They stopped at the end of the tunnel and Faith looked out across the rink. The men on the ice were divided into two groups. Offense practiced at one end; defense drilled at the other. They appeared even more scruffy and unkempt, but they skated with well-timed precision and skill, weaving in and out and passing the puck. There were about fifteen men on the ice, all dressed in dark blue practice sweats and white helmets, but as if pulled by an invisible force, her gaze landed on a pair of broad shoulders and dark hair curling up from beneath the white helmet of the man standing with his back to her at center ice. She didn’t need to see his face to know it was Ty. Something warm in the pit of her stomach recognized him.
“Vlad is a little warped,” Jane said, thankfully pulling Faith’s attention from center ice.
Faith had never gotten a creepy vibe from the Russian. Still she asked, “Is he a perv?”
“No. He’s just never been shy about dropping his towel in front of women. He used to like to shock me, I think. They all liked to shock me.” Jane shook her head and adjusted the strap of her briefcase. “They didn’t want me traveling with the team. A woman on the jet is considered bad luck.”
Perhaps that’s why they’d been so quiet when she’d traveled with them. “That’s stupid and sexist.”
“Exactly.” Jane laughed. “They’re hockey players.” The two of them watched the assistant coach lay a series of pucks on the red line and Jane said, “Tell me about Ty Savage.”
She thought about the morning she’d stood in the conference room pulling up her shirt. Of his hot blue eyes and the day she’d lost her mind and let Layla out for the second time. The day she’d pulled up her shirt like a stripper, slow and deliberate just to prove him wrong. The day she’d slid her hand across her belly toward the button of her jeans, just to see the heat in his eyes burn a little hotter. “What would you like to know?”
“Do you think he has what it takes to lead this team to the final round?”
“Well, I think the numbers he puts up speak for him.” She watched Ty take off from one end of the ice, skating like he was on fire. Wind flattened the Chinooks logo on his sweatshirt against his chest as he raced toward the red line. With the blade of his stick on the ice, he turned at the center line and one-timed the row of pucks at the goalie. The goalie twisted and contorted to stop each shot. He caught one puck while the others hit his pads with loud
With the wind still flattening his sweatshirt, he shoved his stick beneath one arm and looked at the laces on his glove. “Really let go,” she added, thinking of him walking away from her at the Marriott. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so rude and surly.”
“He makes rude and surly look good,” Jane said.
That was an understatement.
“He’s a very good-looking man.”
Faith smiled. “I hadn’t noticed.”
As if he’d heard them, Ty looked up as he came to a hockey stop near the goal. From half the length of the rink, she felt his gaze as cool as the ice on which he stood. It froze her in place even as it heated her up inside.
“A lot has been made out of the fact that you have a contentious relationship with your captain. Is that true?”
As his eyes stared into hers, he grabbed a water bottle from the top of the net and lifted it to his mouth. The water shot between his lips and then stopped. He swallowed then rubbed one big gloved hand across his mouth. For the past month her life had been a whirlwind of activity and change. Sometimes she couldn’t recall what she’d done from day to day, but she remembered every hot detail of Ty’s mouth on hers. “I wouldn’t call it contentious.”
“What would you call it?”
What did you call a hot, overwhelming attraction to the one guy on the planet for whom it was completely inappropriate to lust after? “Complicated.” Impossible. A disaster waiting to happen.
“There you are,” Jules said as he moved through the tunnel toward Faith. A man with red hair and a mustache walked beside him.
“We need to get a photograph of Faith with the team,” Jane said.
“Now?” She looked at the shorter woman.
“Yeah.”
“We have a whole PR campaign with Ty, so why don’t we shoot with some of the other players?” Jules suggested.
“Faith, this is Brad Marsh.” Jane introduced the stranger. “Staff photographer for the
“Pleased to meet you, Faith.” He took her hand in his. “I’m a huge Chinooks fan.”
“I’m thrilled to meet you. Especially since you love my team.”
Jules stepped out onto the ice and pointed to the defenders. “I need some of you guys to volunteer to take a photograph with Mrs. Duffy for the
Sam and Alexander Devereaux were the first to skate toward her, but the rest followed close behind.
“I’ll do it.”
“Count me in.”
Soon eight big defensemen, including Vlad, had volunteered.
“Let’s take the picture at center ice,” Brad suggested. “I’ll try and get some of the logo in the shot.”
Faith carefully stepped onto the ice, and Blake Conte offered his arm. “Be careful, Mrs. Duffy,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to fall and hurt yourself.”
Sam offered his arm on her other side. “Someone might have to give you CPR.”
“I know mouth-to-mouth,” Blake added, and Faith sincerely hoped she would never have to take him up on the offer. For some bizarre reason, he’d shaved his playoffs beard into a reddish blond strip of hair beneath his nose. It ran down his chin, too. Kind of like he’d gone in for a wax and come out with a Brazilian on his face.
“And chest compressions,” Sam said, whose playoffs beard was blond and kind of patchy.
Faith placed her hands on their forearms and smiled. “It’s good to know you boys are worth more to me than just looking good, shooting pucks, and spitting.” Being the female owner of a hockey team had a few nice perks. Being escorted by two very hot hockey players was a good one.
“Look at those bastards,” Ty said from his position halfway across the ice from Faith. “You’d think they’d never been around a woman before.” The last time he’d seen Faith, she’d pulled up her shirt, then told him she was bored. Sure, he’d said it first, but he’d been lying.
First-string goaltender Marty Darche pushed the front of his helmet up and revealed his impressive facial hair. “You’ve got to admit, Saint, there aren’t a lot of women around who look like her.” He leaned back against the pipes and shook his head. “Damn.”
The photographer pointed to a few of the guys and called out, “Why don’t one of you men give Mrs. Duffy your stick?” The whole blue line rushed forward.
“I wouldn’t mind giving her my stick,” Marty said through a chuckle.
Ty liked Marty. Usually, he’d laugh at the stupid shit that came out of Marty’s mouth. Most of the time he’d add his own stupid shit and say something about eight to ten inches of good wood. Today he didn’t find any of it amusing, for some unknown reason. Maybe he was tired or dehydrated or something. He tended to lose his sense of humor when he was tired or dehydrated.
“Have you seen the pictures of her?”
“Yeah.” The damn pictures. But today he didn’t see the damn pictures when he looked at her. He saw her teasing smile and her smooth belly. He saw her eyes as she’d looked back over her shoulder and said she was bored.
The defense crowded around her for the photo and she laughed. The sound rippled across the ice. It brushed across his skin and tightened his chest. Surrounded by big, hulking men wearing skates and shoulder pads, she looked small and so beautifully female.
When he looked at her across the ice, he didn’t see the Playmate. He saw the woman he’d kissed in a hotel in San Jose. He could almost feel her sexy mouth beneath his and her hands in his hair. He could see the lust in her eyes and feel the need in her kiss. He’d kissed and been kissed by a lot of women in his life, but he’d never been
