Baby Maker - A Secret Baby Sports Star Romance

by Rayner, Holly

  Then, too, was the fact that the thought of exploiting a guy who hadn’t gotten me arrested when he’d figured out I was a journalist posing as his driver, who had kept me warm through the night, made my skin crawl.

  “It definitely looks like we’ll be able to leave,” Finn said, and I heard unmistakable relief in his voice. I felt hurt for a moment, but then I realized that of course, for him, it would be a relief. He was getting away from a stalker-like journalist, after all.

  “Do you trust me to drive you home?”

  Finn looked at me and smiled slightly. “Probably would be better for me to call up one of my drivers,” he said. “Even if it’s melted down enough for cars to be able to pass, the road’s still pretty slippery. Besides, I’m probably going to go straight to training. And don’t you have your own car that you took to the club?”

  I blushed; I’d forgotten about my car entirely. “If it hasn’t been towed by now, yeah,” I said, and Finn chuckled.

  “I doubt it’s been towed—I’m not even sure they’re willing to risk tow trucks in the kind of weather we had last night.” He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze and turned away from the window. “I’ll call up the service for a driver, and have him drop you off first.”

  I nodded, kicking the slippers off my feet and looking at the high heels I’d worn to the club with very little enthusiasm. I remembered that I had a pair of weathered moccasins in my car, my preferred end-of-night walking shoe. Those at least would be warm and comfortable, and maybe Finn’s driver would be nice enough to take me directly to the spot where my car was parked.

  “You know, they need to come up with a better version of the high heel,” I said, slipping my feet into the shoes.

  “I will never understand why women wear those,” Finn said, shaking his head slightly. “They’re uncomfortable, you can’t walk very far, and they don’t provide you with any protection against the elements.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Women wear heels because we’re told we have to,” I said tartly. “Because we’re told that if we don’t, we’re defective.”

  Finn shook his head again. “Still don’t get it,” he said with a little grin. “You hardly seem like the kind of girl who would let other people tell you how to be a woman.”

  I shrugged, wriggling my toes in the shoes. “Sometimes, you just have to play the game,” I said. “You, of all people, should know that.”

  Finn chuckled. “You’ve got me there,” he said.

  We went downstairs, and Finn signed off on the bill while the valet pulled his car around. The driver Finn had called before we left the room met us at the front door, and I noticed that the guy—not Ryan, but someone else—looked at the blazer I’d borrowed, but he didn’t say anything about it.

  “Where are you parked?” the driver asked.

  For a moment, I drew a blank; after everything that had happened the night before, the memory of where I’d parked was a million miles away. I reviewed the night in my mind, working backwards from the hotel room, and then finally, it came to me.

  “The parking structure on the south side of the block,” I told him.

  Finn directed his driver there, and as the guy pulled up to my beat-up old Camry, I thought that was probably the last I’d see of Finn McClane.

  I was stunned, therefore, when I moved to get out of the car and Finn stopped me with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek

  “Why don’t you come to the game next week?” he said. “I’ll put your name in at the box office for a VIP seat.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that, but I had to admit that it sounded great. I also had to admit that I was more than a little bummed that I hadn’t been able to make the most of my opportunity to get up close and personal with Finn—I hadn’t gotten anything at all that I could use for my assignment.

  “Make sure they get my name right,” I said, smiling slightly. I spelled it for him and he typed it into his phone; he used that as an excuse to get my number at the same time, and I grinned to myself at the transparency of it.

  “I’ll see you there,” he told me.

  It surprised me that Finn apparently wanted to see more of me, especially considering the circumstances that had led to us being snowed in together. But I smiled, told him I’d make sure to be there, and got out of the warm backseat of the Lincoln, stepping out into the parking structure and walking towards my car without looking back.

  I wanted to tell Jen about what had happened, but my phone was dead, so I got into my car, and marveled at the incredible opportunity I’d gotten as I pulled out of my spot and carefully wound my way through the structure to the exit. I checked the time on my dash, and figured I would get home, take a nice long bath, and drink some coffee while I worked out a rough pitch to send to Kent.

  How can I make this work for me? I was torn between just going to the game to enjoy myself and finding a way to convince Finn to finally give me the interview I needed. Figure it out after the game, I told myself.

  SIX

  Amy

  A week after my night on the couch with Finn, I arrived at the game with just enough time to find my way to the seat reserved for me in the VIP box. As I’d driven to the arena, I’d been convinced that Finn’s offer must have been a prank—that he’d set me up as revenge for stalking him. I’d given my name at the box office without completely believing it would do anything, but the woman had nodded and handed me a pass, edged in gold, with my name and seat number in the box printed on it.

  I had dithered back and forth when I got dressed to come out, trying to decide what to wear. I knew I was being ridiculous, but something deep down inside of me said that I should look better than I had at the office earlier in the day.

  I’d changed three times, finally settling on something that I thought was comfortable enough to be feasible, but hopefully nice enough that if I did, somehow, get an interview with Finn out of the deal, I wouldn’t feel underdressed.

  In the week since I’d last seen Finn, I’d tried to find something—anything—that he might prefer to keep out of his public life. I had come to the conclusion that, short of making something up, unless I got some dirt straight from his mouth, my assignment was more or less doomed. I also knew that I wasn’t in a position to get away with making something up, on top of which, there was some part of me that made me hesitate to say something negative about Finn if I couldn’t prove it.

  I wanted to pretend like it was pure self-interest, that I didn’t want to deal with the fallout of a lawsuit, especially so early in my career, but I knew there was some part of me that had been charmed by Finn when we’d spent time together. He was, at least on the surface, every bit the charming guy he’d been portrayed as in the media.

  He dated around, but I could hardly make that into anything, since some of his own teammates did far more playing with women. There was nothing in his history that suggested that he might use drugs, and there was nothing about gambling—none of the usual faults that seemed to come along with professional athletes. If it weren’t for the fact that I was supposed to be digging up dirt on him, Finn’s almost-boring goodness would have been refreshing.

  Well, I guess you can’t spend the night with someone without feeling better about that person, I thought as I sat down in my assigned seat, looking out onto the ice. I was grateful that I knew at least a little bit about hockey already; as more and more fans piled into the seats, I could at least be confident that I’d know what was going on during the game.

  There were a few people I recognized in the VIP section: the actor Eric Henry, and some local notables, bankers and philanthropists. I settled in to watch the game and tried to stay in the moment, to not think about work, and how I might turn the situation to my advantage.

  When the Magpies came out onto the ice, I couldn’t deny that I was thrilled to spot Finn; he was almost a totally different person in uniform, his eyes almost predatory, outlined in the visor on his helmet. He darted across the ice as if his skates were part of his body, as
if he’d been born to skate. It was easy to see how he’d become such a well-known player, and been called a “playmaker” by many.

  Throughout the first period, I was barely able to stay in my seat; Finn gained possession of the puck right from the first faceoff, snatching it at the drop and then darting past the other team’s center forward before the guy even realized what was happening. He passed back so smoothly that I almost couldn’t see it happening until the other player had the puck; if it weren’t for the commentary I might have missed the moves entirely. I cheered as the Magpies scored five times in a row, in spite of the occasional steal from the Denver Pirates.

  As the game went into the second period, I looked around the box, trying to keep tabs on who was there, and my gaze fell on Kent, my editor-in-chief, sitting only a handful of seats away from me.

  My stomach lurched inside of me, and I tried to keep my face neutral as I turned my attention back onto the ice. Was Kent there to spy on me? If he wanted to slander Finn, what was he doing at a Magpies game?

  Finn caught my gaze as he skated past me, and I saw the quick little flash of a smile on his face. I hoped that Kent hadn’t seen it.

  The teams went into the locker rooms for the break and I pretended to pay attention to the show going on in front of me, with cheerleaders performing some kind of dance routine that was barely family appropriate.

  I wondered just how much of Finn’s invitation had been because I was a reporter and how much of it was actual interest in me as a person. Whoa there, Amy. You’re getting way ahead of yourself, I scolded myself.

  I couldn’t quite shake the idea that Finn was interested in me at least a little bit, but there wasn’t enough ego in the world to make me believe he had any reason to choose me over any of the women he’d been seen out on dates with. I was pretty, but I wasn’t some model or actress. I was smart and worked hard, and Finn had probably been at least a little impressed by my ingenuity in getting to him, but guys like him didn’t go for girls like me, and I’d have to remember that if I wanted to avoid making a fool of myself.

  When the teams came back out onto the ice, I tried to stay immersed in the game, but the knowledge of Kent being there in the box with me, watching me—watching Finn—shook me up more than I would have cared to admit.

  I watched Finn dart by me again, ducking under the check from a member of the other team, and I had to admit that my heart raced at the sight of him doing what he did best. There was a little voice whispering in the back of my mind that obviously Finn was good looking, and I wanted to spend time with him without worrying about my assignment. That isn’t going to happen, so you might as well cut it out; you need to focus, I thought, slightly annoyed with myself.

  The Magpies won, and I felt my phone buzz in my pocket after they left the ice, headed to the locker rooms. I frowned, wondering who it could be; Kent had left as soon as it was obvious that the Magpies had won the game, looking less than pleased about the fact.

  I slipped my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen, breaking into a smile as I saw that it was a text message from Finn: Come to the locker rooms. I swear most of us aren’t even naked.

  I put my phone back into my pocket, watching as the rest of the spectators started to head for the exits. For a moment, I considered not going to the locker room; it wasn’t the prospect of a gaggle of naked ice hockey players, but Kent’s presence in the VIP box that had shaken me.

  If Kent asked, I thought, I could just tell him that I had made contact with Finn and circumvented his manager—that should win me some points, at least, for creativity and dedication. In spite of my doubts, I knew I couldn’t stay away.

  When I was fairly certain that no one would try to follow me, I made my way towards the exit out into the thoroughfares, and tried to think of how I could get into the locker rooms.

  I had my press credentials on me, so once I got close to the entrance of the Magpies’ locker room, I got them out. There were security guards standing there, but Finn must have tipped them off, because as soon as I showed them my press pass, they waved me through the doors. Most of the players had apparently finished getting cleaned up, because I saw a few of them headed toward the doors, looking fresh and dressed in street clothes.

  “What brings you back here, sweetheart?” a team member asked.

  I blushed slightly, swallowing against the tight feeling in my throat. “Finn McClane,” I replied when I could trust my voice.

  “Second row down, third-to-last locker,” the man—I was pretty sure he was one of the left wingers—said.

  I started off in that direction, trying not to look too closely at the guys coming back from the showers, and soon spotted Finn. He’d obviously showered, and he was in boxers, reaching into his locker for something. I took a long moment to appreciate his physique, which I hadn’t had a chance to really get a look at before.

  He was absolutely gorgeous, there was no question of that: lean muscle rippling underneath his smooth, flat abdomen; sparse, dark hair scattered across his chest. I watched with a small pang of disappointment as he pulled on a pair of jeans, and then reminded myself that I was there to talk to him, not to stare.

  “Finn!”

  He turned at the sound of my voice and I heard a couple of the other team members that were lingering in the locker room snicker between themselves.

  “You came!” he said happily.

  I edged past one of his teammates and stood about arm’s length away from Finn, appreciating—as unobtrusively as possible—the sight of his broad chest before he covered it with a sweater.

  “Well duh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Of course I did.”

  Finn grinned at me, smoothing the cables of his sweater over his stomach. “Enjoy the game?”

  I nodded. “It’s so much more exciting in person than on TV. This was the first game I’ve actually gone to outside of high school.”

  “I saw you cheering us on,” Finn grinned. “I was glad to see you having a good time.”

  I shrugged. “It was fun, though I was a bit freaked out when I saw my boss in the VIP section, too.”

  “Maybe he wanted to make sure you were doing your due diligence,” Finn suggested. “In any case, I’ve decided to grant you your interview,” he said, leaning against his locker. “But if you want it, Amy, it’ll have to be on my terms.”

  “And what terms are those?” I could feel my heart beating faster.

  “Come to my apartment, and interview me there,” Finn requested.

  “That’s pretty intimate,” I pointed out, and he chuckled.

  “You spent the entire night huddling with me for warmth and you think sitting in my living room is going to be intimate?” He raised a dark eyebrow and grinned.

  “I’ll be there,” I said. “What time?”

  “Give me an hour,” he suggested. “I might have some cleaning up to do before you arrive.”

  “That will give me time to get my gear,” I said. “I wasn’t really expecting anything to come of watching the game.”

  Finn looked at me skeptically as I opened my purse to prove that all it had in it was my wallet, my keys, and a little makeup.

  “See? No hidden wire, no recording devices. Just the usual.” I stuck my tongue out at him, and, mimicking my playful move from a few nights before, Finn reached out and poked the tip of my nose with his finger.

  I snatched at his hand, but he pulled it away before I could grab it. “One hour,” he said, wiggling his finger at me.

  I stuck my tongue out at him again and ducked under his attempt to poke me, stepping back and grinning.

  SEVEN

  Amy

  I hurried back to my apartment on the opposite side of town. Fortunately, my bag with my recorder, my notebook, and my research papers was right next to the door where I always kept it, so all I had to do was grab it and turn right back around. I considered changing out of the slacks and sweater I’d worn to the game, but decided that it was beside the point. I was going t
o Finn’s place to interview him, not to flirt. Right?

  I put his address into my phone’s GPS and followed the directions across the city, trying not to check the time every few seconds and failing utterly as I got stuck in traffic and felt my heart beating faster.

  Somehow, I managed to get to Finn’s building with three minutes to spare. I turned my car over to the valet at the front of the condo, and hurried into the building, almost slipping on the icy steps leading up to the front door. I realized I had no idea which apartment was Finn’s.