She slid her fingers up his arms to his shoulders and the diamonds on her wedding ring sparkled in the light. “What time is it?”
He wished she’d take the damn thing off. It sort of made him feel like he was doing a married woman. “Around three.”
“I better go. You have a practice and a hockey game to win tonight.”
“The practice isn’t for twelve hours.” He dropped his hands to her hips and he pulled the shirt up. “I have plenty of time to sleep and only about an hour left to have sex.” He patted her bare behind. “You need to get busy.”
She shook her head as she ran her fingers through the sides of his hair. “I don’t want to deplete all your strength. You’re going to need it against Detroit’s blue line.”
“I have untapped reserves. I’m like Superman. Just when I think I’m spent, I tap into it and kick ass and take names.”
She laughed like he was joking. “Well, I don’t want to jinx you. I know all you hockey players are superstitious.”
Ty wasn’t as superstitious as some of the guys. He just didn’t need any distractions. Detroit was going to bring their A-game, and he had to be ready. Physically and mentally. “Once I get my head in the game, I’m hard to knock off the puck,” he said as he pulled her against the front of his jeans.
She lifted a brow. “You’re hard again.”
“Watching you play golf turned me on.”
“Was it my brilliant backswing?”
“Your swing sucks.” He shook his head and lowered his face to hers. “It was your brilliant back
“When does your father usually get home?”
“He’s here by six. We have time.”
She ran her hand down his side, over his tattoo. “Did this hurt?”
He sucked in a breath as her palm slid to his belly. “Not as bad as a broken ankle.”
“You broke your ankle?” she asked as she placed little kisses along his jaw. “When?”
“2001. Third round, Game Two against the Devils.”
“What happened here?” She kissed his chin and slipped her hand down the front of his pants.
“I got hard watching you play golf.”
She laughed and wrapped her palm around the head of his dick. “I know that. I’m asking about your scar.”
That had happened so long ago, he never thought about it these days. “High stick. Claude Lemieux. 1998. Post-season game against Colorado. Twenty stitches.”
“Ouch.” She slid her mouth to the side of his throat as her free hand unbuttoned his pants. “I’ve never broken a bone or had stitches.” His pants slid from his hips and pooled about his bare feet. “Just have the one tattoo,” she said.
He’d noticed the Playboy bunny in the small of her back. “And it’s sexy as hell,” he managed as she sucked his neck.
“Virgil hated it.” She kissed her way across his shoulder and down his chest. “He didn’t want anyone to know about it. He said classy girls don’t get tattoos.”
“Virgil was old and didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”
She knelt in front of him and slipped her hand up and down his shaft. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she said as she looked up at him through her beautiful green eyes. “If it doesn’t feel good, tell me and I’ll stop.”
Jesus. She pressed her soft lips to the head of his cock and he about went off. “Yeah, I’ll be sure and do that.” After this, he should be good for a while. She’d be out of his system, he thought as she took him into her hot, wet mouth. He ran his finger in her hair as she moved. Yeah, getting off four times in one night should last him for some time. Then she moaned, a sweet little sound that vibrated her throat and he gave up thinking at all.
Chapter 14
Giant billboards of a towering Faith and Ty hung about the city of Seattle and dominated the front of the Key Arena. Beneath the shot of the owner standing in front of the team captain, the words simply said, CHINOOKS HOCKEY. GET HOOKED. To Bo’s utter disappointment and Jules’s unabashed pleasure, there was no mention of beauty and savages and no appearance of nuts-stomping at all.
In the days leading up to the game, excitement buzzed the city, and that Thursday evening the Key was packed for Game One in the semifinal against the Detroit Red Wings. From the drop of the first puck, everything went Seattle’s way. The team scored two goals in the first frame. In the second period, the Detroit offense rallied with one goal and held the Chinooks at 2–1 going into the third set. For fifteen minutes each team defended their goals, passing the puck from coast to coast without a clear shot at the crease. With five minutes left, Ty passed the puck across ice to the Sniper, Frankie Kawczynski, who made a shot through traffic. Goalie Chris Osgood got a tip of his glove on it as it sailed behind him into the net, and the Chinooks sewed up the first game 3–1.
Faith walked into the players’ lounge fifteen minutes after the game ended with Jules by her side. He wore a Chinooks T-shirt beneath a dark-blue suit jacket and a pair of jeans. He would have looked unusually subtle if the T-shirt hadn’t been two sizes too small.
“What did you think of the game?” a reporter asked as Faith walked into the room.
“I’m pleased, of course. But I’m not surprised.” She wore her new red leather jacket over her blue-and-red Chinooks T-shirt. “The team worked really hard to get here.”
“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”
She opened her mouth to answer and got out, “I don’t th—” when Ty walked out of the dressing room. Her brain froze and she lost track of all thought. He wore a pair of loose shorts around his hips and that was it. A few hours ago he’d worn even less. A few hours ago she’d touched all that smooth skin and hard muscles. A few hours ago his pants had been around his ankles and she’d had him in her mouth. She raised her gaze from the defined muscles and of his hairy chest to his face. His blue eyes stared into hers and he raised one brow.
“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”
Heat crept up her chest and she tore her gaze from Ty. “No.”
He’d made her feel so good that she fought the urge to sprint across the room and attach herself to him. She thought she’d feel regret for sleeping with the captain of her team. It was unacceptable and unprofessional, and she should feel regret. But she didn’t. At least not for the reasons she thought she should. What she felt mostly was a big lump of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Her husband had been dead for a month and a half, and last night she’d had wild, amazing sex with a man who’d made her feel things she’d never felt before. She’d been a stripper, a Playmate, and a rich man’s wife, but she’d never craved a man’s touch like she did Ty’s. Or had craved, rather. It was over, but for those few short hours while she’d been with Ty, she hadn’t thought of her dead husband. Not really, and not at all while he’d kissed and touched her. The man who’d given her a great life and provided for her in death had been the furthest thing from her mind.
The reporters asked her more questions about the game and the future of the team. More players poured out of the locker room. The excitement in the room was electric; it buzzed the air and elevated voices. Faith answered questions or gave ambiguous responses or deferred to Jules, who knew specifics, and through it all, she was completely aware of Ty.
The sound of his voice cut through the noise and a warm, tingling awareness brushed across her skin and tickled her stomach. Ty had given her that one thing Virgil had always wished he could give but hadn’t been able to. A connection that could only happen through physical intimacy. The passion her mother was always talking about. The one thing she hadn’t had with her husband. Something so much bigger than her ability to stop it. Something so all consuming it had swept her up and knocked her flat like a hot, black hurricane.
Her gaze moved across the room to Ty and the knot of reporters around him. Through the other voices in the room, she heard him say, “My quick transition from Vancouver has been very easy. Coach Nystrom knows how to inspire great hockey and the players all bring their best to every game.”
“Are you getting along better with the owner of the team?”
He lifted his gaze to Faith’s and one corner of his mouth lifted in an honest-to-God smile. “She’s okay.”
