Mara nearly moaned in satisfaction, but she sighed instead, the sound quickly fading as she drifted off.
A few moments later, she yawned and stretched, then paused, frowning. How could she stretch her entire body out when she was basically lying on Zane? Licking her parched lips, moisture returning to her mouth, she pried her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling.
Right . . . Lying down, not lying on Zane. Definitely not in her room, so still at Zane’s house. Little bit of light from the wall of windows behind her. Not nighttime. And if the feeling in her mouth was any indication, she’d been sleeping for a lot longer than a few moments, and with her mouth wide open.
That would have been really attractive.
Oh good.
Blinking, Mara exhaled slowly, shaking her head against a pillow beneath her head. She’d fallen asleep, and fallen asleep hard, during the end of the hockey game. For whatever reason, Zane hadn’t seen fit to wake her up, which was going to throw off her entire morning routine . . .
Her eyes widened, and she sat up with a panicked gasp, looking around frantically for a clock of any kind. Morning-routine kinks were not good; she had timed everything out perfectly and was able to prepare for her day flawlessly on schedule, day in and day out. She was fifteen minutes from her place, had no scrubs in her car, and would either need a shower or some serious dry shampoo to be remotely presentable for work.
Not good. At all.
She jumped up from the couch and whirled around, wondering where in the world Zane kept a stupid clock when she caught sight of one.
6:43.
Oh crap.
“Gah!” she exclaimed, running into the kitchen and turning on the faucet, splashing some of the cold water onto her face. “Why why why why why?”
“Gonna need a little more than ‘why’ to answer the question,” a teasing voice came from the stairs.
Mara spun on the spot, glaring in Zane’s general direction even as water dripped from her face. “Why didn’t you wake me last night? Zane, I have to work!”
“I know,” he said simply as he continued to calmly pull his damp hair back into the small bun she was getting so used to. “I went on a run this morning and got you some coffee.” He pointed to the counter, but Mara didn’t look.
“Why?” she said again, grabbing a hand towel and dabbing her face.
He leaned against the stair railing with a maddening smile. “Because you were out last night and I didn’t want you driving home that tired. Because I didn’t feel like moving you off of me until I absolutely had to. Because you’re beautiful even in your sleep and tucking you in on my couch was surprisingly moving and incredibly hot.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Take your pick. All are true.”
Mara blinked at him, swaying where she stood just for a moment, letting that sink in. Then she shook herself, her brow snapping down. “Well, you’ve just made my morning insane.” She moved to the fridge and yanked it open, hoping he’d stuck the pizza in there. Sure enough, a box sat on the middle shelf, and she pulled it out just enough to open the lid and grab a slice. “Now I’m having cold pizza and coffee on the go for breakfast . . .”
“Okay . . .”
She balanced the precariously dangling slice in one hand as she closed the fridge, turning to swipe one of the coffees from the drink holder before she ran for the front door. “I have pretty much no time at home, which means either the fastest shower known to man or no shower at all. Do you know how hard it is to feel put together at the office without a shower? Impossible, that’s how hard.”
“My neighbor’s a cop, I can get you an escort home so you can speed,” Zane offered as he followed her, somehow still completely unflapped by her chaos.
“Ha!” She glowered at him as she balanced on one foot to slip her tennis shoes on without untying them. “Funny. Because that’s what I need, sirens and attention right now. Ugh!” She stumbled a little but got her balance before anything spilled. “Stupid shoes . . .”
She thought she heard Zane laugh, and she would have killed him if she’d had the time. “Can I help?”
“No,” she ground out, shoving her toes into the other shoe and digging her heel in hard. “I think you have done quite enough, Hot Stuff, and unless you can get to my place before me so you can toss scrubs on me as I drive by . . .” She shook her head, grunting with satisfaction as she finally got the second shoe on. “Finally. Okay, bye.”
She turned and wrenched the door open.
“Hey, Mara?”
“What?” she practically bellowed, whirling around, pizza in one hand, coffee in the other. “What, Zane?”
He was walking slowly towards her, a soft, crooked smile on his face. “You forgot something.”
“Oh really?” she shot back, though his slinking towards her was setting her toes on fire. “Imagine that. What did I forget?”
His smile quirked wider for a second before he took her face in his hands and tilted it ever so slightly as his lips touched hers. Slowly, tenderly, his mouth moved against hers, his thumbs stroking a fiery pattern against her cheeks while he wrung every ounce of sanity and thought from her. Again and again, he took her lips, never pressing for more but leaving no doubt in her mind that he was in this. He wanted this.
He wanted her.
Her legs shook, and just as she opened for more, he pulled back, her lower lip catching in his with a faint tug that made something explode behind her belly button.
Zane’s eyes searched hers, his breathing not quite steady, but calmer than hers. His thumbs stroked her cheeks again. “Thanks for coming over last night,” he whispered, his eyes dark and intense. “I loved it.”
Mara stared back at him, trying to remember what words were and what lungs did, while her legs tingled from top to bottom. She swallowed, or tried to, and blinked, backing away, reminding herself not to drop the pizza or coffee. Or trip, slip, pass out, or stagger as she tried to make an escape that wouldn’t be graceful or smooth even without incident.
“Okay,” she said stupidly, her face flaming.
Zane shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, smiling at her, and gave her a little wave that made her heart flip. “Don’t be late.”
Late? Late for . . . ?
Oh. Late. Right.
Mara blinked again, then turned and dashed down the porch, down the drive, managing to slide into her car and have it on within a minute. Two seconds later, her seatbelt was on and she was backing out of the driveway, decidedly not looking anywhere near the porch, front door, or house.
Zane had kissed her. Zane had kissed her.
Zane had kissed the ever-loving crud out of her, and she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, dance in the middle of the street, and lie on her bed and stare dreamily up at the ceiling while she relived every blistering moment of joy. She never wanted the tingling in her lips to fade, and she didn’t particularly care if her legs ever stopped shaking.
But she was an adult and she had to work, and there was nothing she could do about that. She had to focus, keep it together, and be professional.
She bit down on her lip hard, letting a squeal release.
Okay, maybe not that professional, and maybe not that much of an adult.
But Zane had kissed her.
And she hadn’t kissed him back. Not really, she’d just stood there and taken it.
Her eyes widened, and she gripped the steering wheel tightly. That kiss could have been better. Could be better. Could get better.
The soles of her feet suddenly began to heat as she considered that and as her imagination spun on the possibilities. Her stomach tensed, somehow linking into her lungs and forcing a harsh exhale from them.
This was going to build all day, and she would be an absolute mess by the end of it. Susan would be on her case when she was spacing out, but at this moment, Susan was the least of her concerns.
Zane Winchester was going to pay for upending her day and making her burn and burn and burn.
He wa
s going to pay in a serious way, and she would collect at his game tonight.
Provided Mara made it through the day.
Her lips buzzed again in anticipation.
“Hard! Hard! Hard!”
Zane thumped the side of the boards, whistling repeatedly to his teammates on the ice. They’d had their work cut out for them with the Flyers, and now they were solidly in the third period without either team making much headway in the game. They were equally matched as teams, despite key players that stood out in various ways, and every person on the ice was playing their heart out.
Things were getting tense out there, and cheap shots were being taken.
It said a lot that Zane wasn’t one of them.
He’d had his turn in the penalty box this game, of course. He just wasn’t taking cheap shots.
He much preferred making a statement.
“Heads up!” Zane bellowed as his friend Jax Emerson broke into the Hounds’ push on goal and swept the puck away. “Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!”
Vinny and Prom dropped back on defense while the forwards chased Jax as he plowed towards their goal. Prom moved up to intercept Jax but was neatly sideswiped by a Flyers winger as Jax easily swooped around him.
Zane shook his head with a scowl. Jax was a killer player, and it was clear the squad was having trouble shutting him up. Pike was having the game of his life in goal, only letting one of the Flyers’ attempts through, but they really needed to do a better job of keeping the puck from getting that far.
Vinny covered Pike nicely and managed to knock Jax off course with a solid hit as they scuffled for the puck. Some quick ricochets, then Kelso was able to sneak in and sweep the puck out of the danger zone.
“Boomer, Zamboni, up!” Coach Wink called.
Zane sprang over the wall in an instant, Boomer hard behind him as they moved out into the ice. They both hovered around center ice, waiting for the play to take a side. Kelso passed to Ramsey, who moved deep into the ice.
Too deep.
“Easy!” Boomer bellowed as he drifted ahead. “Whoa! Whoa!”
But Ramsey was slammed into the boards by the Flyers’ defense, the puck getting wrapped around the boards and coming up perfectly for Jax.
“Me,” Zane grunted, though only Boomer would hear him. “Mine, mine.”
He might have imagined it, but he thought Boomer chuckled.
Zane grinned slowly as Jax headed in his direction, starting to track his movements with some of his own. Jax was a tricky player, but years of practicing with him and against him at Northbrook, no matter how long ago, had left a muscle memory of sorts. Some habits were too hard to break, and if Zane’s instincts were correct . . .
He laughed once as the puck came back to Jax, who still didn’t seem entirely aware that Zane was out there.
Perfect.
Zane moved, weaving just enough to avoid targeting, then drove hard right at Jax.
Jax saw him, but too late, his eyes widening. “Oh sh—”
They collided hard into the boards, and Zane grunted as Jax’s late attempt at a block caught him square in the chest. That earned his friend a second charge into the plexiglass, this time with more force.
“Hi, honey,” Zane grunted, shoving off and heading for the goal, where Petey and Boomer tag-teamed the Flyer center, who’d managed to get the puck off Jax before impact.
He heard Jax roar behind him in a fired-up indignation, and he knew he wouldn’t get a second hard hit on him without payback. Jax was a solid guy, terrific player, but he was also a hothead when it served him.
It would serve him tonight.
Zane tapped the ice quickly and saw the puck cross over to him, almost like he’d called it. He scooped, swung away, and bit back a curse himself as Jax now charged at him. One glance at his teammates told him he couldn’t get it away easily on this side, and he immediately changed tactics.
And direction.
“Ollie! Ollie! Ollie!” he roared, cutting hard and racing back towards their own goal, the puck safely dribbling around his stick. He stuck close to the boards, eyes tracking incoming players, no matter who they played for, and he curved behind the goal, spitting quickly on the ice.
There was one problem with a retreat like this at a time like this.
Jax Emerson was one of the fastest guys on the ice.
And he was hot on Zane’s tail.
“Mine!” Boomer announced, coming around for the rescue.
Zane flicked the puck to him just as Jax rammed him into the boards.
“Tag,” Jax spat, practically bouncing off of him and keeping on the puck’s path.
A dark growl erupted from the center of Zane’s chest, and he bolted for Jax and Boomer, scuffling for the puck at the rear bar of the goal.
He jammed the toe of his stick between Jax’s legs and tapped the puck out of their tussle, managing to sweep it away, but just barely.
The motion tripped Jax up, sending him to the ice on his back, while Zane dropped back to avoid being toppled himself. Seconds later, another Flyers wing charged at Zane in outrage, shoving him into the boards despite not having the puck anywhere near his possession.
Zane grabbed the guy’s arm and launched him into the boards himself, more wanting to get the fool out of his way than start something.
But when a punch flew at his face, Zane snapped.
He whirled and grabbed the player’s jersey, his fingers digging even into the pads for a better grip. He drove hard, trying to throw the guy down to the ice with as much force as one might use in a charge. His opponent was quick on his feet, though, and swung for him again, only slightly losing his balance.
Zane all but roared and rammed the player into the plexiglass, wishing he was near a bench so he could dump the pest into it.
A whistle blew, and Zane groaned at the sound, his temper still high, but his common sense belatedly kicked in.
“Nate!” Jax roared as he hunched over nearby, watching in disgust. “Cool it!”
Something about that name triggered Zane, and he glanced at his seething opponent. “Nate, huh?”
He received a dark look in return.
Zane smiled. “Cute. You defend your teammate even though you’re nothing but a dirty hoser. You pay your coach to let you have five minutes on the ice, cupcake? Adorable. Maybe he’ll even remember your name this time.”
Nate snarled and charged at him again, but Zane ducked and backed away, hands raised.
The whistle blew again, and Nate almost got into a fight with the ref over the call.
It wasn’t the classiest move on the ice, but Zane wasn’t about to regret goading the kid into stupidity while the refs worked out the details of their fight. Natey-boy would get five minutes in the box, the Hounds would get a powerplay, and the Pit would light up their phones with various opinions on the subject. Dirty tactics, but it just might do the trick.
Zane exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he came around the goal again, surprisingly cool.
“Sweet moves, Z,” Pike chuckled, taking a swig of water from the bottle on his net. “Nasty.”
He nodded at the compliment but continued moving over to the faceoff area, eyeing any and all Flyers warily. They likely wouldn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of that penalty, no matter how they felt about Nate in particular.
“Dude.”
Zane snorted as he glanced over at Jax, hovering nearby. “Miss me?”
Jax glared, but Zane detected a smile beneath his friend’s ever-impressive beard. “Not nice.”
“Neither was his stunt with Meg.” Zane shrugged and rested his elbows on his thighs while he waited.
“That was two months ago, Z. Trust me, we worked it out.”
Zane smirked, looking at Jax again. “That was me working it out. I’m very sensitive to things like that.”
Jax rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s my girlfriend, Z. I got it.”
“I know you do. Doesn’t mean I can’t enforce it.”
“He’s still a punk.”
“But . . .” Jax cut off suddenly.
Zane raised a brow. “But what?”
“Nah.” Jax shook his head again. “You got me there. But I’d have pulled him off you if he got anywhere.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Zane groaned, craning his neck. “What is taking them so long?”
Jax scoffed softly, scooting closer. “Maybe they’re scrambling to find a penalty for you.”
“I was clean in that fight. Before the whistle, anyway.”
“Uh-huh.” The two of them shared a grin at that, knowing the truth.
The refs came over to faceoff now, and their attention returned to the game. “Loser buys dinner tonight,” Zane grunted.
“Winner gets dessert,” Jax shot back.
They clicked sticks on the bet, then charged forward as the puck dropped. Kelso scuffled with the Flyers’ center, eventually getting the puck over to Ramsey, who raced out of their zone into central ice, moving play out of danger.
Zane swept right, crossing the center line while he eyed the play. The Flyers’ front line swooped around, trying to cover for their teammate while he was on penalty, but the Kelso line was too quick and seemed to be continuously shooting on goal, though nothing was getting in.
A defender sent the puck up, trying to clear the ice, but Zane stopped it and swung it back into play, shoving Jax’s teammate as he tried to take it.
Petey almost lost the puck but managed to save it by driving into the boards and letting it drift back to Zane, who shot it over to center ice, where Kelso waited. He fired the puck at the goalie, but right at his pads for some reason. The puck ricocheted off, and Ramsey was there, slamming it into the goal just before the goalie could get all the way over.
The buzzer sounded, and the arena erupted with deafening cheers.
Zane whooped loudly and rushed in on Ramsey, tapping his helmet and shaking his pads with his excitement. Then Zane turned and gestured for the crowd to bring it up, to keep them energized, and they had no problem doing exactly that. Four minutes left in the third period, all they had to do was hold them off.
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