WILD ZONE, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  Olivia lifted her head to escape Tate’s hand, bent one arm on the bar and rested her head there. Tate’s weight felt like lead, but she didn’t complain. And as they caught their breaths, Olivia’s mind kept circling around a dumbfounded sort of shock at how intense, how fulfilling, how damn good this sex was. She had enough experience behind her to know there was something special between them making the sex so spectacular. It wasn’t simply physical.

  “Holy shit…” His quiet words dragged her back to reality and everything that still faced her. Including going back to Paris in a very short time, just when she was beginning to want more time with him.

  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and pulled from her body. Olivia groaned, crossed her ankles and dropped back on her heels. While Tate cleaned up and washed his hands in the sink, Olivia pulling her bra into place and buttoned her shirt.

  She was a little depressed about heading back home to deal with her family now. And she wasn’t thrilled about having to work a party that wouldn’t pay her a dime. But that vacant feeling that always engulfed her after sex was notably absent. Again.

  Olivia wondered if that hollowness went away when you found the right person.

  Tate stepped in front of her with her panties. He was still breathing hard, wiping his face on the shoulder of his tee, while righting the lace. In the moment, she was sure she’d never seen a man do anything more adorable. Then he out did himself when he lowered to one knee and held her panties so she could step into them. “Here you go.”

  Emotion expanded inside her, the kind of emotion that both alarmed and confused her.

  Tears stung her eyes. When he glanced up, she looked away and pulled her feet out from under her.

  “What’s that little smile about?” he asked as she stepped into the panties then took over for him.

  She straightened, leaned in and kissed him gently. “It’s all about you, Tate Donovan. It’s all about you.”

  Olivia rested her head against the seat and gazed out the windshield, but she didn’t see the DC streets or the traffic. Tate had wrung her out and left her blissfully sated. She tilted her head, laid it on his shoulder and let her eyes close.

  Tate squeezed her hand where her fingers were threaded with his. “You okay?”

  “Mmm, perfect.” She pulled in a breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “But I’m going to have a hard time keeping my eyes open until I get all my work done tonight.”

  “Can I help? I’ll let you boss me around and everything.”

  She laughed and lifted her head. “That sounds fun, and if I were in my own kitchen, I’d do it, but I’m already out of sync in my mom’s kitchen, so I’d end up walking over you. It’ll be easier for me in the end if I do it on my own. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for offering though. That’s sweet.”

  She kissed him just below his ear and his head leaned her way. At a stoplight, he turned his head, met her eyes and smiled. They were almost nose-to-nose and he eased forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. His lashes fluttered closed and he let his lips linger. The moment felt so intimate. So perfect.

  He pulled back and glanced at the light, which had turned green, and continued down the road. Olivia nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of his clean body wash and the male smell of his skin.

  “Do you know what you want on the menu for the banquet?” she asked.

  “Are you available?”

  She laughed. “Only for you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I think I’ll leave that up to you. It’s a complex group of people. We’ll have players who’d really rather be at a bar with a burger and sponsors who are more interested in talking than eating. Then there will be true donors, who are really the ones who pay the most attention to the food. And I’m not going to be any help because I’m not one of the people who knows anything.”

  “So, no frou-frou food?”

  He grinned. “Good start.”

  “Are we talking steaks? Do you want to get really simple with a gourmet burger?”

  “I’d lean toward steak, considering how much they’re paying.”

  “Okay. What options do you want for vegetarians and vegans and gluten free—”

  He groaned.

  Olivia laughed. “You want me to handle it?”

  “I really do. Is that okay.”

  “Of course. That’s my job.” She thought a minute. “Okay, let’s play the either/or game. I’ll give you choices, and with the banquet in mind, you choose. It’s just to give me an idea of what I’m going for.”

  “Okay.”

  “We already did burgers versus steaks. How about four-course or five-course?”

  “I don’t know the difference.”

  She smiled. “Warm spinach salad with bacon and feta or cold wedge wit blue cheese, bacon and tomato?”

  “Spinach.”

  “Filet mignon or New York strip?”

  “Ooo, that’s a tough one,” he said. “Up to you.”

  “Arctic char or wild salmon?”

  He cut a look at her. “Arctic char? What in the hell is arctic char?”

  She laughed. “A fish.”

  “You can pick.”

  “Okay, what about dessert? Do you want to go with decadent chocolate or light and fruity? Pie, cake, ice cream?”

  He groaned. “So many choices.”

  “You sound like you’re in pain. Okay, how about this, what’s your favorite dessert?”

  He thought about it a second. “I really love key lime pie.”

  “Okay, done.” She rubbed the tip of her nose along his neck. “See, not so bad.”

  “You make it easy.” After another moment of silence, he said, “I love this part of DC. All the old trees. Every house is different from the last. All stately with big yards and beautiful gardens. Have you always lived here?”

  “From birth to eighteen. And every year was wonderful, right up until the end. But I’ve got lots of great memories. Did you grow up here?”

  He shook his head. “Colorado. Moved for my first minor team and kept moving. I’ve been here six years and really love it. Love the area, love the people.” He lifted a shoulder. “But you never know. One day I could go into work and the coach could call me in and say, “Sorry, buddy, you’re playing for the Blackhawks now—or the Devils or the fucking Ducks—pack up.”

  “Really?” she frowned. “That’s got to feel so unstable.”

  “I guess you get used to it. Easier when you don’t have a wife and family. Beckett’s contract comes up in July. If the teams here want to sign him, they’re going to have to add a no-trade clause, because he’s not uprooting Lily and Eden.”

  “You can do that?”

  He cut a sidelong grin at her. “If you’re good enough, you can do anything. Just gotta stay on top of your game.”

  “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

  “Your job sounds like a lot of pressure to me.”

  “How do you stay on top of your game?”

  “There are so many aspects to being your best that there’s always something to work on,” he told her. “If it’s not your skating, it’s your handwork. If it’s not your focus it’s your leadership. I’m taking over as captain next season, so this summer, my trainer is pulling some leadership guru to camp to coach me on effective leadership, motivation, stuff like that.”

  “Wow, that sounds cool. Where is it?”

  “Canada. Ontario. That’s where my trainer lives. He works out of a college rink up there. It’s a sweet setup. During the day I get top notch training to hone my skating skills, at night I get counseled in leadership to polish up my versatility. I leave right after the banquet.”

  “Man, to have those kinds of experts at your fingertips. That’s what I love about Bleu.”

  He turned his head. “Bleu?”

  “Le Cordon Bleu. I just shorten it.” She grinned. “They hate it. Sometimes I do it in front of them just to get a rise.”

  Tate laughed and kissed h
er temple. “Yeah. I get the impression you could be pretty damn sassy.”

  “The instructors there are so amazing. And the school is always having seminars and short courses where chefs from all over the world come to teach. Food and culture and people fascinate me. ”

  They fell silent again. Olivia’s mind wandered toward things she normally didn’t ask men she slept with. These were discussions for friends and coworkers or acquaintances and even though she knew she should be demarcating a more rigid line between friend and lover, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to.

  “Can I ask what happened with your ex-wife?” When the happy look on his face fell, she regretted the question immediately. “Never mind. I’m sorry. It’s none of my—”

  “It’s okay.” His voice was gentle. “She was cheating on me.”

  The answer was so unexpected, Olivia didn’t have time to stem her shock. She sucked air and blurted, “What? For fuck’s sake, why?”

  Which made Tate burst out laughing. And he kept laughing until tears filled his eyes and he had to wipe them away with the back of his hand to drive. “Oh, baby, that was priceless. I wish I had that on video.”

  His humor over her reaction lightened her own feelings, but she shook her head. “That’s just unbelievable.”

  “Thank you, baby, but…” He winced. “You haven’t lived through a hockey season.”

  “Why? What’s hockey season like?”

  “It’s sort of indescribable. One of those things you have to experience to understand. We play about three games a week. Half our games are at home, half are away. We practice most of the days we don’t play. And in our spare time,” he put the word spare in air quotes “we’re expected to do charity work and attend team events. But it’s really the emotional rollercoaster that I think is the hardest on wives and girlfriends and kids. We’re all so passionate about each game and our overall ranking. Your team could win, but you could have had a shitty game. If you hurt, you’re cranky. If you’re tired you’re cranky. If you loose—”

  “Let me guess,” she said.

  “All in all, hockey season can be grueling.”

  “Sorry, maybe I do have to experience to understand, but it sounds a lot like my last year, flying all over the damn place for one event or another. There’s the travel, the work—which you’ve seen first hand how stressful it can be—the required socializing and schmoozing. Sure it’s stressful and exhausting, but it certainly doesn’t make cheating okay.”

  “Amen.”

  “I mean,” she added for levity, “unless you’re a closet serial ax murderer or Cheetos addict or you snore or something.”

  He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, and Olivia jumped. “It was the fucking Cheetos. I knew it.”

  And it was her turn to burst out laughing. She was just catching her breath when they pulled in front of her mom’s house.

  Tate turned off the truck and Olivia had one of those knee jerk reactions. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to talk to Quinn.”

  Her face fell. Alarm bells buzzed in Olivia’s head. “Why? No, I already know why and you don’t have to talk to her. I will.”

  “I think it’s important that it come from me.” And he opened his door and climbed out.

  “Tate. Tate—”

  He closed the door and walked around the front.

  “Shit.” She opened her door and stepped out just as he met her there. “Really, don’t. It will only piss her off.”

  With his hands braced on the door, he met Olivia’s eyes. “She’ll give you nothing but grief. But I guarantee she won’t give me a sliver.”

  “To your face. She’ll give it all to me behind your back.”

  He tipped his head. “Can you trust me on this?”

  “Oh my God, Tate—”

  “Please?”

  That cut off her next argument. She pressed her eyes closed, glanced at the house, returned her gaze to Tate. “I swear, Donovan, if you make things worse—”

  “I’ll become your sexual slave in perpetuity.” He held up his hand. “So help me God.”

  She smiled grudgingly, turned and started up the stairs toward the house.

  8

  Tate felt Olivia’s tension ratchet higher with each step toward the house.

  He slipped a hand beneath her hair and stroked it down her back, looking up at the majestic historical brick home. “Wow. This is amazing.”

  She smiled. “I’ve always been so in love with it.”

  Pausing on the porch, trimmed with a white banister and rails that had seen better days, she looked around the yard with its overflowing flowerbeds, lush lawn, and mature trees.

  “My parents bought it about forty years ago right after they got married. It was in foreclosure and had been abandoned for a long time. My dad renovated it from top to bottom over the years. He did the historical research on the house, so whenever I’d help him, he’d tell me all the stories. It was fascinating.” She ran her hand over the peeling paint on a banister and watched the flakes flutter to the porch. “So sad to see it falling into disrepair. This would have driven my dad crazy.”

  Tate leaned against the column. “Were you a daddy’s girl?”

  She grinned, but it was sad. “Two hundred percent.” Her gaze drifted toward the front door. “Quinn has always been mamma’s girl.”

  Huh. That explained a couple of things.

  Tate studied her profile while she was lost in thought, realizing what a complex woman he’d stumbled over. And what a big hole she was going to leave in his life after such a short time together.

  She took a breath that raised her shoulders, then heaved a sigh. “Guess I can’t stand out here all night.”

  When Olivia reached for the door, Tate said, “Hey.” She glanced at him. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She smiled, but it looked pained. Then nodded and pushed into the house.

  Tate followed, closing the door at his back while he took in the rich wood floors that looked original, the plaster walls, the high ceilings and thick crown molding. A chandelier cast dappled light over the neutral paint. The foyer was generous and welcoming with a bench, plenty of hooks for winter jackets, racks for winter boots, and an umbrella stand. To the left a wide staircase lead to the second floor, a carpet lining the middle of the wooden steps. The first few stairs were wide and curved, tapering into a straight staircase.

  Tate ran his hand over the origination of the banister, a pillar where the remaining rail spiraled to begin an elegant curve up the stairway. “Beautiful.”

  Olivia glanced back at him and smiled, and Tate could see her love for the house in her eyes. “Dad and I refinished the entire staircase. Sanded every balustrade and the entire railing by hand.”

  Tate’s gaze slid up the stairs again, now looking at what had to be over a hundred balustrades. “Oh my God.”

  She laughed softly. “Yeah. Every corner of this house has a memory of my dad in it. I can’t ever imagine it leaving the family. Mom and Dad used to talk about having grandkids running through the hallways the way Quinn and I did. I thought Quinn would have a couple by now.”

  The image hit at the heart of Tate’s own fantasies. At least the ones he’d had when he’d married Lisa. Hearing Olivia talk so fondly of kids was creating a pull inside him that he knew instantly was both illogical and dangerous.

  “Why hasn’t she?”

  Olivia sighed, shrugged. “She’s so wrapped up in mom and mom’s business, but…I really don’t know.”

  “And why haven’t you?” There was no possible way for him to keep the question inside.

  It made Olivia laugh with real humor. “My life is not conducive to children.” She looked around. “The idea of being able to share my dad’s legacy with my own children is a romantic one, and I haven’t been a romantic in a long time. Realistically, I doubt I’ll ever have children.”

  That news kicked Tate in the stomach. He realized exactly how irr
ational that was. How childish. And just how infatuated he’d become with her. Because he wanted to expand this little slice of intimacy they were sharing, he forced himself to detach and responded the way he would to a female friend.

  “Really? Why? Your life may not be conducive now, but you’re young.”

  She lifted a shoulder and studied the chandelier. “I like kids, enjoy my friends kids. My secret pleasure is kids birthday parties, even though I end up barely breaking even on the cost. I just love the kids. Had hoped to have some nieces and nephews to teach French and travel with when they got older, you know? But, me?” She shook her head. “I don’t see it. I’ve never had anyone in my life who changed that.”

  Tate stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A dull ache nagged somewhere at the center of his body. He was probably stepping over a line, but hell… “Liv, have you ever been in love?”

  She turned a heartbreakingly sad smile on him, one he’d bet she didn’t realize looked so empty, and shook her head. “Can’t say I have.”

  That stunned him. And saddened him. So deeply saddened him his heart sank in his chest. He was trying to find a response when Quinn called through the house.

  “Liv?” She was on the same floor, but somewhere deeper in the house. “Everything is in the fridge or on the counter.” Her voice grew closer. “But I’m going to have to run out to another market to get you more organic eggs. The one I went to didn’t—”

  Quinn turned into the foyer, her hand on the doorjamb, and stopped short. “Oh.” Her gaze jumped between them, then back to Tate and immediately shadowed with guilt. “Mr.—”

  “Tate, please,” he said, voice gentle, adding a smile.

  She relaxed and returned a slight smile. “Tate.”

  Barefoot, wearing shorts and a tank top with her hair in a braid, she looked beautiful and young and fresh, and even the thought of seeing the same side of Olivia tugged at Tate’s heart.