by Alison Kent
Her suspicions had been confirmed when three months into the marriage, Sheila convinced her father to buy a multimillion-dollar mansion (because living in a penthouse was so passé), a small yacht (because the sea air would do them good) and a brand-new wardrobe (because the wife of a sports team owner needed to look sharp). Hayden didn’t even want to know how much money her dad had spent on Sheila that first year. Even if she worked until she was ninety, she’d probably never earn that much. Sheila, of course, had quit her waitressing job the day after the wedding, and as far as Hayden knew, her stepmother now spent her days shopping away Presley’s money.
“Do I really have to get involved in this, Dad?” she asked, sighing.
“It’s just one deposition, sweetheart. All you have to do is go on record and state that Sheila was in her right mind when she signed those papers.” Presley made a rude sound. “She’s claiming coercion was involved.”
“Oh, Dad. Why did you marry that woman?”
Her father didn’t answer, and she didn’t blame him. He’d always been a proud man, and admitting his failures came as naturally to him as the ability to give birth.
“This won’t go to court, will it?” Her stomach turned at the thought.
“I doubt it.” He ruffled her hair again. “Diane is confident we’ll be able to reach a settlement. Sheila can’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later she’ll give up.”
Not likely.
She kept her suspicions to herself, not wanting to upset her father any further. She could tell by the frustration in his eyes that the situation was making him feel powerless. And she knew how much he hated feeling powerless.
Hayden gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Of course she will.” She gestured to the window. “By the way, the team’s looking really great, Dad.”
She had no clue about whether the team looked good or not, but her words brought a smile to her father’s lips and that was all that mattered.
“They are, aren’t they? Wyatt and Becker are really coming together this season. Coach Gray said it was tough going, trying to make them get along.”
“They don’t like each other?” she said, not bothering to ask who Wyatt and Becker were.
Her dad shrugged, then took a swig from the glass of bourbon in his hand. “You know how it is, sweetheart. Alpha males, I’m-the-best, no-I’m-the-best. The league is nothing more than an association of egos.”
“Dad…” She searched for the right words. “That stuff in the paper yesterday, about the illegal betting…it’s not true, is it?”
“Of course not.” He scowled. “It’s lies, Hayden. All a bunch of lies.”
“You sure I shouldn’t be worried?”
He pulled her close, squeezing her shoulder. “There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. I promise.”
“Good.”
A deafening buzz followed by a cheesy dance beat interrupted their conversation. In a second Presley was on his feet, clapping and giving a thumbs-up to the camera that seemed to float past the window.
“Did we win?” she asked, feeling stupid for asking and even stupider for not knowing.
Her father chuckled. “Not yet. There’s five minutes left to the third.” He returned to his seat. “When the game’s done how about I take you for a quick tour of the arena? We’ve done a lot of renovations since you were last here. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” she lied.
BRODY STEPPED out of the shower and drifted back to the main locker area. He pressed his hand to his side and winced at the jolt of pain that followed. A glance down confirmed what he already knew—that massive check from Valdek at the beginning of the second period had resulted in a large bruise that was slowly turning purple. Asshole.
“You took a shitty penalty,” Wyatt was grumbling to Jones when Brody reached the bench.
The captain’s normally calm voice contained a hint of antagonism and his dark eyes flashed with disapproval, also uncharacteristic. Brody wondered what was up Wyatt’s ass, but he preferred to stay out of quarrels between his teammates. Hockey players were wired to begin with, so minor disagreements often ended badly.
Derek rolled his eyes. “What are you complaining about? We won the freaking game.”
“It could’ve been a shutout,” Wyatt snapped. “You gave up a goal to Franks with that penalty. We might be up by two games, but we need to win two more to make it to the second round. There’s no room for mistakes.” Still glowering, Mr. Serious strode out of the locker room, slamming the door behind him.
Jones tossed a what-the-hell’s-up-with-him? look in Brody’s direction, but he just shrugged, still determined to stay out of it.
Dressing quickly, he shoved his sweaty uniform into the locker, suddenly eager to get out of there.
On his way to the door he checked his watch, which read nine forty-five. Too late to pay a visit to Hayden’s penthouse suite? Probably. Maybe inappropriate, too, but, hell, he’d never been one for propriety. Hayden had been on his mind all day and he was determined to see her again.
“Later, boys,” he called over his shoulder.
The door closed behind him and he stepped into the brightly lit hallway, promptly colliding with a warm wall of curves.
“I’m sor—” The apology died in his throat as he laid eyes on the woman he’d bodychecked.
Not just any woman, either, but the one he’d been thinking about—and getting hard over—all day.
A startled squeak flew out of her mouth. “You.”
His surprise quickly transformed into a rush of satisfaction and pleasure. “Me,” he confirmed.
Looking her up and down, Brody was taken aback by the prim white blouse she wore and the knee-length paisley skirt that swirled over her legs. A huge change from the bright yellow top and faded jeans she’d worn last night. In this getup she looked more like the conservative professor and less like the passionate vixen who’d cried out his name so many times last night. The shift was disconcerting.
“What are…you’re…” Hayden’s eyes darted to the sign on the door beside them. “You play for the Warriors?”
“Sure do.” He lifted one brow. “And I thought you said you weren’t a hockey fan.”
“I’m not. I…” Her voice trailed off.
What was she doing in this section of the arena? he suddenly wondered. Only folks associated with the franchise were allowed back here.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart,” boomed a male voice. “Shall we continue the tour—” Presley Houston broke out in a wide smile when he noticed Brody. “You played well out there tonight, Croft.”
“Thanks, Pres.” He looked from Hayden to Presley, wondering if he was missing something. Then a hot spurt of jealousy erupted in his gut as he realized that Presley had called Hayden sweetheart. Oh, man. Had he screwed around with Houston’s mistress?
A dose of anger joined the jealousy swirling through him. He eyed the woman he’d spent the night with, wanting to strangle her for hopping into bed with him when she was obviously very much taken, but Presley’s next words quickly killed the urge and brought with them another shock.
“I see you’ve met my daughter, Hayden.”
4
WHAT WAS HEdoing here? And why hadn’t he told her he played for the Warriors?
Hayden blinked a few times. Maybe she was imagining his sleek, long body and devastatingly handsome face and the hair that curled under his ears as if he’d just stepped out of a steamy shower—
He’s not a hallucination. Deal with it.
All right, so her one-night stand was undeniably here, flesh and blood, and sexier than ever.
He also happened to be one of her dad’s players. Was there a section in the league rule book about a player sleeping with the team owner’s daughter? She didn’t think so, but with all the rumors currently circulating about her father and the franchise, Hayden didn’t feel inclined to cause any more trouble for her dad.
Apparently Brody felt the same way
.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hayden.” His voice revealed nothing, especially not the fact that they were already very much…acquainted, for lack of a better word.
She shook his hand, almost shivering at the feel of his warm, calloused fingers. “Charmed,” she said lightly.
Charmed? Had she actually just said that?
Brody’s eyes twinkled, confirming that the idiotic reply had indeed come out of her mouth.
“Hayden is visiting us from San Francisco,” Presley explained. “She teaches art at Berkeley.”
“Art history, Dad,” she corrected.
Presley waved a dismissive hand. “Same difference.”
“So what position do you play?” Hayden asked, her voice casual, neutral, as if she were addressing a complete stranger.
“Brody’s a left winger,” Presley answered for him. “And a rising star.”
“Oh. Sounds exciting,” she said mildly.
Presley cut in once more. “It is. Right, Brody?”
Before Brody could answer, someone else snagged her dad’s attention. “There’s Stan. Excuse me for a moment.” He quickly marched away.
Hayden’s mouth curved mischievously. “Don’t mind him. He often takes over conversations only to leave you standing in his dust.” Her smile faded. “But you probably already knew that, seeing as you play for his team.”
“Does that bother you?” Brody said carefully.
“Of course not,” she lied. “Why would it?”
“You tell me.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my father about what…happened between us last night.”
“Ah, so you remember.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “I was starting to think you’d put it out of your mind completely.”
Sure. Like that was even possible. She’d thought about nothing but this man and his talented tongue all day.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Her voice lowered. “But that doesn’t mean I want to do it again.”
“I think you do.”
The arrogance in his tone both annoyed her and thrilled her. Jeez, how hadn’t she figured out he was a hockey player last night? The man practically had pro athlete branded into his forehead. He was cocky, confident, larger than life. Something told her he was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and did everything in his power to get it.
And what he wanted at the moment, disconcerting as it was, seemed to be her.
“Brody—”
“Don’t bother denying it, I rocked your world last night and you can’t wait for me to do it again.”
She snorted. “There’s nothing like a man with a healthy ego.”
“I like it when you snort. It’s cute.”
“Don’t call me cute.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate it. Babies and bunny rabbits are cute. I’m a grown woman. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he said, blinking innocently.
“Like you’re imagining me naked.”
“I can’t help it. I am imagining you naked.”
His eyes darkened to a sensual glitter, and liquid heat promptly pooled between her thighs. She tried not to squeeze her legs together. She didn’t want him seeing the effect he had on her.
“Have a drink with me tonight,” he said suddenly.
The word no slipped out more quickly than she’d intended.
Brody’s features creased with what looked like frustration. He stepped closer, causing her to dart a glance in her father’s direction. Presley was standing at the end of the hall, engaged in deep conversation with Stan Gray, the Warriors’ head coach. While her dad seemed oblivious to the sparks shooting between her and Brody, Hayden still felt uncomfortable having this discussion in view of her father.
It didn’t help that Brody looked so darn edible in gray wool pants that hugged his muscular legs and a ribbed black sweater that stretched across his chest. And his wet hair…She forced herself to stop staring at those damp strands, knowing that if she allowed herself to imagine him in the shower, naked, she might just come on the spot.
“One drink,” he insisted, with a charming grin. “You know, for old time’s sake.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ve known each other for all of twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, but it was a very wild twenty-four hours, wouldn’t you say?” He moved closer and lowered his head, his lips inches from her ear, his warm breath fanning across her neck. “How many times did you come again, Hayden? Three? Four?”
“Five,” she squeezed out, and then quickly looked around to make sure nobody had heard her.
Her entire body started to throb from the memory. Nipples hardened. Sex grew moist. That she could experience such arousal in a hallway full of people—one of them her father—made her blush with embarrassment.
“Five.” He nodded briskly. “I haven’t lost my touch.”
She resisted the urge to groan. He was too damn sexual, too sure of himself, which gave him a definite advantage, because at the moment she wasn’t sure of anything.
Except the fact that she wanted to tear off her clothes and hop right back into bed with Brody Croft.
But, nope, she wouldn’t do it. Sleeping with Brody again had Bad Idea written all over it. It had all been much simpler last night, when he’d just been an exciting, sensual stranger. But now…now he was real. Even worse, he was a hockey player. She’d grown up around enough hockey players to know how they lived—the constant traveling, the media, the eager females lining up to jump into bed with them.
And along with being involved in a sport she hated, Brody was so…arrogant, flirtatious, bold. Yesterday it had added to the allure of sex with a stranger. Today it was a reminder of why she’d decided bad boys no longer played a part in her life.
Been there, done that. Her last boyfriend had been as arrogant, flirty and bold as Brody Croft, and that relationship had ended a fiery death when Adam dumped her on her birthday because the whole “fidelity thing” cramped his style. His words, not hers.
She wasn’t quite sure why she had such terrible judgment when it came to men. It shouldn’t be so hard finding someone to build a life with, should it? A home, a solid marriage, great sex, excitement and stability, a man who’d make their relationship a priority—was that too much to ask for?
“Why are you so determined to see me again?” she found herself blurting, then lowered her voice when her father glanced in their direction. “I told you this morning I wanted to leave things at one night.”
“What about what I want?”
She bit back an annoyed curse, deciding to go for the honest approach. “My life is complicated right now,” she admitted. “I came home to support my father, not get involved with someone.”
“You were pretty involved with me last night,” he said, winking. He uncrossed his arms and let them drop to his sides. “And you can’t deny you liked it, Hayden.”
“Of course I liked it,” she hissed.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I wanted one night. Seeing you again wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Plan, or fantasy?” he drawled, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You fantasized about indulging in one night of wicked sex with a stranger and now that you have it’s time to move on. I’m not judging you, just pointing out that the fantasy doesn’t have to end yet.”
The word fantasy sounded intoxicating the way he said it. Before she could stop herself, she wondered what other fantasies they could play out together. Role play? Bondage? Her cheeks grew warm at the latter notion. It turned her on, the idea of tying Brody up…straddling him while he lay immobile on the bed…
No. No, she was so not going there. She seriously needed to quit letting this guy jump-start her sex drive.
“The way I see it, you’ve got two options,” he said. “The easy way or the hard way.”
&nbs
p; “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” His cheek dimpled despite his words. “Now, the easy way involves the two of us heading over to the Lakeshore Lounge for a drink.”
“No.”
He held up his hand. “You haven’t heard the rest.” A devilish look flickered across his face. “If you choose to pass on the easy option, that’s when things get a little…hard.”
Heat spilled over her cheeks. Her eyes dropped to his groin, almost expecting to see the long ridge of arousal pressing against the denim of his jeans. Fine, no almost about it. He had an erection, all right, and the second she noticed it her nipples grew even harder.
“See, if you deny me this one harmless drink,” he continued, “I’ll be hurt. Maybe even a tad offended. Also, your father seems to be nearing the end of his conversation—yup, he’s shaking Stan’s hand. Which means he’ll head back over here just in time to hear you say no, and then he’ll ask you what you’re saying no to, and I’m sure neither one of us wants to open that can of worms.”
She turned her head and, sure enough, her father was walking toward them. Great. Although she knew her dad could handle the knowledge that his twenty-six-year-old daughter wasn’t a virgin, she didn’t want him privy to her sex life. Especially a sex life that involved one of his players.
Her dad might be totally gaga over his team, but he’d often warned her about the turbulent nature of hockey players. The latest warning had come during her last visit to Chicago, when she’d been hit on by an opposing player after a Warriors game. She’d declined the dinner invitation, but it hadn’t stopped Presley from launching into a speech about how he didn’t want his daughter dating brutes.
If he knew she’d gotten involved with Brody, it would just add to his stress.