“Or is there more to the story? Are you dating Zac?”
She paused and smiled, forcing away her frustration. “Everyone involved with the team is focused on getting ready for Thursday’s game against Washington.”
“Are you feeding Zac inside information for contract negotiations?”
Don’t create a scene. Curling her fingers, her nails dug into her palm. “I leave negotiations to the experts. Excuse me, I’m late.”
“For a date with Zac?”
She slammed her car door in response. All day long, her phone hadn’t stopping ringing. She’d finally silenced it to avoid the tension rising with every peal of her missed-call alerts.
During the drive to Avalon, the tone of her father’s strained, curt message, ordering her to report to dinner that evening, replayed in her mind.
Her mother opened the front door as Heather walked up the stone path. Concern creasing her brows, she opened her arms wide. “Are you okay?”
The comforting embrace erased some of the day’s strain. “The reporters are annoying and I’m worried about Zac. How angry is Dad?”
“He’s not bright red anymore, but he’s been tensing his jaw all day.”
“Mom, this is insane.” She tugged the scarf off her neck and hung her coat in the closet, then bent and accepted Brindy’s tail-wiggling greeting.
“I agree. I like Zac. He’s a good man. Don’t worry, Christmas will be here in a few weeks and there’s a long way to go in the rest of the season. Most of the media attention will shift.”
She followed her mother into the kitchen, where they still shared family dinners once a week. Her father stood, staring out the window. Chicken sizzled in a pan on the stove. The aroma of fresh rosemary and olive oil filled the room.
“Hi, Dad. Smells great in here.”
“Thanks.” He put the chicken on a platter of rice and brought it to the table. After sitting in his chair, he steepled his fingers together, watching her.
Seated next to her mother at the opposite end, she took a deep breath. “Now, Dad, listen…”
“You’ve never given me cause to be disappointed in your choices, until now. I thought you realized dating my players wasn’t allowed.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I wanted Zac’s contract finalized before Christmas. He had a record-setting season last year and is on pace this season to match or exceed it. He’ll receive offers from every team if he becomes a free agent after this season. You’ve tied my hands. If I give him a generous contract, the media will think you’re the reason for it. If I don’t give in to what he wants, I’ll lose him and the media will blame you.”
“That won’t happen.”
He shook his head. “Princess, you’re not a naïve child. You know how this business can be. Your mother and I have enough to worry about without the added stress of having our family name dragged through the mud, or some rabid fan threatening you if we again fail to win the championship.”
Some fans could be crazy in their devotion. She’d heard the stories of death threats made against players and coaches after losing big games. Reaching the championship finals last season raised the bar on fans’ expectations for this season. This year winning the division, making the playoffs, and reaching the finals wouldn’t be enough. They had to win it all or the season would be considered a failure.
She studied her mother’s elegant restraint and her father’s stress-tightened features. They’d given her everything. The desire to protect them coursed through her, swift and strong. “I don’t want to hurt you or the team. But it isn’t right that your business dictates my social life. You get that, right?”
Her mother leaned over and patted her shoulder. “We can hire a bodyguard for Heather. She should be able to date whomever she wants.”
“Life’s not always fair, Cindy, as you know. Heather can continue to see Zac by watching him from our box at the arena. No other contact. End of discussion.” Her father dished out the meal.
“Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions, and you should trust that I’m smart enough to do what’s right.” The once-mouthwatering chicken caused her stomach to sour. Eating became impossible as her frustration mounted. The way she came alive in Zac’s arms and the feelings he’d awakened were too huge to ignore. Although the unfairness of the situation demanded her protest, the lines of weariness around her father’s eyes quieted her argument, until he suggested she stay away from the arena altogether. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“Nothing is too excessive when it comes to keeping you safe.”
The image of a pampered princess locked away in a glass tower popped into her mind. “I’ve never missed a home game, and I’ve never done anything to hurt this family. Don’t assume I’d start now. Zac and I already decided not to see each other anymore.”
His impassive expression didn’t alter. In a battle of wills, she and her father would have to declare a draw. She pushed to her feet. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
After an uncomfortable goodbye, she headed back to her apartment. Curling up in her favorite chair, she checked her phone. A missed call and two texts from Zac, asking her to call him. She glanced at the framed photo of her parents on her desk, taken at their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Her desire to follow her father’s wishes warred with her desire to follow her heart. Taking a deep breath, she sent Zac a text.
We need to talk.
His response came within seconds.
You okay?
Frustration and anger at the press and people who couldn’t mind their own business shattered her composure. They couldn’t have this conversation over texting.
Can you meet me tomorrow? Absecon Inlet, 2 p.m. Park at the far end.
Her fingers paused over the keys.
Goodnight, Zac.
She turned off the phone to avoid the temptation of further contact.
After a sleepless night, followed by a morning spent with the career-day planning committee, Heather stood on the beach at two o’clock. Blue-gray Atlantic waters met a pale gray sky. The storm rolling in matched her mood. Despite her down jacket, cold seeped into her skin. The biting wind ensured she had the empty expanse of sand to herself. No fishermen, no tourists, no distractions. She picked up a tiny shell and tucked it into her pocket, then turned at the sound of an approaching vehicle.
This was usually a happy time of year for her, but the overblown drama about her date with Zac ruined her anticipation of the holiday season.
He parked his car next to hers. Her stomach lurched into a ball of nerves and longing. How could she stay away?
He strode over the sand, his face set in grim lines and his navy wool coat zipped high against the chill. She opened her mouth to speak as he approached but his hands closed over her shoulders and tugged her toward him.
The wind carried away her gasp. Her eyes focused on the determination and desire in his. As his lips descended, she strained to meet him halfway. He tasted of mint mixed with her cinnamon-flavored lip gloss. Smooth, firm lips coaxed hers apart and his tongue slipped inside, teasing hers.
Her hands gripped his waist and latched onto his coat pockets. She pulled him in closer, murmuring her approval when his arms banded around her. Craving and need mixed together. Zac was the cause and the cure.
Fighting her feelings would be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She pulled back, but couldn’t bring herself to release her hold on his coat. She pressed her lips together, savoring his flavor. “My dad is pissed. He doesn’t want me to have any contact with you. He’s right. It is a conflict of interest, especially with your contract negotiations as the top headline this season.”
“He more or less told me the same thing. But I don’t want to stop seeing you.” Zac’s hands rested on her hips.
“Me either, but I don’t want to hurt my family or your reputation.” Now that they’d finally had the chance to get to know each other, losing Zac seemed like tearing away somethin
g vital to her spirit. She leaned her forehead against his chest.
“Hey.” His finger under her chin brought her gaze back to his. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. We both want this to happen, so we’ll wait until after my contract negotiations are complete.”
“But after negotiations, you still have to survive the rest of the season. We just connected on a whole new level and I hate the thought of not being able to spend time with you.”
“Then we’ll wait until the off-season if we have to. I’ve watched and wanted you for the last four years. I want to see where this thing between us is going.”
His words warmed her almost as much as his kisses. Maybe they could calm her father’s misgivings if they began a quiet relationship after the season. The soft pads of his fingers stroked the back of her neck. She stretched like a contented cat. “Five months to go until the regular season ends, and if you reach the finals again, we’re talking June, not mid-April. That’s a long time to wait for a kiss…”
His lips found hers. “Then I’d better make this one memorable.”
Chapter Four
After four weeks of sneaking around with texts and phone calls, Zac was going out of his mind. He didn’t want a pen pal. He wanted Heather with him, in person. Absence didn’t make a heart grow fonder, it ripped it apart and could make a man go insane. Thank God for hockey, or he would be certifiable. Time on the ice brought him a release from his constant thoughts about her. On the ice, he was focused on the game. Everything in the outside world stayed away. When he took off his skates, however, all he craved was Heather’s company, but they needed to keep their relationship to themselves for a few more months.
During road trips, he hid in the bathroom so he could talk to her. His roommate Alec O’Meara, known as Sequoia, wasn’t buying his need for privacy.
“I’m headed to the restaurant for a snack. Are you coming?” Sequoia asked.
“I’ll meet you down there. I need to talk to my agent,” Zac lied.
Sequoia lifted his eyebrow and then shook his head. “I hope she’s worth it.”
“How do you know it’s a woman?”
“Unless Eric also goes by the name Heather, it’s a woman. A very off-limits one. The walls are thin, and my hearing is perfect.”
“Stay out of it. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“Physically, yes. I’m not sure if you’re emotionally apart from her. I’d keep my distance from Ryan’s daughter if I were you. I wouldn’t want to see you traded to some farm team in Alaska.” He walked out of the room, leaving Zac alone.
So what if they spoke on the phone every night, Skyped a few times, and texted each other several times a day. All right, maybe his attraction was growing too fast to handle. If she weren’t such a good listener, and she didn’t have so many interesting things to say, and if she weren’t so damn beautiful, he’d stand a better chance of keeping perspective.
Just one more text to her before he headed to bed.
What are you wearing?
A red satin garter belt and matching corset. Are you wearing shoulder pads? You look really hot in shoulder pads.
They’re hard to sleep in, but I’ll do it for you.
Thanks. The corset is itchy, so I’m taking it off.
Need help?
No. Just undid the last hook. Goodnight.
The woman had a sexy, evil side, and it made him want her all the more because of it.
I’ll never sleep now. I need company.
You could get a dog.
I’d never allow a dog into my bed. It’s reserved.
I’m glad. Good luck on your game tomorrow.
Thanks. Goodnight.
Damn, he missed her, but they had to keep their distance from each other. The news stations had followed both of them around all week, increasing in number after Thursday’s loss to Washington. The pressure would only get worse if they were photographed together.
Late Sunday afternoon, Phoenix had dominated through two periods of play and held a five-goal lead. Hostile comments from the crowd intensified during the five-minute stoppage in play to clean up the garbage fans had hurled onto the ice.
Zac received check after check from Phoenix player Oleg Denikin. He finally had enough of Denikin’s bullshit. He crushed him against the boards with the puck about thirty feet away. The referee’s whistle sounded. One of the linesmen escorted Zac to the penalty box. From his seat, he watched his team implode, and Phoenix add another goal. Coach Green glared at him. He was right. Zac knew better than to take a stupid penalty.
When he returned to the ice, Denikin and another Phoenix fourth-liner crashed into him from behind. Denikin’s skate clipped Zac’s and sent him sliding, skate first into the boards. Breath rushed out of his lungs and pain pulsed through his ankle. Damn.
The crowd voiced their displeasure at top volume. He deserved some of the crowd’s wrath. He’d been held scoreless and couldn’t motivate his team.
Two teammates helped him to his skates. He headed to the bench. The assistant trainer, Jaime, a tiny thing compared to the army of giants she helped return to the ice week after week, pointed for him to sit in front of her.
“Okay?” She quickly assessed the injury.
“Nope. I need better aim and some lucky breaks.”
“How about an ice pack and a water bottle?”
“Water’s good enough for now. Tending to the ankle can wait until after the game.”
Three minutes later, he wasn’t any calmer, but he had to try to pull off a miracle. Sequoia slapped him on the shoulder as they climbed over the boards. Frustration weighed him down more than the pain in his ankle, but every negative thought needed to be left off the ice. He refused to give up, no matter the odds. He glanced at the scoreboard and vowed to turn this game around.
“Let’s kick some ass.” He tapped the right-winger with his stick.
With a killer grin and a nod of his head, Sequoia called over his shoulder, “Count on it.”
And Zac knew he meant it. They’d been college roommates and teammates, played in juniors together, went through the draft together, and ended up as rookies with the most decorated hockey franchise in the league. They’d always have each other’s backs.
Zac chased the puck behind the net, avoided a collision with a Phoenix defenseman, then sent the puck to Sequoia in a back-and-forth pattern they’d mastered over the years.
Pain continued to torment him. During a stoppage in play, he leaned on the boards by his bench and shifted his weight off his ankle. He’d be fine after an ice bath and a few painkillers.
The noise intensified into a low and menacing roar. Zac glanced up to the Jumbotron. The camera had a shot of Heather in the owner’s luxury suite. She wore a black sweater with a red scarf, team colors. She wasn’t smiling. As more people noticed her on the screen, the sound morphed into a round of boos. The judgment tossed at her turned her expression into a grimace.
Damn. Her unhappiness shredded his nerves and screwed with the calm demeanor he typically carried on the ice. She didn’t deserve to be blamed for his poor playing. Hockey fans, however, were intensely superstitious. With only a few minutes remaining in the third period of the game, he needed to make a few good plays and focus the crowd back on the ice and not on Heather.
Denikin skated over to him. “You can’t sleep your way to a win today, but maybe you won’t be traded if you knock up the boss’s daughter.”
Zac’s frustration flared into rage. He dropped his gloves and punched the giant left-winger square in the jaw. Punch, jab, hook, Zac threw everything he had into the blows. The other player retaliated and landed three punches on the side of Zac’s helmet. Despite the protection, the punches hurt like hell. The referee came between them and the linesmen pulled them apart. Blood dripped from Denikin’s mouth. The crowd broke into a rousing ovation as Zac skated to the box for the second time.
He spent his penalty minutes trading barbs with Denikin and vowing revenge the
next time their teams met. Worry for Heather overshadowed his anger at the shitty score. He glanced up toward the owner’s box, but couldn’t see her. Maybe she’d left before the mobs descended on the parking lot. That would be for the best. There was nothing to watch on the ice anyway. The entire team seemed to fall apart in the final minutes. Sloppy passes, not enough speed. Stuck in the box, he watched the play clock tick down to zero. The horn sounded, signaling the end of the game. He could do nothing to turn around the final score. Losing seven to one was an annihilation and an embarrassment. At least he’d taken out some of his hostility on Denikin. The asshole deserved a fat lip.
The after-game chaos did nothing to cool him down. Too many people wanted to give him advice, ask him questions, review each shot he’d taken and each shot he didn’t take. At the press conference, the reporters’ questions about Heather’s role in his poor performance peppered Zac from all sides. Temper burned through the last frays of his patience. Through gritted teeth, he asked if anyone wanted to talk about the actual game. Another question about Heather followed, and his temper boiled over. He pushed away from the microphone and limped into the locker room.
Holing up in the back office, he called Heather. “Just checking up on you.”
“Me? I watched you get clobbered. You were favoring your right leg for half the game.”
He moved his ankle and flinched. Some physical therapy, plus rest during the week, would heal him before the next game. “My ankle was acting up, but it feels great now.”
“You’re lying. I can tell.”
“No, you can’t.”
“When you’re lying to me, the smile leaves your voice.”
“You can’t hear a smile.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but he’d have to monitor his tone in the future. She knew him too well now.
“Trust me. It does.” The line went silent for a few seconds before she continued. “Do you think you could come over so I could see for myself? I won’t be able to sleep, knowing you’re hurt.”
Could he come over? Doubtful. The press would be following him everywhere he went tonight. He could hear the few players remaining in the locker room primping themselves for some private parties where they could lick their wounds, and perhaps have a few groupies lick their wounds as well. He didn’t want any part of that life. There was only one woman who could calm the storm wrapped around him since the end of the game…Heather. He wanted the chance to connect with her again, in person, physically, in every possible way. The temptation to visit her fought with his need to protect their relationship, even if it meant more separation. “I don’t think so. It’s too risky.”
Flirting on Ice Page 4