by Sara Rider
14
It had been a hell of a long time since Nick’d had the chance to engage in some highly physical stress relief with a beautiful woman that didn’t involve getting naked, but it got the job done. His mind was clearer than it had been in ages. More importantly, Jillian looked like she’d managed to finally unwind. She’d checked her phone the moment they got into the cab for the ride home but stuck it back in her purse without responding to any calls or emails.
“You still have one more question,” he said as their cab pulled onto a major throughway.
“I know. I was saving it for a good time.”
“Fire away. We’ve got at least fifteen minutes before we get back to the hotel.”
She looked at him pensively, spiking his curiosity. The questions she’d lobbed at him earlier hadn’t been too personal or intense, but he had a feeling she was about to surprise him. “Why do you fight so much? I know you’re a big guy, but you got to the NHL because of your skill, not your brawn. When did that change?”
He’d been asked a variation of that question hundreds of times in his career, but never with this kind of genuine interest. Most of the time, it was some obnoxious reporter or an opposing team’s fan asking him why he was such a brute, and usually his answer was just as flippant as the question. For the first time, he actually wanted to give an honest answer. “After my mom died, a lot of people felt sorry for us. But then Dad turned into the town drunk and that sympathy dried up pretty quickly. We became the misfit family. The town nuisance. Most people left me alone because of my size, but Ben wasn’t so lucky. The thing about small towns is that you can’t always count on the teachers and cops and all the other people who are supposed to protect the vulnerable kids. Things got worse after I was drafted into the minors. Roughing up his bullies whenever I came home for a visit was the only way to help Ben.”
“You protect those you care about,” she said softly.
“It’s not like I want to be that guy, but it’s a hard instinct to unlearn. When I joined the Vipers, they didn’t have any big players in the enforcer role. I was so fucking grateful that they kept me from going back to the minors that I was willing to do whatever it took to be a part of the team. Over the years, the guys started to count on me to be the one who keeps the shitheads on the ice from pulling the cheap plays or causing unnecessary injuries. It’s not who I am, it’s just what I’ve been asked to become.”
“You’re a complex man, Nick. A lot more than you let on.”
“I’m also a hungry man. How about a bottle of wine and room service tonight?”
“Okay, that’ll give us a chance to go over the details of tomorrow’s photo shoot. Also, you’re buying.”
“Deal.”
The room service menu at the hotel had only a single type of wine available: red and cheap. The food menu was just as sparse, limited to a half dozen items that were all accompanied by fries or a garden salad, but Jillian didn’t seem to mind. The only indication that the meal was below her usual standard was the way her face scrunched up like she’d just tasted a lemon when she took her first sip of wine.
Nick didn’t know much about wine, considering he only drank the stuff when Ben was visiting, but it tasted fine to him. Or maybe it was his good mood tricking his taste buds. Jillian was sitting on his bed cross-legged, finally letting go of her serious work persona and relaxing. A round white plate with a burger and fries was nestled in her lap, and she had a splotch of ketchup on the side of her lip.
He’d tell her about that eventually.
For now, he planned to let himself relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. Until that first run down the mountain this afternoon, he hadn’t realized how tense he’d become trying to follow her rules and stay out of trouble. But with his team back in New York and a couple of days off away from the drama, he finally had the chance to breathe again.
“You should’ve told me you were so hungry. We could have stopped at a drive-through,” he said as she chomped down on another giant bite of her hamburger.
“I’m not starving. I just hardly get the chance to eat sitting down. And when I do, it’s usually in a business meeting, where I have to eat things like arugula salad and tofu steaks. I rarely get to just eat.”
She shoved three fries into her mouth with a moan that made his cock twitch. He leaned forward in his chair, trying to hide the signs of his discomfort. “Well, you might want to think about slowing down. I never learned the Heimlich.”
“Does it bother you that I’m eating like a linebacker right now?”
Her defiant expression suggested she was more curious than offended, so he answered honestly. “No. But it horrifies me that you would compare yourself to a football player.”
“What’s wrong with football?”
Nick wiped his hands on a white linen napkin and brought the bottle of wine over to her. “It’s not hockey.”
She held her glass up for a refill. “Is hockey the only sport you’ve ever played?”
“I grew up in a town called Blades,” he said, looking down at her small frame on the mattress. The image of her perched on his bed stirred his desire so much, he almost overfilled the glass, catching himself at the last moment. “There was no other option. What about you?”
“Me?” She looked at him like he’d spoken another language. “No, no, no. I didn’t even have to make excuses to get out of gym class in grade school. The teacher just let me be in charge of dividing the other students into two teams from the time I was seven. Sometimes I’d even get to be part of the lesson planning, but after three volleyballs to the nose I never had to actually play anything.”
He set the wine bottle on the nightstand and took a seat next to her on the bed. Her body tilted toward him from his weight pressing down on the mattress, like a teasing hint of how easy it would be to fall into the bed with her. “It’s a shame you don’t have the physical skill because you have the ruthlessness and acumen for strategy of an all-star. You’re like a tiger.”
She laughed, dropping her head downward. “I’ve been told that before. But the truth is, I’m not a tiger. Sometimes I feel like a duck. Smooth and calm on the surface, but paddling furiously below the water just to stay afloat.” She lifted her head and looked him right in the eye. “That makes me sound crazy, doesn’t it? You know what? Forget I ever said that.”
The tiny hint of vulnerability in her voice nearly broke him. Screw the rules. He couldn’t listen to her open up and not react. He set his hand on top of her shoulder, squeezing gently. She didn’t shrug him off or react with disgust. “I think it makes you human.”
“I think I need to remember that more often.” He rubbed his thumb along the tense muscle at the base of her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her sweet lips. She melted into his touch like a purring cat with her eyes shut. “These red-eye flights kill me. Next time I’m booking a spa day afterward, no matter what it costs. I need a massage desperately.”
“I’ll do it for free,” he said like an idiot caveman before he could stop himself. Her eyes flew open, and her mouth parted. He stilled his hand, waiting for her surprise to wear off and her true reaction to become clear.
She swallowed visibly. “I—”
Her phone rang.
She jumped off the bed, set her dishes on the table, and fished the phone out of her purse.
Nick curled his hand—still burning with the urge to touch her—into a fist and scraped it along the edge of his jeans while she spoke. It was clear the call agitated her, but there was no anger in her voice, just resigned annoyance.
She ended the call after a short minute and swore.
“What’s the matter?”
“Lou Parsons just stole another client out from under me.” She ran her hand through her hair and paced the room. “How is that even possible?”
Ignoring the fact that it was a rhetorical question, he said
, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a big shot. Probably has his hands in a lot of pockets.”
Frustration radiated from her body as her pacing sped up. “This is the third time it’s happened. Julia Duarte is a Brazilian soccer player whom I’d been negotiating entry for into the American Women’s Soccer League. She’s a spectacular player, but Parsons doesn’t represent any soccer players, much less females whose annual salary is less than what he makes in a month. This is definitely personal. He doesn’t want me to run for the board. If I lose one more client, I’m no longer eligible for membership, much less candidacy in the election. But the one thing I can’t figure out is how he’s doing it.”
“Let’s talk about it. Maybe I can help.” He stood up, driven by the urge to comfort her again, but she darted away from him, grabbing her purse and marching to the door.
“No, I need to take care of this myself. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with more details for the photo shoot. Get some sleep tonight, because we can’t screw this up.”
The door slammed behind her.
Sleep. Right. Good fucking luck.
15
Jillian smoothed her gray skirt down her thighs and told herself to quit being a coward. There were only three hours before their flight, and she and Nick needed to get a move on. But first she needed to knock on his damn door. She’d been a fool last night, opening up and confiding in him. Letting him touch her. Wanting him to touch her.
It was so much easier to ignore the way he made her body react like fireworks were exploding in her core when the attraction was only physical. Getting to know him—like him—was much more dangerous. She’d had a rough night finalizing the last few details of the endorsement deal with Primal Man cologne and dealing with Parsons’s deception, but she’d also managed to have fun with Nick. They’d opened up to each other.
She knew what he’d been offering the moment he touched her on the bed last night. It would’ve been so easy to take what she needed from him and melt all that stress away. He didn’t push or demand. He was letting her take the lead, and goddammit, she’d wanted him in that moment.
Which was a mistake. He was her client, not her lover. She needed to keep her focus on his career, not his body. Besides, what would Parsons do if he found out she slept with her own client? There’s no way he wouldn’t use that against her in the election.
She steeled her courage and rapped her knuckles against Nick’s door.
It swung open almost instantly, causing her cheeks to flush. Had Nick been watching her hesitate like an insecure child this whole time? He stood in the doorway wearing only jeans and a black T-shirt. God, even his bare feet were sexy.
She cleared her throat and lifted up the shaving kit she’d bought this morning, putting up her wall of impersonal professionalism between them.
“What’s that?” Nick asked warily. His hand rubbed along his scruffy jaw almost as if by instinct.
“They want you clean-shaven for the shoot this afternoon. I would’ve booked you into the hotel salon, but they don’t service men, and, frankly, I don’t trust that they actually follow industry standards for cleanliness.”
“I’m not shaving my beard.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed her way past him into the room. “Yes, you are. We’ve already talked about your need for an image reboot. Right now, you’re a mullet away from the 1980s. You’ve managed to change your game in the last few weeks to show just how much skill you have. Changing your look is the next step in disassociating your name from the term ‘hockey goon.’ If we want this campaign to make the splash it needs to, then we have to get the public’s attention the best way we can. That means the beard needs to go.”
God, she was such a liar. That short, well-kept beard was one of the sexiest things about the man. All it took was one quick memory of it scraping against her chin and jaw to make her wet enough to explode.
He flashed a dark grin. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t change my look. I said I won’t shave my beard. This isn’t a fashion statement. I grow it because every time I tried to shave it, I ended up with scratchy red bumps and cuts. I doubt that’s the look Primal Man is going for.”
Well, shit. “You’re probably not doing it right. You have to shave with the grain and use high-quality foam and aftershave.”
“Be my guest.” He reached a hand behind his head to the collar of his T-shirt and yanked it off, tossing it carelessly onto the bed.
Her throat went so dry, it felt like she’d swallowed steel wool. Strong muscles padded his broad shoulders and arms. His abs were sharply defined, begging her to trace her tongue along them until she reached those incredible V-shaped ridges above his hips that sloped downward below his jeans. A purple bruise on his ribs marred his naturally tan skin, but it didn’t diminish his attractiveness. He was an athlete—powerful and unbearably tough. She wanted to touch him everywhere and feel his strength.
She shook her head softly, trying to snap herself out of the fantasy. She was a professional and this was just part of the job. A highly unusual, unpredictable job, but that’s exactly why she loved being an agent. “Grab a seat.”
She went to the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in hot water, then came back out and set the shaving kit on the desk next to the chair where Nick sat. “Put this on your face.”
He complied while she grabbed a large towel to cover his shoulders.
“All right, let’s do this,” she said with false confidence, stepping between his long, outstretched legs. She removed the warm washcloth, dispensed a mound of shaving cream into her hand, and hesitated. He looked up at her with so much heat burning in his eyes, she thought she might combust.
Ignore it, Nichols.
She swiped the foam along his skin and sucked in a breath when she felt his jaw flex beneath her fingers. His hands curled into fists above his thighs, like he was battling the urge to grab her waist. Holding her breath helped her finish the job. She picked up the razor next and tilted his head backward.
“Do you trust me?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood and dissolve some of the sweltering tension.
“The real question is do you trust yourself?”
Heat rolled down her spine. “Of course.”
Their cab was coming in twenty minutes, and one thing she knew how to do unfailingly was get a job done under pressure. She stroked the blade along his sideburns first, removing every last trace of facial hair until only smooth, golden skin remained. But even though she held the blade, he was the one who was really in control. Every smoldering look he gave her made her breathing speed up, peeling back another layer of her resistance. At least she managed to keep her hand steady.
Until it was time to shave his neck. There was no way to reach the angle she needed without bracing herself against him. She tilted his head back, then settled her hand along the edge of his throat with her thumb pressed against the top of his collarbone. He inhaled sharply and tightened his legs around hers, trapping her in place.
The moment was so charged, the heat between them could light up the entire city.
“Almost done,” she said roughly, trying to ignore the way the coarse denim of his jeans scraped against her outer thighs as she leaned in.
By the time she finished, her knees were on the verge of buckling. She stepped backward to admire the end result from a safe distance. The change was more dramatic than she’d anticipated, but it did nothing to lessen his appeal. The clean-shaven jaw drew more attention to his lips in a way that only heightened his potent masculinity. Most importantly, there were no nicks or red bumps in sight.
“Like what you see?”
Too much. Way too much. “It’ll do. Finish up with a cold washcloth and some aftershave, then meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”
She spun around and walked as fast as her high heels would carry her to the door, needing to escape before she did something stupid.
> Nick’s hand snuck around her waist as she reached the door, pulled her back into his chest. Every nerve in her body electrified under his possessive touch.
“This isn’t over, Jillian,” he whispered, making her shiver so hard, he had to have felt her body tremble against his. “We’re going to talk about this. Soon.”
She dashed out the door without another glance the instant he let her go. She didn’t know if his words were a threat or a promise, but the most disturbing part was that deep down, she didn’t care.
16
Jillian would never admit it out loud, but she always expected every deal—from the smallest promotional appearance to the multimillion-dollar contracts—to end in disaster. That roller-coaster feeling in her gut was one of the best parts of her job, but when things did go sour, it was also the worst.
A part of her worried that thrusting a gruff man like Nick before a camera in an expensive suit was a huge mistake, especially since she could barely bring herself to coach him on the flight to LA, much less speak to him. But every time he angled his head or subtly tilted his body, the photographer squealed with delight. Nick was a natural. His bone structure was insane, and while he wasn’t posing in the over-the-top way of someone who’d grown up watching America’s Next Top Model, his subtle movements oozed with the kind of raw sex appeal that made her panties wet. The perfect blend of rugged sexiness and sophistication. Exactly what she’d promised he would deliver.
After almost twenty minutes of solo shots inside the simple gray warehouse, Evan, the shoot director, called for a female model waiting in hair and makeup to join Nick on set. The tall, buxom brunette sidled up to him, hips swaying in her skintight black dress, pouting her thick lips, and Jillian wasn’t jealous at all. Not one little bit.
Or at least that’s the lie she’d have to keep repeating to prevent herself from marching over there and pulling the model’s perfectly styled, luscious brown curls while she stood in front of Nick with her back to his chest. The brunette beauty arched her torso and cupped the back of his neck, drawing all the attention to her ample bosom.