Hockey Holidays

by Toni Aleo

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Then I saw you with those kids, and I thought you were a saint, or sort of.”

  “A saint who knows how to sin.” He smiled and slid his hands from my waists to my breasts. “And now what do you think?”

  “Now I think you bring out my wild side. And if I’m not careful, you’ll be a distraction from my work.”

  “I don’t want to do that…well, the wild side thing, sure, but not the distraction. Neither of us wants to be distracted, but there has to be more to life than hockey and fixing hearts, right?”

  “Yes, there is one more thing.” I slipped my hand down and pushed at his boxers, freeing his cock.

  “What’s that then?”

  “Fucking.”

  He chuckled, but the sound petered out as I sank onto him. “Oh God,” he groaned, “Happy fucking Christmas to me.”

  I laughed, loving that I could laugh while being so turned on. Nathan ‘The Flash’ Walker made me feel feminine and adored, and right now, the future, our future, was something I was very much looking forward to. I wanted to see not just Christmas lights reflected in his eyes, but the ocean on mid-summer’s day, the stars and moon, and most of all, I wanted to get used to seeing his face when I woke up each morning.

  Oh, yes, I’d obviously been a very good girl all year to get such a sumptuous package delivered on Christmas Eve. And if I’d been so good, it was high time to indulge in a little bad.

  ~ THE END ~

  Books by Lily Harlem

  Hot Ice by Lily Harlem

  Hired

  Cross-Checked

  Slap Shot

  Teamwork

  High-sticked

  Misconduct

  Russian Heat

  About Lily Harlem

  Lily Harlem is a UK based award-winning, bestselling author of sexy romance. The rough and tough Viper players in her hockey series HOT ICE have proven to be very popular with readers on both sides of the Atlantic as they’ve each revealed their seductive story.

  Get book one of HOT ICE, HIRED, for free when you sign up to Lily’s Newsletter. Check out HOT ICE on her website and learn more about HIRED, CROSS-CHECKED, SLAP SHOT, TEAMWORK, HIGH-STICKED (M/M), MISCONDUCT and RUSSIAN HEAT.

  Lily writes in a variety of pairings and genres, ménage a trois is a particular favorite as is having heroes and heroines who push the boundaries when it comes to love and getting what their hearts desire. Want to chat more? Join Lily’s VIP Facebook Group and join in the fun.

  RJ Scott - Dallas Christmas

  The Burlington Dragons

  Logan knows lusting after his captain's brother can only lead to trouble. But when fate throws them together, it’s hard not to fall in love.

  Chapter One

  Keep your head up next time, Logan. You could get hurt. I worry. A, xx

  I read the text, deleted it, and tossed my cell onto the bed next to my unpacked black-and-scarlet gym bag.

  It didn’t matter that Archie was right. I’d been lucky to get away with being smashed into the plexiglass by the behemoth that had been the Florida D-man. The incident had hurt. I ached as if I’d been thrown off a building, but it could have been worse if he’d caught me the wrong way when I had my head down. That kind of shit had ended careers, and my life was going to last as long as I could make it.

  People depended on me. My family depended on me.

  But I was done with the advice Archie kept texting me or, indeed, any contact with the enigmatic investment manager who didn’t seem to have gotten the message.

  I decided to change my number immediately, as I did every other time he texted me.

  But that would mean giving the new number to Mom, Dad, two brothers, three sisters, assorted nieces and nephews, my agent.

  And there went my determination. I knew I could block numbers, or so the kids on the team said, but there was always a small part of me that actually wanted the texts. The stupid, messed-up, idiot part of me that had resigned itself to contact with Archie only on a game night.

  I don’t know what he was trying to pull by contacting me. We’d promised to leave each other alone, agreed it was too dangerous for my career and my place on the Dragons. We were done. Finished. The time limit on Archie and me had expired, and he needed to get over himself.

  The cell chimed again, and with a curse, I picked it up. I could no more ignore a text alert than I could ignore eating pasta before a game, the move to connect to the world through my phone so ingrained in me.

  Good game though. Nice win. A, xx

  This time I didn't throw the cell away from me in a huff. Instead, I slumped to the side of my bed and stared at it. Stupid x-kisses and their ability to cut my legs from under me and make my chest ache with loss.

  I wish he would leave me alone.

  What we’d done had lasted a month, and it had finished nearly a year ago, but the man still kept texting me. I recalled his blue eyes, his blond hair. I couldn’t forget, since he looked so much like his brother, the captain of the Dragons, Alexandre Simard, or Simba as we called him. Which was another added wrinkle in what had been a hot month of sex. Knowing the guy I was sleeping with was related to my freaking captain.

  I’d gained respect from the rest of the team as one kind of person, when in fact, the real me hid behind a façade. Add on having sex with the captain’s little brother, and anyone would have understood why I needed to stay well away from Archie.

  And exactly why he shouldn’t have been texting me at all.

  We’d met the previous year at Dmitriy Semenov's massive New Year's party and had been inseparable for a month, or as much as we could be, given I was playing. But the closer we got to Valentine’s Day, the more he kept telling me he loved me. I wouldn’t say it back. It wasn’t as if I was hiding a tremendous untold truth; just as anyone playing professional sports, I had to focus, and I had no space for an illicit relationship. No room in my life at all. He didn’t understand that, but we’d parted before whatever shame and embarrassment Valentine’s Day would’ve brought for me came about.

  I miss him.

  I don’t miss him.

  It had taken months to find my equilibrium, to reach some peace about what I’d done.

  I should have told him how I felt.

  “Jeez Logan, what the hell are you doing hiding up in here!” The yelled question came from the door and scared the living daylights out of me. Mase never spoke quietly. I swear the winger’s game-time enthusiasm and associated rink-voice stayed with him when he was off the ice. Hell, I bet he even spoke loudly in his sleep.

  “Having phone sex with your mom,” I snapped back because that was the level of communication I had with the second youngest guy on our team.

  Mase wrinkled his nose. “Whatever. I need you downstairs on my team right now.”

  “It’s three a.m.!”

  “Lightweight.” He disappeared but was back in an instant. “We have beer.” Then left again. How was it that, even newly arrived in Dallas, exhausted from the game and the flight from Tampa, the three guys I was sharing this house with wanted to play video games? Hadn’t they had enough of that on the plane?

  I considered my options. I could sit in my room, getting texts from a man who had no reason to be contacting me, messing with my head, wallowing in the fact I was stuck here for Christmas. Or I could join the kids and make the best of it.

  Or I could sleep. Sleep is good.

  “Pretty Boy! Get your ass down here.”

  I hated that nickname. Coach had called me Pretty Boy on my very first day with the Dragons, and it followed me as if it was permanently glued to my forehead. It didn’t matter how pretty others thought I was off the ice; I had to be hard and focused and skilled on the ice. I hated that people didn’t see the skater under the skin sometimes. I much preferred Claws, which was a reference to Wolverine’s real name being Logan, the same as mine, and was much more dramatic than Pretty Boy. Unfortunately, Claws hadn’t stuck much past sixth gra
de.

  Stop calling me Pretty Boy. Enough, okay?

  I went downstairs to join the other three Dragons’ singles. “The kids” as I called them, Mase and Lee, twenty-one, Connor, twenty-two, and then there was me. Logan Maxwell, single, stuck in this house, and more exhausted than any normal twenty-nine-year-old should’ve been.

  “You look fucked, Logan,” Lee informed me from where he sprawled on the vast sectional, game controller in hand.

  I cuffed him around the back of the head as I passed.

  “Leave him alone,” Connor poked at Lee. “He’s old.”

  Twenty-nine. Old. In this game, I was passing my prime, had one more year of decent salary to reflect it, and probably another two good years playing NHL hockey, all being well. Still, I was getting older by the day.

  Funny how that happens.

  I squared my shoulders, picked up the nearest control, and took my own slumped position on the sofa.

  “Not too old to kick your asses.”

  It was on.

  I woke up to the brightest Dallas morning, sunlight streaming through the window, warm on my skin, and I knew I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. My solitary beer was still between my legs, my neck was bent at a crazy angle, and the game credits were repeating on the giant TV. The kids had left me there, twisted like a pretzel, the fuckers. I didn’t remember falling asleep, although I do recall kicking their respective butts at NHL19. I moved the beer to the small table next to the sofa and then lay back in a more comfortable position. The couch was better for my sore muscles than a bed would’ve been. Now I just needed to find some Tylenol and water, and I could stay there for the rest of Christmas.

  “What the hell? Logan? Is that you?”

  Huh?

  “Why aren’t you in Canada?”

  I moved my head, wincing as I did, and blinked at the blurry figure in the doorway, hesitating until I could focus.

  “Wha’?” was the best I could come up with.

  “No one said you’d be here. If I’d known…” the man said, and his voice was deep, sexy, and so damn familiar.

  I closed my eyes because hell, I had to be dreaming. There was no way in hell that Archie texter-extraordinaire-Simard was standing in the doorway, with his hand on a big suitcase and a gym bag over his shoulder. Tall, gorgeous Archie, with his dark blond hair poking out from under a beanie, his beard framing his solid jaw, and his perfect plump lips—the ideal kind for kissing.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  I mean, what else could I say? I pushed a hand through my hair, sliding lower on the sofa, willing this dream to just end already.

  Archie nodded and looked thoughtful. “You need coffee,” he said and left.

  I closed my eyes and yawned into my hand. I knew that Archie would be in Dallas. He lived in the city. I knew that. But it was a big city, and him being in the place the kids had rented for the Christmas layover? Nope, he wouldn’t be there in the house.

  When I blinked again, he was gone, and I mostly hoped it’d been an actual dream and that temptation hadn’t been laid squarely into my world. But when I went into the kitchen, there he was, handing me coffee and acting as if he belonged there.

  He checked me out, with a long, slow rake of his eyes, and it felt wrong. I was still in my postgame suit pants and wrinkled shirt. I’d discarded the tie and jacket, but I hadn’t shaved in a few days, and my hair? Hell, I bet it was all over the freaking place.

  He placed water and Tylenol by my side. “You’ve gotta be sore after last night. That hit was hard.”

  I sipped the steaming brew he’d handed me, ignoring the meds, the caffeine beginning its slow journey to sparking all the synapses that had died in the night.

  “I’m good,” I lied and sat on the nearest stool, cupping the hot mug and wishing caffeine worked a lot faster.

  “Bagel,” he announced and nudged my arm, indicating a plate on the counter where a bagel, spread with the exact right amount of cream cheese, sat waiting for me.

  “What the hell?” I murmured and found the clock, which helpfully told me that it was eight a.m. I’d only managed two hours sleep, or who the hell knew how much less. That must have been why I was hallucinating Archie in the kitchen of this random house in an exclusive Dallas suburb. “Why are you here?”

  “I gave Alex and Josephine my place.” He nudged the plate nearer. “Food, more coffee.” He topped off my mug and, this time added creamer. He was the only person outside of my family who knew that my first mug was always black, but after that, I needed so much cream that my coffee turned a beautiful pale biscuit color.

  Of course, he knows that. You were sleeping together for a month. Thirty sleeps, thirty early mornings, copious coffees and bagels, a lot of it eaten naked.

  “You can’t do this.” I was forceful. “You need to stay at your place.”

  He stared at me as if I was speaking a different language, so I used my hands to sketch the full situation of us both being here in the air. It looked as if I was having some kind of seizure, and I stopped immediately.

  Archie just smiled and shook his head. “You want me to tell my older, bigger brother, who happens to be the captain of your team, that I rescind my offer to give him and his fiancée some romantic downtime when she’s expecting their first baby?”

  “Yes, tell him he needs to find a hotel somewhere.”

  He moved closer, and I instinctively retreated. He was dangerous, and I didn’t want him in my space, not when there were three other Dragon team members on the floors above us. What if any of them walked in on us getting too close, and jumped to conclusions, which would inevitably lead to ending my career? No topflight NHL team would give me the kind of coaching role I was aiming for if they knew I was gay. No one wanted a coach who rocked the boat and made the papers for all the wrong reasons.

  “So, again, why aren’t you in Ottawa?” Archie said, completely changing the subject.

  I searched for a reply that made sense. There were lots of reasons why I wasn’t going home this Christmas, snowstorms shutting airports, my mom getting over the hernia operation that had laid her low, one of my brothers working in Australia, the other in London, and as for my two sisters? They were both with their husbands’ families, hence, Dad had decided that Mom needed a week in an exclusive spa to heal and relax.

  Not one of them had thought about me, the youngest of all of them, now with nowhere to go for the entire five days between the games in Tampa and Dallas.

  Stay with us, Lee had offered.

  We’ll have a wicked time, Mase had added.

  Think of all the girls, Connor had pointed out.

  “Snowstorms,” I said, summarizing the whole lack of family being around, justifying why I wasn’t flying north to the most beautiful Christmas city a person could ever visit. Snow, ice, gingerbread, trees, and the cold. So frozen that even if I wrapped up in everything I owned, I would still get bitten by frost and ice when I walked anywhere.

  Not like Dallas, where a jacket was all I needed on most days, and on others I could just go out in a thicker shirt. One day it would be twenty, another day seventy-five, random weather, and it was highly unlikely I’d see snow. I’d not seen any light pole decorations on my way from the airport, and very few homes seemed to be lit up. Nothing as I was used to back home. Maybe everything had been in darkness because we’d arrived at the house so late, but part of me knew that this area of Dallas wasn’t the place to have a snow party in a frosted front yard.

  Archie stepped closer again, laid a hand on my arm. I could smell him—an intoxicating mix of aftershave and outdoors. The warmth of his touch was enough to have me scrambling free.

  “Are you fucking stupid?” I snapped at him, dying a little as the light in his eyes faded.

  “Sorry,” he murmured and moved away.

  Which was a good thing because Lee stumbled into the kitchen, in boxers, scratching his chest and muttering incoherently. The only word I understood was coffee.

  I used
the interruption to leave the kitchen, stumbling over the suitcase that Archie had left in the hall and cursing the fates that ruled my life. Only when I was back in my palatial room, with a bathroom big enough for an entire hockey team, did it all finally hit me.

  Archie Simard was in this house. For Christmas. With me and three of my teammates, who didn’t know I was gay, or that I’d been with Archie, or that the past had collided with the present with an awful finality.

  How did this even happen?

  When I ventured downstairs, I took the long way, which was easy given the house was enormous, a mansion stuck in the middle of a residential street, with eight bedrooms and twelve bathrooms. The place must’ve cost millions and was out of my price range, even with my five-million-a-year contract. My home in Burlington was a lot more modest, a three-bedroom, on a quarter-acre lot, backing onto the lake, and only a twenty-minute drive from the rink where I played for the Dragons.

  There were only two ways in and out of my house, but this one? It was a maze of halls and doors. I bypassed the kitchen and the front of the house and exited into the backyard, with its pool and terrace.

  “You going out?” Lee called from the group of recliners where they were chilling. I didn’t see Archie, so that was step one in my plan fixed into place.

  “Walking,” I said and hurried away before any of them decided to join me.

  “Mind if I come with you?” Archie said from my left, by the hedge, startling the hell out of me. Where had he come from, and what did I do now? Was it suspicious to the guys that Archie wanted to walk with me? Nothing about his body language screamed he wanted to touch me, or haul me over and kiss me, or shove me into a bush. Still, the kids were staring at the two of us, and I could feel their reservations from here.