OneManAdvantage (3 page)

Then he saw the other comments—suggestions that he was being
traded because he was screwing around with the coach’s wife. That he wasn’t
getting along with the coach. That he and Lamppinen, one of the other centers,
had been in a power struggle.

He leaned back in his chair. Jesus Christ. What a fucking
nightmare. People were nuts!

The press conference. He’d set things straight there.
There’d been no goddamn affair with Dave’s wife. He and Dave got along great.
Sure they had differences of opinion sometimes, who didn’t? As for
Lamppinen—yeah, he annoyed Logan at times, but that was just crap.

He fucking hated that this could happen to him without his
having any say in it whatsoever. But that was the game. This was how it went.
It happened to other players all the time. It was a reality they had to deal
with.

But it still sucked donkey balls.

Later that afternoon, he faced the media. After eight years
in the NHL, he was used to this. Being one of the Heller brothers, one of the
few families to ever have three siblings playing in the NHL at the same time,
had attracted a lot of attention. Plus he and his brothers were all damn good
players. If he did say so himself. He was often interviewed by media during and
after games. He’d had to put on a game face many times, after crushing losses
where he had to come up with something positive to say, once after one of his
teammates had been hauled off the ice on a stretcher with life-threatening
injuries. But this…this was pretty hard.

It was hard to hide his dismay at being traded, but as
usual, he never liked to let on he was anything but happy and nonchalant. So he
kept his answers brief and smiled a lot.

“So were you surprised by this deal, Logan?” one reporter
asked.

“Yeah, I was.” He looked around the room in the Santa Monica
Coliseum where media events were held, lights glaring on him, the room full of
television cameras, photographers shooting still images, reporters sitting
there with smartphones and recorders thrust toward him. “I got the call earlier
this afternoon from my agent, giving me a heads-up, and that was the first I’d
heard of any trade plan. So yeah, it was a bit of a shocker.”

“Emery Goldberg seemed a bit shaken up about this too when
he announced the deal. How’d that phone call with him go?”

“It was a bit tough,” Logan said honestly. He started to say
more and got a little lost. His smile felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, it was
tough.”

“The Caribou are obviously making some big changes and
trying to take their game up a notch. What are your thoughts on the team and
how you’ll fit in there?”

“Well, I haven’t had much time to give that a lot of
thought. They’ve got a good team there, though, great goaltending, good
defense. I’m hoping I can contribute on the offense.” He shrugged. “I’ll just
play the game I’ve always played. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Assistant Coach Brad Laasch was your coach in Dartmouth.
What’ll it be like playing for him again?”

“Really looking forward to that.” And that was true. “Brad
taught me a lot back then and I’ve always considered him a great mentor. It’ll
be awesome working with him again.”

“Had you really heard no trade rumors at all?”

“Not a sniff.” The reporters laughed and Logan gave them a
crooked grin, lifting his hands in the air. “Seriously.”

“You just signed a ten-year deal with the Condors last
year,” another reporter asked. “How do you feel about that now?”

“Well, honestly, when I signed that deal, I intended to play
here in California for the duration of that contract. Nobody likes to be
traded, but…sh…er…stuff happens.” Another murmur of laughter swept the group.
“I feel fortunate to be going to a hockey club that has such a great reputation
for being well managed, good people to work for, and I’m looking forward to
contributing there.”

“How do you feel about playing with Cody Burrell?” a
reporter asked with a smirk.

The room went silent other than a clicking camera and Logan
kept his face carefully neutral. “Cody’s a talented hockey player,” he said.

Finally it was over. As Emery stepped up to the microphone
to say a few more words, Logan headed to the side of the room. Some of his
teammates had showed up and gave him solid slaps on the back and shoulder. He
smiled and nodded, emotion rising in his chest.

“Beers after this,” Kevin said in his ear. “We’re buying.”

“Damn right you are.”

Chapter Three

Hawaii wasn’t in the budget, but Nicole didn’t want to hang
around in Minneapolis with reporters camped outside her condo. At a bit of a
loss as to where to go and what to do, she debated heading to Montreal to visit
her parents or her old college roommate who still lived there, but
merde
,
the media in Montreal would be even more rabid about this story. Any Canadian
city was out of the question―this was hitting the news way more up there than
it was here. Hockey wasn’t nearly as important to American sports fans as the
current NFL season.

She would’ve gone to Vancouver to visit Julien, but dammit,
his team was on a road trip and he was going to be in Minneapolis. So she spent
the week in New York City, lost and unnoticed—and a little lonely—among the
millions of people there. She went on a shopping spree that was intended to be
retail therapy but didn’t really make her feel much better. Though she did now
have some lovely new clothes and boots. She did some sightseeing in the chilly
November weather, museums, Central Park, the Statue of Liberty. She even got
her hair cut and highlighted, and a French manicure. She wasn’t one to spend a
lot of time on feminine frivolities, in fact she didn’t think she’d had a
manicure since she’d left home to go to university. Her mom had always taken
her for manicures and pedicures and facials, maybe hoping that someday her ugly
duckling tomboy daughter would turn into a swan. So much for that hope. But
maybe looking her best would give her bruised and battered confidence a little
boost.

And she thought a lot. The hurt and humiliation from Cody’s
remarks faded, although she still felt a little stab whenever she thought of
them. Although his words had been cruel, she forced herself to examine them for
truth. He wouldn’t have said them if she hadn’t had relationships with hockey
players in the past. So she
had
brought this on herself.

Then she thought more about her job and whether it was
really a good idea for her to work with a hockey team. If she was going to hold
herself to that vow to never ever get involved with a hockey player again, she
was not exactly avoiding temptation by going to work every day for the
Minneapolis Caribou.

Her heart contracted though, thinking about giving up her
job, about having to take a job in some other business. She loved hockey with a
passion and loved this way of being involved with it. Sure, her position wasn’t
high level, but she’d only been out of college five years. She had every
intention of learning the business part of the sport as well as she knew the
game itself and working her way up. There was no reason a woman couldn’t do
that.

But she also had to think about the team and whether having
her there was going to be detrimental to them after this. Which really, really
sucked ass.

It was on the flight home that she finally made her
decision. She’d run away to New York with her tail between her legs, but maybe
it had been good to have some time and distance to think about things. To let
things settle inside her. She loved her job and she shouldn’t have to give it
up because of one asshole’s stupid remarks on national television. She wasn’t
going to run away again. She was going to walk into the office tomorrow with
her head held high and anyone who wanted to mess with her could go screw
themselves. She’d ignore all the crap and just focus on doing her job, keeping
her career goals in sight. But the one thing she was not going to do was get
involved with another hockey player. That vow she’d made to Taylor still held.

So when the man sitting beside her on the flight home Sunday
afternoon started talking to her, she smiled and listened. He was a computer
programmer at General Mills. Kind of cute, even with the glasses. What the
heck, he wasn’t a hockey player, and he didn’t seem to have a clue who she was.
So she ended up with a date with him for the following week. She might as well
go out with someone outside the business. In the terminal, they exchanged cell
phone numbers and a plan to meet for drinks Thursday evening, then she picked
up her car and drove to Taylor’s house to pick up Silvia. She rang the bell,
found the front door unlocked and walked in with easy familiarity. “Hello!
Anyone home?”

Of course they were home, with the door unlocked, but who
knew where they were in the ginormous mansion. Maybe she should have reminded
Taylor what time she was coming home.
Merde
, they were probably in bed
playing sheet shinny.

She made a face, dropped her purse on a table and wandered
into the great room. Empty. Hmmm. And where was Silvia? She should have come
running to greet her with ecstatic joy. Well. Should she check the bedroom?

“Hey,” she called, moving down the hall. “You guys home?”

She smacked right into a wall of naked man chest which
emerged from a bedroom. “Oomph!”

He grabbed hold of her upper arms. “Whoa there. Who the hell
are you?”

She gazed up at him, every sense taking him in, her eyes
wide, her mouth open, the scent of spicy male shower gel and humid warmth
enveloping her.
Tabarnac,
what a man. His grip on her arms was powerful
and yet surprisingly careful. He glared down at her with a knee-weakeningly
authoritative stare. Tall. At least several inches over six feet tall, since
she was five nine and her new boots had three-inch heels. Broad enough to take
up the entire width of the hall. Drops of water beaded on wide, muscular
shoulders and a few trickled down over sculpted pecs and—
mon dieu de câlisse
—eight-pack
abs and then lower still into a thatch of dark hair at his groin and…she gulped
and tried to pull away from him, up close and personal with his nakedness. He
released her and whipped a towel from around his neck to wrap it around his
hips, but not before she got a glimpse of his package. Wow. Impressive.

She blinked and opened her mouth, her heart thudding. “Who
am I? Who are you?”

He scowled at her. “I’m a friend of Fedor’s.”

“Well, I’m a friend of Taylor’s. Where are they?” She
frowned. A shiver worked its way over her flesh beneath his fixed stare, his
narrowed eyes and the dark scruff of beard on his square jaw giving him a
dangerous air. Had this guy murdered them or something? But then why would he
be taking a shower in one of their bathrooms?

“They took some mutt for a walk.”

“Mutt!” Her fingers curled into her palms. “Silvia is no
mutt! She’s a purebred miniature schnauzer!”

“Oh.” He tilted his head slightly. “Ah…it’s yours?”

“Yes. They’ve been looking after her while I was out of
town.” She folded her arms across the chest of her brand-new Jones New York
peacoat, her new leopard-print scarf wrapped around her throat, and tapped the
pointy toe of her new boots. “And once again…you are…?”

“Logan Heller.”

She blinked.
Câlisse
! She should have recognized him,
but with his damp hair all darkly slicked back and…well, naked, she’d been a
little distracted. She frowned. “Er…what are you doing here?” She didn’t recall
the Condors being in town until late December.

“Staying with Fedor. ’Til I find a place of my own.” His
towel slipped low on his hips and Nicole’s eyes were drawn to the way his
sculpted obliques arrowed down to his groin, his hip bones square and strong
looking.
Tabarnac de câlisse
, she wanted to lean over and lick every one
of those drips of water off that incredible body. Or maybe fall to her knees
and…

When she looked up, she saw he was smiling knowingly and
checking her out in pretty much the same way. She swallowed. “Maybe you should
get dressed before we continue this confusing conversation.”

“What’s confusing about it?” He shrugged and ran a hand
through short wet hair, obviously unconcerned about being naked. Hockey players
wandered around the locker room naked all the time. She’d accidentally run into
a naked hockey player more than once when she’d been down near the dressing
room after a game.

“Why are you here?”

He regarded her with pursed lips, a shadow flickering across
his brown eyes. “Not into hockey, are you?”

Her eyes widened. He didn’t know who she was. She couldn’t
help but grin. “A little,” she lied. She tossed her newly highlighted hair
behind her shoulders. “Why?”

He shrugged and the towel slipped again. This time he
reached for it and adjusted it on his hips, drawing her eyes yet again. Heat
built inside her, starting low down between her legs and spreading through her
body. “If you followed hockey, you’d know I was just traded to the Caribou.”

Her jaw went slack again. “Traded?”

“Yeah.” His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“
Mon dieu
,” she whispered, lifting her hands to her
mouth. “So they did it.” She’d carefully avoided watching television or reading
newspapers while she’d been in New York. “Who’d they trade?”

His eyes narrowed. “Sly Sorren and Mike Enrick. And a
second-round draft pick. Why?”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. So it wasn’t Cody.
They’d said they weren’t trading him, but she couldn’t help but have that faint
hope. Oh well. “Oh. Um. I was hoping it wasn’t Fedor.”

“Oh yeah, you said you’re a friend of Taylor.”

“Um. Yeah.”

His eyes warmed as he studied her, gaze again tracking over
her body. The way he looked at her made her bones melt, made her feel as if he
knew every kinky thing she liked to do in bed. Heat flashed beneath her skin at
his sexy perusal.

“You almost look like her sister.”

Nicole blinked. She’d never heard that before. Yes, they
were both blonde and similar height, but Taylor was elegant and feminine, where
Nicole was athletic and still felt like the tomboy she’d been as a kid. Huh.
Must be the new highlights and clothes. “We’re not sisters,” she said. Once
again her gaze dropped to his remarkable chest and abs.

“I told you who I am,” he said with a slow smile. “Are you
going to tell me your name?”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Do I have to?” Damn, that was the
wrong thing to say.

He grinned and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “No.
But it’d be nice to know what to call you. Other than…hot.”

Every nerve ending in her body went on high alert and her
nipples hardened.
Sacrament!
This was just cruel!

Merde,
she
was
a hockey whore. She closed her
eyes against the wave of intense attraction she felt for this guy. She didn’t
even know him. All she knew was he was a hockey player, for god’s sake, and she
wanted to lick him.

“You okay?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and saw his lifted eyebrow. “Fine.” She took
in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m Nicole Lambert.” She pronounced it the
French way, with the long
i
in Nicole, the soft
a
and the rolled
r
in Lambert, not the flat English way.

“Hi Nicole.” Then recognition flashed in his eyes. “Nicole
Lambert.”

She wanted to drop her eyes, imagining what he was thinking.
But instead she lifted her chin and met his eyes.

* * * * *

Holy shit.

Logan had met her dad a number of times, but he’d never met
her and hadn’t recognized her. She kept a pretty low profile usually, but last
week she’d been all over the news after that asshole Burrell’s stupid remarks.

She was hockey royalty, the daughter of Jacques Lambert.
Apparently she also worked for the Caribou, he’d gathered from the news
stories.

He slowly straightened, flashing her another smile. “Hey,”
he said. “Nice to meet you.”

She gave a tight smile in return, her cheeks pinking up.
“Likewise.”

“Uh…” He felt he should offer some kind of sympathy for what
had happened, but had no clue what to say. Maybe it was better to just ignore
it and pretend it had never happened. “I should get dressed,” he finished
lamely.

“Good idea.” But just as he turned away to go back into the
bedroom Fedor and Taylor had offered him, he caught the way her eyes dropped to
his butt in the towel. He caught the flash of interest on her face and his cock
instantly hardened. Holy hell. Girls checked out his ass all the time, but the
way she looked at it…Christ, never mind. What was he thinking?

He hung the towel in the attached bathroom, ran a comb
through his wet hair, then grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt
lying over the arm of a chair in the room. When he emerged, he found her in the
living room looking out the front window.

“I’m not sure where they got to,” he said and she jumped and
whirled around. “Fedor and Taylor, I mean. And your dog. They probably went to
the park.”

“It’s getting dark.”

“Are you worried about them?”

She frowned. “No.” She’d unbuttoned her jacket but still
wore it, her hands shoved into the pockets making her shoulders hunch a little.

“Take your coat off and stay awhile,” he offered. He might
as well play host while Fedor was AWOL. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee?”

“No thanks. I just want to get Silvia and get home.”

“You were out of town?” he said, sitting on the leather
couch.

“Yeah. New York. I had to…get away for a while.” The way her
gaze caught his then skittered away told him she was wondering if he knew about
what had happened.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, leaning back and lifting one
leg to cross his ankle over his knee. “That was quite a shit storm.”

There, it was out there. She nodded slowly, moving closer.
She perched on the edge of a chair. “Yeah. I’m hoping things have died down
now.”

“I think they have,” he said. “Now they’re all talking about
me.”

She smiled, and it was fucking stunning. His breath left his
lungs all at once.

She was one of those women who looked like nothing special,
until you looked closer and saw the perfect bone structure, the creamy skin,
the glow of health. Or until she smiled and her face lit up. Her big eyes
weren’t accentuated with a bunch of shadow and mascara, and her full lips wore
only a light sheen of gloss. He’d dated a model who’d been like that. With no
makeup and her hair not done, she’d been the girl next door. But in
photographs, with the full hair, makeup and clothes deal, she’d turned into a
glamazon. He could see Nicole being like that. Hell, just a smile turned her
into a goddess.