Face-Off (4 page)

“Oh, honey, you feel so good,” he groaned. Oh, he had no idea how good she felt. Her body was melting from the inside out, and the more he thrust into her, the more she wanted.

She was mindless, crazed, and he soon caught her mood and joined in, not taking it easy but giving her everything he had.

She cried out, she was exploding, gripping and grabbing at him as they surged and bucked against each other, hard and strong and needy.

With a helpless groan, he followed her, stretching the incredible sensations out with a few long, slow strokes that left him shuddering until he fell limply on top of her.

A drop of sweat splashed onto her breast. “Oh, baby,” he said. He turned onto his back, pulling her with him, she snuggled against him, loving the tickly feeling of his hairy chest against her cheek and the sound of his heart pounding beneath her ear.

When they'd both calmed a little, she said, “I saw your commercial tonight on TV.”

He grimaced. “My condolences. I'm no Robert DeNiro.”

“No. But you are the kind of man who is so famous he can move shaving cream.”

He didn't seem to get her point. “They called it Ice. Can you imagine anything more lame?”

“Jarrad, you're a celebrity.”

It was a moment before he answered, and what he said was, “I'm a washed-up hockey player.”

Wow. She'd been so caught up with her own insecurities
she hadn't even thought about what it must be like for him, to have risen so high and now be retired before he was ready.

She rose on one elbow. “You are not a washed-up anything,” she informed him. “Right now you are a hockey coach. Who knows what you'll end up being?”

“That's easy for you to say. Your work has meaning. Every morning when you wake up, you know you're changing lives. You are helping kids learn stuff and grow up to be good citizens. That is so much more important than shooting a puck down the ice.”

She started to laugh. First a low chuckle that she tried to smother, then a snort emerged and finally she could hold it back no longer. She let out a huge howl of laughter.

“You are laughing? At my loss of career?”

“No. I'm laughing because I was so demoralized when I found out who you were that I would have canceled our date if I'd had your number.”

“You're kidding, right?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He rolled over, pinned her. “I am so glad you didn't have my phone number. Look what I would have missed.”

She didn't even want to think about what she'd have missed.

“It's just that, you're, like, some celebrity that I'd see on TV and think, ‘Wow, he's cute,' but not someone I'd ever meet in real life. I want to know what the real man is like.”

“Okay. Ask me anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yep.”

“Promise to answer honestly?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you promise not to
share anything I might tell you with anyone else. Especially anyone who might, say, carry a camera and a notebook and snoop on people for a living.”

“Promise.”

Now that she had his word he'd tell her anything, she had no idea what she wanted to ask him. She gazed up into those gorgeous green eyes and wondered if anything ever dented his armor. And there it was. Her question.

“When's the last time you cried?”

He sucked in a breath. “You don't want to start with an easy one? Like my astrology sign?”

“Nope.”

Besides, all the easy stuff was on the internet. He was a Taurus, she already knew that. His sign was the bull, which seemed perfect.

He flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling, but kept a hand resting on her thigh so she still felt connected to him, warmed by his touch.

“When my father died,” he finally said.

Her sympathy was immediately aroused. “I'm so sorry.”

“It was so sudden. He was alive and joking last time I saw him, and then boom. He had a massive heart attack and he was gone.” His voice thickened. “I never got to say goodbye. Never got to thank him for teaching me to skate.”

A tear rolled down the side of his face and she felt her own eyes fill.

“Never got to tell him I loved him.”

She kissed him. “He knew,” she said softly. “He knew.”

For a moment they lay there, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. And for her, he wasn't
a shaving-cream-commercial celebrity or a former NHL heavyweight, he was a man who missed his father. And who could open his heart to a woman.

“So,” he said after a while. “Are we going to lie around blubbering or are we going for round two?”

Her body sparked immediately in response. “I pick round two.”

“That's my girl.” And he rolled over and kissed her. And let his hands roam all over her as though he couldn't ever get enough.

“Is there anything in particular I can do for you?” he asked in a low, sexy voice. “Yes.”

“What's that?”

She smiled the smile of a woman who is with a great lover.

“Everything.”

S
IERRA WOKE UP WITH A START,
barely aware of what had woken her until she felt the unmistakable sensation of a man's lips on the back of her neck. She smiled, half in and half out of sleep, feeling the delicious sense of a body well-loved.

When his hands reached around to play with her breasts she realized she was naked. And that she'd fallen asleep.

“I fell asleep,” she said, turning to face him. “I didn't mean to. I should probably get going.”

His eyes were slumberous and sexy. “You should stay for breakfast,” he mumbled. Now that the back of her neck was unavailable, he kissed his way across her shoulder, heading for her breast.

“Breakfast? I can't stay the whole night.”

He stopped in his tracks and glanced up at her. “Darling, you already did.”

Only now did she realize that it was light outside. She squinted at the fancy clock on the bedside. It was eight in the morning.

A strangled sound came out of her mouth. “I can't stay the night.”

Amusement faded from his eyes and for a second she got a glimpse of the tough player who'd once terrorized opposing teams. “Why not? Somebody waiting for you at home?”

“What?” She rubbed her eyes, and, as his meaning sank in, she snapped, “No, of course not.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“I don't—” She stopped, not sure how to explain her confused feelings, threw her hands up. “I just don't. Not any of it.”

He still regarded her somewhat warily, but the sharp suspicion had faded. “Well, you sure did last night.”

“It was different last night. It was dark and I thought it would be simple to slip into bed with a stranger and then slip out again and go home.”

He stroked the side of her face with his finger, this tough guy with his delicate caresses. “But you're not built that way. I could have told you that.”

“How could you know?”

He shrugged. “Gut instinct. A lot of women are interested in guys who play hockey. You get a sense of who wants bragging rights and who wants something real.” A sudden frown darkened his eyes. “At least, most of the time you do. Sometimes we all get fooled.”

She suspected he was thinking of the ex Mrs. Jarrad McBride and she really didn't want the shadow of a swimsuit model darkening this bed, especially not while she happened to be in it. Naked.

“I didn't even know who you were until I saw that commercial. Then I had to look you up on Google.”

“I know.” He stroked the side of her waist where it curved, traced it to her hip and let his hand settle there, warm and comforting.

“You must have thought I was stupid.”

“Nope. I thought how nice it was to have a conversation with someone where I was just a guy she was getting to know.”

“I can't believe how well I got to know you.” She shook her head. “This time yesterday, I didn't even know you existed.”

“Now you do.”

She rolled over to face him. “I guess you're right,” she agreed. “I'm not really the casual-sex type.”

He kissed her nose. “Believe it or not, neither am I. I tell you what. Since I accidentally made you stay all night, how about I take you for breakfast?”

“How does that make me staying over here any better? If we go for breakfast?”

“Doesn't. But I'm hungry. I can't think when I'm hungry.”

“Well…” But it wasn't like she had anything pressing to do at home. Laundry that could wait. And besides, after all their night-time activity, she was hungry too.

“Okay. But I need to shower first.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Jarrad.”

“What?” He threw up his hands all Mr. Innocent. “It's a great way to save water. I'm all about saving the environment.”

Because he was adorable and made her feel so good, how could she resist?

 

H
E MIGHT HAVE TAKEN
her to a fancy place for dinner but she discovered his taste in breakfast was more of the diner variety. Naturally, everyone knew him in Tracy's, where the choices for breakfast were pretty much bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes and steak and eggs. This wasn't
a place that would serve, say, muesli and yogurt, or an organic fruit compote.

Oh, well. She supposed a good dose of cholesterol wouldn't hurt her once in a while.

The coffee was good and strong, and while Jarrad launched into the West Coast Trucker which pretty much seemed to contain every single item on the menu times three, she stuck to bacon and eggs. Jarrad waded through all of his and still managed to eat half her hash browns.

“I don't know where you put all that food,” she said, amazed.

“Sex,” he said around a mouthful of potato. “It's fuel for sex.”

She did not know how he did it, but even the stupidest comments like that one made her hot. She knew she only had him for a couple of weeks so she was determined to enjoy every minute.

Simply being here eating breakfast in a diner while wearing her black dress from last night made her feel gloriously wanton. She might as well wear a neon sign that said, Got Laid Last Night. Not that anybody spared her a second glance, but it was cool nonetheless.

She tried to cross her legs and felt a muscle twinge. “Ow.”

“What's the matter?” he asked immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don't think it was you. I think it was the hockey.”

He seemed enormously relieved that it was hockey and not the aftermath of his loving making her wince. “You need to practice every day. Then your body will get used to skating and you'll get better fast.”

“Jarrad, I have a job. I can't practice every day.”

“Sure you can. When does your team meet up again?”

“Thursday.”

“Okay. Come on. I'll give you a private coaching lesson today. We'll see if we can get you caught up enough that you can go after a puck without clinging to the boards.”

“I need to change my clothes. I can't go skating in a little black dress.”

He leaned forward. “I'm telling you right now that your thoughts are way too limiting. Haven't you ever watched figure skaters? They skate in dresses all the time.” Then his voice lowered and he got that sexy look in his eyes that made her melt. “Imagine how it would feel, the cool breeze rising up underneath your skirt, maybe letting me get a little feel in if you manage to skate in a straight line without looking at your feet.”

She tried to look prim and annoyed but only ended up laughing. “You are a sex maniac.”

“Only with you.”

She drank the last of her coffee. “Don't you have to coach the fire and police team today?”

“Hell.” He smacked himself upside the head. “I totally forgot.”

“That's okay.” She wouldn't be disappointed. Sure, if she hadn't stupidly reminded him of his coaching gig, she'd be getting another private lesson, but she wasn't nearly as interested in skating as she was in some other physical activities they could do together.

However, she had reminded him, and of course that was the right thing to do. Now she had fewer than thirteen days with him. She had a feeling it was going to fly by.

“Can I call you later?”

Okay, so lucky thirteen was still a possibility. She nodded. Gave her best attempt at a seductive smile. “You can definitely call me later.”

She must have done an okay job because he made a low
animal growl that called up a corresponding response in her body. Oh, yes, she'd be waiting by the phone.

 

B
UT WHEN HE CALLED,
it was with the disappointing news that he'd been delayed. “My brother and sister demanded a family dinner. We haven't all been together for a while. I didn't know how to get out of it. If I told them I had a date, then they'd ask a bunch of nosy questions about you, which I don't think either of us want.”

“Right. Of course. I understand.” And she did, all too well. She was his little secret. Not even his family could know about her. It was Michael all over again. Except that with Jarrad the sex was really good, and since she already knew he could never be hers for more than a couple of weeks, she wasn't hurt that he didn't want to own up to her presence in his life. At least, not very hurt.

Later, she was pretty sure she'd suffer when he was gone from her life, but in the meantime, it was so nice to be with him.

“Can I come over later? After dinner?” he asked.

“Oh, um…” It wasn't as if she had anything else to do to make a visit from a celebrity hockey player unwelcome. “Sure.”

“Great. See you around ten.”

Her apartment was neat. It was always neat, but with a gentleman caller coming later, she changed the sheets, vacuumed her bedroom, went out and bought fresh flowers. Then she ironed her best silk nightgown. The softness of the fine fabric and the thought that it would soon be the only thing separating her and Jarrad made her feel hot and twitchy.

She'd already enjoyed the best night of her life, how could she be so greedy as to be panting for a repeat? She'd never thought of herself as a particularly sexual woman.

Until now.

When she recalled how bold she'd been last night she felt her cheeks heat. But Jarrad had seemed to like it, and in truth, she'd liked that version of herself too. A woman who wasn't afraid to ask for what she wanted. To offer herself to a man who interested her.

She was strong, sexy, in control. She was right up there with Madonna.

Though she doubted the Material Girl ironed her own nightgowns—if she even wore them—or spent an afternoon correcting the spelling of second graders.

She decided to continue on her road to personal boldness and while she was waiting for Jarrad, did her hair in sexy curls, slipped on her silk nightgown and imagined meeting him at the door wearing so little that she was a blatant invitation.

Then he was there, buzzing her to get in. “Come on up,” she said, and then panicked. What was he going to think of her? Her outfit pretty much begged for sex. Maybe he was here to talk about coaching, to get some more of her advice for seven-year-old boys.

She raced into her bedroom, tore off the gown, shoved herself into jeans and a sweater, and ran to get the door when he knocked.

She opened the door.

He stepped inside.

She was in his arms.

He kissed her for a long, long time. “I've been thinking about this all day,” he told her.

“Me, too.” And then she cursed herself for being such a chicken. She should never have changed. On the other hand, now she'd have the pleasure of having him undress her.

He backed her into the living room, still kissing her.
Oh, it was nice to be in the arms of someone so athletically coordinated. By the time they got to the couch, she was panting with desire.

So was he.

She wondered why she'd bothered changing her sheets. They never made it to the bedroom.

Much later, when they were sprawled on the couch talking idly, he said, “So, did you practice today?”

“No. I had marking to do.”

“It's very important to practice.”

“I can do it when you're there, but when I'm on my own I kind of freak out.”

“Well, until you get the hang of it, I guess I'll need to be there with you,” he said, perfectly cheerfully. As though teaching a complete novice how to play hockey was as much fun as playing in the NHL.

“Really? You'd do that?”

“Sure.” He stretched his arms over his head. She could have watched him do that for hours. The muscles in his arms were so sexy, so defined. His chest was broad, his belly a classic six-pack. She felt like drooling every time she looked at him. “You tired?”

She didn't think she'd ever be too tired for more sex with this amazing man. “No.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “What did you have in mind?”

“Hockey, of course,” he said, with a wide “gotcha” grin. He leaped up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I never joke about the world's greatest game.”

“But it's after midnight.”

“I know.”

“We'll never get in the rink.”

He began pulling on his clothes. Glanced up at her. “Care to make a small wager on my chances?”

In that moment she saw the little boy in him, the hockey hellion he must have been as a kid. Charm and talent and guts. What a combination.

“I think I'll save my money for something sensible. Like bail for when we get thrown in jail for breaking and entering.”

“Put your clothes on and stop stalling, woman.”

She couldn't imagine Michael ever calling her “woman.” He was much too politically correct. But the strange thing was that Michael had all the veneer of a man who respected women, while Jarrad might talk like a redneck, but he was the one willing to teach a hapless female how to play hockey. Actions, she reminded herself, speak louder than words.

“Yes, sir,” she said and put her clothes back on.

“I like your hair like that, by the way,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Now go get your stuff.”