, his going back to his seat with no explanation as to why he’d come to the front of the bus in full view of the entire team wasn’t going to work much better.

  She jumped when he put his hand on the seat back in front of her and leaned forward.

  “Excuse me, Coach?”

  Mark and Rick immediately stopped talking and spun to face Garrick. “Yes?” Rick asked.

  Garrick’s smile didn’t falter. “I wanted to ask you about the best shot again. I was thinking about the clips we watched last night, and I think high and left is the way to go.”

  The coach immediately entered into a debate with Garrick about something that—judging the coach’s exasperated, “are we really going to go through this again?”—was a sore issue.

  At one point, Garrick casually glanced down at her and she sent him a grateful smile.

  Garrick had to stare at his coach’s teeth, generally noted for their grayish color, until the tingle in his balls that had kicked in when Savannah had smiled at him went away.

  It took a few minutes, during which time he completely lost the thread of Rick’s lecture. Something about beating horses to death and trusting in his coach. Garrick felt bad about poking at him, particularly since he’d already agreed to go with Rick’s wishes on this, but the endless discussion from the night before was all he’d been able to come up with on the spot.

  And now, with the ball tingling issue, he was just as happy to have Rick railing at him. It was a semi-effective countermeasure.

  Once he had himself under control, and while Rick continued his endless soliloquy on the merits of blindly following your coach’s advice, he glanced down at Savannah again. The look she’d sent him a few minutes before had pulled him from his seat without thinking. Now he was stuck.

  She lifted one eyebrow in sympathy and mouthed, “Later.”

  Any excuse to spend time with her was entirely okay with him. He nodded once, then returned his rapt attention to Rick and waited for him to wind down. It took another five minutes, but eventually he made it back to his seat without too much of his ass chewed off. Now he just had to sit tight until they got to Halifax and he could get a minute alone with Savannah.

  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 approached him.

  “Hey, I need you to do me a favor.”

  In all the 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 small, oddly-shaped, azure-tiled pool.

  Savannah sighed, her hands on her hips. “This pool sucks ass.”

  Garrick’s laugh echoed off the tiled walls. 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 anything.

  Until the pool observation anyway.

  “I think it’s nice.” Garrick pointed to the faux-teak chaise lounges and white and cobalt 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 the entire defense corps 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 a few days. Maybe you should do that.”

  “What?”

  Garrick stopped daydreaming 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 laughed. “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

  A few 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.

  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 game against the Halifax Thunder, while he was on the ice for that game, and when they’d taken the team bus here to Sydney for their game 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, the wind raising goosebumps on her neck. She regretted wearing her hair up, though she rarely got to use the fancy teak pins—a gift from Grace—holding the elaborate knot in place. 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 sneaking 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 bus leaves.” As soon as the words had popped out of her mouth, she’d wondered what 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 and the few minutes alone without a hockey-player-sized shadow or the constant fear of bumping into Bobby it had afforded her. 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 there was no way was she going to wear a sports bra under the white silk blouse she’d purchased to go with it. And the bra and panties had come as a set. And they’d been 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 under her door 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 reminded herself, she trusted Garrick.

  She slipped a leg through the door held open for her and realized her mistake when she 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.

  Whoops.

  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. 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 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 usual. 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 the wilds of the countryside beyond. It was beautiful, limned in the silver light of the moon. She lost track of time, for a bit, until it occurred to her they were well outside the city and she had no idea where they were going.

  She opened her mouth to ask Garrick, but words stuck in her throat when she caught his gaze trailing over her new shoes and up, 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. Bamboozled.

  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 slid 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.