Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Thank you.” Kurt wanted to rush over and take her hands. But she seemed as skittish as a rookie in front of the goal for the first time. So he shoved his hands in his pockets and drank her in.

  She looked beautiful. Well, Lisette always did. But tonight she wore a long dress with red and white stripes as wide as his hand that clung to all her gorgeous curves like a second skin. It tied with a single string behind her neck.

  One that Kurt wanted to undo with his teeth.

  At this point, he’d settle for being lucky enough to touch the golden skin of her bare shoulder. It taunted him. He knew its smoothness, its warmth. And he might never get to touch it again.

  Fuck.

  Better get started before she noticed he was almost stripping her naked with his eyes.

  Lisette angled her head, looking around the basically empty section of the enormous park. Nothing but the tangle of oak trees kept them company on the edge of the bayou. “Do you plan to tell me why I’m here? Because I certainly don’t know.”

  “Sure. But can I start with an apology?”

  Her chin lifted a little. “I won’t stop you.”

  Even as pissed at him as she must be, Lisette stayed polite. That was his girl. Sweet through to the core. The frosting of sass just tickled him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You covered that already.”

  “Jesus, Lisette, I could say it every day for a year and it wouldn’t be enough,” he burst out. “So yeah, it’s what I’m starting with. And however long you end up listening to me tonight? It’ll be the last thing you hear from me, too.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She wasn’t giving him an inch. But…she also wasn’t walking away.

  That was all Kurt needed.

  “I’m sorry that I blocked you from being hired by the Rage. It was selfish and stupid. But I didn’t know, at the time, that you’d quit your job. You’ve got to believe me. I’d never mess with someone’s livelihood and income like that.”

  “I’ll agree with the selfish.”

  “You’d told me that you have breaks between patient assignments all the time. I worked it around in my brain that since I was paying you, if anything it’d be some extra cash before you moved on to the next patient.”

  That jolted her out of her stone-faced listening. Her purse fell to the sun-parched grass as her arms pinwheeled until she fisted her hands on her hips. “But the job with the Rage wasn’t for a monthlong assignment. It was for a permanent job.”

  “I never took the time to think it through like that. I reacted. I followed my gut. My gut said that you made me smile. You made me feel—” he broke off. Right or wrong, he had to touch her. Kurt grabbed for one of her hands. He needed the connection. For however long it lasted. “You made me feel, Lisette. Not grief, not the numbness that came after and not the single-minded focus on winning that got me the Cup. Those were the only things I felt for almost a year. Until you. Until I saw you in that hallway. Suddenly, I felt like a normal man again.”

  There was a long pause. Long enough to watch a snowy egret fly by in his peripheral vision. Finally, Lisette inclined her chin the merest centimeter. “It was inexcusably selfish.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  “It was also understandably selfish.”

  Hope punched into his heart. “You’re being generous. The point is, I fucked up. I made it worse by keeping it from you. I knew that, every damn day. The only reason I stayed silent was because I was trying to fix it. Fix what I broke.”

  “I spoke to Coach Courage. He offered me the job this morning.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you do that?”

  Kurt didn’t have a single qualm about telling her. Hell, if she let him back into her life, he’d never keep so much as a mosquito bite from her again. “I asked him to give you the job two weeks ago. He turned me down flat. That’s when I called the Quake. But this time I wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know my contract’s up for renewal. I told him that I’d stay for one more year if he gave you the job. Otherwise, I’d walk.”

  After an audible gasp, Lisette said, “You bargained your job for mine?”

  “It seemed like the least I could do.” Hell, he’d do more, if it’d make a difference. Kurt would’ve done anything to fix this for her.

  She steepled her fingers in front of her glossy red lips. “Kurt, no. I can’t let you.”

  “Don’t try and horn in on my selfless gesture. It doesn’t matter, because the coach agreed—and then he let me go.”

  That elicited another, bigger gasp. “From the Rage? You’re not going back?”

  “Nope.” Which Kurt hadn’t entirely processed. Because he couldn’t focus on anything until the situation with Lisette was resolved.

  “But I still have the job?”

  “Coach Courage is a fair guy. And he did his homework on you, too. He’s sure you’ll be good for the Rage. Just like I wouldn’t be good for them. Not anymore. He let me go because he doesn’t want anyone playing for him who isn’t giving one hundred percent. It isn’t safe. After I told him what was going on, he knew my heart wasn’t in it.”

  Amazingly, her lips curved up in approval. “So you figured out what was most important.”

  Hell, yes. Five feet, three inches of the best woman he’d ever met. Everything else fell about a mile down on Kurt’s priority list. “I quit the team because I’ve done everything I set out to do. My team won the Cup. I’m thirty-two. Which means that I’m just thumbing my nose at fate every time I step out on the ice. A serious injury could leave me permanently hurt, or my brain scrambled. Jasper didn’t get to live out all his dreams. I won’t risk not living mine. I’m going back to school.”

  “But what about all the money? With one more year, you could sock away so much in the bank. Maybe get a broadcast contract to make it last while you’re taking classes.”

  God, it was a punch to his gut at how, even angry, Lisette still looked out for his best interest. Her big heart was one of the things he adored most about her. He didn’t deserve her compassion. But Kurt wanted to wallow in it for as long as he had the chance.

  “If you were brave enough to start over without a safety net, I should be, too.” It was time to finish his pitch. “I can live without fame or any more money. I don’t want to live without you.” Kurt tugged her to the base of the tree. “You asked why we’re meeting here. Right here. It’s because of this tree. The Anseman Oak. People think it’s been here for six hundred years or so.”

  She put a hand to the rough bark, then looked back at him. “You lost me.”

  “It’s the biggest symbol of permanence I could find. You told me that you want to stay in New Orleans. Well, I’m going to plant myself right next to you.” Kurt covered her hand on the trunk with his. “If you’ll let me. If you’ll let me share your new life while I’m trying to follow your example of starting again, from scratch, as I get my history and teaching degree.”

  “Oh, Kurt, I’m no role model.”

  “You’re right.” He reached over to cradle her soft cheek in his palm. And felt another surge of hope when she let him touch her. “You’re sunlight and laughter and joy wrapped up in a beautiful package. You cared for my brother in his darkest days. Now, will you let me care for you? Because I do. Baby, I’m crazy about you. I’m not even asking you to forgive me today. Just for the chance to try again with you.”

  Lisette pulled away. From his touch. From where their hands were joined on the tree trunk. Then she took yet another step backward, putting more space between them. “But what about Jasper? I don’t want to remind you of him, to bring that sadness back every time you look at me. He’s been between us from the start. I won’t bring you a moment’s more pain, Kurt.”

  There she went, yet again just fucking knocking his feet out from under him with her thoughtfulness. And he’d given this some thought. How he didn’t want to be a reminder of one of her last patients who died. Kurt had realized that it was stupid to let their shared past haunt
their future. That the two of them together could create enough happiness to banish any ghosts, any pain.

  Kurt stepped forward, bridging the gap she’d put between them. “If Jasper was still here? Well, first he’d punch me in the balls for treating you so badly. Then he’d high-five me for ripping out my heart and offering it to you. Thinking about him doesn’t make me sad anymore. Not most of the time. The first time I thought of him without sadness was in your apartment. When we kissed for the first time. If that isn’t proof enough, well…I’ll do it again.”

  Kurt pulled her into his arms.

  Slowly, in case she wasn’t on board with this.

  And then Lisette grabbed his head and kissed him. Kissed him hard and fast and full of all the longing that had built up in the two days since they’d last seen each other. His tongue danced with hers. Seeking, sucking, tasting. He gulped her in, smelling the honeysuckle of her perfume arrow to his balls. Threaded his fingers through her dark curls and moaned at the softness. Used his other hand to pull her tight and flush against him. Lisette popped up on tiptoe so his dick ground against the notch between her thighs.

  He tore his mouth away. Looked down with satisfaction at her kiss-swollen lips, passion-glazed eyes. “Is that a yes?”

  “Several yeses, in fact. Yes, I forgive you. Yes, I’m crazy about you, too. Yes, I want to stay with you as you start this new adventure. Yes, I’ll take your heart.” She feathered her fingertips in the open vee of his shirt. “And I’ll start by taking this sexy-as-sin package that’s wrapped around it right to bed.”

  About the Author

  CHRISTI BARTH earned a Master’s degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books and now writes award-winning contemporary romance, including the Naked Men and Aisle Bound series. Christi can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.

  To learn of Christi’s next release, get early peeks at covers and other exciting behind-the-scenes tidbits, please sign up for her newsletter: http://www.christibarth.com/home/contact/

  Also by Christi Barth

  Naked Men Series

  Risking It All

  Wanting It All

  Giving It All

  Bad Decisions Series

  The Opposite of Right

  The Reverse of Perfection

  Blocked

  by

  Heather Long

  To everyone who dreams of being something more

  1

  “The Ragin’ Cajuns take home the Cup! It’s a great night, here in New Orleans, and they are going to be partying in the Quarter!” – ACE News Clip

  Running in Central Park had to be one of Archer Durham’s favorite activities whenever he made it to the Big Apple. In the earliest hours of dawn, when the sky was still gray with hints of pink on the horizon and before the city full woke. The sleepy period was perfect for grabbing the quiet, physical time he needed to sort through the hell that was his life currently.

  The Imperial March cut into his running mix. Scowling, he tapped a finger to the wireless earphones he preferred when exercising. “What?” Most calls he wouldn’t answer, but since Felicity had been killing herself to fix his image, he couldn’t very well send her to voicemail.

  “Someone’s crabby.” Her dry wit, over wine and cheese at a happy hour, entertained him. Before coffee, however…

  “What?” he repeated, determined to keep his pace. He closed in on mile five and he had another five to go. Training as hard during the off-season kept him in shape on the ice.

  “Seriously, Archibald, you really do need to remember your manners.”

  “I’ve told you not to call me that.” His given name was hardly sexy, family tradition be damned.

  “You’re right, Archer, you have.” Though she snapped the remark, her tone lightened almost immediately. “Speaking of your manners, it’s time for you to get out of the city. Maybe you can head to Los Angeles and visit the cousins.”

  His cousins? No, visiting any of them was out of the question. He and his family had a very strict agreement. As long as he was in the limelight, he stayed away from the family.

  “No can do. Next?” His oxygen consumption remained good because he was able to continue the conversation without panting too harshly between each word. He checked his watch, heart rate perfect. Time to push it, so he increased his pace.

  “Then, Europe. Don’t you have an aunt somewhere in Norway?”

  An aunt in Norway? So, that was what they were calling the Grand Duchess these days. No, as lovely as it would be to see Tante Marie, it still constituted visiting family, and he wasn’t going break his promise. “Felicity, what’s up?”

  Her sigh spoke volumes. “I need you to get out of your hotel today. I need you to basically head back there right now—and don’t try to tell me you’re there, because I can hear you running. Your shoes are very noisy.”

  Refusing to engage, he waited. Felicity Glucksberg Van Holstein or, as she was better known in the business circles, Felicity Van was one of the best PR agents in the biz. She didn’t normally represent anyone in sports. Since his family and hers had a long history, she stepped up to the challenge of rehabilitating his battered image. Oddly, he hadn’t asked, and she refused to take no for an answer, citing her personal mission to transform him from bad boy to prince of the ice.

  Archer didn’t much care, except for the fact that his team had grown weary of the scandals chasing him from game to game. When his name cropped up in the news reports, it wasn’t on the sports page. It was in the gossip columns, in the tabloid rags, and on television’s latest celebrity poison puff pieces.

  “I like my hotel. It’s really low profile. Why do you need me to leave it?” Not that he didn’t believe her, it was simply a matter of his preference for the Johnson Arms. The hotel was still family owned, having avoided the corporate buyouts of the last three decades. A throwback to a classier era, it focused on refined service, grace, and rather than convenience. It was also the location of his favorite boyhood adventures with his mother. She often brought them to the city to see the shows and to skate at Rockefeller Center. The Johnson Arms and the presidential suite played host to those vacations.

  “Hoshi Sato is staying there.”

  “What?” Other runners had begun to appear on the path, including a little cluster of them heading directly toward him. He diverted to the right. Central Park offered multiple paths, which allowed him numerous opportunities to divert his route and explore a new area. Maybe he’d make some time for the zoo and wander through just after opening so he could see them feed the animals.

  Corny maybe, but some memories were worth cherishing.

  “Hoshi Sato.” Felicity repeated the name again.

  “Sweetheart, you can keep saying that like you expect me to know the next letter in the alphabet’s D following C, but I have no idea who that is. Is he some kind of Japanese businessmen?” A recruiter approached him two weeks ago about a potential new team overseas. It was one of the ideas kicked around in a meeting. Send him to Europe or Asia, play for a celebrity team over there, and gain some traction and new fans, while letting all the scandals in the States die down.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in any of those ideas. He liked hockey. He played hockey. He was loyal to his team. The only reason he agreed to any of this nonsense had been because his team needed him to clean up his image.

  Not that it had been his fault the three ladies he’d entertained had gone out of their way to videotape him. Felicity remained convinced they’d targeted him deliberately, trading on his randy reputation—one his cousin reminded him he’d more than earned—but they’d not only succeeded in enticing him back to their place.

  They’d filmed it, and their digital cut had gone viral. It cropped up faster than his lawyers could shut
it down. The comments generated earned him a wealth of publicity on the shape of his ass, his technique, and more. It had also snagged him a couple of investigations into claims from underage girls who said he’d slept with them. Thank God he’d actually been on the ice for the times they listed, but the stain of the case haunted him.

  Archer liked women, but he didn’t date underage.

  Period.

  His heart rate amped and his oxygen level went down. Panting, he slowed his pace down to a brisk walk. He needed to cool off. If he thought about it, his blood boiled. The rather graphic video of his ménage evening had all been a part of a carefully calculated plot designed to embarrass his family, while earning his would-be blackmailers a pretty penny.

  His family was used to weathering scandals, so when he told them he refused to pay on principle alone, Armand, the head of his family, and the others backed him every step of the way. Buoyed by their support, he faced the backlash in the media. Let them do their worst, he was as competitive off the ice as on.

  “Good Lord, don’t you watch the news? She’s the young woman who won This Girl’s Got Talent in May. She’s, like, the latest thing since Donna Marie or Andre.”

  Two more names that meant very little to him.

  “Spell it out for me, Felicity. That’s what I’m paying you for. Why do I care about some girl who won some…whatever the hell it was?”

  His aggravation reached the point where he wanted to punch something. Archer concentrated on walking until his heart rate achieved a much more reasonable level.

  “Pick up a newspaper sometime, would you? Hoshi Sato. She’s America’s love affair with adversity. She’s got some talent, marketable features…”

  “Felicity.” The growl earned him a stare from woman walking by with her dog. Archer gave her a polite smile then lowered his tone. “I didn’t ask for an analysis. I don’t really give a damn who this woman is, I just want to know why it matters that she is staying at my hotel?”