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Dear God. Why did she have to end up with a hockey player?

“Stop looking at me like that.” Hayden glared.

“Like what?” Brody said, blinking innocently.

“Like you’re imagining me naked.”

“I can’t help it. I am imagining you naked.”

His eyes darkened to a glitter, and liquid heat pooled between her thighs. She tried not to squeeze her legs together.

“I told you this morning I wanted to leave things at one night,” she protested.

He moved closer, his lips inches from her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck. “What about what I want?”

She resisted the urge to moan. If she wasn’t careful she’d hop right back into bed with Brody Croft.

And she’d love every sexy second of it….

Dear Reader,

I am absolutely thrilled about writing for Harlequin Blaze. Body Check is a story that’s been in my head for quite a while. It’s a dream come true to be able to share it with you!

Growing up in Canada, I suppose it’s not surprising that I ended up writing about our nation’s most beloved sport. After all, there’s nothing sexier than a hockey player. And, of course, no romance would be complete without a scandal or two!

I had a blast writing Body Check, from its initial conception to the research phase (where I pestered my hockey-playing buddies with questions ike “What really goes on in the locker room?”) to those final, finishing touches.

I hope you enjoy Hayden and Brody’s story, and I’d also love to hear from you! Drop me a line at www.ellekennedy.com or swing over to The Sizzling Pens at sizzlingpens.blogspot.com to see what some of my fellow Harlequin authors and I are blogging about!

Happy reading!

Elle Kennedy

Body Check
ELLE KENNEDY

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a B.A. in English from York University. From an early age she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was only a teenager. When she’s not writing, she’s reading. And when she’s not reading, she’s making music with her drummer boyfriend, oil painting, or indulging her love for board games. Elle loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at her Web site, www.ellekennedy.com, or stop by her blog, sizzlingpens.blogspot.com, to chat with Elle and her fellow Harlequin writers.

I could not have written this book without my

fantastic critique partners, Lori Borrill and

Jennifer Lewis, two incredible authors

in their own right, and the best support system

a girl could have.

I’d also like to dedicate this book to…

My family and friends, for not letting me give up.

Tyler, Amanda and Brad, for all their help

with this story.

My fabulous editor Laura Barth. And senior editor

Brenda Chin for taking a chance on me

and my hockey-playing hero!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

1

“I REALLY NEED to get laid,” Hayden Houston said with a sigh. She reached for the glass on the smooth mahogany tabletop and took a sip of red wine. The slightly bitter liquid eased her thirst but did nothing to soothe her frustration.

The pictures staring at her from the walls of the Ice House Bar didn’t help, either. Action shots of hockey players mid slap shot, framed rookie cards, team photos of the Chicago Warriors—it seemed as if the sport haunted her everywhere she went. Sure, she was a team owner’s daughter, but occasionally it would be nice to focus on something other than hockey. Like sex, perhaps.

Across from her, Darcy White grinned. “We haven’t seen each other in two years and that’s all you’ve got to say? Come on, Professor, no anecdotes about life in Berkeley? No insightful lectures about Impressionist art?”

“I save the insightful lectures for my students. And as for anecdotes, none of them involve sex so let’s not waste time with those.”

She ran her hand through her hair and discovered that all the bounce she’d tried to inject into it before heading to the Ice House Bar had deflated. Volume-enhancing mousse? Yeah, right. Apparently nothing could make her stick-straight brown hair look anything other than stick-straight.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Darcy said. “Why do you have sex on the brain?”

“Because I’m not getting any.”

Darcy sipped her strawberry daiquiri, a drink she’d confessed she hated but drank anyway, claiming men found it sexy. “Aren’t you seeing someone back in California? Dan? Drake?”

“Doug,” Hayden corrected.

“How long have you been together?”

“Two months.”

“And you still haven’t done the mattress mambo?”

“Nope.”

“You’re kidding, right? He’s not down with getting it on?” Darcy paused, looking thoughtful. “Or should I say, he’s not up with it?”

“Oh, he’s up. He just wants, and I quote, ‘to get to know each other fully before we cross the intimacy bridge.’”

Her friend hooted. “The intimacy bridge? Girl, he sounds like a total loser. Dump him. Now. Before he brings up the intimacy bridge again.”

“We’re actually on a break right now,” Hayden admitted. “Before I left I told him I needed some space.”

“Space? Uh-uh. I think what you need is a new boyfriend.”

God, that was the last thing she wanted. Toss her line in the dating pool and start fishing again? No, thank you. After three failed relationships in five years, Hayden had decided to quit falling for bad boys and focus on the good ones. And Doug Lloyd was definitely a good one. He taught a Renaissance course at Berkeley, he was intelligent and witty, and he valued love and commitment as much as she did. Having grown up with a single father, Hayden longed for a partner she could build a home and grow old with.

Her mom had died in a car accident when Hayden was a baby, and her dad had given up on finding love again, opting instead to spend more than twenty years focusing on his hockey-coaching career. He’d finally remarried three years ago, but she suspected loneliness, rather than love, had driven him to do so. Why else would he have proposed to a woman after four months of dating? A woman who was twenty-nine years his junior. A woman he was in the process of divorcing, no less.

Well, she had no intention of following her dad’s example. She wasn’t going to spend decades alone and then jump into marriage with someone totally unsuitable.

Doug held the same mind-set. He was a traditionalist through and through, a believer that marriage should be valued and not rushed into. Besides, he had a rock-hard body that made her mouth water. He’d even let her touch it…once. They’d been kissing on the couch in the living room of her San Francisco town house and she’d slid her hands underneath his button-down shirt. Running her fingers over his rippled chest, she’d murmured, “Let’s move this into the bedroom.”

That’s when he’d dropped the no-intimacy bomb on her. He’d assured her he was unbelievably attracted to her, but that, like marriage, he didn’t believe sex should be rushed. He wanted the first time to be special.

And no amount of chest rubbing could persuade him to let go of his chivalrous intentions.

And therein lay the problem. Doug was simply too nice. At first she’d thought his views on making love were really very sweet. But two months, coupled with eight months of celibacy prior to meeting Doug, added up to extreme sexual frustration on her part.

She loved that Doug was a gentleman but, darn it, sometimes a girl just needed a man.

“Seriously, this Damian guy seems like a wimp,” Darcy said, jerking her from her thoughts.

“Doug.”

“Whatever.” Darcy waved a dismissive hand and tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. “Screw intimacy. If Dustin won’t have sex with you, find someone who will.”

“Believe me, I’m tempted.”

More than tempted, actually. The next couple months were bound to be pure hell. She’d come home after final exams to support her father through his messy divorce, to be the good daughter, but that didn’t mean she had to like the situation.

Her stepmother was determined to squeeze Hayden’s dad for every dime he had. And, boy, did he have a lot of dimes. Though he’d spent most of his life coaching, Presley had always dreamed of owning a team, a goal he’d finally reached seven years ago. Thanks to the substantial insurance settlement he’d received after her mom’s accident, and his wise investment in a pharmaceutical company that had made him millions, he’d been able to purchase the Chicago Warriors franchise. Over the years he’d continued investing and building his fortune, but his main priority was the team. It was all he ever thought about, and that’s what made coming home so difficult.

Her childhood had been chaotic, to say the least. Traveling with her dad across the country for away games, living in Florida for two years when he’d coached the Aces to a championship victory, five years in Texas, three in Oregon. It had been tough, but Hayden’s close relationship with her dad had made the constant upheaval bearable. Her father had always shown an interest in her life. He’d listened while she babbled about her favorite artists, and taken her to countless museums over the years.

Now that she was an adult and he was busy with the team, he no longer seemed to care about making time to connect with her outside of the hockey arena. She knew other team owners didn’t get as involved as her father did, but his background as a coach seemed to influence his new position; he had his hand in every aspect of the Warriors, from drafting players to marketing, and he thrived on it, no matter how time-consuming the work was.

That’s why three years ago she’d decided to accept the full-time position Berkeley had offered her, even though it meant relocating to the West Coast. She’d figured the old absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder cliché might kick in and make her father realize there was more to life than hockey. It hadn’t.

So she’d come back to see him through the divorce in hopes that they could reconnect.

“Have you become a nymphomaniac since you left town?” Darcy was asking. “You never mentioned it in your e-mails.”

Hayden forced herself to focus on her best friend and not dwell on her issues with her dad. “I haven’t become a nymphomaniac. I’m just stressed-out and I need to unwind. Do you blame me?”

“Not really. The evil stepmother is throwing poison apples all over the place, huh?”

“You saw the morning paper, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty crappy.”

Hayden raked her fingers through her hair. “Crappy? It’s a disaster.”

“Any truth to it?” Darcy asked carefully.

“Of course not! Dad would never do the things she’s accusing him of.” She tried to control the frustration in her tone. “Let’s not talk about this. Tonight I just want to forget about my dad and Sheila and the whole messy business.”

“All right. Wanna talk about sex again?”

Hayden grinned. “No. I’d rather have sex instead.”

“Then do it. There are tons of men in this place. Pick one and go home with him.”

“You mean a one-night stand?” she asked warily.

“Hell, yeah.”

“I don’t know. It seems kind of sleazy, hopping into bed with someone and never seeing them again.”

“How is that sleazy? I do it all the time.”

Hayden burst out laughing. “Of course you do. You’re commitment-phobic.”

Darcy went through men like socks, and some of the details she shared in her e-mails made Hayden gape. She certainly couldn’t remember ever experiencing seven orgasms in one night, or indulging in a ménage à trois with two firefighters she’d met—figure this one out—at an illegal bonfire in Chicago’s Lincoln Park.

Darcy raised her eyebrows, blue eyes flashing with challenge. “Well, let me ask you this—what sounds more fun, having a few screaming orgasms with a man you may or may not see again, or hiking across the intimacy bridge with Don?”

“Doug.”

Darcy shrugged. “I think we both know my way is better than the highway. Or should I say the bridge?” She fluttered her hand as if waving a white flag. “Sorry, I promise to refrain from any further bridge comments for the rest of the evening.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Instead, she mulled over Darcy’s suggestion. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life. For her, sex came with other things, relationship things, like going to dinner, spending a cozy night in, saying I love you for the first time.

But why did sex always have to be about love? Couldn’t it just be purely for pleasure? No dinner, no I-love-you’s, no expectations?

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Falling into bed with a man when last week I was still with Doug?”

“You asked for space for a reason,” Darcy said. “Might as well take advantage of it.”

“By going to bed with someone else.” She sipped her wine, thoughtful and hesitant at the same time.

“Why not?” Darcy said. “Look, you’ve spent years searching for a guy to build a life with—maybe you should try looking for one who jump-starts your libido instead. The way I see it, it’s time for you to have some fun, Hayden. I think you need fun.”

She sighed. “I think so, too.”

Darcy’s grin widened. “You’re seriously considering it, aren’t you?”

“If I see a guy I like, I just might.”

Her own words surprised her, but they made sense. What was so wrong with hooking up with a stranger in a bar? People did wild things like that all the time, and maybe right now she needed to be a little wild.

Darcy twirled the straw around in her daiquiri glass, looking pensive. “What’s your pseudonym going to be?”

“My pseudonym?” she echoed.

“Yeah. If you’re going to do this right, you need total anonymity. Be someone else for the night. Like Yolanda.”

“No way,” she objected with a laugh. “I’d rather just be myself.”

“Fine.” Darcy’s shoulders drooped.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Darce. Shouldn’t I pick the guy first?”

Darcy’s enthusiasm returned. “Good point. Let’s spin the man wheel and see who it lands on.”

Stifling a laugh, Hayden followed her friend’s lead and swept her eyes around the crowded bar. Everywhere she looked, she saw men. Tall ones, short ones, cute ones, bald ones. None of them sparked her interest.

And then she saw him.

Standing at the counter with his back turned to them was the lucky winner of the man wheel. All she could see was a head of dark brown hair, a broad back clad in a navy-blue sweater and long legs encased in denim. Oh, and the butt. Hard not to notice that tight little butt.

“Excellent selection,” Darcy teased, following her gaze.

“I can’t see his face,” she complained, trying not to crane her neck.

“Patience, grasshopper.”

Holding her breath, Hayden watched the man drop a few bills on the sleek mahogany counter and accept a tall glass of beer from the bartender. When he turned around, she sucked in an impressed gasp. The guy had the face of a Greek god, chiseled, rugged, with intense blue eyes that caused her heart to pound and sensual lips that made her mouth tingle. And he was huge. With his back turned he hadn’t seemed this big, but now, face-to-face, she realized he stood well over six feet and had the kind of chest a woman wanted to rest her head on. She could see the muscular planes of his chest even through his sweater.

“Wow,” she muttered, more to herself than Darcy.

A shiver of anticipation danced through her as she imagined spending the night with him.

Beer in hand, the man strode toward one of the pool tables at the far end of the bar, and headed for the cue rack. Setting his glass on the small ledge along the wall, he grabbed a cue and proceeded to rack the balls on the green felt table. A second later, a tall, lanky college-age kid approached and they exchanged a few words. The kid snatched up a cue and joined Mr. Delicious at the table.

Hayden turned back to Darcy and saw her friend rolling her eyes. “What?” she said, feeling a bit defensive.

“What are you waiting for?” Darcy prompted.

She glanced at the dark-haired sex god again. “I should go over there?”

“If you’re serious about doing the nasty tonight, then, yeah, go over there.”

“And do what?”

“Shoot some pool. Talk. Flirt. You know, look under the hood before you commit to buying the car.”

“He’s not a car, Darce.”

“Yeah, but if he was, he’d be something dangerously hot, like a Hummer.”

Hayden burst out laughing. If there was one thing to be said about Darcy, it was that she truly was one of a kind.

“Come on, go over there,” Darcy repeated.

She swallowed. “Now?”

“No, next week.”

Her mouth grew even drier, prompting her to down the rest of her wine.

“You’re seriously nervous about this, aren’t you?” Darcy said, blue eyes widening in wonder. “When did you become so shy? You give lectures to classes of hundreds. He’s just one man, Hayden.”

Her eyes drifted back in the guy’s direction. She noticed how his back muscles bunched together as he rested his elbows on the pool table, how his taut backside looked practically edible in those faded jeans.

He’s just one man, she said to herself, shaking off her nerves. Right. Just one tall, sexy, oozing-with-raw-masculinity man.

This would be a piece of cake.

BRODY CROFT CIRCLED the pool table, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s as he examined his options. With a quick nod, he pointed and said, “Thirteen, side pocket.”

His young companion, wearing a bright red Hawaiian T-shirt that made Brody’s eyes hurt, raised his eyebrows. “Really? Tough shot, man.”

“I can handle it.”

And handle it he did. The ball slid cleanly into the pocket, making the kid beside him groan.

“Nice, man. Nice.”

“Thanks.” He moved to line up his next shot when he noticed his opponent staring at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, uh, nothing’s wrong. Are—are you Brody Croft?” the guy blurted out, looking embarrassed.

Brody smothered a laugh. He’d wondered how long it would take the kid to ask. Not that he was conceited enough to think everyone on the planet knew who he was, but seeing as this bar was owned by Alexi Nicklaus and Jeff Wolinski, two fellow Warriors, most of the patrons were bound to be hockey fans.

“At your service,” he said easily, extending his hand.

The kid gripped it tightly, as if he were sinking in a pit of quicksand and Brody’s hand was the lifeline keeping him alive. “This is so awesome! I’m Mike, by the way.”

The look of pure adoration on Mike’s face brought a knot of discomfort to Brody’s gut. He always enjoyed meeting fans, but sometimes the hero worship went a little too far.

“What do you say we keep playing?” he suggested, gesturing to the pool table.

“Yeah. I mean, sure! Let’s play!” Mike’s eyes practically popped out of his angular face. “I can’t wait to tell the guys I played a round of pool with Brody Croft.”

Since he couldn’t come up with a response that didn’t include something asinine, like “thank you,” Brody chalked up the end of his cue. The next shot would be more difficult than the first, but again, nothing he couldn’t manage. He’d worked in a bar like this one back when he’d played for the farm team and was barely bringing in enough cash to feed his goldfish, let alone himself. He used to hang out after work shooting pool with the other waiters, eventually developing a fondness for the game. With the way his schedule was now, he rarely had time to play anymore.

But with rumors about a possible league investigation swirling, thanks to allegations made in a recent interview with the team owner’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Brody might end up with more free time than he wanted. Mrs. Houston apparently had proof that her husband had bribed at least two players to bring forth a loss and that he’d placed substantial—illegal—bets on those fixed games.

While there was probably no truth to any of it, Brody was growing concerned with the rumors.

A few years ago a similar scandal had plagued the Colorado Kodiaks. Only three players had been involved, but many innocent players suffered—other teams were reluctant to pick them up due to their association with the tarnished franchise.

Hell would freeze over before he’d accept a payout, and he had no intention of being lumped in with any of the players who might have. His contract was due to expire at the end of the season. He’d be a free agent then, which meant he needed to remain squeaky clean if he wanted to sign with a new team or remain with the Warriors.

He tried to remind himself that this morning’s paper was filled with nothing but rumors. If something materialized from Sheila Houston’s claims, he’d worry about it then. Right now, he needed to focus on playing his best so the Warriors could win the first play-offs round and move on to the next.

Resting the cue between his thumb and forefinger, Brody positioned the shot, took one last look and pulled the cue back.

From the corner of his eye, a woman’s curvy figure drew his attention, distracting him just as he pushed the cue forward. The brief diversion caused his fingers to slip, and the white ball sailed across the felt, avoided every other ball on the table and slid directly into the far pocket. Scratch.

Damn.

Scowling, he lifted his head just as the source of his distraction drew near.

“You could do it over,” Mike said quickly, fumbling for the white ball and placing it back on the table. “It’s called a mulligan or something.”

“That’s golf,” Brody muttered, his gaze glued to the approaching brunette.

A few years ago an interviewer for Sports Illustrated had asked him to describe the type of women he was attracted to. “Leggy blondes” had been his swift response, which was pretty much the exact opposite of the woman who’d now stopped two feet in front of him. And yet his mouth went dry at the sight of her, his body quickly responding to every little detail. The silky chocolate-brown hair falling over her shoulders, the vibrant green eyes the same shade as a lush rain forest, the petite body with more curves than his brain could register.

His breath hitched as their eyes met. The whisper of an uncertain smile that tugged at her full lips sent a jolt to his groin. Jeez. He couldn’t remember the last time a single smile from a woman had evoked such an intense response.

“I thought I’d play the winner.” Her soft, husky voice promptly delivered another shock wave to Brody’s crotch.

Stunned to find he was two seconds away from a full-blown erection, he tried to remind his body that he wasn’t a teenager any longer, but a twenty-nine-year-old man who knew how to control himself. Hell, he could control the puck while fending off elbows and cross-checks from opposing attackers; getting a hold of his hormones should be a piece of cake.

“Here, just take my place now,” Mike burst out, quickly pushing his cue into her hands. His gaze dropped to the cleavage spilling over the scooped neckline of the brunette’s yellow tank top, and then the kid turned to Brody and winked. “Have fun, man.”

Brody wrinkled his brow, wondering if Mike thought he was graciously passing this curvy bombshell over to him or something, but before he could say anything, Mike disappeared in the crowd.

Brody swallowed, then focused his eyes on the sexy little woman who’d managed to get him hard with one smile.

She didn’t look like the type you’d find in a sports bar, even one as upscale as this. Sure, her body was out of this world, but something about her screamed innocence. The freckles splattering the bridge of her nose maybe, or perhaps the way she kept biting on the corner of her bottom lip like a bunny nibbling on a piece of lettuce.

Before he could stop it, the image of those plump red lips nibbling on one particular part of his anatomy slid to the forefront of his brain like a well-placed slap shot to the net. His cock pushed against the fly of his jeans.

So much for controlling his hormones.

“I’m guessing it’s my turn,” she said. Tilting her head, she offered another endearing smile. “Seeing as you just blew your shot.”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

Snap out of it, man.

Right, he needed to regroup here. He played hockey, yeah, but he wasn’t a player anymore. His love-’em-and-leave-’em ways were in the past. He was sick to death of women fawning all over him because of his career. Nowadays all he had to do was walk into a place—club, bar, the public library—and a warm, willing female was by his side, ready to jump his bones. And he couldn’t even count the number of times he’d heard, “Do you like it rough off the ice, baby?”

Well, screw it. He’d been down the casual road, had his fun, scored off the ice as often as he scored on it, but now it was time to take a new path. One where the woman in his bed actually gave a damn about him, and not the hockey star she couldn’t wait to gush to her friends about.

The sexual fog in his brain cleared, leaving him alert and composed, and completely aware of the flush on the brunette’s cheeks and the hint of attraction in her eyes. If this woman was looking to score with Mr. Hockey, she had another think coming.

“I’m Hayden,” his new opponent said, uncertainty floating through her forest-green eyes.

“Brody Croft,” he returned coolly, waiting for the flicker of recognition to cross her features.

It didn’t happen. No flash of familiarity, no widening of the eyes. Her expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“It’s nice to meet you. Brody.” Her voice lingered on his name, as if she were testing it out for size. She must have decided she liked the fit, because she gave a small nod and turned her attention to the table. After a quick examination, she pointed to the ball he’d failed to sink and called the shot.

Okay, was he supposed to believe she genuinely didn’t know who he was? That she’d walked into a sports bar and randomly chosen to hit on the only hockey player in attendance?

“So…did you catch the game last night?” he said with a casual slant of the head.

She gave him a blank stare. “What game?”

“Game one of the play-offs, Warriors and Vipers. Seriously good hockey, in my opinion.”

Her brows drew together in a frown. “Oh. I’m not really a fan, to be honest.”

“You don’t like the Warriors?”

“I don’t like hockey.” She made a self-deprecating face. “Actually, I can’t say I enjoy any sport, really. Maybe the gymnastics in the summer Olympics?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Are you asking or telling?”

She smiled back. “Telling. And I guess it’s very telling that I only watch a sports event once every four years, huh?”

He found himself liking the dry note to her throaty voice when she admitted her disinterest in sports. Her honesty was rare. Most—fine, all—of the women he encountered claimed to love his sport of choice, and if they didn’t truly love it, they pretended to, as if sharing that common interest made them soul mates.

“But I love this game,” Hayden added, raising her cue. “It counts as a sport, right?”

“It does in my book.”

She nodded, then focused on the balls littering the table. She leaned forward to take her shot.

He got a nice eyeful of her cleavage, a tantalizing swell of creamy-white skin spilling over the neckline of her snug yellow top. When he lowered his eyes, he couldn’t help but admire her full breasts, hugged firmly by a thin bra he could only see the outline of.

She took the shot, and he raised his brows, impressed, as the ball cleanly disappeared into the pocket. She was good.

All right, more than good, he had to relent as she proceeded to circle the table and sink ball after ball.

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asked, finally finding his voice.

She met his eyes briefly before sinking the last solid on the table. “My dad.” She smiled again. Those pouty lips just screamed for his mouth to do wicked things to them. “He bought me my own table when I was nine, set it up right next to his. We used to play side by side in the basement every night before I went to bed.”

“Does he still play?”

Her eyes clouded. “No. He’s too busy with work to relax around a pool table anymore.” She straightened her back and glanced at the table. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”

At this point, Brody didn’t even care about the game Hayden was certain to win. The sweet scent of her perfume, a fruity sensual aroma, floated in the air and made him mindless with need. Man, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so drawn to a woman.

After sinking the eight ball, she moved toward him, each step she took heightening his desire. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, and a new aroma filled his nostrils. Strawberries. Coconut.

He was suddenly very, very hungry.

“Good game,” she said, shooting him another smile. Impish, this time.

His mouth twisted wryly. “I didn’t even get to play.”

“I’m sorry.” She paused. “Do you like to play?”

Was she referring to pool? Or a different game? Maybe the kind you played in bed. Naked.

“Pool, I mean,” she added quickly.

“Sure, I like pool. Among other things.” Let’s see how she handles that.

A cute rosy flush spread over her cheeks. “Me, too. I mean, I like other things.”

His curiosity sparked as he stared at the enigma in front of him. He got the distinct impression that she was flirting with him. Or trying to, at least. Yet her unmistakable blush and the slight trembling of her hands betrayed the confident air she tried to convey.

Did she do this often? Flirt with strange men in bars? Looking at her again, now that he was able to see through the fog of initial attraction, it didn’t seem like the case. She was dressed rather conservatively. Sure, the top was low-cut, but it covered her midriff, and her jeans didn’t ride low on her hips like those of most of the other women in this place. And sexy as she was, she didn’t seem to be aware of her own appeal.

“That’s good. Other things can be a lot of fun,” he answered, unable to stop the husky pitch of his voice.

Their gazes connected. Brody could swear the air crackled and hissed with sexual tension. Or maybe he just imagined it. He couldn’t deny the hum of awareness thudding in his groin like the bass line of a sultry jazz tune, but maybe he was alone in the feeling. It was difficult to get a read on Hayden.

“So…Brody.” His name rolled off her lips in a way that had his body growing stiff. That didn’t say much, considering that every part of him was already hard and prickling with anticipation.

He wanted her in his bed.

Whoa—where had that come from?

Five minutes ago he was telling himself it was time to quit falling into bed with women who didn’t give a damn about him and look for something more meaningful. So why the hell was he anticipating a roll in the hay with a woman he’d just met?

Because she’s different.

The observation came out of nowhere, bringing with it a baffling swirl of emotion. Yes, this woman had somehow managed to elicit primal, greedy lust in him. Yes, her body was designed to drive a man wild. But something about her seriously intrigued him. Those damn cute freckles, the shy smiles, the look in her eyes that clearly said, “I want to go to bed with you but I’m apprehensive about it.” It was the combination of sensuality and bashfulness, excitement and wariness, that attracted him to her.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly closed it when Hayden reached out to touch his arm.

Looking up at him with those bottomless green eyes, she said, “Look, I know this is going to sound…forward. And don’t think I do this often—I’ve never done this actually, but…” She took a breath. “Would you like to come back to my hotel?”

Ah, her hotel. An out-of-towner. That explained why she hadn’t recognized him. And yet he got the feeling that even if she did know what he did for a living, she wouldn’t care.

He liked that.

“Well?” she said, fixing him with an expectant stare.

He couldn’t stop the teasing twinge in his voice. “And what will we do in your hotel room?”

A hint of a smile. “We could have a nightcap.”

“A nightcap,” he repeated.

“Or we could talk. Watch television. Order room service.”

The little vixen was teasing him, he realized. And, damn, but he liked this side of her, too.

“Maybe raid the minifridge?”

“Definitely.”

Their eyes met and locked, the heat of desire and promise of sex filling the space between them. Finally he shoved his pool cue in the rack and strode back to her. Screw it. He’d told himself no more sleazy bar pickups, but damn it, this didn’t feel sleazy. It felt right.

Barely able to disguise the urgency in his tone, he curled his fingers over her hot, silky skin and said, “Let’s go.”

2

DEAR GOD, he’d said yes.

She’d invited a gorgeous stranger back to her hotel room for a nightcap (translation: sex) and he’d actually said yes.

Hayden resisted the urge to fan her hot face with her hands. Instead, trying to remain cool and collected, she said, “I’ll meet you outside, okay? I just need to tell my friend I’m leaving.”

His smoldering blue eyes studied her for a moment, making her grow hotter. With a quick nod, he exited the bar. Tearing her attention away from his criminally sexy backside, she spun on her heel and hurried back to Darcy, dodging people along the way. When she reached the table, Darcy greeted her with a delighted grin. “You bad girl, you,” she teased, wagging her finger.

Sliding into the chair, Hayden swallowed hard and willed her heartbeat to slow. “Jesus. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I take it he said yes?”

Hayden ignored the question. “I just propositioned a complete stranger. Granted, he’s a very sexy stranger, but hell! I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Of course you can.”

“But I don’t even know him. What if he hacks me to pieces and hides my dismembered body parts in the air-conditioning system of the hotel or something?”

“You have your cell phone?”

She nodded.

“If you see any sign of trouble, call the cops. Or call me and I’ll call the cops.” Darcy shrugged. “But I wouldn’t worry. He doesn’t seem like the serial-killer type.”

Hayden blew out a breath. “That’s what they said about Ted Bundy.”

“You can back out, you know. You don’t have to sleep with this guy. But you want to, don’t you?”

Did she want to? Oh, yeah. As the image of Brody’s chiseled face and scrumptious body flashed through her brain, some of her nervousness dissolved. He was hands down the most gorgeous man she’d ever met. And she got the feeling he knew his way around a bedroom. The raw sex appeal pouring out of him told her she might be in for a very stimulating night.

“I want to.” Newfound confidence washed over her. “And I probably shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Darcy winked. “Have fun.”

“Are you going to be okay here alone?”

“Of course.” Darcy gestured to her fruity pink drink. “This daiquiri will attract the fellows like flies to honey. For the purpose of this analogy, I’ll be the honey.”

Hayden laughed. “Whatever you say.”

With a quick wave, she threaded through the crowd toward the door. When she stepped into the cool night air, she spotted Brody standing near one of the potted plants in the entrance, his hands slung in the pockets of his jeans. A shiver tickled her belly as she took in his profile. He really was spectacular. Her gaze lowered to his lips. She wondered what they would feel like pressed against her own. Would they be soft? Hard? Both?

“Hey,” she said, her voice wavering.

She took a step forward just as he turned to face her. His expression, appreciative, anticipatory, sizzled her nerves. “Your car or mine?” he asked in a rough voice that made her toes curl.

“I don’t have a car. My friend drove here.” A squeak, her voice had come out in a damn squeak.

“My car’s over there.” He nodded, then began walking toward the parking lot. He didn’t check to see if she was following. As if he just assumed she was.

This was her chance to walk away. She could hurry into the bar and pretend she’d never asked this man to come back to her hotel. She could phone up Doug, have a heart-to-heart, maybe entice him into engaging in some phone sex…. Ha! Fat chance.

She hurried to keep up with Brody’s purposeful strides.

“Nice car,” she remarked when they reached the shiny black BMW SUV.

“Thanks.” He pulled a set of keys from his front pocket and pressed a button. The car’s security system beeped as the doors unlocked, and he reached for the passenger door and opened it for her. Hayden settled against the leather seat and waited for Brody to get in.

After he’d buckled his seat belt and started the engine, he turned to her and asked, “Where to?”

“The Ritz-Carlton.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, just pulled out of the parking lot and made a left turn. “So where are you from, Hayden?”

“I was born in Chicago, but I’ve been living in San Francisco for the past three years.”

“And what do you do out there?”

“I’m a junior professor at Berkeley. I teach art history, and I’m also working toward a Ph.D.”

Before she could ask him what he did for a living, he said, “Sounds exciting.”

She got the feeling he wasn’t talking about her career anymore. Her suspicions were confirmed when his gaze swept over face and dropped to her cleavage. Under his brief—but appreciative—scrutiny, her nipples tightened against her lace bra.

She played with the sleeve of the green wool sweater she’d brought instead of a coat, focusing on the scenery along South Michigan Avenue, afraid to look at him again. If he got her this aroused from one hooded glance, what on earth would he do to her in bed?

Gosh, she couldn’t wait to find out.

The rest of the car ride was silent. They reached the hotel, and Brody pulled into the lot and killed the engine. Still, neither of them spoke. As she unbuckled her seat belt, her pulse began to race. This was it. An hour ago she’d been complaining to Darcy about the lack of sex in her life, and now here she was, walking into the lobby of the Ritz with the sexiest man she’d ever encountered.

Her heart thumped against her rib cage as they rode the elevator up to the penthouse. Shooting her a quizzical look, he said, “You must make good money at Berkeley.”

She simply nodded, her expression vague. She didn’t want to tell him that the lavish penthouse actually belonged to her father. Her dad had lived here up until three years ago, before he’d married Sheila. He kept the place so Hayden would have somewhere to stay when she came to visit. But she didn’t want to tell Brody, mostly because that would lead to questions like what does your father do? Which would then lead to questions about her dad’s hockey team and that was one topic of conversation she tried to avoid.

With the exception of Doug, most of the men she’d dated over the years had gone a little crazy when they found out her father owned the Warriors. Once, she’d dated a man who’d badgered her constantly to get him season tickets—which had driven her to promptly break up with him.

She understood the sports obsession that came with most males, but just once it would be nice if she were the source of a man’s infatuation.

The elevator doors opened right into the living room. Decorated in shades of black and gold, the room boasted four enormous leather couches in the center, all positioned in the direction of a fifty-six-inch plasma television mounted on the far wall. The suite had three large bedrooms, as well as a private covered balcony with a ten-person hot tub. In the corner of the main suite was a wet bar, which Hayden made a beeline for the second they stepped inside.

She wasn’t a big drinker, but her nerves were shaky, making her hands tremble and her heartbeat erratic, and she hoped the alcohol might calm her down.

“What can I get you?” she called over her shoulder. “There’s beer, scotch, whiskey, bourbon—”

“You.” With a soft laugh, Brody eliminated the distance between them.

Oh, God, he was huge. She had to fully tilt her head up to look at him. At five feet three inches, she felt like a dwarf next to him. Her heart jammed in her throat as he stepped even closer. She could feel his body heat, his warm breath tickling her ear as he leaned down and whispered, “That was the nightcap you were referring to, wasn’t it?”

His low, husky voice heated her veins. When she met his eyes, she saw the unmistakable desire glittering in their cobalt-blue depths. “Well?” he prompted.

“Yes.” The word squeaked out of her mouth.

He settled his big hands on her waist, yet didn’t press his body against hers. Despite the pounding of her heart, anticipation began to build in her belly, slowly crept up to her breasts like a vine and made them grow heavy, achy. She wanted him closer, wanted to feel his firm chest on her breasts, his hardness between her thighs.

Brody lifted one hand and brushed his thumb against her lower lip. “If you want to change your mind, now’s the time.”

He waited for her answer, watching her closely. Her throat grew dry, while another part of her grew wet.

Did she want to change her mind? Maybe she should call her own bluff now, before things got out of hand. But as she studied his handsome face, she realized she didn’t want him to leave. So what if this wouldn’t result in I-love-you’s and cosigning a mortgage for a house? Tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight she was stressed and tired and sexually frustrated. And just once she wanted to be with a man without thinking about the future.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she murmured.

“Good.”

He skimmed his hand over her hip, moving it to her back, grazing her tailbone. Then he stared at her lips, as if pondering, debating.

His slow perusal lasted too long for her throbbing body. She wanted him to kiss her. Now. She let out a tiny groan to voice her anguish.

Amusement danced across his features. “What? What do you want, Hayden?”

“Your mouth.” The words flew out before she could stop them, shocking her. Since when was she this forward?

“All right.” He dipped his head and planted a soft kiss on her neck, lightly biting the tender flesh with his teeth.

She whimpered and he responded with a chuckle, his warm breath moistening her skin. He trailed his tongue up to her earlobe, flicked over it, licked it, then blew a stream of air over it, making her shiver.

Fire began simmering in her blood, heating all the parts that already ached for him. She reached up and touched his dark hair, relishing the silky texture. She’d never known a simple kiss could have such a slow buildup. Most of the men in her past had thrust their tongues into her mouth and quickly followed suit by thrusting themselves into her.

But Brody, he took his time.

He tortured her.

“Your skin tastes like…” He kissed her jaw, then nipped at it. “Strawberries. And honey.”

All she could do was shiver in response.

“Take off your clothes,” he said roughly.

She swallowed. “Now?”

“Now would be a good time, yes.”

She reached for the hem of her sweater, trying to fight the insecurity spiraling through her. She’d never stripped for a man before. Was she supposed to put on a show? Dance? Well, forget that. No matter how much she wanted him right now, she wasn’t going to pretend to be the sexy seductress she wasn’t.

She pulled her sweater and tank top over her head, pleased to hear Brody’s breath hitch at the sight of her lacy wisp of a bra. When she reached for the front clasp, he shook his head. “No. Not yet. First the jeans.”

Well. Commanding, wasn’t he?

Obligingly, she wiggled out of her jeans and let them drop to the floor. Her black panties matched her bra, and they, too, left little to the imagination.

Brody’s eyes widened with approval. She was starting to get the hang of this stripping thing. Hooking her thumbs under the spaghetti-thin straps that constituted a waistband, she pulled her panties down her thighs, slowly, bending over a little so he could get a peek at her cleavage.

Naked from the waist down, she held his gaze. “Like what you see?”

His serious expression never faltered. “Very much. Now the bra.”

In one slow, fluid movement, she unclasped her bra and tossed it aside. Strangely enough, she no longer felt insecure.

“I like—” he stepped closer and brushed his thumb over the swell of one breast “—these. A lot.”

She wondered if he realized he still hadn’t kissed her lips. Though the way his eyes burned every inch of skin she’d just exposed to him, she felt thoroughly kissed.

“Your turn. Get rid of your clothes.”

He grinned. “Why don’t you do it for me?”

The thought of undressing him was so appealing that her nipples hardened. He didn’t miss the reaction, and his grin widened.

“Gets you going, doesn’t it, the thought of peeling these clothes off my body?” he taunted.

“Yes,” she blew out.

“Then do it.”

With a shaky breath, she grasped his sweater, bunching the material between her fingers before lifting it up his chest and over his head. That first sight of his bare chest stole the breath from her lungs. Every inch of him was hard. His defined pectorals, the rippling abs and trim hips. He had a two-inch scar under his collarbone, and another under his chin that she hadn’t noticed before, but the scars only added to his appeal, making him appear dangerous.

A badass tribal tattoo covered one firm bicep, while the other boasted a lethal-looking dragon in mid-flight. It reminded her of her own tattoo, the one she’d gotten for the sole purpose of pissing off her father after he’d grounded her for missing curfew when she was seventeen. Even now the spontaneity of her actions—getting a tattoo!—surprised her. Darcy always teased that she had a secret wild side, and maybe she did, but it rarely made any appearances.

Tonight, though, her wild side had definitely come out to play.

“Like what you see?” Brody mimicked, the heat in his eyes telling her he was enjoying the attention.

She licked her lips. “Yes.” Then she reached for his fly, un-buttoned it and pulled the zipper down. She bent over to slide his jeans off, admiring his long legs and muscular thighs and the erection that pushed against the black boxer briefs he wore, a thick ridge that made her mouth water.

Dear God, this was insanity.

Stumbling to her feet, she tugged at his waistband and helped him out of the briefs. Leaving him as naked as she was.

She shyly appraised his body, which was toned, muscled and unbelievably male. She eyed his impressive erection, then trembled at the thought of that hard, pulsing cock buried deep inside her.

Suddenly she could no longer bear it.

“For God’s sake, kiss me,” she blurted out.

“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes gleaming, Brody pressed his body against hers and finally bent down to capture her mouth.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

He felt and tasted like heaven. With skilled ease, he explored her mouth, swirling and thrusting his tongue into every crevice, hot and greedy. When he sucked on her bottom lip, she let out a deep moan then pulled back and stared at him in awe.

Brody seemed to know exactly what to do, turning her on in a way she’d never anticipated. He fondled her breasts for an excruciatingly long time before finally dipping his head and sampling one mound with his tongue.

He sucked the nipple hard, flicked his tongue over it, nibbled on it until she cried out with pleasure that bordered on pain, and just when she thought it couldn’t possibly feel better than that, he turned his attention to her other breast.

Arousal drummed through her body, until her thighs grew slick from her own wetness, and she found herself choking out, “We need a bed. Now.”

DAMN, HE HADN’T expected her to be like this. Deliciously demanding and so gorgeous. Something about Hayden sent lust and curiosity spinning through him, the need to both claim her and unravel the mystery of her.

And there was definitely plenty to learn about this freckle-faced professor who had initiated a one-night stand when it was obviously not in her nature.

He sucked on her nipple once more before pulling his head away and straightening his back. His mouth went dry as sawdust as he stared at the evidence of his handiwork on those high, full breasts. His stubble had chafed the hell out of her creamy white skin, leaving splotches of red, and the tips of her dusky pink nipples glistened with the moisture, making him want to feast on her again.

His eyes dropped to the wispy line of dark hair between her thighs. He knew it was called a landing strip and goddamn but he couldn’t wait to land his tongue down there. The sparse amount of hair offered a mouthwatering view of her swollen clit.

His already hot and hard body grew hotter and harder.

“Where’s the bedroom?” he groaned.

Hayden’s mouth quirked. Without answering, she turned on her heel toward the unlit hallway.

Brody took two steps, then stopped when he noticed the tattoo on her lower back. Oh, man. In the shadowy corridor he could just make out the shape of a bird. A hawk, or an eagle. Dark, dangerous, incredibly sexy and completely surprising. He’d known this woman was different. Her tattoo was so tantalizing he marched up to her and gripped her slender waist with both hands.

The top of her head barely reached his chin. How had this saucy little woman reduced him to a state of foolish hunger?

As his hands trailed down her hips, she twisted her head slightly to send him a look that said she was curious about his next move.

His next move consisted of dropping to his knees and outlining the tattoo with his tongue.

Hayden shuddered, but he kept one hand on her waist, keeping her steady. “Why an eagle?” he murmured, kissing her lower back.

“I like eagles.”

A very simple answer from a very complicated woman. He stroked her ass with his hand, then lowered his head and bit into the soft flesh.

“Bedroom,” she gasped.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

Still holding her secure with one hand, he slid the other around to her front and ran one finger over her clit. She hissed out a breath, then jerked forward, pressing her palms to the wall and raising that firm ass so that he got a very naughty view of her glistening sex.

He moved closer as if being pulled by a magnet. As his pulse drummed in his ears, he licked her damp folds from behind and used his finger to stroke her clit.

Hayden shuddered again. “That feels…” she moaned “…amazing.”

“What about this? How does this feel?”

He shoved his tongue directly into her opening.

Her breath hitched.

He chuckled at her reaction, then thrust his tongue right back inside her enticing sex before she could catch her breath.

Hayden’s soft moans filled the wide hallway. Her breathing grew ragged, her clit swollen beneath his thumb, her sex wet with arousal. He kissed her once more, then moved his mouth away and replaced it with two fingers.

“Are you trying to make me come?” she choked out.

“That was the plan, yeah.”

He explored her silky heat, fingering her deftly, enjoying her soft whimpers of pleasure while at the same time trying to ignore his erection, which was threatening to explode.

Any second now his control would shatter, he knew it would, but he held on to that one tiny thread of restraint, feeling it slowly unravel and fray inside him. Hayden’s cry of abandon made him move faster, increase his pressure over her clit and add another finger into the mix. And then she came. Loudly. Without inhibition. She pushed her ass into his hand as her inner muscles tightened and contracted over his fingers.

“Oh, God…Brody…” Her voice dissolved into a contented sigh.

A moment later she slid down to the carpeted floor, her bare back pressing into his chest as he continued to trace lazy figure-eights over her clit.

She shifted so they were face-to-face, her green eyes burning with need, her face flushed from her climax. She looked so good that he leaned forward to push his tongue through her pliant lips, intent on exploring every recess of her hot, wet mouth, desperate to taste every part of this woman.

Without breaking the kiss, he rolled her gently onto her back and covered her body with his.

“I need to be inside you,” he choked out.

It was a primal urge, an overwhelming desire to possess and one he never knew he had, but sure enough it was there, making his entire body tense with need, waiting to be released.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he stood up and left her in the hall. He returned a moment later with the condoms that had been tucked in his wallet. Only three condoms, he realized as he glanced down at his hand. Maybe he was being overly optimistic, but as he looked at Hayden, he suspected he might need to make a trip to the drugstore. She hadn’t bothered getting up and she looked ridiculously sexy lying there on the floor beneath him. Sexy and trashy and so damn appealing his cock twitched with impatience.

The air was thick with tension, the hallway quiet save for their heavy breathing. Before he could tear open the condom packet, she sat up and murmured, “Not yet.”

Then she wrapped her lips around him.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, nearly keeling over backward.

The feel of her eager mouth surrounding him brought on an unexpected shudder. She took him deeper into her mouth, cupping his balls, stroking his ass and licking every hard inch of him.

A few moments of exquisite torture were all he could bear. Hard as it was to pull back from the best blow job of his life, he gently moved her head, so close to exploding he wasn’t sure how he managed to hold back.

He lowered himself onto her again and Hayden sighed as one palm closed over her breast. “It’s been so long…”

“How long?” he asked.

“Too long.”

He lightly pinched her nipple before bending down to kiss it. “I’ll take it slow then.” He sucked the nipple deep in his mouth, rolled the other one between his thumb and forefinger.

She forced his head up and kissed him. “No.” She took his hand and dragged it between her legs. “I want fast.”

He swallowed when he touched her sex, still moist from her climax.

He grew even harder, wanting so badly to put the damn condom on and slide into her slick heat. But the gentleman in him argued to go slow, to taste every inch of her body and bring her over the edge again before he took his own release. Once more he tried to slow the pace, stroking her with his thumb.

His gentlemanly intentions got him nowhere.

“I’m ready,” she said between gritted teeth. “I don’t need slow. I need you to fuck me, Brody.”

His cock jerked at the wicked request.

Oh, man. He’d never have pegged this woman as a dirty talker. But, damn, how he liked it.

Without another word, he rolled the condom onto his shaft, positioned himself between her thighs and drove deep inside her. They released simultaneous groans.

Burying his face in the curve of her neck, Brody inhaled the sweet feminine scent of her and withdrew, slowly, torturously, only to thrust into her to the hilt before she could blink.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered in her ear. “So wet.”

“Told you I was ready,” she said between gasps of pleasure.

He slammed into her, over and over again, groaning each time she lifted her hips to take him deeper. It was too fast for him, and yet it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. The way she dug her fingers into his buttocks and pulled him toward her, squeezing his cock with her tight wetness. The rising pleasure in his body, the impatient throb in his groin that forced him to move even faster.

She exploded again, quivering, shuddering, making little mewling sounds that had his entire body burning with excitement.

He continued plunging into her until finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He came a second later, kissing her harshly as his climax rocked into him with the force of a hurricane. Shards of pleasure ripped through him, hot, intense, insistent. Uncontrollable. He fought for air, wondering how it was possible that the little woman beneath him had managed to bring him to the most incredible release of his life.

They lay there for a moment, breathing ragged, bodies slick, his cock still buried inside her.

Hayden ran her hands along his sweat-soaked back, then murmured, “Not bad.”

Even in his state of orgasmic numbness Brody managed a mock frown. “Not bad? That’s all you can say?”

“Fine, it was tremendously good.”

“That’s better.”

With a small grin, she disentangled herself from his embrace and got to her feet. Her gaze ruefully drifted in the direction of the bedroom they’d never managed to reach. “Five more steps and we could’ve been on my big, comfortable bed.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, the soft carpet itching the hell out of his back. “Don’t you worry, Hayden,” he said with a rakish glint in his eye. “The night is still young.”

3

“HOW MANY?” Darcy demanded the next day.

Hayden moved her cell phone to her other ear and maneuvered her rental car through afternoon traffic. Chicago’s downtown core was surprisingly busy; tonight’s Warriors game had probably compelled more than a few people to leave work early. Hayden, on the other hand, didn’t have a choice in the matter. Whether she wanted to or not, she was about to spend the evening sitting next to her dad in the owner’s box, watching a sport she not only found dismally boring, but one she’d resented for years.

God, she couldn’t even count how many games she’d been dragged to over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? Regardless of the final tally, she was no closer to liking hockey now, at twenty-six, than she had been at age six, when her father took her to her first game. To her, hockey meant constant uprooting. Traveling, moving, sitting behind the bench with a coloring book because her dad hadn’t felt right hiring a nanny.

A shrink would probably tell her that she was projecting, taking out her frustration with her father on an innocent little sport, but she couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she’d tried over the years, she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate or enjoy the damn game.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” she said into her cell, stopping at a red light. An El train whizzed overhead, momentarily making her deaf to anything but the thundering of the train as it tore down the tracks.

“Like hell you don’t,” Darcy was saying when the noise died down. “How many, Hayden?”

Suppressing a tiny smile, she finally caved in. “Five.”

“Five!” Darcy went silent for a moment. Then she offered an awe-laced obscenity. “You’re telling me the hunk gave you five orgasms last night?”

“He sure did.” The memory alone brought a spark of heat to her still-exhausted body. Muscles she hadn’t even known she had were still aching, thanks to the man who could definitely give the Energizer Bunny a run for its money.

“I’m stunned. You realize that? I’m utterly stunned.”

The light ahead turned green and Hayden drove through the intersection. A group of teenagers wearing blue and silver Warriors jerseys caught her attention, and she groaned at the sight of them. She was so not in the mood to watch a night of rowdy hockey with her father.

“So how was the big goodbye and ‘thanks for the five O’s’?” Darcy asked.

“Strange.” She made a left turn and drove down Lakeshore Drive toward the Lincoln Center, the brand-new arena recently built for the Warriors. “Before he left, he asked for my number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No.” She sighed. “But then he offered me his number, so I took it.”

“It was supposed to be a one-night stand!”

“Yeah…but…he looked so dismayed. I made it pretty clear that it was a one-night thing. You’d think he’d be thrilled about that. No strings, no expectations. But he was disappointed.”

“You can’t see him again. What if things get serious? You’ll be going back to the West Coast in a couple months.”

Darcy sounded surprisingly upset. Well, maybe it wasn’t that surprising, seeing as Darcy found the idea of falling in love more petrifying than the Ebola virus. The phobia had taken form a few years ago, after Darcy’s father broke up his marriage of twenty years by falling in love with another woman. Since then Darcy had convinced herself the same would happen to her. Hayden had tried to assure her friend that not all men left their wives, but her words always fell on deaf ears.

“Nothing will get serious,” Hayden said with a laugh. “First of all, I probably won’t see Brody again. And second, I won’t allow myself to develop a relationship with any man until I figure out where things stand with Doug.”

Darcy groaned. “Him? Why do you continue to keep him in the picture? Turn your break into a breakup, before he mentions the intimacy bridge and—”

“Goodbye, Darce.”

She hung up, not in the mood to hear Darcy make fun of Doug again. Fine, so he was conservative, and maybe his comparison of sex to a bridge was bizarre, but Doug was a decent man. And she wasn’t ready to write him off completely.

Uh, you slept with another man, her conscience reminded.

Her cheeks grew hot at the memory of sleeping with Brody. And somehow the words sleeping with Brody seemed unsuitable, as if they described a bland, mundane event like tea with a grandparent. What she and Brody had done last night was neither bland nor mundane. It had been crazy. Intense. Mind-numbingly wild and deliciously dirty. Hands down, the best sex of her life.

Was she a complete fool for sending him away this morning?

Probably.

Fine, more like absolutely.

But what else should she have done? She’d woken up to find Brody’s smoky-blue eyes admiring her and before she could even utter a good-morning he’d slipped his hand between her legs. Stroked, rubbed, and brought her to orgasm in less than a minute. As a result, she’d forgotten her name, her surroundings and the reason she’d brought him home in the first place.

Fortunately, the amnesia had been temporary. Her memory had swiftly returned when she’d checked her cell phone messages and saw that both her father and Doug had called.

Brody had made it clear he wanted to see her again, and sure, that would be nice…okay, it would be freaking incredible. But sex wasn’t going to solve her problems. Her issues with Doug would still be there, lurking in the wings like a jealous understudy, as would the stress of her father’s recent struggles. And if Brody wanted more than sex, if he wanted a relationship (as unlikely as that was) what would she do then? Throw a third complication into her already complicated personal life?

No, ending it before it began was the logical solution. Best to leave it as a one-night stand.

She reached the arena ten minutes later and parked in the area reserved for VIPs, right next to her father’s shiny red Mercedes convertible. She knew it was her dad’s, because of the license plate reading “TM-OWNR.” Real subtle, Dad.

Why had she even bothered coming home? When her father had asked if she could take some time off to be with him during this whole divorce mess, she’d seen it as a sign that he valued her support, wanted her around. But in the week she’d been home she’d only seen her dad once, for a quick lunch in his office. The phone had kept ringing, so they’d barely spoken, and it was unlikely they’d get any time to talk tonight. She knew how focused her dad was when he watched hockey.

With a sigh, she got out of the car and braced herself for a night of watching sweaty men skating after a black disk, and listening to her father rave about how “it doesn’t get better than this.”

Gee, she couldn’t wait.

“WATCH OUT FOR Valdek tonight,” Sam Becker warned when Brody approached the long wooden bench on one side of the Warriors locker room. He paused in front of his locker.

“Valdek’s back?” Brody groaned. “What happened to his three-game suspension?”

Becker adjusted his shin pads then pulled on his navy-blue pants and started lacing up. For thirty-six, he was still in prime condition. When Brody first met the legendary forward he’d been in awe, even more impressed when he’d seen Becker deke out three guys to score a shorthanded goal, proving to everyone in the league why he still belonged there.

And what had impressed him the most was Becker’s complete lack of arrogance. Despite winning two championship cups and having a career that rivaled Gretzky’s, Sam Becker was as down-to-earth as they came. He was the man everyone went to when they had a problem, whether personal or professional, and over the years, he’d become Brody’s closest friend.

“Suspension’s over,” Becker answered. “And he’s out for blood. He hasn’t forgotten who got him suspended, kiddo.”

Brody ignored the nickname, which Becker refused to ease up on, and snorted. “Right, because it’s my fault he sliced my chin open with his skate.”

A few more players drifted into the room. The Warriors goalie, Alexi Nicklaus, gave a salute in lieu of greeting. Next to him, Derek Jones, this season’s rookie yet already one of the best defensemen in the league, wandered over and said, “Valdek’s back.”

“So I’ve heard.” Brody peeled his black T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the bench.

Jones suddenly hooted, causing him to glance down at his chest. What he found was a reminder of the most exciting sexual experience of his life. Over his left nipple was the purple hickey Hayden’s full lips had branded into his skin, after he’d swooped her off the hallway floor and carried her into the bedroom—where he’d proceeded to make love to her all night long.

This morning he’d woken up to the sight of Hayden’s dark hair fanned across the stark white pillow, one bare breast pressing into his chest and a slender leg hooked over his lower body. He’d cuddled after sex plenty of times in the past, but he couldn’t remember ever awakening to find himself in the exact post-sex position. Normally he gently rolled his companion over, needing space and distance in order to fall asleep. Last night he hadn’t needed it. In fact, he even remembered waking up in the middle of the night and pulling Hayden’s warm, naked body closer.

Figure that one out.

“Remind me to keep you away from my daughter,” Becker said with a sigh.

Next to him, Jones guffawed. “So who’s the lucky lady? Or did you even get her name?”

Brody’s back stiffened defensively, but then he wondered why it bothered him that his teammates still viewed him as a playboy. Sure, he had been a playboy, once upon a time. When he’d first gone pro, he couldn’t help letting it all go to his head. For a kid who’d grown up dirt-poor in Michigan, the sudden onslaught of wealth and attention was like a drug. Exciting. Addictive. Suddenly everyone wanted to be his friend, his confidante, his lover. At twenty-one, he’d welcomed every perk that came with the job—particularly the endless stream of women lining up to warm his bed.

But it’d gotten old once he’d realized that ninety percent of those eager females cared most about his uniform. He didn’t mind being in the limelight, but he was no longer interested in going to bed with women who thought of him only as the star forward of the Warriors.

Unfortunately, his teammates couldn’t seem to accept that he’d left his playboy days in the dust. It was probably a label thing; the guys on the team liked labels. They all had ’em—Derek Jones was the Prankster, Becker was the Elder, Craig Wyatt was Mr. Serious. And Brody was the Playboy. Apparently admitting otherwise screwed up the team dynamic or something.

Ah, well. Let them believe what they wanted. He might not be a Casanova anymore but he could still kick their butts any day of the week.

“Yes, I got her name,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Just not her number.

He kept that irksome detail to himself. He still wasn’t sure why it bugged him, Hayden’s refusal to give him her phone number. And for the life of him, he also couldn’t make sense of that bomb of a speech she’d dropped on him earlier.

I’d rather we didn’t see each other again. I had a great time, but I never had any intention of this going beyond one night. I hope you understand.

Every man’s dream words. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d tried to find a way to let a woman down gently when she asked for something more the morning after. Hayden had pretty much summed up the attitude he’d had about sex his entire life. One night, no expectations, nothing more. In the old days he would’ve sent her a fruit basket with a thank-you card for her casual dismissal.

But these days he wanted more than that. That’s why he’d gone back to Hayden’s hotel room, because something about the woman made him think she was the one who could give him the more he desired. A sexy professor who hated sports and set his body on fire. Almost made him want to call up that Sports Illustrated interviewer and get a retraction printed: Brody Croft is no longer attracted to leggy blondes.

“Hope you didn’t tire yourself out,” Becker said. “We can’t afford to screw up tonight, not in the play-offs.”

“Hey, d’you guys get a look at the paper this morning?” Jones asked suddenly. “There was another article about the bribery accusations Houston’s wife made.” He frowned, an expression that didn’t suit his chubby, Leave It to Beaver face. At twenty-one, the kid hadn’t mastered his supertough hockey glare yet. “Like any of us would take money to purposely put a loss on our record. Damn, I want to toilet paper that chick’s house for all the trouble she’s causing.”

Brody laughed. “When are you going to grow out of these pranks? Grown men don’t toilet paper people’s homes.”

“C’mon, you like my pranks,” Derek protested. “You were laughing your ass off when I replaced Alexi’s pads with those pink Hello Kitty ones.”

From across the room, their goalie Alexi Nicklaus gave Jones the finger.

“Simmer down, children,” Becker said with a grin. He turned to Brody, his eyes suddenly growing serious. “What do you think about the articles?”

Brody just shrugged. “Until I see the proof Mrs. Houston allegedly has, I refuse to believe anybody on this team threw a game.”

Jones nodded his agreement. “Pres is a good dude. He’d never fix games.” He paused, then chuckled. “Actually, I’m more intrigued by the other allegation. You know, the one from an unnamed source claiming that Mrs. H is hitting the sheets with a Warriors player?”

Huh? Brody hadn’t read the paper yet, and the idea that the owner’s wife was sleeping with one of his teammates was both startling and absurd. And worrisome. Definitely worrisome. He didn’t like how this scandal seemed to be snowballing. Bribery, adultery, illegal gambling. Shit.

Jones turned to Brody. “Come on, admit it. It was you.”

Uh, right. The thought of hopping into the sack with Sheila Houston was about as appealing as trading in his hockey skates for figure skates and joining the Stars on Ice. He’d only needed a handful of encounters with the woman to figure out she had nothing but air between her pretty little ears.

“Nah. My bet’s on Topas.” Brody grinned at the dark-haired right wing across the room. Zelig Topas, who’d won Olympic silver playing on the Russian team at the last Games, was also one of the few openly gay players in the league.

“Funny,” Topas returned, rolling his eyes.

The chatter died down as Craig Wyatt, the captain of the Warriors, strode into the room, his Nordic features solemn as always. Wyatt stood at a massive height of six-seven, and that was in his street shoes. With his bulky torso and blond buzz cut it was no wonder Wyatt was one of the most feared players in the league and a force to contend with.

Without asking what all the laughter was about, Wyatt dove right into his usual pregame pep talk, which was about as peppy as a eulogy. There was a reason Wyatt was nicknamed Mr. Serious. Brody had only seen the guy smile once, and even then it was one of those awkward half smiles you pasted on when someone was telling you a really un-funny joke.

Needless to say, Brody had never clicked with his somber captain. He tended to gravitate toward laid-back guys like Becker and Jones.

Promptly tuning out the captain’s voice, he proceeded to rehash this morning’s conversation with Hayden, musing over her insistence that they leave things at one night. He understood wanting to end with a bang but…

Nope, wasn’t going to happen.

Hayden might’ve neglected to hand out her number, but she’d left her calling card by inviting him to her hotel suite. After tonight’s game Brody planned on strolling right back to the Ritz and continuing what he and Hayden had started last night. Just one night?

Not if he could help it.

“THERE’S NOTHING BETTER than this,” Presley Houston boomed as he handed his daughter a bottle of Evian and joined her by the glass window overlooking the rink below.

They had the owner’s box to themselves tonight, which came as a great relief. When she was surrounded by her father’s colleagues, Hayden always felt as if she were one of those whales or dolphins at Sea World. Frolicking, swimming, doing tricks—all the while trying to figure out a way to break through the glass, escape the stifling tank and return to the wild where she belonged.

“Do you get to any games out in California?” Presley asked, picking an imaginary fleck of lint from the front of his gray Armani jacket.

“No, Dad.”

“Why the hell not?”

Uh, because I hate hockey and always have?

“I don’t have the time. I was teaching four classes last semester.”

Her father reached out and ruffled her hair, something he’d done ever since she was a little girl. She found the gesture comforting. It reminded her of the years they’d been close. Before the Warriors. Before Sheila. Back when it was just the two of them.

Her heart ached as her dad tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shot her one of his charming smiles. And her father undeniably had charm. Despite the loud booming voice, the restless energy he seemed to radiate, the focused and often shrewd glint in his eyes, he had a way of making everyone around him feel like he was their best friend. It was probably why his players seemed to idolize him, and definitely why she had idolized him growing up. She’d never thought her dad was perfect. He’d dragged her around the country for his career. But he’d also been there when it counted, helping with her homework, letting her take art classes during the off-season, giving her that painful birds-and-bees talk kids always got from their parents.

It brought a knot of pain to her gut that her father didn’t seem to notice the distance between them. Not that she expected them to be bosom buddies—she was an adult now, and leading her own life. Nevertheless, it would be nice to at least maintain some kind of friendship with her dad. But he lived and breathed the Warriors now, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d pushed his only daughter onto the back burner of his life these past seven years.