by Amy Olle
They moved through the elegant lobby and at the elevator, he stepped into the car behind her. On a keypad, she punched in the four-digit code that granted them access to the top floor. They rode in silence, and the higher they ascended, the more remote he began to feel to her.
He stood a little straighter, a little farther away from her, and by the time the elevator door dinged, the intimacy of his car seemed like nothing more than a distant, delicious dream.
The doors slid open on a spacious landing with the apartment’s security door and Jack waited while she worked the lock, her fingers made clumsy by both his nearness and his sudden remoteness.
Finally, she managed to turn over the lock, and he followed her inside the luxury apartment. The home’s sleek lines, high-end finishes, and monochromatic color scheme did little to please her tastes, and it appeared to be that way with Jack as well.
Like her, he ignored all of it and strode across the oversized living room to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. He gazed out at the soft lights along the lakeshore’s pedestrian walkway and beyond, the vast blackness of Lake Michigan. In the distance, tiny lights winked from the dark. One belonged to the lighthouse, the others she assumed were ships passing by.
“Now that’s a view.” He turned, and his gaze swept around the open-concept penthouse.
Over the random articles of her clothing, strewn across the black leather sofa and armchairs, and the pedicure set, still spread out on the coffee table. At the empty cartons of takeout food littering the end table and the kitchen island, his smile cracked wide open.
“You’re a slob.” It was a statement.
“I, uh… I’m still unpacking.”
She spotted a pair of leopard-print panties on the chair in front of her. Her gaze snapped back to his face, but he’d already discovered the panties for himself.
Slipping out of her coat, she tossed it over the chair to hide her intimates.
But that didn’t veil the heat and hunger simmering in his changeable hazel eyes. An electrical current arced between them, linking them, passing shared memories of the two nights they’d spent together on the island across the sea.
Just then, fireworks exploded in the night sky through the window behind him.
The remoteness from the elevator returned to his eyes, and their connection fizzled and died, like the streams of green and blue that dissolved into nothingness on the other side of that window.
Sharp sorrow struck her beneath the breastbone. Why did he do that, run so hot one moment only to turn cold the next?
Her heart sank, as though she’d lost a friend.
His mouth moved, as though he might say something.
She waited, her heart in her throat.
But he didn’t speak. Emotions rushed across his features—desire and frustration, a touch of anger—before a determined scowl finally settled in.
“You owe me.”
A bloom of white and gold blanketed the sky.
At his cool tone, a chill seeped over her. “What do I owe you?”
“I can’t focus. Can’t concentrate, not on hockey or anything else. You’re all I can think about.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, because he sounded mad.
Gooseflesh prickled over her skin at the way he watched her from behind hooded eyes as he slowly walked toward her.
“Two nights wasn’t enough. I knew it when I met you. I need more, Haven. I need one more night.”
A delicious tingle of arousal licked low in her belly. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Right now, I don’t give a fuck if it’s a good idea or not.” He stood before her. “I want you.”
Then take me. I’m yours.
She bit down ruthlessly on the reckless words. “What if the media finds out? Or your teammates?”
“It’d turn into a circus around here.” His fingers danced along her collarbone, over the uneven bone. “But I think we can be discreet, and you’re worth the risk.”
Her body thrummed with consent.
Still, she hesitated.
And in that moment of hesitation, he broke her heart.
“I’m not asking for forever, Haven. Just one more night.” A cool practicality chased some of the heat from his eyes. “We don’t even have to like each other.”
She nearly gasped with the pain. On a night when the memories hounded her, his cool calculation sliced like a thousand tiny paper cuts. Memories of a time when she wanted attention, affection, more than she wanted to protect her self-worth.
She pushed the dark memories aside. “I don’t want to say no.”
He watched her closely. “But you’re going to anyway.”
“Maybe when all of this is over...?”
Another firework burst across the night sky. Shades of red and blue danced over his face while she searched for proof of his anger or resentment.
She saw none.
A shaky breath eased from her. “I want one more night, too, Jack. When I’m no longer your boss.”
His eyes narrowed. “When will that be, exactly?”
She couldn’t resist the light in his eyes, and a smile found its way to her lips. “In fifty-five days, I think.”
“In fifty-five days, you’ll come back to my bed?”
She shuddered at the possibility. “Unless we’ve changed our minds.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
Fireworks continued to paint the sky with breathtaking brilliance.
“Jack, I’m sorry that I ruined your life.”
He started to protest, but she rushed ahead of him. “We were talking about a lot of different players that day, and I don’t remember ever hearing your name. If I had, I never would’ve pushed to get you here. I never meant to ruin your life, or your career.”
“I know that,” he said softly.
Relief tasted sweet on her tongue. “For the record, I completely understand why you don’t want to be here. This city can be….” She shuddered.
“You grew up here?”
She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her blue jeans. “Yeah.” She didn’t say more.
“The town’s not so bad, actually.” He lifted one shoulder and a cock-eyed smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “It beats playing hockey in the desert or someplace where it snows less than ten inches a year.”
A thought niggled in the back of her mind and she frowned, chasing after it. Something Mel had said about the upcoming trade deadline….
Her gaze swung to Jack’s face. “What if I can fix it?”
His eyebrows inched upward. “What do you mean? You’re going to let me go to Detroit?”
She bit her bottom lip. “How about a deal?”
Wary dread clouded his features. “What kind of deal?”
“You help me get this team’s collective head out of their collective ass, and I’ll find a way to get you to Detroit.”
“Define ‘head out of ass.’”
“Get us into the playoffs.”
His low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Just snap my fingers and it’s done? I appreciate your vote of confidence, I really do, but it’s not that easy.”
She frowned. “Well, what do you need to make it possible?”
“What, like, personnel-wise?”
She bobbed her head. “Do you need more speed? Size? Guys who like to fight? Finesse players? What?”
“Yeah, all that would be nice. Add in an all-star goaltender, a packed arena, and some home cooking by the refs, and you got yourself a deal.”
She nodded some more. “Anything else?”
He gaped at her. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“All right, hold on.” He showed her his palms. “Let’s sprinkle a little reality salt on this meal.”
She laughed at his choice of words, then bit back a smile when his scowl deepened.
“Even if you could give me all of that, which you can’t because it’s impossible, there
’s no guarantee we’d make it into the playoffs. There’re too many other factors at play. Things that can’t be coached or acquired in a trade.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Chemistry. Endurance. Momentum. Willpower. Luck.” His voice rose with each intangible he named. “No matter how much of all the other stuff you have, luck still plays a bigger part in all of this than any of us likes to admit. Everything from injuries to bad bounces and blown calls. Any one of them can derail a game, or even a season.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip.
“Haven, look, I appreciate the offer, but what you’re talking about can’t be done in the three months between now and the playoffs.”
“Fifty-five days.”
A flash of yearning pulled at his features. “Right. I rest my case. It’s impossible.”
“All I need you to do is give us a chance, Jack. Get us into position to make the playoffs, and I’ll send you to Detroit before the trade deadline.”
He eyed her for a moment. “Why?”
“Because that’s where you want to be. Isn’t it?”
He gave his head a small shake. “Not that. Last I knew, you didn’t want anything to do with this team. Now you’re determined to turn them into a playoff contender? Why? What changed?”
Her face heated with the memory of Dave and Jerry laughing at her dad, and her, but honestly, Jack’s biting disapproval hurt more than she could understand or explain. All her life, all she’d ever done was let people down, to the point that they no longer expected anything of her.
Just this once, she wanted to prove them wrong, and maybe gain a scrap of Jack’s approval.
He studied her for a long moment, waiting, but emotion welled up to close the back of her throat. His face blurred.
“I’m not saying no.” His voice possessed a gentleness that squeezed her heart. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“My dad…. I want to help him.”
And I want you to respect me.
She swallowed back the words that tried to leap to her tongue.
“I can’t promise you the playoffs. From last place in the league to third place in the division will be… difficult, to say the least.”
“Then just make it so we’re not a laughingstock.”
A flash sparked in his eyes, which he quickly concealed.
“I know,” she said. “It’s silly, but—”
“Okay,” he said quietly.
She blinked at him. “Okay, yes? You’ll help me?”
“All I’m saying is that I’ll try. I’m not making any promises.”
Her heart soared. “I understand.”
“But I can’t do it alone.”
“You won’t have to. I’m all-in.” Just this once, she thought, to stop herself gagging on the words.
A reluctant smile played over his lips. “I think you might be crazy.”
She waved off his words. “Oh, for sure.” Then she stuck out her arm. “We have a deal?”
He stared down at her hand. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to refrain from touching you for the next fifty-five days.”
Fifty-five days. It sounded like an eternity.
He stepped around her and moved toward the front door. At the armchair, he drew up. His head bent, he reached out and lifted something off the armrest.
He twisted around to look at her with accusation in his eyes. “You stole my lucky T-shirt?”
“Wh-What?”
His hand came up and a white undershirt dangled from his fingertips. The one she’d taken from the inn in her fit of kleptomania. Though mostly faded now, the faintest hint of his earthy scent still lingered on the soft fabric.
“This is mine. It went missing the weekend of my brother’s wedding.” Heat but no anger simmered in his green-gold eyes. “You stole it.”
“I-I-I was in a hurry, and-and it was still half-dark. I must’ve grabbed it by mistake.” She swallowed her rambling lies.
He studied her, a calculating glint in his eyes.
“Take it.” She feigned disinterest. “Though you don’t strike me as the superstitious type. How many games has it won you?”
He scoffed. “I don’t need luck to win hockey games.”
She laughed at his audacity.
“That’s not why it’s my lucky T-shirt.”
“Why is it lucky, then?”
His hot gaze sent a spark sizzling through her. “I was wearing it the night I met you.”
The laughter died in her throat. “Oh.”
He moved close. His scent assailing her senses, he peered down into her face. His gaze lingered on her mouth.
“Fifty-five days,” he murmured, while the backs of his fingers caressed her cheek. Then his hand dropped away and he eased back. “If we make it that long.”
Turning, he crossed the foyer, and just before he disappeared through the heavy wood door, she glimpsed his delicious-smelling lucky T-shirt still clutched in his paw.
Chapter Fourteen
On New Year’s Day, the team was given a rare day off.
Except Jack never took a day off.
He climbed out of bed at 6:00 a.m. and went for a short five-mile run along the lakeshore. Back at his apartment, he drank a protein shake and watched some film on the Renegades’ division opponents. He meditated, and then he hit the apartment complex’s fifth-floor gym for a core workout. With his extra time, he ran through the sets to work out his chest and back muscles as well.
Before heading back upstairs to shower and watch more film, he rode the elevator down to the lobby. The doors pulled open and he stepped from the car as a soft ding sounded and another of the three pairs of elevator doors slid apart to reveal Haven.
She wore a brown leather coat with a fuzzy collar and tight blue jeans that showed off her shapely legs. He wondered what they did for her round ass.
She drew up when she saw him. “Jack, what are you doing here?”
He raised the key in his hand. “Checking my mail.”
Her huge brown eyes widened. “You live here? In this building?”
He smiled. “Yep.”
“Where?”
“Eighteenth floor.”
“Eighteenth….” She gave her head a small shake. “Were you going to tell me?”
He shrugged. “Why would I?”
“Because… because….” Her pink tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “If I’d known you were sleeping downstairs….”
His smile fell.
“I would’ve….”
He probably should warn her half the team lived in the building, which was owned by her father, but he didn’t want to be reminded of who her dad was just as the punch of lust knocked the breath from his body.
“What? What if you’d known?” he asked, desperate now to know.
“I would’ve….” She blinked slowly. “I would’ve asked you what you look for in a goalie.”
Disappointment slashed through him. “What do I look for in a goalie?” He repeated her question while his mind struggled to think clearly about anything other than her naked body. “Quick reflexes. Reaction time. Flexibility. Size doesn’t hurt.”
She fumbled for the bag hanging from her shoulder and dragged out a manila file folder. Flipping through it, her gaze scanned down one of the pages. “Is six-six good size for a goalie?”
“Very.”
“And for a defenseman? Is height important?”
Jack folded his arms over his chest. “What are you doing?”
“This is the Mayhem’s roster.” She pulled a paper from the folder and he glimpsed the logo of the Madison Mayhem, the minor league feeder team for the Renegades, at the top of the page. “I’m going to drive over and catch their game today.” Her dark eyes shone when she smiled up at him. “I guess we can take any of their players whenever we want to.”
“You’re going on a scouting trip?”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to see them play before I say anything to Darby.”
> He shot her a side-eyed glance. “You know how to assess hockey players?”
“Not at all.” She laughed. “I’m hoping someone will score a ton of goals or something and make it really obvious for me.”
His soft laughter mingled with hers. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
“Do you, uh, want to come with me?”
His first thought in response to her question had nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with her hot little body under his, but then he replayed her words in his mind to grasp that she was talking about attending a hockey game and not getting naked.
He hadn’t been to a hockey game as a pure spectator in, well, ever.
“Give me twenty minutes to shower and change?”
Her smile knocked him back a step. “Sure. I’ll wait for you.”
Twenty minutes later, Jack had dressed in a pair of blue jeans and an army green crew neck sweater. He finger combed his still-wet hair and snatched his coat off a dining chair. Sticking his arms in the sleeves, he crossed to the refrigerator and stuffed his pockets with a quart of chocolate milk, the other half of a sub sandwich left over from the previous night’s dinner, and a banana.
Back downstairs, he found Haven on a couch with the folder spread open on her lap. He followed her outside to an economical sedan.
The drive from Milwaukee to Madison should’ve taken an hour, but an hour into the trip they remained well outside the city. In the passenger seat, he stretched to get another glimpse at the speedometer.
The needle hovered below fifty.
“What time does the game start?” he asked casually.
“Four o’clock.”
“It’s four now.”
A white Cadillac flew by them, and Jack thought he glimpsed the white-haired driver flipping them the middle finger.
Her knuckles white on the steering wheel, Haven’s concentration was singular and intense. A bead of moisture broke out on her forehead.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
She nodded, her gaze darting between the road and the rearview mirror.
In the side mirror, he watched a semi ride up on them before whipping out and around them.
“You know, the speed limit on the interstate is seventy. If you wanted to pick it up—”