See Jane Score

her eye. “Or the total fabrications?”

No one had ever asked him that question, and he thought about that for a moment. “Probably the stuff that isn’t true.”

“Even if it’s flattering?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She sucked in a breath and blew it out. “The women. The all-night sex stuff.”

He was a little disappointed that she would bring it up. Since she hadn’t turned on her tape recorder yet, he said, “There was never any all night sex. If I stayed up all night, it was because I was high.”

She looked down at her lap again and chewed on the inside of her lip. “Most men would probably be flattered if they were portrayed as some sort of sexual marathoner.”

He figured he must trust her or he wouldn’t have told her as much as he had. So much so that he added, “If I was high and up all night, I wasn’t up sexually, if you get my meaning.”

“So none of that stuff about you and the different women is flattering?”

He wondered if she asked because she was a bit of a prude and was intrigued by that sort of thing. “Not really. I’m trying to rebuild my career and that shit gets in the way of what’s important.”

“Oh.” She clicked her pen and flipped on her tape recorder. “In the Hockey News’s ranking of the top fifty players so far this season, you are number six, second among goaltenders,” she said, moving the interview away from his private life. “Last year you didn’t make the list at all. What do you think contributed to your startling improvement over last season?”

She had to be kidding. “I didn’t improve. I didn’t play much last season.”

“A lot has been made this year about your comeback from your injury.” She sounded stiff, as if she were nervous, which was a bit of a surprise. He didn’t think there was much on the planet that made her nervous. “What has been the single biggest obstacle for you?” she asked.

“Getting a chance to play again.”

She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. “How are the knees?”

“One hundred percent,” he lied. His knees would never be what they had been before the injury. He’d have to live with the pain and worry as long as he played.

“I’ve read that when you started out in the junior league in Edmonton, you played center. What made you decide to become a goalie?”

Apparently she’d researched more than his sex life. For some reason, that didn’t irritate him like it used to. “I played center from about the age of five to twelve. Our team goalie quit midseason and the coach looked around and said, ‘Luc, get between the pipes. You’re goalie.’”

She laughed and seemed to relax a bit. “Really? You weren’t born with a burning desire to stop pucks with your head?”

He liked her laugh. It was sincere and shone from her green eyes. “No, but I got real good real fast so I wouldn’t get a concussion.”

She scribbled something on the notepad. “Did you ever think of going back to your former position?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Once I was in the net, I never wanted to leave. I never even thought about it.”

She looked back up at him. “Did you know that you say aboot instead of about?”

“Still? I’ve been working on that.”

“Don’t. I like it.”

And he liked her. A lot more than he knew was wise, but looking at her, with her shiny hair and pink lips, he suddenly didn’t care about being wise. “Then I guess I won’t work on it-eh?” he said like a true son of Edmonton.

A smile tugged at both corners of her mouth, and she turned her attention back to the notebook on her lap. “Some people have said that goalies are different from other players. That you are a whole different breed. Would you agree?”

“That’s probably true to a certain degree.” He leaned farther back into the sofa and rested his arm along the top. “We play a different game than the other players. Hockey is a team sport, except for the guy between the pipes. A goaltender plays much more one-on-one. And if we mess up, there’s no one to cover for us.”

“Lights don’t flash and the crowd doesn’t cheer when one gets by the wingers?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“How long does it take you to shake off a loss?”

“That depends on the loss. I review the game tape, figure out how to do it better next time, and am usually over it the next day.”

“What are your pregame rituals?”

He remained silent until she finally turned her head toward him, then he asked, “Besides you calling me a dodo?”

“I’m not printing that.”

“Hypocrite.”

She shrugged. “Sue me.”

There were several things he could see himself doing to her, but suing her wasn’t one of them. “I eat a lot of protein and iron the night before and the day of the game.”

“Retired goalie Glenn Hall was quoted as saying he hated every minute that he played. How do you feel about the position?”

Interesting question, he thought as he tilted his head and studied Jane. How did he feel about it? Sometimes he hated it as much as Hall had. Sometimes it was better than sex. “On the ice I am very focused and competitive. There is no greater feeling than when I’m in my zone, blocking shots and snagging pucks from midair. Yeah, I love what I do.”

She wrote something in the notebook, then flipped the page. She raised the pen and pressed it to her bottom lip, drawing Luc’s attention to her mouth.

There was something about Jane that intrigued him more than any woman he’d ever known. Something more than the contradictions between Jane the prude, and the Jane who kissed like a porn queen. Something that made him want to run his fingers through her shiny curls and hold her face in his palms. Luc had been with many beautiful women in his life, physically perfect women, but he’d always been in control of his desire. Except with Jane. Skinny little Jane, with her small breasts and wild curls and deep green eyes that could look through him and see that he was up to absolutely no good. Ever since the night of the banquet when he’d kissed her, he’d envisioned taking off her clothes and exploring her body with his hands and mouth. He’d tried to avoid her, and instead he’d come close to having sex with her against a parking garage wall. And his desire for her had only gotten stronger over the past few days.

Watching her now, with her soft skin and shiny hair, he wondered why he should avoid her at all. She was in his life. She wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he. They were both adults. If he ended up with his mouth on her breasts while buried deep in her warm wet body, well, there was absolutely nothing wrong with two adults giving each other pleasure. In fact, it was probably just what they both needed. He lowered his gaze to the front of her blouse and the thrust of her small breasts. He knew it was just what he needed.

The telephone next to Luc rang, interrupting his study of Jane’s breasts. He picked up the receiver, and it was Marie, telling him that she would be spending the night at Hanna’s. “Call me in the morning,” he said and hung up.

“Marie?”

“Yes. She’s staying at Hanna’s.”

Jane turned toward him, pulling one knee on the couch and leaning a shoulder into the cushion next to his hand. “Do you want to talk about Marie?”

“No. I wouldn’t want to say anything that would make her life any harder.”

“I think that’s wise.” She glanced at the notepad, then looked up at him again. “When you look into the future, where do you see yourself?”

Luc hated that question. He was just trying to survive the season without injury, and he didn’t like to think too far ahead. One play, one game, one season, that’s as far as he liked to look. “I figure I’ll have time to decide what to do with my life once I retire.”