of hockey and trying to learn as much as possible. She didn’t want to make a mistake and fail, but there was still so much she didn’t know. And to be honest, she wasn’t so sure she’d ever know more than she
The clothes she’d had shipped from California had arrived the day before, and she dressed for the meeting in a pair of jeans and a pink Ed Hardy T-shirt with a red heart and wings on it. She’d found a cute pair of shearling Uggs that laced to her knees and she stuffed the straight legs of her jeans inside. It was late April and still chilly and wet in the Emerald City.
The traffic to the Key Arena was heavy and it took her ten minutes longer than she’d expected.
“We think this one is fun,” Bo said as Faith took her seat beside Jules and pointed to one of the photos she’d taken with Ty. “It’s kind of playful yet has an edge to it.”
Faith looked at the photograph with her foot between Ty’s thighs. Her face was to the camera,
looking all happy and smiling while Ty looked up at her as if he was totally annoyed. Which he had been. The blue of his jersey made his eyes even more startling, and the tight set of his strong jaw brought out the thin white scar on his chin. He was gorgeous, everything good and yummy in one pissed-off package. He was every catch in a girl’s breath, every hitch in her heart, and every flutter in her stomach. He didn’t need a poster or billboard or silver screen to make him larger than life. All he had to do was breathe.
The last time she’d seen Ty had been on television when the San Jose crowd had booed him for goalie interference. He’d argued with the ref and hit his stick on the ice, but as he’d skated toward the penalty box, the crowd’s boos turned to cheers and a little smile twisted one corner of his mouth. Which, for Ty, represented full- blown rapture.
“I think the one on the left is better,” Jules pointed out. While Faith had dressed down for the meeting, Jules wore a bright orange dress shirt with black stripes. He kind of looked like a pumpkin. “Faith standing in front of Ty gives it more depth. And for billboards, you want something with a bit more dimension.” He shrugged. “And the Saint is never going to go for the other one.”
“How do you know which one Ty would prefer?” Faith asked. Had the two been bonding when she wasn’t around?
“Because it looks like you’ve got your foot on his nuts.”
Oh. That wasn’t good. Was it?
“Well, as a graphic artist with a bachelor’s degree in advertising,” Bo stressed as she pointed to her favorite, “I think this one tells a better story.”
Faith looked at her assistant and then at Bo. The two stared daggers at each other and Faith wondered what she’d missed.
Tim, the PR director, stepped forward. “I’m leaning toward the one with the more playful edge first. If it gets a good reaction, we’ll keep the momentum going and put the other one up in a month.”
Faith was not a graphic artist, nor did she have a degree in anything, but she agreed with Jules. “If we’re going to put these up back to back a few weeks apart, it makes sense to go with the picture of me standing in front and Ty behind me looking mad and belligerent.”
“I wasn’t mad,” Ty said as he walked in and the room felt suddenly smaller. He wore jeans and a black turtleneck with a Nike swoop on the throat. Unlike the rest of the guys on the team, who looked shaggy from their good-luck beards, Ty was still clean-shaven. His hair was wet, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. She really hadn’t expected to see him. She’d been told the team was practicing, and she figured Ty would skip the meeting.
His electric-blue gaze met hers for several heart beats before he moved to stand before the mock-ups. He folded his arms over his chest and stood with his feet a shoulders’ width apart. His shirt fit loosely about his wide back and was tucked into a pair of Levi’s so worn the back pockets softly cupped his muscular butt. He pointed to the photo with her foot between his thighs. “This looks like Mrs. Duffy has her stiletto on my nuts.”
Jules laughed and Faith bit her top lip to keep from laughing.
Bo pulled a rubber band from her stubby ponytail. “It tells a story.”
“Yeah,” Ty agreed. “The story of her foot crushing my nuts.”
Bo looked like she wanted to crush him with her clunky Doc Martens.
“Well, we certainly don’t want that to be the image we project,” Tim assured the Chinooks captain.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Faith said as Ty turned to face her. “I think there are probably more than a few women who’d like to see that image.” Her gaze landed on his flat stomach and the bulge behind the five buttons of his fly. She ran her gaze up the hard muscles of his chest, over the scar on his chin, to his blue eyes. She thought of last night’s game and his time in the sin bin. “More than a few men, too.”
“Yeah,” Jules jumped in, “but that isn’t the point of this campaign. It’s to create an image of conflict, but we don’t want it to look like Faith is busting the Saint’s balls.”
“Thank you, Jules.”
“You’re welcome, Saint.”
Faith ducked her head and hid her smile. Men were so weird about their balls.
“It’s too sensuous and playful to convey that,” Bo argued as she gathered up her short auburn hair and stuck it back in the ponytail. And while Bo and Jules argued about the photo and Ty’s balls, his gaze locked with hers. Fine lines creased the corners of his beautiful eyes and she thought he just might crack a full-blown smile.
Of course, he didn’t, but that didn’t keep something hot and
First his sac and now his balls. He was really going to have to stop having these conversations with Faith. Especially with other people in the room. In some sort of sick, twisted way, it turned him on.
“I think we’ll go with this one first,” Tim said, pointing to the poster of Faith standing in front of Ty. “We’ll use the locker-room shot at another time. Or choose something else from that shoot,” he added, sounding suddenly exhausted as he headed for the door. “I need some Tylenol.”
“Tim, wait,” Bo called after him as she followed him out the door. “You didn’t hear my ideas for the captions.”
“I feel sorry for that guy,” Jules said as he stood.
“I like her.”
“She’s like an aggressive Chihuahua who thinks she’s a pit bull.”
“I think that’s what I like about her.” Faith stood and Ty lowered his gaze from her lips to the pink long-sleeved T-shirt with a heart and angel wings covering her breasts. Gone were her black pants or loose beige skirts. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her waist and thighs, and had on a pair of furry Pocahontas boots. Without her loose, dark clothes, she looked younger. Softer and definitely less uptight.
“She’s bitchy.”
Faith grabbed a big leather purse with a gold chain strap. “She’s spunky. Kind of marches to her own beat.”
“Your mom marches to her own beat, but I don’t see you embracing her
“My mother’s not spunky. She’s got problems.” Faith cast a glance at Ty before she headed toward the door. “The biggest being that she acts like she’s sixteen.”
“Mrs. Duffy,” Ty called out to her. “Can you stay a minute?” He needed to settle things between them.
“Sure,” she said over her shoulder as she stopped just inside the door. “I’ll be right with you.” As she spoke to her assistant, Ty’s gaze lowered from her blonde hair and back to the metal buttons closing the back pockets of her jeans. Kissing her had been a massive screwup. He could pretend it hadn’t happen, but Ty liked to confront potential situations before they became real big problems.
Faith turned and left the door slightly open. “Is this about the other night?” she asked as she moved toward him.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you know about it.”
Of course he knew about it. He’d been there while she’d sucked on his neck.
“I’ve been so disturbed by it all week,” Faith continued.
Ty rested his behind on the edge of the table and folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t like the sound of
