See Jane Score

“Absolutely.”

“What about finesse?”

“Depends on my odds.” He looked back up into her eyes and said, “Sometimes I’m forced to play dirty.”

“Forced?”

A wicked grin curved his mouth. “Sometimes I just like to play dirty.”

Yes, Jane knew that about him. She’d seen him shove and hook skates and run roughshod in front of his net. But she didn’t think he was talking about hockey.

“When can I get my driver’s license?” Marie broke in and thankfully changed the subject.

Both adults looked at her, then Luc leaned back in his chair and Jane breathed easier. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yes, I am. I’m sixteen.”

“When you’re eighteen.”

“No way, Luc.” She gulped down her milk and placed it on her empty plate. “I want a new Volkswagen Beetle. I can buy it with my own money.”

“You can’t have your money until you’re twenty-one.”

“I’ll get a job.”

He watched her take her plate and utensils and move into the kitchen. “She’s in one of her moods tonight,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“She’s mad because you told her her jeans are too tight.”

“They are.”

Jane gathered her napkin in her hand and laid it on the table. “I don’t think she’ll have that problem now. Caroline talked her into buying clothes that fit.”

“It was very nice of you and your friend to give up your Saturday and take my sister shopping,” he said as both of them watched Marie leave the kitchen and move down the hall to her bedroom. “I can’t imagine anything worse.” Luc slid his palm beneath Jane’s and he studied her fingers.

“Caroline did everything.” Her hand appeared small and very white within the warmth of his, and her chest suddenly felt too tight. “I can barely dress myself. I wear a lot of black because I don’t know what colors look good on me.”

“Red.” He turned her hand over and looked at her palm. Slowly, his gaze slid up her wrist and arm, past her shoulder to her mouth once more. He leaned closer, and his voice got a little deeper, hotter. “You look good in red, but I believe we’ve already talked about that little red dress of yours,” he said. His voice chased warm flutters across her flesh to the pit of her stomach.

“The one that hypnotized you into kissing me?”

“I’ve decided it wasn’t the dress. It was the woman in the dress.” His thumb brushed the side of hers. “You have soft girl skin.”

She placed her free hand on her stomach as if she could still the butterflies. “I am a girl.”

“I noticed. Even when I don’t want to notice you. Sitting in the back of the plane or bus or walking into the locker room after a game, ready to take on a bunch of guys twice your size, I’ve always noticed you, Jane.”

Nervous laughter got stuck in her throat. “Probably because I’m the only female traveling with thirty men. I’m kind of hard to miss.”

“Maybe at first.” His gaze took in her hair and face. “I’d look around and see you, and I’d be surprised because you weren’t supposed to be there.” He lowered his gaze to hers. “Now I look for you.”

Even as his words made her heart beat a bit harder, what he said was hard for her to believe. “I thought you didn’t want me traveling with the team.”

He placed her hand back on her napkin. “I didn’t.” He stood and gathered the plates and utensils. “I still don’t.”

Jane grabbed the glasses and followed him into the kitchen. “Why? I told you I’m not interested in a tell-all book.” And she wasn’t. Honey Pie was a fictional column. Erotic fantasy. Her erotic fantasy.

He set everything in the sink, and instead of answering, he took her full glass of milk and drained it. When he lowered the glass again, she repeated her question. “Why don’t you want me traveling with the team?”

His blue eyes stared into hers as he sucked his milk mustache from his top lip, and she had a feeling his answer was very important. To her. Because, though she wished it weren’t happening, and no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, she was falling in love with Luc. The harder she resisted, the more the force of it pulled her under.

“I’m leaving,” Marie said as she reentered the kitchen.

For a few brief moments, Luc continued to look at Jane before dragging his gaze to his sister. “Do you need money?” he asked and set the glass in the sink.

“I have a twenty. That ought to cover it.” Marie shrugged into a snowboarding jacket and pulled her hair from the back collar. “I might spend the night with Hanna. She has to ask her mom, though.”

“Let me know either way.”

“I will.” She zipped up her coat and bade Jane good-bye. As Jane watched Luc walk his sister to the door, her gaze fell on her briefcase and she was reminded why she was in his apartment in the first place. They might be attracted to each other, but they were both professionals and she was here to do a job. She wasn’t his kind of woman, and she didn’t want to fall in love with a man who would break her heart like a Dorito.

She moved from the kitchen to the sofa in the living room. She unzipped her briefcase and pulled out a pad of paper and her tape recorder. Jane didn’t want her heart broken. She didn’t want to love Luc Martineau, but each beat of her heart told her it was too late.

When Luc shut the door behind Marie, Jane looked up at him. “Ready to get busy?” she asked.

“Are we officially on the clock?”

“Yep.” She took a pen from the pocket of her briefcase.

He moved toward her, his long stride closing the distance between them. What was it about him walking toward her, looking at her through his beautiful blue eyes, that melted her beneath his molten mojo?

“Where do you want to do it?” she asked.

“Now, there’s a question,” he said through a warm sexy smile.

Chapter 13

Hat Trick: Player Scores Three Goals in One Night

“Are you going to sexually harass me?”

Luc folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Jane. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes. I’m here to interview you for the Times.” Damn. Her shoulders straight, her gaze direct, she was all business. Too bad. He liked harassing her. “Have a seat.” It had been a long time since Luc had seen a woman other than Gloria Jackson in his home. Since before Marie had come to live with him.

Earlier, when he’d first looked up and Jane had been standing in the living room, it had been a shock to see her, surrounded by his things. Like it had been in the beginning when he’d looked around and had seen her sitting on the team jet or bus. An out-of-place female in an unexpected place. Now, as then, it didn’t take long before she seemed to fit. As if she’d always belonged.

He took a seat at one end of the couch and Jane sat in the middle. Several dark curls fell across her temple and cheek as she looked at the notepad and tape recorder in her lap. She wore her usual black pants and white blouse, and he knew her skin was as soft as it looked.

“How much of your past do you want to talk about?” she began, keeping her head bent over her notebook as she asked her first question.

“None.”

“There’s been a lot written about it. You could clear the air.”

“The less said about it, the better.”

“Which bothers you the most, the stuff written about you that is true?” She looked at him out of the corner of