Face Off (The Baltimore Banners Book 10)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She blinked back the tears in her eyes and pressed another kiss against his mouth, this one softer, lingering. “As long as I have you, Ethan, I know I can get through anything. You’re all I need.”

  He gazed into the deep green of her eyes, felt himself falling even more as his heart burst inside him. He pulled her close, claimed her mouth his own, swept his tongue inside.

  Sweet, tantalizing. Full of promises. Life. Love.

  He fell back onto the blanket, cradling Cindy’s body with his own as he rolled with her. The kiss took on a life of its own, bringing them together as never before. Soft, sweet. So sweet.

  Friends, but so much more. Forever.

  He stretched out on top of her, his gaze holding hers as blue sky stretched above them. “I love you, Cindy.”

  And they made love in the shelter of their private paradise, under the clear blue sky as crystal water lapped at the soft sand surrounding them.

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  Tortola, British Virgin Islands

  Cindy eased out from under the covers, careful not to disturb Ethan as she padded across the plank floor in her bare feet. The door opened soundlessly, swinging in on well-oiled hinges. She stepped out onto the balcony and closed the door behind her, the soft click nothing more than a whisper in the night.

  She moved past the overstuffed patio furniture. The wood of the deck was still warm under her feet, the railing of the balcony smooth and comforting under her arms as she leaned against it.

  Darkness surrounded her, thick and warm, heavy with tropical perfume. She closed her eyes and breathed in, held the breath of air in her lungs until she thought they’d burst.

  Then she opened her eyes and gazed out into the darkness. At the expanse of water, shadowed by the night. Up to the sky, it’s midnight silk broken only by the sharp pinpricks of the stars.

  Darkness surrounded her. But not the darkness of before. This was different: quiet, peaceful, soothing. She closed her eyes and breathed in again, feeling. Clear. Sharp. Alive.

  She had slipped into the other darkness during these last two years, just once. But it hadn’t been as bad as that first time and she had made it through, knew she’d make it through again.

  Because of Ethan.

  Friends. Lovers. But so much more.

  Her other half.

  So much had happened these last two years. A whirlwind of life, of love. Adjustment. Learning to deal with the separation that came with being a hockey wife, learning to enjoy every moment when they were together.

  And growing stronger because of it. Knowing she was stronger now. That their love was stronger.

  And learning to deal with a different kind of disappointment, a different kind of heartbreak.

  The Banners had made it so close last year, losing to Nashville in a heartbreaking Game 6 of the final round.

  And this year…this year they hadn’t made it past the first round, being swept by Carolina in four surprisingly quick games. She had thought Ethan would be more disappointment, was surprised when he merely smiled and said it would give them more time to spend together this summer.

  Time to spend with each other. Time to spend in the new house, time they hadn’t had before.

  Two years later, and Cindy still couldn’t believe he’d gone through with it. But he had, drawing up plans and then scratching them, starting over a dozen times until finally deciding on what he wanted.

  No, what they wanted.

  And dealing with all the unexpected obstacles and delays that came with building in such a secluded, overgrown spot of paradise.

  But they’d done it. And it was beautiful. Perfect. A private oasis just for them, filled with unspoken promises and bursting with love.

  Just like her own heart.

  She heard the door open behind her, smiled when Ethan’s hands slipped around her waist and rested on her growing belly. She leaned against him, sighing when he pressed a kiss against her neck.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was soft, filled with need and desire. She folded one hand over his and slid it to the side, pressing in. He laughed, a small sound of wonder when the baby kicked in response.

  “No. Your son has been doing somersaults all night.”

  “You mean your daughter.”

  Cindy smiled but didn’t contradict him, not this time.

  The night settled around them, cloaking them in its warm shadow, the sound of the water humming a gentle lullaby as it lapped against the sandy beach. Ethan’s arms tightened around her. Warm. Secure.

  “You should try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You shouldn’t overdo it.”

  “He’s not due for another two months. I’ll be fine.” And she would be—her obstetrician and her therapist had both assured her of that. It was early June. Plenty of time.

  “I still want you to take it easy when everyone gets here. No hiking or swimming or—”

  Cindy turned in his arms and cut him off with a kiss. “You worry too much.”

  “That’s what husbands do.”

  Cindy smiled and kissed him again then rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the warm scents of his body. “I know. But we’re not planning on having a huge party. We’re just going to take it easy while you men go out and do manly stuff. Like fishing or whatever it is you do.”

  Ethan chuckled, the sound rich and comforting in her ear.

  “Manly stuff? Yeah, okay.” He tightened his arms around her then sighed, the sound almost pouty. “I still don’t understand why you invited everyone down here.”

  “It’s not everyone. Just Maggie and Dillon and Christine. And Brad and his girlfriend. Corbin. My mom—”

  Ethan pulled back, his brows lowering over his eyes. “Is Corbin bringing someone?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Please don’t tell me—”

  “I don’t know. Honest.”

  “Retired or not, Ian will seriously kick his ass if he brings Lori down here. Hell, he’ll kick my ass.”

  “I don’t think he’s bringing her. Besides, they’re just friends.”

  “Just friends?” Ethan laughed, the sound almost choked. Then he tightened his arms around her and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. Cindy clung to him, her body melting into his, her breath coming in short gasps when he finally pulled away. His eyes, such a beautiful smoky blue, stared into hers. Filled with desire. With love.

  “Don’t you know by now that friends make the best lovers?” His voice wrapped around her, husky and filled with promise. She smiled and leaned up on her toes, her mouth brushing against his when she spoke.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should show me again.”

  And he did, right there on the oversized lounge as the stars watched from the midnight sky.

  ###

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  PLAYING THE GAME

  The York Bombers Book 1

  Harland Day knows what it’s like to be on rock bottom: he was there once before, years ago when his mother walked out and left him behind. But he learned how to play the game and survived, crawling his way up with the help of a friend-turned-lover. This time is different: he has nobody to blame but himself for his trip to the bottom. His mouth, his attitude, his crappy play that landed him back in the minors instead of playing pro ho
ckey with the Baltimore Banners. And this time, he doesn’t have anyone to help him out, not when his own selfishness killed the most important relationship he ever had.

  Courtney Williams’ life isn’t glamorous or full of fame and fortune but she doesn’t need those things to be happy. She of all people knows there are more important things in life. And, for the most part, she’s been able to forget what could have been—until Harland gets reassigned to the York Bombers and shows back up in town, full of attitude designed to hide the man underneath. But the arrogant hockey player can’t hide from her, the one person who knows him better than anyone else. They had been friends. They had been lovers. And then they had been torn apart by misunderstanding and betrayal.

  But some ties are hard to break. Can they look past what had been and move forward to what could be? Or will the sins of the past haunt them even now, all these years later?

  Turn the page for a preview of PLAYING THE GAME, the launch title of a brand-new hockey series, now available.

  The third drink was still in his hand, virtually untouched. He glanced down at it, briefly wondered if he should just put it down and walk away. It was still early, not even eleven yet. Maybe if he stuck it out for another hour; maybe if he finished this drink and let the whiskey loosen him up. Or maybe if he just paid attention to the girl draped along his side—

  Maybe.

  He swirled the glass in his hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a long sip of mostly melted ice. The girl next to him—what the fuck was her name?—pushed her body even closer, the swell of her barely-covered breast warm against the bare flesh of his arm.

  “So you’re a hockey player, right? One of Zach’s teammates?”

  Her breath held a hint of red wine, too sweet. Harland tried not to grimace, pushed the memories at bay as his stomach lurched. He tightened his grip on the glass—if he was too busy holding something, he couldn’t put his arm around her or push her away—and glanced down. The girl looked like she was barely old enough to be in this place. A sliver of fright shot through him. They did card here, right? He wasn’t about to be busted picking up someone underage, was he?

  She had a killer body, slim and lean with just enough muscle tone in her arms and legs to reassure him that she didn’t starve herself and probably worked out. Long tanned legs that went on for miles and dainty feet shoved into shoes that had to have heels at least five inches tall. He grimaced and briefly wondered how the hell she was even standing in them.

  Of course, she was leaning against him, her full breasts pushing against his arm and chest. Maybe that was because she couldn’t stand in those ridiculous heels. Heels like that weren’t meant for walking—they were fuck-me heels, meant for the bedroom.

  He looked closer, at her platinum-streaked hair carefully crafted in a fuck-me style and held in place by what had to be a full can of hairspray—or whatever the fuck women used nowadays. Thick mascara coated her lashes, or maybe they weren’t even her real lashes, now that he was actually looking. No, he doubted they were real. That was a shame because from what he could see, she had pretty eyes, kind of a smoky gray set off by the shimmery eyeshadow coloring her lids. Hell, maybe those eyes weren’t even real, maybe they were just colored contacts.

  Fuck. Wasn’t anything real anymore? Wasn’t anyone who they really claimed to be? And why the fuck was he even worried about it when all he had to do was nod and smile and take her by the hand and lead her out? Something told him he wouldn’t even have to bother with taking her home—or in his case, to a motel. No, he was pretty sure all he had to do was show her the backseat of his Expedition and that would be it.

  Her full lips turned down into a pout and Harland realized she was waiting for him to answer. Yeah, she had asked him a question. What the hell had she asked?

  Oh, yeah—

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I play hockey.” He took another sip of the watery drink and glanced around the crowded club. Several of his teammates were scattered around the bar, their faces alternately lit and shadowed by the colored lights pulsing in time to the music.

  Jason pulled his tongue from some girl’s throat long enough to motion to the mousy barmaid for a fresh drink. His gaze caught Harland’s and a wide grin split his face when he nodded.

  Harland got the message loud and clear. How could he miss it, when the nod was toward the girl hanging all over him? Jason was congratulating him on hooking up, encouraging him to take the next step.

  Harland took another sip and looked away. Tension ran through him, as solid and real as the hand running along his chest. He looked down again, watched as slender fingers worked their way into his shirt. Nails scraped across the bare flesh of his chest, teasing him.

  Annoying him.

  He put the drink on the bar and reached for her hand, his fingers closing around her wrist to stop her. The girl looked up, a frown on her face. But she didn’t move her hand away. No, she kept trying to reach for him instead.

  “What’d you say your name was?”

  “Does it matter?” Her lips tilted up into a seductive smile, full of heated promise as her fingers wiggled against his chest.

  Did it matter? It shouldn’t, not when all Harland had to do was smile back and release her hand and let her continue. Or take her hand and lead her outside. So why the fuck was he hesitating? Why didn’t he do just that? That was why he came here, wasn’t it? To let go. Loosen up. Hook up, get things out of his system.

  No. That may be why Jason and Zach and the others were here and why they brought him along—but that wasn’t why he was here. So yeah, her name mattered. Maybe not to him, not in that sense. He just wanted to know she was interested in him and not what he did. That he wasn’t just a trophy for her, a conquest to be bragged about to her friends in the morning.

  He gently tightened his hand around her wrist and pulled her arm away, out of reach of his chest. “Yeah. It matters.”

  Something flashed in her eyes—surprise? Impatience? Hell if he knew. He watched her struggle with a frown, almost like she didn’t want him to see it. Then she pasted another bright smile on her face, this one a little too forced, and pulled her arm from his grasp.

  “It’s Shayla.” She stepped even closer, running her hand along his chest and down, her finger tracing the waistband of his jeans.

  He almost didn’t stop her. Temptation seized him, fisting his gut, searing his blood. It would be easy, so easy.

  Too easy.

  Then a memory of warm brown eyes, wide with innocence, came to mind. Clear, sharp and almost painful. Harland closed his eyes, his breath hitching in his chest as the picture in his mind grew, encompassing soft brown hair and perfect lips, curled in a trembling smile.

  “Fuck.” His eyes shot open. He grabbed the girl’s hand—Shayla’s—just as she started to stroke him through the worn denim. Her own eyes narrowed and she made no attempt to hide her frown this time.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was sharp, biting.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Her hand twisted in his grip. Once, twice. “Zach told me you needed to loosen up. That you were looking for a little fun.”

  Zach had put her up to this? Harland should have known. He narrowed his eyes, not surprised when the girl suddenly stiffened. Could she see his distaste? Sense his condemnation? He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear, his voice flat and cold.

  “Maybe you want me to whip my cock out right here so you can get on your knees and suck me off? Have everyone watch? Will that do it for you?”

  She ripped her hand from his grasp and pushed him away, anger coloring her face. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  Harland straightened and fixed her with a flat smile. “You’re right. I am.”

  She said something else, the words too low for him to hear, then spun around and walked away. Her steps were short, angry, and he had to bite back a smile when she teetered to the side and almost fell.

  Loathing filled him, leaving him cold and empty. N
ot loathing of the girl—no, the loathing was all directed at himself. What the fuck was his problem?

  The girl was right: he was a fucking asshole. A loathsome bastard.

  Harland yanked the wallet from his back pocket and pulled out several bills, enough to cover whatever he’d had to drink and then some. He tossed down the watered whiskey, barely feeling the slight burn as it worked its way down his throat. Then he turned and stormed toward the door, ignoring the sound of his name being called.

  He should have gone home, back to the three-bedroom condo he was now forced to share with the sorry excuse that passed for his father. But he wasn’t in the mood to deal with his father’s bullshit, not in the mood to deal with anything. So he drove, with no destination in mind, needing distance.

  Distance from the spectacle he had just made of himself.

  Distance from what he had become.

  Distance from who he was turning into.

  But how in the hell was he supposed to distance himself…from himself?

  Harland turned into a residential neighborhood, driving blindly, his mind on autopilot. He finally stopped, eased the SUV against the curb, and cut the engine.

  Silence greeted him. Heavy, almost accusing. He rested his head against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need to look around to know where he was, didn’t need to view the quiet street filled with small houses that showed years of wear. Years of life and happiness and grief and torment.

  “Fuck.” The word came out in a strangled whisper and he straightened in the seat, running one hand down his face. Why did he keep coming here? Why did he keep tormenting himself?

  She didn’t want to see him, would probably shove him off the small porch if he ever dared to knock on the door. He knew that, as sure as he knew his own name.