Taking His Shot

by Susan Scott Shelley

  "No one has." He paused and looked at their joined hands. "After the second concussion, there was a moment about three weeks into it when I had that set-back and the resurgence of the symptoms, and I wondered if it was going to be that way forever. I knew I couldn't play hockey like that, and all I could think was what if I'm forced to retire and I'm not able to deliver on that promise. I got pretty depressed."

  "Did you talk to anyone?"

  He shook his head. "The guys had just finished the regular season and were preparing for the first round of the playoffs. I didn't want to bring anyone down."

  She squeezed his hand. "You can always talk to me."

  "Thank you." Dylan pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "I told myself that if I could just get back to good enough, where I would be able to contribute to the team and bring home a Cup, then I would be okay with hanging up my skates after this season."

  "Are you still thinking you might retire?"

  "I don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm healed." With a wink and a smile, he tugged her toward a more advanced climb.

  They hiked up a steep hill with jutting rocks and branches that overlooked a waterfall. The scenery was beautiful, but her mind stayed on his statement. "Do you ever think about what you'll do after you're finished playing hockey?"

  "I'd like to stay involved with it in some capacity. Either coaching or scouting. Hockey has been a part of my life since I was a little kid. I can't imagine it being gone for good." Shrugging, he twisted around to face her. "What about you? Do you have plans on being the Bedlam's next head trainer?"

  "I think it would be a good step. I've worked really hard to get where I am, and I've learned a lot working with Peter. But I don't know. I want to stay as long as I feel like I'm making a difference."

  "You've made one with us. The guys go to you just as often as Peter." He came to a stop and helped her up the last few steep steps. "Remember when you said you were worried about how people within the team will react to us?"

  "Yes."

  "Half of the team saw us on the Riverwalk. Rod and Leo told me yesterday."

  Heat flushed into her cheeks, flaming her face. She wrapped her arms around her middle. "Oh."

  "They made it seem like no one cared other than it being an interesting thing in that two of their friends had unexpectedly gotten together." He looked completely at ease, so she figured there hadn't been anything more than that.

  "I'm glad. I guess I'm always expecting there will be a struggle. I've encountered a lot of double standards in the other places I worked."

  Dylan wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I love how strong you are. If it helps, my dad has volunteered to quote 'make heads roll' unquote if anyone has a problem."

  She grinned. "Your dad is awesome. I'm not sure how happy I am about the guys actually seeing us. That was supposed to be private."

  "Yeah, I should've thought that one through more carefully." He gave her a rueful grin.

  She slipped her arm around his waist. "I wasn't thinking much further than wanting to kiss you either. I wasn't worried about logistics or who might be there."

  He made a point of glancing around the forest. "This looks pretty private."

  "It does." She grasped his shoulders and his hands clamped onto her hips. They pulled each other in and Blair rose onto her toes, straining to meet his mouth.

  His lips were gentle compared to the strength in his hands. Banked power waiting to be unleashed. She sighed into his mouth, happy, content, and opening for more.

  One of his hands skimmed a path from her hip to her breast, up and down, up and down, over and over.

  A rush of warmth swept over her skin, her nerves fluttered under the teasing touches, and desire clawed through her. Arching into his hand, she scraped her nails along his back and nipped at his lips.

  On a low groan, Dylan pulled her tighter against him and maneuvered them until her back was against a tree. She blinked into his heavy-lidded gaze and pulled his head down until his mouth slanted over hers once more.

  His hand snaked under the hem of her shirt. The light caresses started up again then grew harder, more determined. Strong fingers stroked her torso and ventured under her sports bra, massaging and branding her with his touch.

  She pushed his soft cotton T-shirt up and her fingers met the well-defined muscles in his back and torso. She'd touched him many times over the years to assess an injury or massage a strained muscle, but never like this. Never with the freedom to explore all the angles and dips and ridges. He was strong, so strong, yet she drew groans and low growls from him with the mere brush of a fingertip upon his skin. Power poured into her in a heady rush.

  A tree branch snapped nearby and a dog barked in the distance, reminding her that they weren't alone in their own private wilderness. Blair raised her head. "We should keep moving."

  Dylan turned his head at the sound of something rustling in the trees and plants behind them. "Yeah, I don't want to keep sharing these private moments with anyone else. But I think there's time for one more kiss before we go."

  His mouth closed over hers and his teeth grazed her bottom lip. Blair reluctantly slipped her hands from the heated skin of his abs and returned them to his shoulders, digging into the sun-warmed T-shirt under her hands to anchor her in place as Dylan deepened the kiss.

  With a slow, deliberate drag of fingers that lanced fresh heat into her core, he stroked his hands over her breasts and down her torso once more. Blair curled her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

  Dylan continued kissing her as he smoothed her shirt in place. Then he traced his finger from her temple to her chin and ended the kiss the way it had begun, a gentle brushing of his lips upon hers that held the promise of more.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DYLAN SET THE ELECTRIC razor down on the bathroom sink. The quiet of his hotel room was a far cry from the cheering fans at Washington's arena. With the five goals they'd scored compared to the Bedlam's big, fat, whopping zero, they'd had a lot to cheer about. And now, Washington was leading the Conference Finals, two games to one.

  He hated losing.

  He especially hated losing in the playoffs.

  But losing two games in a row... that sucked. A lot.

  He ran his hand over his jaw and inspected his face in the mirror for any patches he may have missed. Not that anyone would notice with the colorful bruise already forming under his eye, courtesy of the Washington center's fist.

  It had been months since he'd gotten into an actual fight. The streak was broken. So was the center's nose.

  A light knock rapped on the door. He sighed and rolled his shoulders before crossing the room and checking the peephole. Blair. He opened the door.

  The brushed silver ice bucket she carried contrasted with the black tank top and pants she wore.

  Her eyes widened and she gasped. "You shaved."

  "Yeah." Taking the bucket in one hand, he grasped her wrist with the other and drew her into the room.

  "I buried three cold gel packs in the ice. You need to apply it at ten-minute intervals." She rose onto her toes and kissed him and then waited while he set the container on the bathroom sink. When he returned, she immediately stroked his smooth cheek. "I can't believe you shaved off your beard."

  He set the lock on the door, then grabbed one of the ice packs. "We've lost the last two games. It was time to switch things up. So, the beard went. I was getting too overheated with it anyway."

  "How is your head?" She pulled him down to inspect his eye. "No fever, blurred or double vision, severe eye pain, or trouble breathing through your nose?"

  "None. It's a little achy but the ice will help."

  Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and her brows drew together. "No other symptoms?"

  He knew what she meant. What she always meant when she asked that question. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. "No other symptoms."

  "I can't believe you got punched in the head."

  "On
ly once." He'd meant to be reassuring, but the concern didn't leave her expression. "Come on, let's sit down."

  She followed him into the room, toed off her shoes, and sat cross-legged on the side of the bed. "You should sleep propped up on extra pillows tonight. It'll help the swelling."

  He piled three pillows one on top of the other, leaving the last one for her, and laid down, holding the ice pack in place. "Tonight's game was bad. We couldn't do anything right. Screwing up line changes, getting called for too many men on the ice, not reading plays correctly, and all the stupid penalties."

  "I'm sorry you guys didn't win."

  "I'm not going to lie, it stings right now but you need a short memory in the playoffs. You have to be able to put a loss behind you and move on. So tomorrow, we'll go to practice and get back to work. I'm not ready for this to be over yet. None of us have forgotten that we got knocked out of the playoffs in this round last year. Getting knocked out again isn't an option." He patted the space beside him. "You're too far away."

  Smiling, she moved to his side, stretched out and shared his pillows. Her long hair pooled around her head like a halo. "It was sort of funny to see Leo, Vince, Slater, and you all stuck in the penalty box together at the end. It looked like there wasn't room for all of you."

  "It was really cozy." A laugh huffed out as he thought of all of them stuffed in the small space. "Coach didn't think it was too funny but he understood. When I saw that idiot go after Rod... He didn't just go after my teammate or our best goalie, he went after my brother. That's not okay. I couldn't let that go. So we were fighting, and then somehow everyone on the ice jumped in."

  "I understand why you did it, I just wish you hadn't been punched. I hate the thought of you being hurt." She laid her hand over his heart.

  He closed his eyes, covered her hand with his, and soaked in her touch. "Having you here is a good start toward making me feel better."

  They lay together for a few minutes, not speaking. Soon, she leaned over and peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table. "It's been more than ten minutes. You can take off the ice now."

  He moved to set it on the table but she reached for it. "I'll put it back in the ice bucket."

  Watching her move, a different ache built fast. Need was a vital, living thing.

  She slipped back onto the mattress and brought her hand to cradle his jaw. Hazel eyes bright, she placed a delicate kiss on his injured skin.

  Dylan breathed her in. He lifted his hand to the back of her head and urged her down to meet his lips. He groaned at the softness. The taste. The feel of her body brushing against his.

  Desperate for more, he rolled to his side and brought them together torso to torso. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and demanding and staking a claim.

  Blair made a soft sound and slid one hand under his shirt. Her nails grazed over the muscles in his back, sending a rush of blood straight to his cock. Her other hand tangled in his hair and she wrapped one leg over his hip, like she couldn't get close enough.

  She was perfect. His. Deep in his bones, he knew it.

  He released her hair and stroked a path down her back, over the dip in her waist, and up her torso to cup her breast. Desire pulsed in his blood. He eased her leg off of him and sat up.

  "What's wrong?" She shifted to her knees.

  He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it toward the chair by the window. "Nothing. Just getting more comfortable."

  Blair's gaze roamed over his chest. "I like that idea."

  She reached for the hem of her tank top. Dylan quickly got to his knees and laid his hand over hers. "Wait. I want to do it."

  With a smile, she let her hands drop to her sides. "I'm all yours."

  The words heated his blood and echoed his earlier thoughts. Inch by inch, he slid the tank top up, savoring the slow reveal. She lifted her arms so he could slip it off completely.

  Her bra, the same color as her shirt, had a single tiny bow on the fabric between her breasts, like she was a present and she'd given herself to him to unwrap. He traced a finger over the thin scrap of satin.

  She glanced down. "I guess you like the non-functional bow."

  "It's very functional." He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to it and then higher to the hollow between her breasts. Blair's hands slid into his hair. Steeped in her scent, he trailed kisses over the swell of her breasts. As much as he liked the silk on her skin, he needed to see what was underneath. She reached behind her body and a moment later, the bra loosened. He tossed it aside. Blair arched toward him and Dylan cupped her breasts. He caressed her skin, making her sigh.

  Kneeling on the blue bedspread with her long blonde hair streaming over her shoulders like a waterfall, and her hazel eyes tempting him closer, she looked like a mermaid. A mythical creature dreamed to life by the strength of his fantasies.

  But she was real. Her fingers stroked over his chest and down his torso and along the bulge in his shorts, sizzling his nerve endings in her wake. She traced his arms, his back, and his neck, like she was mapping every inch for future exploration.

  Need grew harsher, deeper, almost painful.

  Dylan climbed off the bed. Grasping her hand, he pulled her up. Blair's hands landed on his waist and her fingers curled into his waistband. Her gaze steady on his, she tugged the fabric. Cool air hit his skin and his arousal sprang free as he helped her push his shorts and boxers to the floor. Before he could touch her, both of her hands closed over him in a tight grip. The alternating strokes and clever twists made his eyes roll back as he bit his lip. He grasped her shoulders as she continued to drive him to the edge of reason.

  Barely maintaining control, he grabbed her wrists and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Keep them there."

  Then he sank to his knees. Her pants hung low on her hips. He hooked a finger on each side and slid them down. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting for underwear, but the sexy, barely there bit of black material made his mouth go dry. His breath backed up in his lungs, and his lust spiraled. He glided the scrap of fabric down her legs and she stepped free of the pooled materials at her feet. Bared to him, by his hands, Blair was the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. He skated his hands up the smooth skin of her calves and thighs. Toned muscle quivered under his touch. He continued his wandering exploration over her center, with strokes of his fingers and licks of his tongue, until she trembled and sighed out his name.

  He rose to his feet and grabbed a condom from his bag. He set it on the mattress.

  Blair's arms wrapped around his torso and she pressed a kiss to his back. Then she slipped in front of him, snagged the condom, and crawled on the bed. She held it up and beckoned him with the crook of her finger.

  Dylan followed her, bolts of lust charging through his blood. With sure fingers, she rolled on protection, then threaded her fingers in his hair and drew his mouth down to hers. Desperation made him rough. He took control of the kiss, directing her body down, and he settled himself between her thighs. Her hair spread across the pillow, the long delicate strands like straw spun into gold. Once again, his breath caught at the beautiful woman in his bed.

  He kept his gaze on hers as he slowly sank inside her tight heat. Eyes clouded with passion, Blair wrapped her arms around his shoulders, locking him to her body. He found her lips as he pulled out and their groans vibrated together as he thrust in deeper. He increased his pace, snapping his hips as Blair arched to meet him. They fell into a steady rhythm. He shifted his weight onto his forearms. Every stroke stripped him of his control. Blair's nails raking down his back tipped him over the edge. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beading on his skin, and the pleasure tingling at the base of his spine grew larger and larger until her release contracted around him and she gasped out his name. He moaned, hammering his hips harder and faster. He chased her lips, settling his mouth over hers. Her lips parted and her tongue licked at his. That little touch set him off and his release exploded, taking him under. He clutched at her shoulders, clinging to he
r as passion overwhelmed him.

  Breathing hard, he lifted his head. Blair smiled at him. Her hands slid over his back in a gentle caress.

  Caught between happiness and wonder, he traced his finger over her lips. Part of him couldn't believe that she was in his bed, that this had really happened.

  He carefully rolled to his side then rose and dealt with the condom. He trekked through the room, turning off lights, and grabbed a fresh ice pack.

  Blair lifted the covers for him when he came back to bed. She'd re-stacked his pillows for him. He settled onto his back and set the pack over his cheek, then lifted his other arm for her to curl into his side. He wrapped his arm around her and was struck by the awareness of how desperately good it felt to hold her close.

  Blair's hand lay over his heart.

  He didn't think she had any idea of the hold she had on it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BLAIR GAVE ONE LAST sweeping glance of the training room. Everything was back in order after the Bedlam's practice. The guys had been riding high coming off of a seven-goal victory over Washington, and regaining the series lead three games to two. Dylan hung out, leaning against the closest table, scrolling through his phone as he waited for her to finish.

  She bumped her hip into his jeans-clad leg. "I'm ready to go."

  Her phone vibrated on the table and her father's name scrolled across her screen. Smiling an apology at Dylan, she answered it. "Dad?"

  "This is Ben Charton," an unfamiliar voice came through the speaker. "I'm Rod and Dylan Fraser's friend. We've met a few times. I'm the owner of Jolt coffee shop. Your dad is here. He's disoriented and asked that I call you. I think he's okay, maybe just dehydrated. He said he's been walking for a while, trying to find his bank."

  Not again. Dread and frustration swirled through her like a wayward shooting star. She pressed a hand to the needling nerves in her stomach and mentally calculated the distance to the shop. "I can be there in about twenty minutes. He doesn't always have his wallet on him and I don't want him waiting for me out on the street. Can you give him something to eat or drink and I'll pay you when I get there?"