One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

  Dead silence.

  “Doug?”

  A muffled cough sounded from the other end. “Pardon me?”

  “I’m seeing someone. Here, in Chicago.” She swallowed. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, and it’s nothing serious, but I think you should know.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s…It doesn’t matter who he is. And I want you to know that I didn’t plan on this. When I asked for space, the last thing I wanted was to jump into another relationship—”

  “Relationship?” He sounded distressed. “I thought you said it wasn’t serious!”

  “I did. I mean, it’s not.” She tried to control her voice, feeling so unbelievably guilty it was hard to get out the next words. “It just sort of…happened.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she hurried on. The pretzel of guilt in her chest tightened into a vise around her heart. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.” He spoke slowly, curtly. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Her throat tightened. “Doug…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. Not sure there was anything else to say.

  “I have to go, Hayden,” he said after a long pause. “I can’t talk to you right now. I need time to digest all this.”

  “I understand.” She gulped, bringing much-needed moisture to her arid mouth. “Call me when you’re ready to…”

  To what? Forgive her? Yell at her?

  “To talk,” she finished awkwardly.

  He hung up without saying goodbye, and she sat there for a moment, listening to the silence before her cell phone finally disconnected the call. She shoved the phone back into her purse and leaned against the plush driver’s seat, raking both hands through her hair.

  Between Sheila and Doug, she felt as if she’d spent the afternoon waving a red flag in front of a bull determined to gore her to pieces.

  At least nobody could call her a coward.

  10

  THE ATMOSPHERE in the locker room was subdued, the usual pregame chatter absent as the players changed into their gear and spoke in hushed voices to one another. Brody would’ve liked to blame the serious mood on nerves; the series was 3–2, and if they won tonight’s game they’d move on to the second round of play-offs. But he knew it wasn’t the pressure that was weighing everyone down.

  Fifteen minutes earlier, a league executive had informed the team that an investigation into the bribery claims was officially under way. Players would be interviewed privately throughout the week, and if the allegations bore any weight, proper disciplinary actions would be taken.

  And possible criminal charges executed.

  Lacing up his skates, Brody glanced discreetly over at Craig Wyatt, who was adjusting his shin pads. Wyatt hadn’t spoken one word since the announcement, his sharp features furrowed with silent concern, his big body moving clumsily as he dressed. He was definitely worried about something.

  Damn, winning this game tonight was going to be seriously tough. The morale was lower than the murky depths of the ocean, the players behaving as if individual axs were hovering over their heads.

  Which one of them had taken a bribe? And was it only one? For all he knew, half the guys could be involved. The notion caused his blood to boil. You had to be a real son of a bitch to deliberately throw a game. The media had claimed only one or two games had been fixed, and early in the season, but it didn’t matter to Brody when or how many. All it took was one game. One game could be the difference between making the play-offs and ending the season in defeat. It was a good thing they’d played well enough to make up for those early losses.

  “Let’s give them hell tonight,” Wyatt said quietly as everyone began shuffling out of the locker room.

  Give them hell? That was the big pep talk for the night?

  From the wary looks on the other men’s faces, Wyatt’s words of encouragement were about as effective as dry glue.

  “Craig, wait a second,” Brody said, intercepting the team captain before he could exit the room.

  “We’ve got a game to play, Croft.”

  “It can wait. I just need a minute.”

  The captain tucked his helmet under his arm. “Fine.”

  What now? Did he come out and ask Wyatt about the bribery bullshit? Bring up the affair with Sheila Houston?

  Brody realized that maybe he should’ve come up with a game plan before he initiated this conversation.

  “Well?” Wyatt said, looking annoyed.

  He decided to take a page out of his mom’s policy book: honesty. “I saw you with Sheila at the arena last week.”

  Wyatt’s face went ashen. Then he swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bother with denial. I saw you.” The collar of Brody’s jersey suddenly felt hot and the padding underneath his uniform became tight. Sucking in a breath, he added, “How long have you been having an affair with Presley’s wife?”

  The air in the locker room grew tense, stifling. Wyatt’s face was still white, but his eyes flashed with anger and indignation. Shoving his helmet onto his head, he shot Brody a frown. “This is none of your business.”

  “It is if you’re the player who came forward and confirmed Sheila’s accusations.”

  A long silence fell, dragging on too long for Brody’s comfort. Wyatt’s face was completely devoid of emotion, but it didn’t stay that way for long. After several more beats, a look of weary resignation clouded Wyatt’s eyes.

  “Fine. You win. It was me.” The captain’s large hands trembled as he fumbled to snap his helmet into place. “I went to the league, Brody. I’m the reason this damn investigation is starting up.”

  Brody swallowed. His gut was suddenly burning, but he couldn’t figure out if he felt angry, betrayed or relieved. He studied Wyatt’s face and quietly asked, “How did you know Sheila was telling the truth?”

  “I had my suspicions at the beginning of the season, when we lost a couple of games we had no business losing. And Sheila confirmed it.”

  Wyatt exhaled slowly, his breath coming out shaky. “I can’t play on the same team as a few assholes that would sabotage us for money. I can’t play for an owner who is willing to cheat.”

  Brody couldn’t help but believe him. Wyatt seemed legitimately torn up about all this.

  “You know who took the bribes then?” Brody asked.

  Wyatt quickly averted his eyes. “Just drop it, Brody. Let the league conduct its investigation. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “Wyatt…”

  “I’m serious. It’ll all get cleared up eventually. Just…drop it,” he said again. Wyatt stepped toward the door. “Now get your ass out there. We’ve got a game to win.”

  Brody watched the other man stalk off. A part of him wanted to run after Wyatt and shake some names out of the guy, but another part was telling him to let it go. Trying to force Wyatt to confide in him wouldn’t achieve anything. Craig would just get angrier, more volatile, and the last thing Brody wanted to do was piss him off. Wyatt was a gifted athlete, one of the best in the league, and with play-offs happening, Brody wanted the Warriors captain focused on the game, not personal junk.

  And he needed to focus on the game, too. Lately he’d spent too much time worrying, doubting his fellow players, wondering if his career would be blown to hell by the scandal. He had the truth on his side, the knowledge that he’d played clean and hard all season, but that didn’t mean squat. Guilty by association, or whatever the hell they called it.

  He would be a free agent in a few months, but another franchise might be loath to pick him up knowing he’d been investigated for bribery. All he could hope was that the investigation was quick, painless, and that his name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud for something he hadn’t done.

  Cursing softly, he left the locker room and headed down the hallway leading out to the Warriors bench. As he entered the arena, the deafening cheers of the crowd assaulted his eardrums. The Lincoln Center was filled to c
apacity tonight, the bleachers a sea of silver and blue. Seeing the fans supporting the team by donning their jersey warmed Brody’s heart, but it also renewed his anger.

  All these fans who’d come out here tonight—the people yelling words of encouragement, the kids clapping their hands wildly—deserved a team they could be proud of.

  Unfortunately, there was very little to feel proud about, especially when ten minutes into the first period the Warriors were already down by two goals.

  And it was one of those games that went from bad to worse. The Vipers cleaned the ice with the Warriors. By the second period, Brody was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and wanting to bodycheck everyone from the ref to his coach. It didn’t even seem to matter how fast they skated, how many times they rushed the net, how many bullets they slapped at the Vipers’ goalie. The opposing team was faster, sharper, better. They had the advantage of good morale on their side.

  When the third period rolled around, Brody could tell most of his teammates had given up.

  “This game blows,” Becker sighed once they’d sunk down onto the bench after a line change.

  Brody squirted a stream of water into his mouth then tossed the bottle aside. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.

  “So did you take the advice I gave you?” Becker asked, his eyes still on the game in front of them.

  “Advice?”

  “About staying away from Presley’s daughter,” Becker reminded him.

  Stay away from Hayden? Brody almost laughed out loud. He was tempted to tell his friend that at the moment he was doing everything in his power to stay close to her. And he was succeeding. For the most part, anyway.

  No matter how often Hayden called their relationship a fling, Brody couldn’t view anything between them as casual. For the first time in his life, he was with a woman he actually liked hanging out with. Sure, he liked the sex, too—fine, he loved the sex—but there had been moments during the past week when he was shocked to realize there were other things he enjoyed just as much. Such as watching art documentaries with her. Holding her while she slept. Teaching her to ice-skate even though she wasn’t much of a student.

  She was funny and smart and her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. And it troubled him how that light left her eyes whenever an away game came up. He’d had to leave town three times this week, and although Hayden never said a single word about it, he could tell it bothered her. But he had no idea how to make it better, short of retiring from hockey—and he wasn’t about to do that.

  Yet he had to do something. Hayden seemed determined to keep him at a distance, at least when it came to admitting they were in a relationship, and he desperately wanted to bridge that gap, make her realize just how important she was becoming to him.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Becker’s loud sigh drew him out of his thoughts.

  Brody lifted his head. “Huh? Oh, right, Pres’s daughter. About that…As much as I value your advice, I…I can’t stay away from her, man.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m seeing her tonight, in fact.”

  Becker frowned, but before he could respond, the ref’s whistle pierced the air and both men looked over to see who’d taken a penalty. Wyatt. Big surprise there.

  There was no more time for chatting as Stan tossed them both back onto the ice for the penalty kill, and although Becker scored a ridiculously incredible shorthanded goal, it wasn’t enough. The buzzer went off indicating the end of the third period and the game. The final score was a pathetic 5–1, Vipers.

  IT DIDN’T TAKE a genius to figure out the Warriors had lost the game. Hayden could see it on every face that left the Lincoln Center. Her father was probably dreadfully disappointed.

  She was tempted to go up to the owner’s box and offer some sort of condolences, but she was in no mood to see her dad right now. If she were, she’d be inside the arena instead of loitering in the parking lot and waiting for Brody.

  She leaned against the back of his SUV and scanned the rear entrance of the building, willing him to come out. God, this day had been hell. Listening to Sheila’s awful tale of Presley’s drinking, hearing Doug’s heart break on the other end of the telephone line. She didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. That’s why she’d left the penthouse and driven over here. The need to see Brody and lose herself in his arms was so strong she’d been willing to wait for over an hour.

  When he finally emerged from the building she almost sobbed with relief. And when his midnight-blue eyes lit up at the sight of her, she wanted to sob with joy. Maybe their lives didn’t mesh, maybe their careers were colossally different and their goals weren’t aligned, but she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked so happy to see her.

  “Hey, this is a surprise,” he said, approaching her.

  “Hi.” She paused. “I’m sorry about the game. Does this mean the team is out of the play-offs?”

  “No, the series is tied. We’ve got another chance to win it tomorrow.”

  “That’s good.”

  For some reason, she couldn’t tear her eyes from him. He looked good tonight. His hair was damp, his perfect lips slightly chapped. He’d confessed to licking them too much during games and the first time she’d seen him rubbing on lip balm she’d almost had a laughter-induced coronary. But she liked moments like that, seeing Brody out of his manly man element.

  Tonight, though, he was all man. Clad in a loose wool suit that couldn’t hide the defined muscles underneath it. The navy-blue color made his eyes seem even brighter, more vivid. Brody had told her that with play-offs around the corner, the league expected the players to look professional on and off the ice and, she had to admit, she liked seeing him in a suit as much as she enjoyed his faded jeans and ab-hugging T-shirts.

  Unable to stop herself, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss square on his mouth.

  “What happened to not being seen together in public?”

  She faltered, realizing this was the first time they’d ever engaged in a public display of affection and startled that she’d been the one to initiate it. “I…had a bad day” was all she could come up with.

  Brody grinned. “That’s all it takes for us to come out of the closet, you having a bad day? Damn, I should’ve pissed you off a long time ago.” His expression sobered. “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s get out of here first.”

  “Meet you at the hotel?”

  She was about to nod when something stopped her. “No. How about we go to your place tonight?”

  He seemed baffled, and she honestly couldn’t say she blamed him. Since she’d agreed to explore this…thing…between them, they’d been doing things her way. Brody had asked her over to his house a dozen times but she’d always convinced him to stay at the penthouse instead. She’d felt that being on her own turf, sticking to familiar surroundings, would stop things from getting more serious than she wanted.

  Yet suddenly she found herself longing to see Brody’s house, to be with him on his turf.

  “All right.” He unlocked the door of his SUV. “You want to follow me in your car?”

  “Why don’t we just take yours? We can come back for my rental tomorrow.”

  His eyebrows soared north again, while his jaw dipped south. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you? You do realize your father will see your car in the lot and know you didn’t go home?”

  “I don’t live my life to please my dad.” She sounded more bitter than she’d intended, so she softened her tone. “Let’s not talk about him. All I want to think about tonight is you and me.”

  He gently tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “I like the sound of that.”

  The drive to Brody’s Hyde Park home was a short one. When they pulled up in front of his place, Hayden was pleasantly surprised to see a large Victorian with a wraparound porch and a second-floor balcony. Flowers were beginning to bloom in the beds flanking the front steps, giving t
he house a cheerful, inviting air.

  “Weren’t expecting this, were you?” he said as he shut off the engine.

  “Not really.” She smiled. “Don’t tell me you actually planted all those flowers yourself?”

  “Heck no. I didn’t choose the house, either. My mom flew out here when I was drafted by the Warriors, and she found the house. She did all the gardening, too, and she visits once a year to make sure I haven’t destroyed her handiwork.”

  They got out of the car and drifted up the cobbled path toward the front door. Inside, Hayden’s surprise only grew. Decorated in warm shades of red and brown, the interior boasted a roomy living room complete with a stone fireplace, a wide maple staircase leading upstairs and an enormous modern kitchen with two glass doors opening onto the backyard.

  “Want something to drink?” he offered, crossing the tiled floor toward the fridge. “I don’t have that herbal tea you like, but I can brew you a cup of Earl Grey.”

  “How about something stronger?”

  He gave a faint smile. “You really did have a bad day, didn’t you?”

  He moved to the wine rack on the counter and chose a bottle of red wine. Grabbing two glasses from the cupboard over the sink, he glanced over his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me about it or do I have to tickle it out of you?”

  “Hmm.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m kind of leaning toward the tickle.” Her expression sobered when he shot her an evil look. “Fine, fine…I’ll tell you.”

  Brody poured the wine, handed her a glass and then led her to the patio doors. The backyard was spacious, adorned with more flowers that Brody’s mom must have planted. The fence surrounding the area was so high she couldn’t see the neighboring yards, not even from the raised deck on the patio. At the very far corner of the lawn stood an idyllic-looking gazebo surrounded by thick foliage.

  They stepped onto the deck, where a surprisingly warm breeze met them. It was a gorgeous night, the warmest she’d experienced since coming home, and she breathed in the fresh air and tilted her head to admire the cloudless sky before finally releasing a long breath.