WILD ZONE, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  Once she’d read through the menu and looked at her watch, she’d settled. She was grounded. Secure. Confident. Olivia was ready to push through her fatigue and grab the rush a job like this always delivered.

  She turned her gaze on the staff supervisor, a stately black man in his forties with a handsome face and a square jaw, and smiled. This in charge thing was a rush. She was usually the sous chef or the kitchen manager. Time to step up. And Olivia was more than ready.

  “Can you bring me the sous chefs, Marcus?” she asked. “We’re going to be making a few menu changes.”

  The man’s mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. “Changes? Now?”

  Olivia laughed softly. She loved to surprise people by being something they didn’t expect. Maybe she’d even surprise her mother and sister tonight. Maybe, once they saw what her life overseas had really been about all these years, their attitude toward her work and her life would change.

  Everything happens for a reason, baby. Embrace it.

  Her father’s words made her smile soften and gave her strength.

  “Yes, Marcus,” she told him, moving to the fridge to pull ingredients for the appetizers from the shelves. “Definitely changes. Definitely now.”

  Four non-stop, exhausting hours later, Olivia leaned against the metal railing of a small balcony off the prep area beyond the kitchen. She sighed and sipped the last of the wine one of the servers had brought her from the dining room and slipped off her heels to stretch her aching feet.

  The last round of desserts were being served, which meant Olivia was officially done. Done cooking, done supervising, done fussing, done stressing.

  What a night. Talk about putting out fires…

  She’d finally banned Quinn from the kitchen after several terror-stricken visits over Olivia’s menu changes. By the time Quinn had defied the ban and sought Olivia out again, the second round of entrées had been served. Her sister could have been wearing springs on her feet the way she bounced in, hugged Olivia, squealing with excitement over the success of the evening and bounced out again.

  Instead of bringing Olivia joy, this evening with Quinn and her mother had left her restless and unsatisfied. Even annoyed. Professionally, she felt great. Confident, creative, innovative, powerful, in control. She’d worked her entire adult life in this industry and could only count a handful of people she knew who could pull off what she’d done tonight with the ease and calm and quality with which she’d done it. And that spoke more to her ability to manage staff and stress than it did her culinary expertise. There were many talented chefs. But in Olivia’s experience never enough talented chefs others could work with effectively.

  Personally… Personally she felt… She wasn’t sure what to call this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Unsatisfied? Lost? Lonely? Empty? Depressed? She’d felt it before. Felt it often. Usually in the wake of an intense or draining event when she didn’t have the strength to hold up her walls.

  Her quick fix of choice was sex with the hottest guy available in the moment. That usually filled the hollow feeling, at least temporarily. Sex was the fastest, easiest, most enjoyable escape without any of the ugly after affects of drugs or alcohol. Which had her mind drifting toward Tate. Tate and his mountain of muscle. Tate and his swaggering smile. Tate and those dark eyes that echoed with the same ache she felt now.

  Movement behind her drew her gaze as her mother stepped out onto the balcony.

  “Everything okay?” Olivia asked. Her shift in thought made her fatigue register.

  “Okay?” her mother laughed the word. “Oh my God, Livvy. I don’t even have words. The food… What you did here tonight…”

  Her mother’s pretty face crumpled much the way Quinn’s had hours ago.

  “Oh mon Dieu. Don’t you start.” Olivia turned to her mother and hugged her. “We’re all tired. Take Quinn home and you two get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll start fresh and catch up, okay?”

  Her mother pulled back. “Aren’t you coming? We’ll wait for you.”

  “I’m pretty wound up.” She shook her head at the worry in her mother’s face. “It’s just the rush of the work. I need to relax, let the adrenaline drain before I’ll be able to sleep.”

  “Honey, you’re going to get sick.”

  “I’ll catch up on sleep over the next couple of days. Really, it works for me.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “You remember my friend Julie from high school?” she asked her mom.

  “From the culinary program?”

  Olivia nodded. “She’s got her own tapas bar on 14th street. I’m going to Metro over and hang with her a while.”

  Her mother stroked a hand over her hair. The familiar gesture infused warmth into that empty space inside her. But not enough to fill it. Too bad the only man who’d interested her tonight was probably long gone by now.

  “Are you sure?” her mother asked, smiling softly. “I can make you chocolate milk. We can curl up on the sofa.”

  Olivia laughed. She needed a little more of a transition between France and home before she was ready to turn back into a daughter. Tonight hadn’t given her that transition. “I will absolutely take you up on that tomorrow night.” She clasped her hand around her mother’s. “And I really want to hear about the company. Quinn said you guys had a rough year.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that.” She squeezed Olivia’s hand. “I want you to enjoy your time home.”

  “I would enjoy hearing about the company.”

  “Absolutely, honey. And I can’t wait to hear all about where you learned to do all the fancy things you did tonight. Are you sure you even need school? Maybe you ought to think about just coming home and opening up a catering business.” Her eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t that be fun? You, me and Quinn, working together?”

  “Ah, la vache, moman.” She rubbed her eyes as a pained laugh escaped. Kill. Me. Now.

  Neither her mother nor Quinn had ever bothered to learn any French. The first few years it had annoyed Olivia. It felt like one more way they rejected her life. But in more recent years, she was grateful to be able to say things out loud that that they wouldn’t understand.

  Her mother pressed a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. “Don’t stay out too late. It’s so good to have you home, baby girl.”

  Baby girl. The phrase twisted a place deep in her heart. Her mother had never used it until her father had died. Until her father couldn’t call her his baby girl anymore. And in a lot of ways, Olivia wished her mother had let it go with him. It felt like a constant reminder of his loss.

  Merde, she needed something stronger than wine tonight.

  With more half promises, she said goodbye to her mom and looked out over the city again, draining her wine. Goodbyes traveled on the warm air from the front of the building. Car doors closed, engines faded into the distance. She sighed, rested her elbow on the rail and her chin in her hand.

  Christ she was so lonely. At least back home she had friends she could call on any time of day or night to hang out with. A dozen different men she could hook up with for a few hours of distraction. But even that thought didn’t do much for her tonight.

  At least not until she put Tate into the role of the man. Then her body perked up and got all kinds of interested.

  She smiled and licked the taste of wine from her lips. He’d made an impression so quickly. That didn’t happen very often anymore. After so many years in so many places, Olivia felt like she’d met every kind of man in every circumstance. Very little surprised her now. Very little impressed her now.

  Something about Tate… Definitely his eyes. He was…hungry. Almost like a starving child. So eager to please yet so guarded, so careful. Almost timid. All of which stirred myriad of contradictions in Olivia’s mind.

  He was just so…interesting.

  She heaved a sigh and let her mind clear. She was too tired to try and puzzle out a stranger tonight. That was a perfect knot to untangle during a long train rid
e through the Alps, not a quick Metro ride across the city.

  Olivia would love to see Julie. And her mind was still spinning. But her body was dead beat. She closed her eyes, wishing she were in New York, where she could find an all night masseuse. But as she drifted with that thought, she wondered where Tate was right now. Wondered which beautiful woman at the party had snagged him tonight after Olivia had disappeared into the kitchen. Maybe he was undressing her. Running those big, warm hands of his over her body, his soft lips following in their wake…

  Olivia sighed, long and deep. “What a lucky girl…”

  “Who’s a lucky girl?”

  The low voice startled her eyes open. The smooth, rough timbre of Tate’s voice registered and rippled along her spine.

  Olivia swiveled, putting the railing at her back for support.

  In one hand Tate held a glass of wine. In the other, a closed folding chair. He’d lost the blazer and the tie. Unfastened a couple of shirt buttons, and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  Holy. Hell. The man filled out his clothes like every inch had been tailored for his body. His stance was easy and comfortable. He exuded confidence. Yet there was still a wounded air to him.

  “Well, hi,” she said, smiling. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “That’s nice to hear. But…what was the “lucky girl” about?”

  She laughed and it came out flirtier—and dirtier—than she’d intended. “Um…”

  A smile kicked up one side of his mouth. He leaned his weight into one hip and propped his shoulder against the doorframe.

  The heat those simple moves whipped through Olivia’s belly was out of proportion to her experience with men. He simply shouldn’t be able to look so sexy, so easily.

  “Come on,” he nudged, his voice soft. “I can take it.”

  “I didn’t come out looking for you because I was sure you’d be gone,” Olivia said. “I haven’t seen so many stunning women together at one time since I catered an event for the winners of the women’s beach volleyball competition at the Olympics in Rio de Janeiro.”

  Tate’s smile widened, his posture relaxed a little more. “Really.”

  “They don’t call them Brazillian bombshells for nothin’.”

  He laughed, loose and easy, and Olivia reaped great pleasure as the shadow in his eyes lightened. “Good to know.” He shook his head. “How did we get on that subject?”

  “Me,” she said with a smile, “thinking you would have been swept away by one of those bombshells in the other room within thirty seconds of my disappearance into the kitchen. Figured some smart girl would have you locked in her bedroom by now, all those fancy clothes stripped away, checking out the real you with her…”

  Olivia caught herself before anything completely shocking spilled from her mouth. “Oops.” She grinned at Tate’s frying-pan-to-the-head stare. “I forget…Americans work a little differently. My family always says I’m way too…forward…fresh off the plane.”

  Tate gave his head a shake and laughed. “Americans.” He stepped onto the balcony and unfolded the chair. “That sounds strange coming from someone who is so obviously American. But the rest of it…the rest of was…” He lifted his gaze to hers, paused a second, then shook his head wearing a puzzled little smile. “Exactly what I’d like to be doing. With you.”

  Excitement bubbled up out of nowhere, filling Olivia with joy, and she laughed, “Hell, you just made my whole night.”

  He still looked a little shell shocked, and didn’t make any move toward her, so she forced her excitement into a simmer. She should really let the guy move at his own pace. He’d been surrounded all night by all his hockey buddies in a very testosterone-heavy crowd. He might not like her heavy-handed skip-the-forplay-lets-just-fuck style.

  If he took too long to warm up, she’d nudge him.

  He offered her the wine and gestured to the chair. “I figured you could probably use these after all the work it had to take to put that kind of food on those tables tonight. I’m not the only one who was blown away by the quality and creativity. It’s all anyone could talk about all night, and in a room full of hockey enthusiasts, that’s saying something. Doing it all without warning after flying in from Paris is nothing short of miraculous. I mean, maybe not to your fellow chefs back in France, but definitely to everyone here tonight. And I have to tell you, there were some damned high achievers filling that room. Not an easy crowd to impress.”

  Olivia’s guts jumbled. All her thoughts of sex faded into the background. And now she was the one standing there with the frying-pan-to-the-head stare.

  She was used to compliments on her looks, used to being wanted sexually by men. And yes, her culinary skills were praised…occasionally. Mostly in a you-got-the-job-done-well sort of way. But she wasn’t used to being seen by men. Very few men saw Olivia for her talent. Very few people appreciated her skill. Yet Tate had just done both, so succinctly, so smoothly, so effortlessly, it humbled her. This man who owed her nothing, had validated her in a way she felt all the way to the bone. In a way even her own family had never appreciated.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, setting her empty glass on a small side table. She stepped forward to take the full one in his hand. “This is incredibly thoughtful.”

  His grin turned lopsided again. “I’ve spent my share of too many hours in skates. They may not be high heels, but…” he shrugged. “Your legs and feet can’t be feeling too great right now.”

  Oh.

  Wow.

  She’d never imagined such minor considerations could make her want a man so badly. But those sexual urges were back—with a wild vengeance. Now, she didn’t just want him. She had to have him.

  Olivia stepped toward him instead of turning toward the chair. Before she could reach out to touch him, Tate scooped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Olivia pulled in a breath of surprise and held the wine away from her to keep it from spilling. He’d surprised her—again.

  She laughed at the surge of excitement rushing her veins. Then his hard body registered. His heat penetrated her dress and slid along her skin. His sheer size and strength. And, God, his scent. He smelled richly male, a mix of sandalwood, citrus, spice and man.

  And every lick of humor melted into desire.

  “Give me a little time.” His quiet voice tingled over her skin and made her eyes roll back in her head. Made her sex clench. “I’ve been out of the game a while. I’m…still getting the feel of things.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. All of her blood had fled south and her brain wasn’t working. “Out of the game?”

  “Divorced.”

  She nodded. “How long?”

  “A year.”

  He dipped his head and nuzzled her temple, then kissed her there. Shivers skated across her skin and desire squeezed her stomach. She stroked her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, loving all the muscle beneath the fabric.

  “Bad?” she asked.

  “Not fun.” He exhaled. “And not something I ever expected to go through.”

  Oh… Her heart broke a little. And she understood that look she’d seen in his eyes earlier. She met his gaze directly. “Do you still love her?”

  “No.” His answer came immediately. With certainty. As if he’d given it a lot of thought. “I just haven’t been tempted back into the game.” His lips skimmed her forehead. “Until now.”

  Another wave of warmth surged inside her. She didn’t realize how long it had been since she’d felt special until now. Relationships between men and women were so different in Europe. So fluid. So non-restrictive. Only now, in this moment, did she realize that style of relating to men also left her feeling expendable. Disposable.

  She tilted her head a little more to meet his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be a game.”

  His arm loosened, and he lowered into the chair then eased her to his lap sideways, his arms circling her waist, supporting her in a comfortable embrace. “No?”

  “No.” She le
aned over to set her wine down on the table, then angled toward him. Lifting one arm around his neck, she rested the other palm against his chest. Then she smiled. “How long do you think you need? I’m going to be very European and tell you I’m ready when you are.”

  Surprise leapt in his eyes. Along with heat. His arms tightened around her. His gaze lowered to her mouth and he murmured, “Never thought I’d forget how to do this.”

  She’d never imagined she’d find sexual insecurity a turn on. But he was burning her up.

  “I like the way I feel right here,” she told him.

  He relaxed and smiled. His lids dipped. “I like the way you feel too.”

  “See. No games. Just you and me, liking the way we feel together.” She stroked his face and soaked in every handsome angle, feeling a little like she’d won the hunk lottery. “That’s all.”

  Silence fell. And they settled into comfortable togetherness. One Olivia could get lost in. she loved the feel of his eyes on her. Loved the feel of his thick hard thighs beneath hers. The way their heat soaked all along her backside. Between her legs. She was ready to sink into this man, right here, right now and let him help her forget everything but him.

  Unfortunately they weren’t alone. Which made her think of her mom and sister. And she wondered why he hadn’t mentioned them. “Did you meet my family tonight?”

  His eyes jumped up from he neckline of her dress, then darted away. “Not tonight. They were at the bar talking with some of the hard-core stragglers. Judging by how everyone was raving about the party, I imagine they’re pulling in a lot of work.”

  Relief and excitement flourished inside Olivia. She beamed at him. “Oh, that’s awesome.”

  He lifted a hand to her face and cupped her cheek, another smile tilting his lips. “You’re awesome.”

  Smiling, she relaxed against him, the collar of his shirt curled into her fingers. “That’s so great. This is a competitive business. They needed a score.”