Razors Ice 04 - Hot Ice

by Rachelle Vaughn

  “Why don’t you call them what they really are? Housecalls.”

  “Because it sounds more professional this way.”

  Violet frowned. “Wait, I thought you usually gave me the housecalls, er out-call sessions or whatever.”

  “I do, but when it comes to celebrities, I have to make exceptions. You have an appointment coming in anyway.”

  “Celebrity?” Since when did they have any celebrity clients?

  “Hockey players are considered celebrities in this town.”

  It was true. LA had movie stars and television personalities and Red Valley had the Razors.

  “Which one?” Violet asked. Her stomach did a flip-flop at the thought of massaging Jace again. Despite taking matters into her own, ahem, hands the other night, the craving still remained.

  “Well, it looks like I get to see your hot, hunky hockey player again.”

  Violet’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?” Her voice raised an octave. “You’re going to his house?”

  “Yup,” Patricia answered smugly. “Hence the word house call. Turns out, Jace McQuaid has a cabin out on August Lake.”

  Oh, Violet remembered that from her ride to the gas station with him, all right. She sighed wistfully. The word “cabin” conjured up images of evening romps on a bearskin rug in front of a blazing fire. Cuddling naked under a patchwork quilt on a knotty pine framed bed, feeding each other roasted marshmallows and licking the sticky sweetness off each other’s fingers…

  Violet got up, planted her hands on her hips and blocked Patricia’s path to the door. “Trade appointments with me.”

  Patricia made a face and clutched the paper with Jace’s information protectively to her chest. “Uh-uh,” she shook her head. “No way.”

  Violet chewed on her lip, contemplating a bargaining chip. “What if I take Mr. Molinari for the next…month?”

  Mr. Molinari was a regular client they always complained about massaging because of his ultra-hairy back and shoulders. He was a bit of a chatterbox, too, and had a habit of talking your ear off by the time the session was over. Violet cringed at the thought of all of that back hair getting matted up in the oil.

  Patricia cocked her head to the side. “Wow, Vi, you must be losing your mind. Do you know what kind of trade you’re offering?”

  “Yes,” Violet answered confidently. “Now, please, please, please let me go in your place.”

  Patricia’s brows knit together. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Patricia raised a brow. “What makes you want to see him again so badly?”

  Violet shrugged, keeping her poker face firmly in place. “Only the fact that I can use deep tissue massage techniques without worrying he’ll shatter into a million frail pieces.”

  Phew! Thanks to some quick thinking, she actually sounded convincing. Patricia would never let Violet go in her place if she knew the real reason why.

  “Well, all right,” Patricia relented after what seemed like an eternity.

  With a smug smile, Violet snatched the piece of paper out of her hand.

  Hump Day had never looked so promising.

  * * *

  Violet gripped the steering wheel and breathed deeply. She knew she was going to have to reel in her lascivious thoughts. Pronto. This visit was strictly business, no matter what kind of attraction she thought she felt toward Jace McQuaid earlier that week.

  Strictly business. She couldn’t afford to forget that.

  Fifteen minutes north on the interstate later, with Patricia’s scribbled directions in hand, Violet navigated her way through the sleepy, historic town of August Lake. She had a full tank of gas and absolutely no handle on her raging libido. The full tank was good. The libido was very, very bad.

  Patricia and Violet didn’t normally travel too far out of the city limits for house calls or “out-call massage sessions,” but exceptions were made for professional hockey players who could potentially bring in big business and who potentially made the knees weak of one said massage therapist.

  Violet wished she’d been there to take Jace’s call when he’d switched the locations of the appointment. He probably had a great phone voice, too.

  Unfortunately, Patricia had insisted that Violet put the office phone number on her business cards instead of her cell so that Patricia could remain in charge of all appointments. Control freak.

  Once past the lone auto shop, bank, supermarket and a few mom and pop stores, the road curved and started winding its way toward the lake. Manzanita bushes with their twisted branches grabbed at her car and Violet took the turns with extra care. When it finally came into view, August Lake’s blue water was surrounded by a red clay shore and every kind of oak, pine, and fir tree indigenous to California.

  Violet had good memories of this place. Growing up, she and her family had vacationed at the lake all the time. Her parents would rent a houseboat for a week in the summer and they’d all swim, fish and barbeque to their hearts’ content. She and her brothers would do cannonballs into the water from the boat and they’d return home with fabulous tans and sun-streaked hair. Those were the days. Before they grew up and became drudges to their jobs and respective lives. Everything had been simpler then. Now that Violet was working more than ever, she hadn’t been out to the lake in years. She hadn’t been anywhere that wasn’t a housecall and that was downright depressing.

  In fear of missing her turn, Violet switched her focus back to the road. Snow clung to tree branches where the sunlight didn’t reach and eventually the road curved, causing her to lose sight of the lake.

  She looked at the directions and deciphered the next left turn as Old Mountain Trail. So long Boulevards, Streets and even Roads. Nope, this was the part of the county for Trails and Lanes.

  Violet chuckled to herself. Here she was miles from civilization in search of hockey’s most gorgeous hunk on a hunch. Had she imagined the sparks that circulated between them? Had she dreamt the lust he stirred inside her?

  After countless miles of twisty mountain road, Violet was almost ready to turn back and call it a day. But she really wanted to see Jace again. Duh, or else she wouldn’t have been willing to be stuck with Mr. Molinari and his hairy backside for weeks on end. What had she been thinking to make that kind of a trade with Pats? Well, honestly, she’d been thinking of Jace’s shoulders and that smooth muscular back and…

  Besides, Jace’s house had to be somewhere around here. If she had to turn over every pine cone and boulder, Violet would find it. Him or Sasquatch, whichever came first. For the sake of her sanity, she hoped Jace’s house was close.

  She drove past Highland Ridge Circle, then Lake Forest Road and swerved when she almost hit a squirrel…or maybe it was a chipmunk. What was the difference between the two anyway? Either way, the little creature was small and furry and scampered off into the forest.

  “Sorry Alvin!” she yelled.

  After another mile, Violet gripped the steering wheel tighter and cursed her partner. How was it that everything about Patricia was prim, proper and positively perfect, except for her penmanship? Pats really should have been a doctor. She already had the handwriting perfected.

  Violet scanned the directions again. Patricia’s gobbledygook writing told her to turn right on Aqual Rays Way. Or was it Allgeet Koys Way? The lush greenery and heavy pine trees had declared war on the street signs, covering them with their thick branches so Violet couldn’t read the signs anyway. She searched for street signs and thought about how that GPS navigational device she was saving for sure would have come in handy right about now.

  Slowing, she looked down at the paper again. Was that a G or a Q?

  “Does it make a difference?” she mumbled. The only word she could make out was “way” and that was a stretch. It could have easily been “luau” or “wog,” but Violet was putting her money on “way.”

  “All right, August Lake. Show me the “way”!”

  Soon, Violet began h
aving serious doubts about her location. She took out her cell phone only to realize she had no reception on the back roads of the Northern California woods. Great. Her tongue-lashing to Patricia would have to wait.

  She hadn’t seen a single person since the town of August Lake and even if she did find someone to ask directions—a yokel old man in a rocking chair on his porch perhaps—what would she say?

  “Hi, I’m looking for Airquote Way?”

  Or “Could you tell me how to get to Armpit Rags Way?”

  “Oh, sure,” he’d reply. “Just take a left on Hootenanny Boulevard, just before the corner of Picklepuss and Smarmy Streets.”

  The wind started to pick up and a handful of white flakes flew into her windshield. Uh-oh.

  “Is that snow?” she asked no one in particular. “Oh, no. We’re not in Red Valley anymore, Alvin.”

  Up ahead, a street sign came into view and she leaned forward to get a closer look. Was that a W?

  “W…wa…way…there it is!” she announced to the trees. August Keys Way. “That has to be it. If not, I’m sure the Search and Rescue team will find me in a day or two.”

  She took the turn and when she came around the bend, she saw the lake first—her first up-close glimpse of it anyway—and then she saw the cabin. It sat about a hundred feet from the water, nestled into the tall Ponderosa pines like it was a part of the landscape. August Lake had over 300 miles of shoreline and Jace McQuaid had managed to get his hands on a magnificent piece of it.

  So this was the August Keys. A breathtaking view of Mt. August, lush sprawling landscape and sand beach. This wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother’s cabin. This place was custom to the max.

  When Patricia had told her Jace had a house on August Lake, she’d meant on August Lake. The cabin was just steps from the water and August Lake was practically his front yard. There was a boat dock and the most beautiful view Violet had ever seen.

  She looked for Jace’s SUV but didn’t see it anywhere. It was probably parked inside the three car garage. Yet she didn’t need to see his car or look at the address numbers next to the door to know it was Jace’s cabin. It looked like somewhere he would live. It sort of reminded Violet of him. Big, solid and strong with stone columns in front and composite decking.

  It was so peaceful here. The perfect place to relax and heal from injury.

  The perfect place to begin an illicit affair, she thought wickedly. Was there such a thing as an affair that wasn’t illicit?

  Great. Here Violet had only known Jace for a short time—hours, really—and she was already having warm and cozy thoughts about him.

  Reminding herself again that her visit was strictly business, Violet gathered her wits about her and parked in the driveway.

  When she got out of her car, she inhaled the fragrant pine air. The air was chillier up here in the mountains. At least ten degrees colder. Snowflakes fluttered to the ground and a few of them even stuck to the pine needles on the ground. What a gorgeous place to live.

  Violet caught herself staring at the beautiful cabin and had to clamp her mouth shut for fear of looking like a slack-jawed idiot when she saw Jace.

  Strictly business.

  She hauled her massage table out of the trunk and up to the front door.

  Within seconds of knocking on the giant oak door, Jace swung it open and greeted her with a knee-weakening smile. “Hi,” he said.

  Part of him had been disappointed when Patricia took his call. He’d been looking forward to seeing hot little Violet again and now here she was. Standing on his doorstep looking like a gift from above.

  Violet’s breath hitched in her throat. He was as handsome as he’d been two days ago.

  No, wait. He was even more handsome today being at home in his own element.

  So she hadn’t imagined those broad shoulders, that lean torso, the twinkle in his eye. That invisible magnetism that pulled her to him. She was drawn to him like Senior citizens to Boca Raton, Florida.

  To make matters worse, sweat dotted his skin and he was wearing workout clothes. The thought of Jace working out and working up a sweat caused certain body parts to clench.

  “Hi,” she answered back after the long, shameless perusal of his body.

  “Did you find the place okay?” he asked.

  She snorted. “Honestly, I was beginning to think Pats sent me on a wild goose chase for Aunt Keyster Way!”

  His forehead wrinkled and she waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

  He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Next time it’ll be easier to find.”

  Next time? Violet didn’t know if her central nervous system could handle a next time. Oh, well. It would just have to. She was definitely looking forward to seeing him again. Now that she knew how to find him, there wasn’t anything standing between them. Except for maybe the fact that she was engaged.

  Details, shmetails.

  Jace noticed the huge table she was holding onto and went to grab it for her. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  “Oh, I’ve got it,” she told him and waved off his help.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some help with that thing? It’s bigger than you are.”

  She smiled. “No, thanks. I’ve been lugging this thing around town for years.”

  “Well, come on in and set it down then.”

  Devoid of any feminine touches, the inside of Jace’s mountain hideaway was masculine and comfortably functional. The living room was rustic, yet modern and had a stone fireplace, cathedral ceilings with long log beams, and tongue-and-groove wood ceilings. The furniture consisted of sturdy wood end tables, a big, mushy brown leather couch and a matching recliner in front of a big screen TV.

  “I was just working out and I’m sorta sweaty,” Jace explained. Just because he was injured didn’t mean he could stay home and slack off. “Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?” he asked.

  Immediately, Violet’s brain thought of all the ways a man could work up a sweat. Most of them involved being horizontal in a bedroom.

  She shook her head to chase the errant thought away and answered him. “No, I don’t mind at all. That would give me time to get everything set up.”

  Violet watched him disappear down the hall and stopped herself from following him. She wondered what his bedroom looked like and what his shower looked like and more importantly what he looked like inside the shower. She could faintly hear the shower turn on and imagined him stepping into it, sweaty and naked.

  She took a deep, calming breath and focused on the task at hand. She set up her massage table near the fireplace, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. It was the perfect setting for a relaxing massage.

  When everything was in place, Violet noticed the wall of framed photos near the hall and went over to admire them. Jace’s entire hockey career hung there, suspended in time. There were team photos, newspaper clippings, and even a framed draft jersey. The row of photos captured the moment when he won the Division Championship, Jace as two-time Sir Smythe Trophy winner and a young Jace when he was drafted into the league as a fourth-round draft pick.

  In the middle, framed in gold, was a team photo of the Ontario Thunder after they won the Gordie Prince Cup. Next to that was a snapshot of Jace holding and kissing the Cup, the magical chalice that every hockey player chased and dreamed of hoisting above their head in a victory lap around the ice.

  Violet’s chest tightened. It was a beautiful moment captured on film. The culmination of hard work, talent and loads of determination. She could only imagine what it must have been like to win the Cup in front of thousands of adoring fans. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear the roar of the crowd and the voices of Jace’s teammates congratulating each other. What would it be like to know such pure untainted success?

  She opened her eyes and wondered if Jace’s shoulder would hold out for him to win the Cup again. This time in Red Valley.

  Probably not, she t
hought sadly. The Razors rarely ever made it into the playoffs and whether he wanted to admit it or not, his injuries were catching up to him.

  Suddenly, the sound of running water turned off in the bathroom. Violet stood still, rooted to the wood floor and imagined Jace toweling off. Without even bothering to reign in her naughty imagination, she imagined fluffy white cotton scraping over his body, absorbing every last drop of moisture from his skin.

  A minute later, he came down the hall and stood behind her. She didn’t move away or turn to look at him and could smell his clean, fresh scent.

  “I was just admiring your career,” she said, looking at his reflection in the glass of one of the frames.

  “It’s been quite a ride.” His voice was low and husky like they were having an intimate conversation and not one about his hockey career.

  She could feel his breath hot on her neck and could smell the soap on his skin. “I remember this.” She ran her finger along the wooden frame. “You played for the Ontario Thunder when you won the Cup. I remember watching the game on TV with my brothers.”

  “It was the greatest day of my life.” He exhaled and once again his breath tickled her neck. “We battled for it all season long and when we finally won it…it was surreal. When I lifted the Cup over my head it was as light as a feather.”

  She turned around because she didn’t want to miss the emotion in those blue eyes when he spoke about his passion. He was wearing only a towel slung low on his hips. His black hair was wet and slicked back. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He was so close that she could see tiny droplets of water on his shoulder that the towel had missed. She bit down on her tongue to stop from leaning forward and licking them off.

  “I’ll never forget that feeling,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine. We were so happy to see someone from Red Valley win the Cup. Your parents must have been thrilled.” Yes, ask about his parents. Anything to distract from what was beneath that towel.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do they still live in Red Valley?” she asked, hoping to find out more about the man behind the hockey gear, or, er towel.