Книга - A Perfect Strategy

A Perfect Strategy
Anna Sugden


Is there really life after hockey?If there's one thing Scotty Matthews knows, it's hockey. Unfortunately, the former New Jersey Ice Cats' captain isn't proving successful at life after hockey. His wife's left him and he's lost his post-ice job as a media commentator. All he's got now is a big empty show house.If there's one thing Sapphire Houlihan knows, it's that she never wants to be tied down to anyone or anything ever again. Unfortunately for her, a wonderful one-weekend distraction with Scotty turns into something much more complicated… Because he's a guy who wants way more than one weekend.







Is there really life after hockey?

If there’s one thing Scotty Matthews knows, it’s hockey. Unfortunately, the former New Jersey Ice Cats captain isn’t proving successful at life after hockey. His wife’s left him and he’s lost his post-ice job as a media commentator. All he’s got now is a big empty show house.

If there’s one thing Sapphire Houlihan knows, it’s that she never wants to be tied down to anyone or anything ever again. Unfortunately for her, a wonderful one-weekend distraction with Scotty turns into something much more complicated... Because he’s a guy who wants way more than one weekend.


Tonight he looked lonely.

He’d obviously come to the reception on his own. She’d heard about his divorce—hard not to when it had been splashed across the media. Not that there had been anything salacious. Just the usual bland statement about him and his wife separating, no one else involved and a request to respect their family’s privacy. Still, on a slow sports day during the summer hiatus, it had filled column inches.

As if he felt her studying him, Scotty looked up and their gazes met. Held.

Her heart double skipped. Was that a flicker of interest widening his pupils?

There was something about the recently retired captain that drew her to him. His dark hair, flecked with gray, was still short, like it had been when he was playing. His tanned face bore the scars of his career. The one that had always fascinated her was the white line that marred his otherwise perfect lips. Left side, near the corner. The result of a high stick—one that hadn’t been penalized—it had taken twenty-five stitches to close the cut.

He gave a half smile, raised his glass to her, then returned his attention to his drink.

Wow. Talk about a look that packed a punch.

Suddenly, she wanted to make that half smile full-blown.


Dear Reader (#ulink_35e3dcfb-cd16-583d-b873-6aebc2e53281),

The New Jersey Ice Cats are back and ready for action! This time though you’ll get a sneak peek at what it’s like behind the scenes, when retired captain Scott “Scotty” Matthews takes on a new challenge in the team’s front office. Can he be as successful off the ice as he was on it—especially when he has to face off against sexy business consultant Sapphire Houlihan?

When Sapphire appeared in A Perfect Compromise, I knew that finding her the perfect hero would be complicated. Not because she’s a confident, successful woman, but because she’s actually happy with her life as it is. It would take a special man to stand up to her and make her reconsider her “no strings” philosophy. Scotty wasn’t the obvious choice, but he was definitely the right one...in the end!

Aside from helping these two get their happy ending, writing this book was fun because I got the chance to use knowledge from my former career in business. It was great to be able to combine marketing, hockey and romance in one story.

I love to hear from readers. You can get in touch with me via email at anna@annasugden.com or via my website, www.annasugden.com (http://www.annasugden.com). You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter.

Anna Sugden


A Perfect Strategy

Anna Sugden






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Former marketing executive ANNA SUGDEN loves reading romance novels and watching films with happy endings. She also loves watching hockey and football, where she prefers a happy ending for her teams. When she’s not researching hockey players (for her books, of course), she makes craft projects and collects penguins, autographs and memorabilia and great shoes. Anna lives in Cambridge, England, with her husband and two bossy black cats. Learn more about Anna, her books and her shoes at annasugden.com (http://www.annasugden.com).


For Marcela, with love.

For Keith, love always. xxxxx


Acknowledgments (#ulink_ec16bbee-b191-5ce6-bca1-9e1698b5726e)

Jill Marsal, my fabulous agent!

Victoria Curran, for helping me make this book the best it can be.


Contents

Cover (#u75847d39-9a06-5aed-abed-7447250306b2)

Back Cover Text (#ua3568c07-719f-5552-9057-bcdfdc853dee)

Introduction (#u356f75fc-0c13-591f-bb50-7d2d4c8fe6de)

Dear Reader (#ulink_eb73a4a3-4f47-55c4-acdb-7d210f237428)

Title Page (#u6105b322-e335-5961-ae34-6f677ceb0b7b)

About the Author (#u3754d65c-7c5b-561d-953c-30b4ae73c827)

Dedication (#u7a3c626a-4744-5b46-bf4c-c7ddc33aaad6)

Acknowledgments (#ulink_dfe44ab7-6ec4-54f2-82f7-28096c54c1fd)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_3d23b836-a3c2-5ef4-a6b6-633e0122fb53)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_560d5bed-3220-5500-9f48-e9a9dac043ff)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d97c331c-8cf9-5ffd-887a-8980c5427598)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d8aa3aa6-3a85-568c-9dd8-2aa7863e9ca7)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_273a37f3-646d-5fbe-93a5-b5b9215d6850)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#ulink_1c3e0b37-033e-5e39-9842-a3bd9f802357)

Fifteen years ago

“MAN, IT’LL BE good to finally play a game for real.”

Scott “Scotty” Matthews hefted his bag over his shoulder, shut the hatch of his SUV and followed the small group of teammates toward the arena.

“Yeah, the preseason just doesn’t cut it,” grumbled Cam “Bullet” Lockhead. The New Jersey Ice Cats’ much-feared enforcer slammed his palm against the security bar to open the door into the building’s lower ground level. “Pansy-assed friendlies aren’t worth the effort to strap on my skates.”

“You’re only pissed because Coach banned you from hitting and fighting.” Ryan Grey punched Bullet on the arm. “He wanted you to save it for tonight’s home opener.”

“We’ve had the entire freaking summer off. I want to get back to work.” Cam hip-checked his friend into the door frame. “But how can I do my job if I can’t drop the gloves?”

Scott pushed them ahead of him into the wide, concrete area where all the behind-the-scenes magic for the arena took place. The cold air was filled with the low hum of the ice-making machinery, the grinding of skates being sharpened and the throaty rumble of the Zambonis. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of buttered popcorn and the acrylic tang of heating sticks. Yeah, it was good to be back.

“You can make up for it tonight,” he reassured Bullet. “Plus you’ll keep the crowd happy. They always bay for blood at a rivalry game. With Philly here, our fans will definitely expect you to put their fourth line out of business.”

Ike Jelinek, who’d recently been promoted to the role of starting goaltender for the Cats, cuffed Bullet on the back of the head. “I don’t know what you’re whining about. You didn’t play more than five minutes in each game. I was out there for the full sixty in four of the six.”

“And you sat on your butt wearing the ball cap for the other two.” Cam stuck out his lower lip and flicked it up and down with his forefinger. “Aww, did the poor, little net-boy get tired standing in his crease for so long?”

Scott grinned as Ike told his friend to do an anatomically impossible sexual act. Much as he loved Celine and his kids, he’d missed hanging out with these guys over the summer. They were more like family to him than his real siblings.

One of the problems with not making the postseason was that he’d finished playing in April. Which meant he’d had too long a break from hockey. Sure, the family vacation in the Caribbean had been great. He’d loved having the time to play with Angela and Wayne, who were growing up way too fast, and to chill with Celine. But by the time the Conference Finals were done in May, he’d already been itching to get on the ice. He’d been working out and training even before the Cup had been lifted by Tampa.

Scott had volunteered to help out with the younger guys at prospects camp in July and had counted off the days to training camp.

“You can—Oomph.” Scott ran into Grey’s back. His friend had halted abruptly. “What the hell?”

Grey had a strange grin on his face as he stepped aside and gave Scott a clear view of the locker room. Most of the team was already inside, getting changed for the pregame skate. A heavy rock beat pounded. As he walked in, the music switched off and the guys stopped what they were doing and started to whoop and applaud.

Scott frowned, confused. It wasn’t his birthday, he hadn’t done anything dumb that the media was gnawing over and he hadn’t even played in the last preseason game. Shaking his head, he walked forward a couple of steps, heading to his stall. He was surprised to see the room was full of coaches, trainers, equipment guys and other backroom staff. They must be as excited as he was about opening night and...

His brain froze. His steps faltered.

His gaze narrowed to the red jersey with the snow-leopard logo hanging in his stall. More specifically to the left shoulder. To the letter stitched there.

He blinked, thinking he must be dreaming. But nothing changed. Instead of the A he’d worn last season, there was a C. “Holy crap.”

Scott had known that there would be a new captain, since Johnny “Bruiser” Bruskowski had retired at the end of last season. As one of the alternate captains, Scott had figured he’d be on the list of possibles to lead the team but had assumed he was still too young. That it would go to one of the veterans. In his mind, next time around was more likely and he was good with that.

Clearly, the coaching staff and management had had a different idea.

Before he could process that, Scott was surrounded by people slapping him on the back and congratulating him.

“Hail the new captain,” Bullet said, with the right mix of deference, respect and mockery. “Best man for the job.”

“Only because none of you bozos wanted it,” Scott retorted good-naturedly, trying to hide his awe at the faith the organization and his team had put in him. “You’d have to toe the line too much.”

“Damn straight.”

“Come on, guys. Stop jawing and get suited up. Ten minutes before you hit the ice for warm-ups.” The trainer nodded at Scott. “Be good to see you leading the boys out there.”

“Thanks, man.” He raised his voice above the hubbub. “And thanks to all of you. I’ll do my best to fill Bruiser’s skates, though he’s a tough act to follow. Luckily for me, this is the best freaking hockey team in the world and I look forward to proving it to those other suckers, when we lift the Cup next June.”

A rousing round of cheers echoed through the locker room before everyone turned to the serious business of getting ready for a game. Scott strode to his stall, opened his bag and began his pregame routine, starting with placing the latest photo of Celine and their kids in pride of place—on the shelf above his sweater. He looked forward to celebrating his good news with them tomorrow. If she wasn’t too tired, there might even be a private celebration with Celine tonight. Especially if the Cats won.

He allowed himself a few seconds of heady anticipation before clearing his head and getting himself into game mode. By the time he’d changed into his gear, his mind was 100 percent focused on the task ahead.

It wouldn’t be easy tonight. Philly had made a lot of changes over the summer and were hot favorites to win the East coming into the season. They hadn’t lost a single preseason game, so were riding high on confidence. Scott planned to ensure the Cats knocked that cockiness out of them. They would not win in his barn, or at his first game as captain.

“You ready?” Grey called out from across the room.

Scott gave him the thumbs-up before reverently lifting his sweater off the hanger and slipping it over his head. On only two other occasions had the action meant as much to him—the day he was drafted by the Ice Cats and the night he made his first appearance in the show.

Putting on his helmet, he headed to where his friends were waiting. Then he led the way out, through the short tunnel and into the brightly lit main bowl of the arena. As his skates hit the ice, he looked over behind Ike’s goal to his seats. His heart swelled to see Celine, Angela and Wayne going crazy clapping and cheering him from behind the glass. He saluted them with his stick, then began his warm-up.

The rest of the pregame routine passed in a blur, no matter how hard he tried to imprint it all on his brain to preserve the memory. He couldn’t remember heading to the locker room, what Coach said or even what he’d said in his first captain’s speech. The next thing he knew, he was standing by the famous snow-leopard logo, with Ike ahead of him and Grey behind him, ready to lead his team out.

When the doors swung open, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go out there and show them the Ice Cats play the best damn hockey in the world.”

As he strode toward the ice, he allowed his mind one small lapse in focus to acknowledge that life couldn’t get much better than this.


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4cc4795d-b0cc-5761-8e32-939854174034)

Present day

“THE HOCKEY NETWORK, New York, isn’t renewing my contract?”

Scott paused, steak-laden fork halfway to his mouth, to look at his agent.

“They want to go in a different direction. They want a more ‘three-sixty’ coverage.” Andy added air quotes.

“You mean they’re changing me because I suck at color commentary.” Scott had never been good at running his mouth off and THNNY seemed to want to fill every second of the game with talk. He didn’t mind commenting on plays and stats, strategy and tactics, even guys’ college or juniors careers. But the network wanted him to gossip about the players, as well.

Sharing in-depth information about the men he’d been teammates with less than a year ago was something he had no interest in. He’d been on the butt end of that kind of intrusion enough this past season, between his retirement and divorce, to be real uncomfortable with sharing details about guys’ personal lives. He didn’t even like repeating locker-room tales.

Besides, who cared? Scott sure as hell didn’t. The only thing that mattered was what happened on the ice.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue next season, so I guess that makes my decision for me.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to coach?” Andy patted his mouth with his napkin. “I’ve had feelers from several GMs about you. A future Hall of Famer is always of interest.”

Scott ate the piece of steak, using the time to mull that over. He’d done some work with the Cats this past season, helping the younger players tighten up their defensive tactics. He liked to think he’d played his part in helping the team win the Cup, even if he hadn’t been out there on the ice with them.

Getting his name etched on the silver chalice one last time had been cool, though it hadn’t made up for losing it the previous season. For sure, it hadn’t been the same as winning it as a player.

“I enjoy stopping by practice to work on drills with the guys,” he said finally. “But I don’t want to do it full-time. Or have the responsibility for running the team, day in and day out. I don’t have the patience. It drives me nuts to work on plays and then see it all fall apart come game time because they forget how to execute in the heat of the moment.”

Andy gave an exaggerated shudder. “You and me both. That’s the problem when you’re naturally talented. You can’t teach what’s in your gut.”

“I hope your gut is enjoying my food.” Ryan Grey clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Good to see you, bro.”

“You, too, man.” Scott stood and greeted his friend and former teammate.

Ryan’s career had been cut short by repeated concussion issues. After a troubled few years, he’d decided to turn his love of cooking into his next career and now ran one of the most successful high-end steak houses in the tristate area, if not the whole East Coast.

“It’s been a while.” Ryan topped up Andy’s red wine. “How’s retirement treating you?”

“Still finding my feet,” Scott admitted. “If I was a better cook, I’d give you a run for your money.”

“You could try.” His friend grinned. “But I won’t be losing sleep over it. You’re a better D-man than chef.”

“True.” Scott didn’t take offense. He had enough culinary skills to survive without starving and had a sharp dialing finger for takeout and delivery. “Still, I can grill a mean burger.”

“Maybe you should open a sports bar.” Grey relit the candle on the table and straightened the centerpiece. “Don’t you have a business degree, too?”

Scott nodded. It was a bit clichéd—retired pro athlete putting his name to an eatery—but it could be fun. “That’s a good idea. I may look into it.”

“Anything I can do to help, give me a shout. I’m happy to share what I’ve learned.” Grey’s head lifted. “I have to go—my maître d’ is signaling. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I have a guy in my organization who specializes in second-career investment opportunities. He’s helped some football players with bars and nightclubs. I’ll put you in touch with him.” Andy pointed his wineglass toward Scott. “No pressure, but he’ll give you the facts and figures of what’s involved.”

“I’d appreciate his insights. But I’d still like to keep my hand in hockey somehow.”

Even though he knew his body couldn’t take playing at the highest level anymore, he didn’t feel old enough to be retired. He kept in shape and skated regularly. After so many years playing, he couldn’t give up hockey completely.

He wasn’t really part of the Ice Cats any longer. He was like an honorary uncle: included and indulged, but not a true family member. And he hadn’t felt like part of the commentating group—they’d been together a few years and it had been hard to slot into their tight-knit circle. Since his divorce one year ago, he sure as hell hadn’t felt like part of his family.

Andy signaled for the check. “You could join me and become an agent. Some of my best guys are former players. You definitely have what it takes.”

That was a major compliment. His agent didn’t bullshit or give praise lightly.

Driving home, Scott kept Andy’s advice front of mind. A couple of the opportunities they’d discussed made more sense than the commentating. In truth, the network had done him a favor by not renewing his contract.

Scott pulled into his garage and parked. As the door rumbled closed behind him, he took his time getting out of the car. Putting off the moment when he’d have to walk into the dark, empty house. Something he’d dreaded for the past year.

The divorce had come out of left field. Hell, it had been a freaking fastball from another freaking ballpark.

He’d assumed when he retired, he and Celine would spend more time together, especially now that both Angela and Wayne were in college. Since Scott and Celine wouldn’t be driven by the brutal schedule that had dictated their lives from September to June every year since they’d met, they would finally be able to do the things they’d always talked about. Instead, she’d left him.

His bitter laugh echoed around the garage. That was one play he hadn’t read at all.

Scott walked through the house, turning on lights. He kicked off his shoes in the front hall, then went into the living room and flicked on the flat-screen. Relieved to have noise—he didn’t care what channel was on—he padded to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Then headed for his den.

The silence was the worst. For the past couple months, his kids had hung out here a lot, particularly while their mom was traveling. But this week, they’d both headed back to college early—Angela had wanted to get a head start on her third-year projects and Wayne had football practice.

Leaving Scott alone in a house he’d never really felt was home. He’d bought it for Celine when he became captain. A thank-you for all the sacrifices she’d made and the fantastic job she’d done with their kids. While his responsibilities at the rink and with the team had taken up more time, she’d decorated, extended and remodeled, until it was perfect.

And it was. Perfectly color coordinated. Perfectly furnished. Probably perfectly freaking feng shuied, too. All he knew was that other than in his den—where she’d given him free rein—he felt like he was in a show house.

He’d have been happy to give it to her when they split up, but she’d wanted a sleek apartment in the city. Less bother while she was traveling. Not wanting to get rid of the family home while his kids still technically lived there, he’d agreed to hold on to it until Wayne graduated. But he couldn’t bring himself to use more than a few rooms.

In his den, he dropped onto the sofa and turned on the Yankees game. Top of the fifth, and they were beating the Red Sox by four runs. Good news, but not enough to distract him. Maybe he’d sit in bed and read. The latest Robert Crais was next up on his nightstand; Elvis Cole was always good for taking his mind off things.

Scott walked back through the house, turning off lights and the TV in the living room. The thick vellum invitation on the mantel caught his attention.

Crap. He’d forgotten all about J.B. and Issy’s reception. The pair had been married during the play-offs in a quickie civil ceremony but were having a full-blown celebration now that the successful Cup run was over and players were heading to New Jersey for their preseason preparations.

Scott was glad for J.B., but he wasn’t looking forward to attending yet another function stag. At least there would be plenty of Cats and their families there, so he wouldn’t be stuck making small talk with people he didn’t know.

That brought to mind the earlier conversation over dinner. He was out of a job.

He’d never not known where he was headed. He hated feeling rudderless.

Damn it. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

As he walked upstairs, he stopped to look at the family pictures that lined the wall. One for each year he and Celine had been married. For the first time he noticed that the writing had been on this wall, literally, if he’d bothered to notice. The happy smiles had become stilted over the years. The body language more brittle. He and Celine had been wrapped in each other’s arms on their first anniversary, but by the final picture, taken last summer, they were as far apart as physically possible, with their kids almost like a buffer between them.

The truth was that he missed his kids and hockey more than he missed his wife.

Scott sank onto the top step and rested his elbows on his knees, staring into the glass of red wine like it held all the answers.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

* * *

SAPPHIRE HOULIHAN’S LIFE WAS, to quote Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. She had a fabulous career, running her own successful management consultancy. She was healthy and fit and had finally lost the extra ten pounds she’d been carrying since college. Though after the one or two...okay...several to-die-for desserts she’d eaten at this wedding reception, she’d probably put half of those pounds back on. She had a busy social life and an active sex life, with absolutely no strings attached to either.

Everything was just how she liked it. Simple, straightforward, easy to manage.

So why did she feel so...restless? Unsettled?

Sapphie sipped her champagne and looked around the glittering ballroom. Her Louboutined foot tapped to the rock beat of an oldie but goody. The party was in full swing.

Her heart warmed to see her childhood friend Isabelle Brandine—no, Isabelle Larocque now—dancing with her husband, Jean Baptiste. Issy looked so happy. Who’d have thought a playboy hockey player, and a vacation fling at that, would turn out to be The One for conservative Issy.

Of course, there was the little matter of baby Sophia—currently being cooed over by J.B.’s mom—the result of that fling and an unfortunately timed bout of food poisoning. Sapphie believed her goddaughter was the catalyst for bringing Issy and J.B. together. So, despite a troubled path, their story had a happy ending.

If anyone deserved that happiness, it was Issy. Inseparable from the time they could crawl, Issy and Sapphie had grown up in a poor town in North Carolina. Because their parents had preferred partying over responsibility, the two friends had had to be the “grown-ups” in their respective households: looking after their siblings, making sure what little money their folks brought in kept a roof over their heads and food on the table.

When they’d escaped at eighteen, headed for college and better things, Issy had done everything she could to build a stable, financially secure life for herself, with the hope of settling down with a nice, responsible man to raise a family. Everything she hadn’t had as a child.

Sapphie deposited her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and snagged a fresh drink. She sighed.

That definitely wasn’t the life Sapphie wanted. Marriage, kids, a mortgage—no way. She’d had enough of responsibility and commitment growing up and was determined never to be tied to any person or any place. She depended on no one but herself. She controlled her life and cherished her freedom.

Sapphie didn’t own an apartment but kept three serviced condos—one on each coast and another in Chicago—convenient pieds-à-terre for when she flew back and forth across the country to see her clients. No cleaning, no maintenance, no worries.

As for dating, Issy teased her about having “a guy in every port.” Not quite true, but Sapphie didn’t go out with any man for long. That way she didn’t encourage expectations that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fulfill. Like the apartments, it suited her perfectly.

Sapphie pushed away from the pillar she’d been leaning against and sat at an empty table. The late nights she’d put in recently for her biggest client, Marty Antonelli—not to mention the red-eye she’d taken from LA to get here to help Issy with the party—were catching up with her. She had a room at the hotel until Monday and planned to take advantage of the spa to pamper herself.

Perhaps she’d sneak away and get an early night. Eight hours’ sleep sounded heavenly.

Taylor “Mad Dog” Madden sat beside her. “How soon can I cut out of here without offending the happy couple?”

The Ice Cats’ defenseman was a close friend and also one of J.B.’s groomsmen.

“I was wondering the same thing. Do you think we’re getting ol—” Sapphie broke off when she saw his face, tight with anger. “What’s put a bug up your butt?”

“Nothing.” He slammed his beer bottle on the table, then stared out at the dance floor, arms crossed.

She followed his gaze and spotted a familiar, pretty blonde talking to a slight man with thinning dark hair. “Oh. Lizzie came with someone.”

“Apparently, she’s been dating him for a few weeks.” Taylor’s lip curled. “Pompous jerk. He keeps touching her ass.”

“And that’s your business, how?”

He tossed her an irritated look. “It isn’t. I just think he should have better manners.”

“Uh-huh. Not jealous, then.”

Taylor had a thing for Lizzie Martin, though he was loath to admit it. The pair had dated briefly, a few years ago. That had been before Sapphie had met Taylor last summer when she and Issy had taken a trip to Antigua to celebrate her thirtieth birthday. He and J.B. had been getting some R & R at the same resort. Sapphie and Taylor had hit it off straightaway.

Their time in the Caribbean had been fun, and once back home, they’d become friends with occasional benefits. There was never any thought of a serious relationship, on either side. More recently, they’d dropped the benefits and simply enjoyed each other’s company.

Sapphie wasn’t upset about his feelings for Lizzie. He was a good person and he deserved a good woman. Especially if she kept him on his toes.

“You don’t freaking slow-dance to Bon Jovi, idiot.” Drumming his fingers on the table, Taylor looked ready to storm the dance floor and yank Lizzie’s date away from her by the scruff of his neck.

“I think Lizzie made that point,” Sapphie said as the blonde moved out of her partner’s arms. “So relax.”

Taylor drained his beer. “I’m fine. As long as he stops pawing her in public.”

“Because you want to be the one who paws her.”

“No.” He sighed. “Yes. But that won’t happen. She’s mad at me for embarrassing her at the Cup celebration a few weeks ago. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Every time I open my mouth around her, I’m eating shoe leather. I don’t have that problem with you.”

“Because our relationship is simple.”

“Maybe we should date instead.”

“Right.” Sapphie rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to spoil what we have.”

“You’re right.” He sighed again.

“Go sort things out with Lizzie. Apologize, then ask her to dance.”

“Even if she accepts I’m sorry, I’m the last person she’ll want to dance with.”

“It’s not like you to give up because it’s tough.”

His lips twisted. “Me and Lizzie isn’t tough—it’s impossible.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She’d seen Lizzie surreptitiously watching Taylor. “Anyway, you’ve got nothing to lose by giving it a shot.”

“I guess. Anyone ever told you you’re bossy?” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“All the time. It’s how I earn my money. You’re lucky I don’t charge for my advice.”

“You’d be worth every penny.” He kissed her cheek, then stood. “Wish me luck.”

She held up crossed fingers. “You can do it.”

Taylor strode off purposefully, but his body language changed as he approached Lizzie. He was nervous.

Lizzie straightened the moment she saw Taylor heading toward her. Though Sapphie couldn’t hear what was said, the pair’s reactions were enough to get the gist of their conversation. As it grew more heated, Sapphie hoped Taylor would back off, but he didn’t. Soon Lizzie stalked out, with Taylor hot on her heels. It would end either in tears or with them tearing up the sheets. There was too much passion for anything else.

As Sapphie made her way across the room, she spotted Scotty Matthews at the bar, nursing a drink. Sapphie had always had a fan-girl crush on the former Ice Cats captain. Her favorite player since she’d started following the team, he’d been a powerhouse on the ice and, from what she’d heard, a great leader and a mentor in the locker room. He was a nice guy but hard to get to know. She’d seen him at several Ice Cats parties and he’d seemed pretty self-contained. Watching everything, saying little.

She’d found it hard to be her usual chatty self with him. He’d look at her with those serious blue eyes and she’d become tongue-tied. Because she’d never been fazed by a gorgeous man before, she’d assumed it was because he was older than her—in his early forties. Though he’d never said anything overtly disapproving, she’d felt she never quite measured up to his standards.

Tonight he looked lonely.

He’d obviously come to the reception on his own. She’d heard about his divorce last year; hard not to when it had been splashed across the media.

As if he felt her studying him, Scotty looked up and their gazes met.

There was something about the recently retired captain that drew her to him. His dark hair, flecked with gray, was still short, like it had been when he was playing. His tanned face bore the scars of his career. The one that had always fascinated her was the white line that marred his otherwise perfect lips. Left side, near the corner. The result of a high stick—one that hadn’t been penalized—it had taken twenty-five stitches to close the cut.

He gave a half smile, raised his glass to her, then returned his attention to his drink.

Suddenly, she wanted to make that half smile full-blown.

Sapphie sauntered to the bar and settled on the stool next to him. She was pleased to notice him checking out her legs as she crossed them.

“I suppose a dance is out of the question, Captain?” Her question came out slightly husky, giving it an unintentionally sultry note.

He didn’t answer immediately but looked at the crowd on the dance floor doing their best impression of John Travolta to “Stayin’ Alive.” “Not really my thing.”

Yet his toe tapped on the rung of the stool.

“I always find it amazing that you guys have perfect rhythm and timing on the ice, yet you claim not to like dancing. Me, I love it.” She wiggled in her seat.

He frowned. “That’s completely different. One is a sport. That—” he pointed to the dance floor with his glass “—isn’t.”

“True. And some people should probably stick to hockey. Bless his heart, Monty has two left feet.”

A step behind the music all the time, Chaz “Monty” Montgomery made up for his lack of skill with enthusiasm.

“He’s a goaltender,” Scotty said. As if that explained everything.

The music slowed. Couples drifted together.

Sapphie wrinkled her nose. “I never did like this song.”

“That was my ex-wife’s favorite.”

Way to go, Sapphie. “I’m sorry.”

Scotty shrugged. “Everyone has different tastes.”

They sat silently, watching the light from the disco ball send sparkles over the dancing couples.

“Honestly, I never liked this song much either.”

At his dry words, she whipped her head around to look at him. A hint of a smile played around his lips.

She was tempted to lean over and kiss them. To taste that scar. But this wasn’t the time or place for that behavior—especially from the maid of honor.

That didn’t stop her wanting to.

Willing herself to sound casual, she said, “I’d offer to give you new memories for the song, but we should pick something that won’t make us wince every time we hear it.”

“Good thinking. Plus the singer has the same name as my ex.”

“We’ll definitely choose another song, then.”

With impeccable timing, the DJ segued into the next track. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any better. She looked questioningly at Scotty, hoping this wasn’t one of his favorites.

For several seconds he appeared to be enjoying the music. Then he said solemnly, “Sorry, but we can’t have our song being about a dying woman. Too morbid.”

She grinned, relieved. “I love Bette Midler, but this song always grates on me. Perhaps because I hate movies with sad endings. Life’s hard enough.”

“For sure.” His smile faded.

Way to bring the evening down, dodo. Determined to cheer things up, she said brightly, “Next song, whatever it is, love it or hate it, we dance. Deal?”

For a moment, she thought he’d refuse. But he nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

They waited as the current song reached its climax. Then the DJ’s deliberately deep voice washed over the crowd. “Last slow song before we take up the tempo again. So grab your favorite girl or guy and smooch.”

The moment of truth. Sapphie and Scotty looked at each other.

She was surprised by how much she wanted this dance. Even a little nervous.

He held out his hand, palm up. “A deal’s a deal.”

“It certainly is.” She laid her hand in his. “Luckily, I like this song,” she said as they joined the other couples. “I’ve always liked Christopher Cross. This one’s a little corny, I know, but there’s something romantic about the lyrics. Especially given where we live.” Jeez, she was babbling like a teenager on her first date.

“I like the idea of being caught between the moon and New York City.” Scotty pulled her gently into his arms.

Without saying anything, they slipped into the old-fashioned way of slow dancing. Her right hand clasped in his left. Her left on his shoulder, while his other hand rested against the small of her back. They started with a respectable gap between them, but the number of people made them draw closer together.

At least, that was her excuse.

Her thighs were pressed against his. Solid, hard muscle. Her breasts crushed against the broad wall of his chest. The heat of his body seared her, despite the barrier of their clothing.

He brought their joined hands in and rested them against his chest. She could feel his strong, steady heartbeat beneath his tuxedo jacket.

Her left hand slipped across his shoulder to his neck, delighting in the smooth skin and corded strength. The hand at her back began to caress her, slowly moving up and down her silk dress before edging toward her hip.

Their feet barely moved as they swayed to the music.

His cheek rested against her temple. His breath stirred her hair and whispered against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. If she turned her head slightly, her lips would be pressed against his jaw. If he turned his head slightly, his lips would be pressed against hers.

She wanted his kiss very much.

Slowly, tentatively, she started to move her head. At the same moment, he began to move his. Their mouths were so close. So tantalizingly close. One slight movement and they’d meet. She lifted her gaze to his.

Oh, those serious blue eyes. She could lose herself in them. They would be her downfall tonight. How could she resist him?


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_afb6cda8-6416-5f77-a0d1-a8341d7961cd)

SCOTT WAS AS nervous as a geeky teenager dancing with the homecoming queen.

He hadn’t held a woman, other than his wife, in his arms for...hell...too many years to think about. For sure not since he was eighteen. Even before then, he’d been more interested in hockey than girls, so he was as green as a rookie when it came to women. What little he knew was as outmoded as a cassette tape in the world of music streaming.

Slow-dancing with the prettiest woman in the room... Staring into her clear blue eyes.

He angled himself slightly so that his groin wasn’t against her thighs, then shifted his hand on her back.

Even he could read the invitation in Sapphie’s expression. The way she moved their joined hands to link their fingers. How she tilted her head so her mouth was barely a breath away from his.

Sapphie wanted to kiss him.

He’d never wanted anything so much.

The thought startled him. His heart thudded against his ribs. It sounded like something his always-in-love, everything’s-a-drama daughter would say.

He was a grown man. He’d seen Sapphie a few times over the past year and each time he’d felt guilty about how he’d reacted to her. He’d put it down to his divorce, his retirement—anything but the fact that it was Sapphie herself who sent his pulse skyrocketing.

Kiss the woman already.

He lowered his head, brushing his mouth over her lips. Getting the sweetest taste.

A lightning bolt shot through his body, headed straight for his groin.

He wanted more. Much more.

Start me up.

The intro to a Rolling Stones song blasted him out of the sensuous moment. Scott jerked his head up. At the same time, he tightened his hold on Sapphie. Not wanting to let her go. But they couldn’t remain on the dance floor making a spectacle of themselves by continuing to slow dance while everyone around them bopped to Jagger.

He and Sapphie eased apart, but he didn’t let go of her hand. She tightened her grip. They headed toward the back of the ballroom, where they found an empty space near a table to stand.

“So...” Sapphie cleared her throat. “Probably not the best place for kissing.”

The tips of his ears grew hot.

“Uh, no.”

Sapphie looked him straight in the eye. “Do you want to find a place to continue this or get a drink?”

He knew what his answer should be. “I’m not thirsty.”

Sapphie’s smile lit up her face, making him feel like he’d scored the game-winner. Which, given he was a stay-at-home defenseman, would be as much of a miracle as this evening was turning out to be.

“There are gardens out back,” she suggested. “We could take a walk, get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air’s good.”

She tilted her head toward the door. “We can make a break for it before the song ends.”

Like naughty schoolchildren, they slipped past the caterers replenishing the buffet and paused in the foyer to adjust to the brighter light.

Scott half expected Sapphie to change her mind. What would a bright, bubbly and beautiful woman like her want with an out-of-work, out-of-place old guy like him?

Instead, she tugged on their joined hands, pulling him into a side corridor that ended at a glass fire door. He pushed open the door for her, then let it close behind them.

The night was surprisingly still, even though crickets and tree frogs chirped. The balmy air felt good after the chill inside. A rain shower earlier in the day had lowered the blazing late-summer temperatures and cleared some of Jersey’s notorious humidity.

Scott and Sapphie strolled along the brick path, their way lit by old-fashioned lanterns that cast pools of soft light at regular intervals. They crossed over a wooden bridge that spanned a shallow stream and continued toward a stone gazebo. Turning a corner, they took steps leading down to a jetty, which stretched out into the dark water of the lake.

Sapphie slipped off her shoes and held them by the heels. “Come on. Let’s dangle our feet in the water.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before dashing to the end of the jetty.

Scott followed, smiling at her infectious enthusiasm. “Wait. You’ll ruin your gown if you sit there.” He shrugged out of his tux jacket and spread it out on the planks. “Now you can sit, my lady.”

She grinned, clasping her hands to her chest. “My hero. Thank you, Sir Galahad. Or should that be Sir Walter Raleigh—protecting my silk dress from damage by laying down your coat?”

“Either way, you’re welcome. Can’t have you going into the ballroom with a dirty patch on your backside.”

Flirting wasn’t one of his skills, because he’d never needed to play those games.

Thankfully, Sapphie laughed at his inept response. “That would be hard to explain.” She dipped her bare feet into the water and wiggled her toes. “Oh, that feels good.”

Man, was he out of his depth when he was turned on by dainty feet and cute toes.

She patted the space beside her. “Won’t you join me? There’s enough room, so you won’t get mud on your great butt either.”

He sat beside her and was about to put his feet in the water when he realized he still wore his shoes. Hoping Sapphie hadn’t noticed, he removed them and his socks, then put them behind him on the jetty. He also remembered to roll up his pant legs.

“You’re right. That feels good,” he said.

They sat quietly, watching the play of moonlight on the rippling water. For a woman who exuded energy and life, she was surprisingly good at handling silence. She didn’t rush to fill it with chatter. The only movement was the swish of her feet making little whirlpools.

Scott managed not to jump when her hand slipped into his. Instead, he kept staring forward as he entwined their fingers, then rested their joined hands on his thigh. His thumb mimicked her feet, stroking her soft skin in circles. His pulse kicked when she copied his action, her thumb drawing circles on his knuckle.

He turned to look at her. Only to find her studying him.

The silence became charged. Like the electricity in the air before a storm.

Sapphie gently touched his mouth with her finger. She lingered over his scar, making it tingle. “I know this doesn’t hurt anymore, but it makes me want to kiss your poor lip better.”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Feel free,” he managed to say.

She didn’t need a second invitation. She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to his lip.

He tried not to be disappointed. He’d expected—

Her mouth replaced her fingertip. She brushed a soft kiss against his scar. So fleeting it was over almost before it started. Yet it sent fierce need pulsing through his body.

Her second kiss was firmer, lasting a fraction longer. Her third, longer still. Then her tongue traced his scar.

He hardened instantly, spurring him to action. Two could play this game.

He reached up and rubbed his thumb over her full lower lip. Back and forth, gently parting her lips.

She responded by nipping his thumb, then flicking her tongue against it. Her mouth curved into a teasing smile. A satisfied glint lit her eyes.

So she thought she was in control? That she had him where she wanted him.

Not quite.

He swept in and took advantage of her parted lips. No teasing or flirting. No hesitation or asking permission. His hand cupped the back of her head, anchoring her to him.

Her grip on his other hand tightened. Her free arm wound around his neck, pulling him closer. She met his desire and upped the intensity.

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel her against him. To touch her.

He released her hand and stroked her arm. Was her skin as soft everywhere? While he massaged her neck, he ran the fingers of his other hand over her bare shoulder and down her back, until they met silky fabric. He’d admired the strapless, knee-length sheath earlier—the way it emphasized her delicious curves and showed off her amazing legs. Now it was an unwelcome barrier.

Pulling his lips from hers, he kissed his way across her cheek to her ear. She inhaled sharply as he nipped at her earlobe. When his mouth trailed down her neck, she tilted her head to give him better access.

Sapphie sighed as he continued his journey across her shoulder, paying particular attention to the hollow of her collarbone. When he reached the curve of her shoulder, his mouth took a lower path, toward her breasts.

He licked a moist trail along the top of her dress, following the rise and fall of the blue fabric over the swell of one breast, into the valley between, then up over the other.

He nudged aside the silk and retraced his path.

He wanted more. He ran his hand along the back of her dress, searching for the zipper.

He tried again.

Where the hell was the damn thing?

Sapphie chuckled softly as she moved his hand to her right side. “Try here.”

Sapphie proved she wasn’t put off by his fumbling by loosening his tie, removing it and tossing it aside. Then she undid the top button of his shirt. And the next.

His fingers curved tightly against her side as she pressed a hot openmouthed kiss to the pulse at the base of his throat. Then went lower.

And lower. Unbutton, kiss. Unbutton, kiss.

He almost protested aloud when she halted with his shirt only halfway undone. Don’t stop now!

She didn’t. Scott couldn’t hold back his groan as she separated the two sides and licked across his right pec, circling his nipple, then returning to repeat on the other side.

This time, when she arrived at the center of his chest, she started to trail downward. His stomach clenched with anticipation.

Uh, no. If she continued along that route, he’d embarrass himself in the worst way possible.

“My turn.” He slid a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his.

Her sassy smile did crazy things to his insides. “Be my guest.”

He nibbled her bottom lip, then licked it, relishing the taste of her. Sweet yet spicy. Champagne and chocolate.

Scott took her mouth fully, then deepened the kiss. This time, his hand moved aside the fabric that did such a good job of covering the damn zipper and slowly pulled the tab down. Then he slipped his fingers inside.

And found nothing but soft, bare skin.

That made his task much simpler. No more barriers to exploring to his heart’s content. And he did.

First her back. Her skin was as smooth as the silk that had covered it. He trailed his fingertips lightly down the ridge of her spine.

He smiled as she arched her back, gasping slightly. So she was ticklish. Or very sensitive. Either way, he’d return shortly to investigate further. In the meantime, he wanted to move to other, uncharted territory.

His thumb slid under the front of her dress and traced the curve of her breast. First the underside, then up over the top. Then around the other way. When he tried to part the fabric, he noticed there was a hook at the top of the zipper, holding the bodice in place. He undid it and the front of the dress fell open.

Her breasts were as beautiful as the rest of her. Perfectly sized, perfectly shaped. A tan line from a bikini framed the creamy mounds, which were topped by taut, pink nipples. As tantalizing and mouthwatering as the most decadent dessert.

He dipped his head and circled one bud with his tongue.

The sound of laughter close by was like a plunge into an ice bath, shocking him out of the haze of desire.

Scott straightened. What the hell was he doing? He shouldn’t have put Sapphie in such a potentially embarrassing situation. It was his responsibility to protect her from such exposure.

“I’m sorry.” Carefully, he drew the dress back over her breasts, covering them. He tried to refasten the hook, but his fingers were too clumsy to manage the fiddly device.

Sapphie pushed his hands aside and neatly slotted the hook into its eye, then pulled up the zipper. The rasp of the slider against the teeth seemed harsh and discordant in the still night air. She then stood and wiggled, to rearrange the dress so that it fell properly into place.

Damn it if that wiggle didn’t turn him on. Made him want to mess her up again.

“No harm done.” Smoothing her tousled hair, she smiled.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I guess we should head inside, to the party.” He looked at his shoes and socks. Probably ought to put them on.

Sapphie picked up his jacket and dusted off the back before handing it to him. “If you insist. Or we could continue what we were doing in a more private setting.”

Her steady gaze met his. “I have a room in the hotel. You’re welcome to join me there.”

* * *

OH MY GOD. Sapphie had asked Scotty Matthews to her room. She stifled a girlie squeal and tried to look like it was no big deal.

And it wasn’t really. He was just a guy. Okay, a gorgeous, sexy—if a little serious—and utterly tempting guy. The thought of loosening him up, making him lose control, sent a shiver of delight through her.

Over the years, she’d slept with richer and more famous men. She’d even had a memorable night with one of her teenage Hollywood crushes. Sadly, it was memorable for the wrong reasons—one of which was particularly small. Her choice of man didn’t depend on how famous he was, how much he had in his bank or whether he was on People magazine’s list of sexy people.

Being in charge of her life meant that she chose who, when and for how long.

Scotty filled the bill very nicely.

Sapphie didn’t want the night to end—and she would eliminate the possibility of another interruption. She wanted to investigate the unexpected fire that had erupted between them and see how hot it could burn. Given what he’d done to her with his kisses—holy moly, his mouth was lethal—she had no doubts they could shatter a thermometer. As for his touch, the man was as talented with his hands off the ice as he was on. Her skin still tingled from his caresses.

But still...this was Scotty Matthews.

She’d never been in such a dizzy whirl about a man.

Sapphie became uncomfortably aware of the silence. Scotty hadn’t responded to her offer. He hadn’t even blinked. The way he was looking at her made her nervous.

Had she misunderstood the signals? No. He wanted her. He’d been as turned on as she had. She’d felt his erection pressing against her. The slight tremble in his heated touch. Tasted the passion in his kiss.

Maybe a kiss was as far as he’d wanted to go. Was it too soon after his divorce?

“Won’t we be missed?” His gravelly words cut through the maelstrom of her thoughts.

“Possibly.” Her uncertainty made it sound like a question.

He cleared his throat. “You’re Issy’s bridesmaid.”

Did that mean he wanted to leave with her or not? His even tone gave her no clues.

If she were at work, she’d cut to the chase. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll be honest—this is something different for me.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Being with someone new. Wanting to be with that person. I’m out of touch with dating etiquette, if I ever knew what it was. I married my high-school sweetheart.”

His apprehension touched her and calmed her jumbled thoughts. He was so strong and steady and solid she hadn’t appreciated that ending his longtime marriage would affect him at such a basic level. She was amazed he hadn’t turned tail and fled at her offer.

She zeroed in on the key phrase in his admission. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he did but didn’t know how to go about it.

“As I see it, we have several possible courses of action. One, we go back to the reception and wait for people to start leaving before disappearing upstairs. That way no one will notice our exit. Two—” she enumerated the options on her fingers “—we go inside, say our goodbyes and skip out. Three, we assume everyone has their mind on other things than what we’re up to and skip going back altogether.”

Scotty frowned, seeming to give it serious thought.

“Would it bother you if we’re seen leaving together?” she asked gently.

He shrugged. “We’re both unattached adults. What about you?”

“Doesn’t worry me at all.”

“I don’t want to go to the party and waste time with other people that could be spent alone with you.”

His slow smile made her stomach drop. “I like the way you think. Very much.”

“Decision made. Let’s go.” He knelt and picked up one of her shoes. He held out the pump.

Delighted by his chivalry, Sapphie balanced herself with a hand on his shoulder, then lifted her foot so he could slip the shoe on. As she repeated the process with her other foot, she wondered how a simple act could make her long for him to trail those magical fingers higher, much higher, up her leg.

Low in her belly, muscles tightened. “Thank you,” she said huskily as she straightened.

“My pleasure.” He shoved his socks in his pocket, then reached for his wingtips and put them on, stuffing the half-tied laces down the side. Then he held out his hand.

They linked fingers and hurried toward the hotel.

Once inside the door, she steered them to the right. “If we go this way, we can avoid the ballroom. There are elevators at the end that go to the guest floors.”

Though it wasn’t late, the corridor was deserted and the elevator came quickly. Unfortunately, the car didn’t stay empty as it rose to the first floor. People crowded in, pushing Sapphie and Scotty to the back corner. They moved closer together as more people tried to squeeze into the already-packed car, until Scotty put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side.

The man was a gentleman. Although the way he caressed her shoulder with one fingertip did wicked things to her insides.

She slipped her arm around his waist under his jacket. Then she dipped her fingers between the belted waistband of his pants and started inching the shirt free so she could play with his bare skin.

“We’re still in public,” he murmured against her ear before nipping the lobe.

Sapphie covered her sigh with a cough. “Damn it.”

They didn’t move apart as the elevator made its way upward and gradually emptied. The journey seemed to go quickly and yet too slowly. Anticipation filled Sapphie as the top floor was announced and the doors swished open.

Scotty’s grip on her shoulder tightened fractionally before he released her. They walked side by side along the plush carpeting without speaking.

Sapphie was unusually nervous. She sensed if she said the wrong thing, she might spook Scotty, even though he’d made it clear that he was as desperate as she was to get behind the closed door and finally be able to explore this crazy attraction between them in private.

Outside her room, she pulled her key card out of her little blue clutch and held it against the lock until it clicked. As she stepped into the dimly lit room, her nerves vanished.

She was in her domain. Somehow that gave her the feeling of control that she’d been lacking since she’d stepped onto the dance floor with Scotty. She took out her phone and, ignoring the texts and missed calls, switched it to silent, then put it and her clutch on the desk.

Turning to face Scotty, she found him standing in front of her. He’d discarded his jacket—hanging it over a chair—and removed his cuff links, so his sleeves hung open, revealing muscled forearms. There was something incredibly sexy about this man, slightly disheveled in his formal wear.

He trailed a finger along her shoulder, over the ridge of her collarbone, to the hollow at the base of her neck. There, he let his fingertip rest momentarily against her skittering pulse before heading unerringly downward to the valley between her breasts. Then he hooked the neckline of her dress and drew her toward him.

She lifted her arms to his shoulders, then wound them around his neck. His arms pulled her against his body so they were plastered together from chest to toe.

Their mouths met, hot and urgent. The time for playing and flirting and teasing was done.

And there were too many clothes. Sapphie wanted to feel him skin to skin.

She went to work on his shirt, tugging it out of his pants before quickly undoing his buttons. Her palms tingled as she slid them over the hard planes of his chest to his shoulders so she could remove the shirt. She then tossed it behind her and focused on exploring his chest more fully.

Scotty kept himself in great shape even though he was no longer playing. Smooth, tanned skin, with a sprinkling of crisp dark hair, covered well-defined muscles. Not an ounce of fat on his impressive six-pack. In fact, the only thing marring his upper body was a long-healed white scar across the line of his collarbone, where he’d had surgery to repair a broken clavicle early in his playing career.

Sapphie put her lips to the scar, then kissed her way along it to the middle of his chest, then headed down to his flat stomach. As her fingers busied themselves with his belt buckle, her tongue traced the ridges of that six-pack, taking a roundabout path to his belly button. And lower still.

Scotty moaned, then tunneled his fingers through her hair, halting her progress. “My turn. Please.”

“Always the gentleman.” She pressed an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin just above his open belt, then slowly straightened. She held out her hands, palms up. “I’m all yours.”

In two simple moves, her unhooked, unzipped dress slid down her legs to form a puddle of silk on the floor.

She stepped out of the dress and stood before him naked, except for her turquoise lace panties and her shoes.

Scotty stared, mesmerized, for several seconds. “You are stunning,” he said softly, fervently.

“Why, thank you.” She bobbed a curtsy.

His gaze traveled admiringly over her body, making her glad she’d kept up her exercise routine despite her crazy work schedule. Then all thoughts of treadmills and weights flew out of her head as his gaze settled on her breasts. She felt the heat of his look almost as clearly as if he’d touched her.

Yearning tugged at her chest. She wanted his touch. Badly. Now.

“You don’t just have to look, you know.”

His smile made her stomach flip. “Patience. We have all night.”

She reached out to gently scrape her fingernail down the middle of his chest. “Ah, but I can’t wait all night for my turn to play again.” She deliberately let her finger wander below his waistband, where his erection strained against the black fabric. “I don’t think you want me to either.”

His short laugh sounded a tad strained. “Stop that or this will be over before it’s started.”

“O-kay.” She shrugged but removed her hand.

He ran his finger over her bottom lip, then leaned forward and nipped it. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

“Bold words, Captain Matthews.”

“Ex-captain. Still, you know you can always trust promises made by the captain.”

She bit back a moan as he mimicked her action and trailed a finger over her chin, down her neck and into the valley between her breasts. His mouth followed, then circled the swell of her right breast. His hands, meanwhile, skimmed over her sides to her hips, then settled on her bottom.

“This isn’t one of those ‘win guarantees,’ like Messier in ’94, is it?”

“Much as I hate to be compared to the Rangers’ former captain, he delivered. So will I.”

The matter-of-fact statement, uttered in that smooth, deep voice, heightened the anticipation. “Feel free to continue.”

Her airy words ended with a gasp as he took her nipple into his mouth.

The seriousness and single-minded focus that had both drawn her to him and intimidated her were a major plus when he used them to turn her on. As he continued to stroke and taste every inch of her, she swore she could hear the “Hallelujah Chorus” building to a crescendo.

Before her legs could give out, he swept her into his arms and deposited her on the bed. He removed her shoes, then began to trace a path up her legs, starting with her toes. He quickly found and then lingered over her more sensitive spots—the back of her knees, the inside of her thighs and the lower curve of her backside. Then he reached the most sensitive place of all.

He’d barely begun to give that delicate bud attention when her first orgasm rippled through her. He paused until the tremors had subsided, then continued to play with her until he’d made her come apart a second time. Then he propped himself up on one elbow and gently caressed her as she recovered.

Totally spent, she looked up at him. “You were right. It was worth the wait.”

His smile spoke volumes. “We’re not done yet.”

That cocky grin reenergized her. “We certainly aren’t.” She rose and pushed him onto his back. “And you have too many clothes on.”

Sapphie made quick work of removing his pants and his boxer shorts. Then she gave him a taste of his own medicine, using her fingers and mouth to explore every inch of his amazing body. Whenever he tried to intervene, she batted his hand away and carried on with her sensual journey to its tantalizing destination: his straining erection.

Knowing she had him on the brink, she straddled him and sank slowly onto his hard shaft until he was buried deep inside her. She savored the way he fit her perfectly. Filled her completely.

His guttural moan resonated within her, rekindling the burning need she’d thought he’d sated. Suddenly, the time for playing was past.

Urgency overtook them. They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies as attuned to each other as they’d been on the dance floor. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, they raced toward completion. Harder, faster. Until, as one, they reached the crest and flew over the edge.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bcc30070-33db-5181-a056-f90570301fb6)

SCOTT AWOKE TO bright sunshine, the smell of coffee and the clacking of computer keys. He ran his hand over the sheet beside him.

Cold.

The bed had been empty for a while. He squinted at the clock and almost did a double take. He never slept this late. Then again, given how little actual sleeping he’d done over the past thirty-six hours, it wasn’t really surprising.

What an incredible weekend. He and Sapphie had barely left the bed, except to sit on the balcony in the moonlight, sipping champagne and nibbling on snacks. And each other. They’d ordered room service whenever they’d needed sustenance, creating impromptu picnics, which had invariably ended with them burning off the calories they’d just eaten.

Scott grinned and rolled onto his back, propped himself on a pillow that still smelled of Sapphie and laced his fingers behind his head.

Their lovemaking had been out of this world. He’d never responded to a woman as he had to her. For the first time in a long while he felt alive and invigorated. Optimistic. Ready to take on the world.

For a moment, he was a little embarrassed. He was in his forties, with grown kids, not fourteen and sweaty palmed because the prettiest girl in the class had said hello to him.

He’d spent a lot of time since Sapphie approached him at the reception aware of his age and relative inexperience, conscious that he was finally getting around to doing things most people did when they were kids. Was he a cliché—lusting over a woman ten years younger than him?

Nah. He’d already had the fast car and he wasn’t into ear piercing or low-slung jeans that showed his underwear. If this was his midlife crisis, so what? His life had been turned completely upside down since he’d retired. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself? More to the point, why shouldn’t he enjoy himself with Sapphie? They were both adults who were free and single.

Scott smiled indulgently when he saw her on the balcony, seated at the little round table, tapping away intently at her laptop. One foot was tucked under her. She seemed to be speaking with someone via her Bluetooth earpiece.

Her long blond hair was wet. He wished she’d woken him up so they could have shared the shower, like they had yesterday. Man, was he glad he’d retained his strength and stamina.

Sapphie wore a white short-sleeved blouse and tailored navy shorts, instead of the hotel’s robes that they’d lived in since entering her room.

A tiny chill whispered down the back of his neck.

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked around the room. The chill spread to his chest. The remnants of their late-night snacks had been cleared away. The candles they’d ordered from housekeeping tossed in the trash. The closet was empty and the surfaces clear. Her suitcase was packed. The dress was in a dry cleaner’s bag and draped over the case.

Other than the fact that he was lying in a rumpled bed, there was no sign of how they’d spent the weekend.

A memory of Celine, greeting him after his first commentating gig, her packed bags by the door, flashed through his mind.

He was about to toss the sheet aside and go to her, strangely needing the reassurance of touching her, when the door to the balcony slid open and Sapphie walked in, carrying her mug.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” She put her mug next to the coffeemaker, then approached and leaned over to kiss him. She tasted of coffee, with a hint of mint.

When she would have straightened, he caught her around the waist and tumbled her to the bed. “How about a proper good morning?”

Sapphie laughed and twined her arms around his neck. “Good morning.”

All too soon, she pulled out of his embrace and walked to the coffeemaker. “Would you like one?” She held up a mug.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“I held off ordering breakfast until you were awake. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He scraped his hand over his stubbled jaw. “I guess I should get cleaned up and put some clothes on.”

“I’ll call room service and breakfast should be here when you’re done.”

Scott hid a frown. Their previously easy conversation had suddenly grown stilted. Awkward.

“Great.” He threw back the covers and grabbed a robe. He padded to the bathroom, mug in hand. Before he was halfway there, Sapphie’s phone rang. With an apologetic smile, she answered the call and headed back out to her laptop.

The bathroom looked bare without her toiletries. Nothing personal remained. Talk about a reality check.

He understood she was an independent woman, with a successful business that was incredibly demanding. Efficiency and organization would be critical. He got that she needed to get her head in the game after a break; he’d always been the same. And he appreciated the lack of fuss. He’d seen enough of clinging women from being around his single teammates.

But he’d expected...more. Some recognition that what they’d shared wasn’t just another wedding-reception hookup. Not that it had meant everything, but that it had at least meant something.

Scott toweled off and, because he didn’t have an alternative, dressed in his formal pants and white shirt. It felt weird to be wearing clothes again. He shook his head. Man, he had to get his brain in gear.

Sapphie was still on the phone when he came out of the bathroom. Breakfast was laid out on the table on the balcony. Her laptop was on the desk inside and she was typing quickly.

“All right, Marty. I’ve rearranged my other meeting. I’ve checked flights and I can be in LA late tonight, to see you tomorrow morning. I’ll do a quick turnaround in Chicago. But I’ll need to head there for Wednesday.” She laughed. “Just remember my angelic status when it comes to my next contract.”

She ended the call, then closed her laptop and slipped it into her briefcase.

The chill was back. “Sounds like you have a busy time ahead.”

Sapphie looked up at him, grimacing. “I’m sorry. I have to catch an earlier flight. Which means skipping out on breakfast.” As she spoke, she put her dress in the suitcase and zipped the bag closed. “I have the room until early afternoon, so you can stay and eat.”

Damn. Not how he’d expected their time together to end. “I should head home myself.”

She went to lift her case from the luggage stand, but he did it for her and set the bag by the door.

“Thanks.” Sapphie slung her purse over her shoulder, put her briefcase on top of her suitcase, then checked her watch. “It’s been a lovely weekend. I hate to rush off, but you know how it goes.”

“Yeah.” His tone was more reasonable than he felt, but he couldn’t match her smile. “Slow down.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Have a safe trip and a successful meeting. I’ll see you when you return to Jersey.”

He went to kiss her, but she pecked him on the lips, then disentangled herself. Alarm bells started to ring.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” she said airily. “It all depends on what my client’s important news is and how it affects me. Certainly my plans over the next few weeks don’t involve anything here.”

That definitely sounded like a brush-off. How was that possible after what they’d shared and done?

Obviously, she hadn’t found the experience as special as he had. Embarrassment twisted his stomach.

“Okay,” he said carefully. He felt like he was tiptoeing through a minefield.

“I can let you know when I’m next around, if you’d like. We could grab a drink or have dinner.” She picked up her cell. “Do I have your contact details?”

“Would you like them?” he said coolly.

“Sure.”

Her half shrug irritated him. He snapped out his cell number, like a soldier giving his serial number to an enemy interrogator.

She tapped it into her phone, then looked up at him, frowning. “Is there a problem?”

Scott tamped down his frustration. “I thought you enjoyed this weekend.”

“I did. It was wonderful. You were unbelievable.”

“Then why the brush-off?”

“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean.” She looked confused. “I’m busy for the next month and will be traveling a lot. This is me. This is what I do. What did you expect?”

“A little more enthusiasm for seeing me again.” Crap. He sounded like a whiny adolescent. “I thought we had something more than a roll in the hay.”

Her eyes widened. “Trust me, you wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours if it hadn’t been exceptional. I never allow men to stay the night, let alone a whole weekend.”

He threw up his arms in frustration. He was clearly missing something. “Then what’s with the ‘so long and don’t let the door hit your backside on your way out’ attitude?”

“Instead of what—a teary goodbye? We’re not ‘going steady.’”

Her use of air quotes really chapped his ass. “No, but I didn’t expect to be treated like a gigolo either.”

“I didn’t leave a tip on the bedside table.”

“Good to know I’m a cheap date.” He took some bills out of his pocket and laid them on her case. “My share of the room-service tab.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gathered the money and held it out to him.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Just want to be sure you got your money’s worth.”

Sapphie tossed the money on the bed and sighed. “I don’t know how this got out of hand,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to offend you by being honest about the future. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise, but at no point did I suggest this was anything more than a fun time shared by two consenting adults.”

Her earnest apology made him feel like a petulant jerk.

She continued, “Aside from the fact that I don’t have the working life to date anyone seriously, I’m not interested in a relationship or getting married. I don’t have to answer to anyone and I do as I please, without feeling guilty.”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to be a jackass. I don’t know why I’m ticked. I’m not looking for a steady relationship right now either.” He gave her a chagrined smile. “I told you I didn’t know the etiquette for sleeping with someone these days. I guess I expected...more than this.” He waved a hand to encompass the room.

Sapphie touched his arm. “You’re a great guy and this was fabulous. But that doesn’t change a thing. I’d be happy to see you when I’m in town. But if you can’t go with the flow and accept how it will be, then there’s no point in us getting together again.”

He wanted to tell her he could handle things this way—especially for another weekend like the one they’d just spent. But he’d be lying to himself, as well as her. He might not know what he wanted from dating, or whatever the hell this situation was called, but he knew he wanted to be more than an itch to be scratched whenever she was in town. However much fun that might be.

Still, he hesitated. Maybe over time he could convince her to change her mind.

No. He cut off that idea ruthlessly. He wouldn’t make the mistake of being led into something he didn’t want because of great sex again. Better to make a clean break. Pull off the bandage and take the hit.

Scott shoved his fingers through his hair. “Then I guess this is goodbye.”

Disappointment flashed in her blue eyes, making him want to snatch back his words. But he held firm.

She nodded once. “Your breakfast will be getting cold.”

“Can’t let good food go to waste.” He leaned down and pressed a hot, hard kiss to her lips, stealing one last taste. Then he turned and sauntered to the balcony. “Safe travels.”

He lifted one of the covers and breathed in the smell of bacon, hoping to replace her scent, which lingered in his nostrils. It didn’t work.

“Thanks. Good luck, Scotty.”

He didn’t watch her leave, choosing instead to focus on pouring maple syrup on a stack of pancakes.

When the door snicked shut, he set down the bottle and slumped onto a chair.

Scott sat for a long time, wondering how something so wonderful had gone so wrong. When he finally shook off the introspective mood, his stomach turned at the sight of the congealing breakfast. Like the arena horn sounding the end of a game, it signaled the end of the weekend.

Time to move on. Tomorrow was another day...and all the other crap he’d cited to himself after tough losses.

He rose, grabbed his jacket and, with one final look around the room, strode out the door.

* * *

“SO WHO WAS the lucky guy and did you have a fabulous time?”

Sapphie hesitated before answering Issy’s question. She wasn’t sure what to say about the weekend with Scotty—especially the awkward, unsatisfactory way it had ended—and she knew her best friend wouldn’t settle for anything glib.

Thankfully, the waitress in the airline’s first-class lounge stopped to ask if Sapphie would like anything to eat.

“Hold on a sec, Issy.” She smiled at the waitress. “I’d love a club sandwich and a glass of Pinot Grigio. Thank you.” She returned to the phone conversation. “Sorry, but I’ve been on the go since Marty called this morning and this is the first chance I’ve had to eat something other than an in-flight packet of pretzels.”

“No wonder you stay slim,” Issy said. “I’d have gnawed the seat in front of me.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t have if you’d seen the man in that seat. He was the epitome of an aging lothario, from his coiffed hair to his shiny suit and patent shoes, with lifts. Not to mention the eye-watering cologne.”

“Eww. Even your description of him is enough to put me off my food.”

Sapphie laughed. “This life isn’t as glamorous as you think.”

“You sat a couple of seats away from Aidan Turner last month.”

“And he was very charming.”

“Speaking of charming, you never said who whisked you away from the reception. I know it wasn’t Taylor. He left early, too, but he was alone.”

“What happened? He sent a text saying the night was a disaster, but I haven’t had the chance to catch up with him.” After arriving from New Jersey, she’d rushed to her apartment in Chicago to switch suitcases before heading back to O’Hare for her flight to LA.

“From what I understand, there was some macho male posturing between Taylor and Lizzie’s date, which turned into shoving. One of them knocked into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks—which the date ended up wearing.”

Sapphie winced. “Poor Mad Dog.” That hadn’t worked out quite as he’d planned.

“Lizzie was embarrassed and gave him a piece of her mind. He stormed out of the party. You missed all the fun. But then, I’m guessing you were having your own fun.”

She might as well tell her, before Issy applied the thumbscrews. “I was.” Sapphie paused, then said in a rush, “With Scotty Matthews.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “As in the recently retired Ice Cats captain?”

“The very same.”

Issy giggled. “If I wasn’t a happily married woman, I’d be so jealous. That’s even better than your Aidan Turner story. Scotty Matthews is totally and utterly H-O-T.”

Sapphie rolled her eyes. “I don’t think my goddaughter is old enough to understand hot, let alone in that context.”

“I’m not so sure. The way she batted her eyelashes at all the Ice Cats at our reception has J.B. threatening to lock her up until she’s fifty.”

“To protect her from guys like him. Or rather, how he used to be.” The hotshot hockey star had been a real ladies’ man before he’d fallen in love with Issy. “No wonder he’s concerned. She’s inherited his charm, as well as his good looks.”

“Excuse me. Her good looks came from my side of the family.”

“Of course they did.”

“Speaking of gorgeous, Scotty has that whole handsome, brooding, hidden-depths thing going on. I bet he’s intense in bed.”

Desire tugged deep in her belly. “He’s very...focused. Single-minded.”

“Ooh, that’s a delicious thought.”

The memory was making Sapphie’s body hum with need. She tamped it down, then changed the subject. “Anyway, Marty wants me in LA for a meeting. Apparently, something big is going down. If it’s another acquisition, it could result in a major new contract.”

“That’s great. I’m so proud of you. We’ll have to celebrate when you’re next in Jersey.” Issy paused. “But what aren’t you telling me about Scotty?”

Damn it. Sapphie should have known Issy wouldn’t let the subject drop so easily. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the opposite of ‘the lady doth protest too much’? You’re not normally so close lipped about your dates. Did he turn into a jerk when the weekend was over?”

“Of course not.” Sapphie couldn’t blame Scotty for how he’d reacted. She’d gone about the goodbye all wrong.

It hadn’t been deliberate. She’d been swimming in unfamiliar waters and gotten scared. Instead of being cool, calm and collected, she’d blustered her way through it. And screwed up royally.

It had started going belly-up when she’d awoken, wrapped in Scotty’s arms—his body curved around hers, her butt cradled in his groin, their legs entwined and his hand cupping her breast. The heat from his bare skin had seared the length of her body. And she’d loved it. She’d snuggled closer and savored the sensation of being cocooned with him.

Until she’d panicked. Because she’d loved it. Because she hadn’t pulled away, as she would normally have done.

Sapphie wasn’t a cuddler in bed. Sex was one thing, but sleep required space. Which was why either she left or she asked her partner to. Perhaps her habit was a leftover from sharing a bed with her sister, Emerald, for years until she’d figured out a better situation—a discarded bunk bed that she’d rescued from the side of the road and repainted. Since leaving home, she’d always had her own space and guarded it ruthlessly. Any invasion of that space was by invitation and never permanent.

The realization that Scotty had made her react differently had set off alarm bells. And the downward spiral had begun. She hated that instead of exiting gracefully, she’d blown it all up.

But she didn’t want to explain that to Issy. At least, not right now. “I can’t tell you anything more. I’m in an airline lounge, surrounded by business travelers.”

“Hmm.” Issy clearly wasn’t fooled by her excuse. “Tell me one thing—are you okay?”

Sapphie cursed the hesitation before she answered. “I’m fine.” She added hurriedly, “Just got a lot on my mind, preparing for tomorrow.”

“Are you planning to see each other again?” Concern edged Issy’s tone.

“I thought you said one thing.” Sapphie’s light laugh sounded forced.

“It’s a clarification.”

She sighed. “No. The weekend with Scotty was a one-and-done.”

“For both of you?”

Another damn hesitation. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s the way it goes sometimes.” She cleared her throat to mask the sudden tightness. Thankfully, the attendant brought her dinner. “I should go. My food has arrived and I need to eat before they call my flight.”

“All right. But you know where I am, if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.” She couldn’t bring herself to say there was nothing to talk about. “Kiss my goddaughter good-night.”

Once she’d hung up, Sapphie ate and went over the weekend with Scotty. Even though it was for the best, she couldn’t help wishing that their goodbye hadn’t been so fraught. So final.

The problem was that they were bound to see each other again. It was almost impossible for their paths not to cross, given their mutual friends and her season ticket for the Ice Cats. It was hard to imagine bumping into him and not being able to spend time with him again. Maybe they could...

Sapphie cut herself off. Scotty had made it clear that he didn’t do casual, and she didn’t want anything else. So why was she tempted to break her own rules for him?

What was it about Scotty that turned everything upside down for her?

The announcement that her flight was boarding was almost a relief. Sapphie gathered her belongings and headed out of the lounge toward the departure gate at a brisk pace. She was able to get on the plane and into her assigned seat right away.

Though she worked on the flight, during the limo ride to her building and for an hour when she arrived at her apartment, Scotty hovered in the back of her mind. She gave up trying to read documents, because she wasn’t able to concentrate enough to take in the information. Instead, she wrote and planned. Presentations, emails, anything to keep her brain active and on task.

Anything she could do without being affected by thoughts of the weekend and Scotty.

Sapphie hoped that exhaustion would lead to a deep, dreamless sleep. No such luck. Steamy, erotic dreams took over the minute her eyes closed. Frustrating dreams that ended with her jolting awake before she reached completion. That left her drenched with sweat, aching with need and desperate for relief. Restless, she tossed and turned until her sheets were a twisted mess.

She was awake before her alarm the following morning and had to press an icy washcloth to her eyes to soothe the puffy results of her disturbed night. After a long, pounding shower, artfully applied makeup and her favorite shoes, she finally felt ready to face the day’s meeting. She reviewed the latest status of her projects for Marty Antonelli as she wolfed down juice and toast. By the time she headed out the door, briefcase in hand, to the waiting car, she was almost back to normal.

Which was critical; she had to be at her best for Marty. Not just because he was her biggest client, but because he constantly kept her on her toes. He gave the impression of being a genial, bumbling Italian, but he was one of the sharpest businessmen she’d ever met.

The upside of rearranging her schedule for this meeting was that he’d promised this would be worth her while. Given that her current project with the NBA team he owned was now in the implementation stages and required less of her oversight, that likely meant a new project for one of his other businesses.

She wondered which one he wanted her to look at next. His baseball team? His NASCAR team? His movie complexes? All would be interesting challenges. It was a shame he didn’t own a hockey franchise. Now that, she really would enjoy.

Arriving at the Antonelli headquarters, she strode through the lobby toward the elevators, greeting the security guards. On the executive floor the receptionist told her that the meeting was in the boardroom and gave her a heads-up that it was a full house.

“Any clues as to what’s going on, Sally?”

The elegant redhead shook her head but said in a lowered voice, “The lawyers were here working with Mr. Antonelli over the weekend. Jenna was also here, but you know she’d cut out her own tongue before saying anything.”

Marty’s secretary was notoriously protective of her boss’s business.

Sally continued, “I’ve been asked to get A-1 fueled and ready for Thursday. The flight plan is for Teterboro, via Chicago to pick you up. Mr. Antonelli wants the whole team to arrive on the corporate jet.”

“I wonder why he’s flying to New Jersey when he was in New York a week ago.”

“I guess all will be revealed shortly.” Sally smiled. “I got some of your favorite pastries, so don’t let the vultures in the boardroom grab them all.”

“Thank you.” Sapphie waggled her fingers. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Entering the packed boardroom, she noted that all the department directors were seated alongside the legal team. There was definitely about to be a major announcement. Excitement bubbled through her.

Marty bounded over, his dark eyes alight with excitement. “Ah, good, you’re here, Bella Sapphire. Before I forget, Gloria said to tell you that you’re to come to dinner tonight. No excuses or I’ll be in big trouble.”

Sapphie smiled. He might act as if Gloria was a scary harridan, but Sapphie knew better. His sweet, diminutive wife adored him. And while he might be a ruthless Rottweiler in business, Marty was like a spaniel puppy when it came to Gloria. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. Besides, it’ll be lovely to see her again and catch up.”

“Excellent. I’ll let her know. Now, grab a coffee and we can get started.”

She’d barely settled in her chair, midway down the long mahogany table, when Marty took center stage in front of the enormous plasma screen showing his corporate logo. The room quieted instantly.

Rocking on his feet, he brought up his first slide. “We’ve had a successful year. Our current portfolio is strong, profitable and growing ahead of market projections. It would have been nice to have done better in the NBA play-offs, but we made it to the party for the first time in five years.”

Around the table, everyone smiled and nodded. As Marty went on to praise the management team, highlighting the roles key departments had played—which included a generous acknowledgment of Sapphie’s work—a sense of anticipation built.

He didn’t keep them in suspense too long. “I’m not one to rest on my laurels and I’m always seeking new opportunities. I like to acquire businesses where I see great synergy, as well as potential for growth and improved profitability. I also kinda like sports.”

Everyone laughed on cue; Marty’s desire to own a full complement of sports franchises—major and minor—was well-known.

“So, I’m pleased to tell you that on Friday we will be in New Jersey announcing to the media that I have bought the Ice Cats. Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a hockey team. And not just any team, but the current Stanley Cup champions.” Marty rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

There was a moment of shocked silence as the news sank in. Then the room erupted with applause and chatter.

Sapphie was stunned. Although he’d asked her to assess the viability of owning one of the NHL’s expansion teams versus acquiring an existing franchise, the Ice Cats hadn’t been mentioned—other than as a pipe dream. Marty had grown up supporting the Ice Cats, but as far as she’d known, they weren’t for sale.

Sure, there had been rumors of the Scartelli brothers’ financial trouble following some unwise investments, but they’d always managed to brush the speculation aside. Obviously, their most recent highly publicized refinancing deal wasn’t as sound as they’d led everyone to believe.

Marty waved his hands, silencing the room. “I’m glad you’re as enthusiastic about this new venture as I am, but we have a lot to do before we leave on Thursday. So let’s get down to the nuts and bolts.”

For the next couple hours, he and his vice president of business development took them through the acquisition. What soon became clear was that although the franchise was highly successful on the ice, it wasn’t making nearly enough money. Its profitability had declined considerably during the Scartellis’ ownership, driven largely by the brothers’ whims. Splashy promotional initiatives with poor returns, which at the time Sapphie, as a fan, had thought were unwise, had left the business in a weak financial condition.

The Scartelli brothers, realizing they were in trouble and unwilling to let the National Hockey League take over the team, had approached Marty, who’d been only too willing to buy his favorite team—for a knockdown price, naturally.

When they finally broke for lunch, Sapphie approached Marty. “Congratulations. That’s one heck of a move.”

“I told you this would be worth rearranging your schedule.” Marty grinned. “I want you to be my right-hand woman with the Ice Cats. Given what you’ve helped me achieve with my basketball team, I know you can do the same with this team. And you’ll be happier advising me on a sport you like, yes?”

“Of course. But I warn you, I’ll be adding a pair of season tickets to the terms and conditions of the new contract, and they won’t be in the nosebleeds.”

He laughed. “Taken as read. Now eat. We have a long afternoon ahead of us. I want as much out of you as I can get before you have to head to Chicago.”

“Yes, boss.” She gave him a smart salute, then headed over to the trays of food on the mahogany credenzas.

As she filled her plate, Sapphie’s mind whirred with all that she’d have to do. Not least, alert her team, in the Chicago office, that they were about to get doubly busy. In fact, she should look into hiring more staff. She could afford the added expense because this new contract would cement her business’s success.

Looked like she’d be spending more time in New Jersey after all. That would be great for seeing Issy and Sophia. And, of course, watching games.

She’d just bitten into a sandwich when it occurred to her that it also increased the possibility of seeing Scotty again. Sapphie chewed determinedly, even though she might have been eating one of the handouts for all that she could taste the food. She swallowed hard, then drained a small bottle of water.

What was she worried about? Scotty wasn’t with the team any longer. Not that she’d deal with the players on a daily basis anyway, but she always believed in talking to the whole organization as part of her evaluation process. Besides, although it was inevitable that she’d run into him, it wouldn’t be on this initial trip or even for a while.

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

* * *

“DRUMMER FOR A BAND?” Scott stopped lacing his skate and took his cell from where he’d lodged it between his ear and his shoulder. “Maybe I should come and check this new boyfriend out.”

He was only half teasing. He didn’t like the thought of some long-haired, drugged-out musician putting his hands on Angela.

“Da-ad.” His daughter gave a loud, put-upon sigh. “I’m twenty-one and can take care of myself. I don’t need you vetting my dates anymore.”

“Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt for Sean to know what will happen to him if he doesn’t treat you right.”

“I’ll give him a taste of the business end of your hockey stick, like you showed me.”

Scott grinned. “That’s my girl.”

“Got to go, or I’ll be late for class. Love you.”

“Love you, too. And if you see your brother, tell him the occasional text would be good so that I know he’s okay.”

“Will do.” Angela laughed, then hung up.

Scott tossed his cell into his bag, then tightened his laces and tied them off. He grabbed his stick, then headed out of the locker room. Three of his friends who still played for the Cats would be joining him shortly for a prearranged practice, but he enjoyed this time with the rink to himself.

Relishing the crisp air and the fresh ice beneath his blades, Scott began to warm up by skating laps. He picked up speed and switched directions, doing crossovers forward and backward in time to the pounding rock beat blaring from the speakers. Then he switched to sprints between the blue lines.

“Looking good, old man,” Rick “Ice Man” Kasanski called as he stepped out of the penalty box carrying a bucket of pucks. “Having your butt planted in a commentator’s chair all season hasn’t dulled your skills much.”

Scott stopped sharply, sending a spray of ice over his friend. “I can still skate your candy ass into the ground, Ice Man.”

“Please. You’ve never been faster than me.” Kasanski brushed aside Scott’s comment with a wave of his gloved hand. “At least, not going forward. I’ll admit you might have the edge going backward, D-man.”

“You can take that to the bank. It’s all the racing to protect the net when you cocky forwards cough up the puck.”

Ice Man swiped his stick at Scott’s legs, trying to hook his skates from under him, but Scott managed to avoid him. He gave a colorful analysis of Kasanski’s parentage in reply.

“Come on, ladies.” Chance Rivera joined them, lining up water bottles on the dasher boards. “Put those handbags away.”

“Yeah. We have work to do.” The Cats’ backup goaltender, Chaz “Monty” Montgomery, skated up, trailing a practice net behind him. “Chance and I have a small wager on how many he can get past me. He’s buying me lunch when we’re done.”

Rivera snorted. “Have your wallet ready, Net-Boy. I’ve got moves that’ll earn me a steak with all the works.”

Monty pulled on his mask. “Winning at backyard hockey with your toddler twins doesn’t mean you can beat the master of the twine.”

“Behold, the Master of the Twine,” Scott intoned in a Hollywood-trailer voice. “Fends off pucks with his mighty twig.”

“More like the Knave of the Basket. Because of the biscuits he collects in there.” Kasanski cracked up at his own joke. He only laughed harder when Monty flipped him the bird and told him where he could stick those biscuits.

Before anyone could drop the gloves, Scott corralled his friends and got them skating warm-up drills.

After a decent workout, which had them all pretty gassed, they headed to the locker room. As they showered and dressed, Chance and Monty continued their debate about whether the goaltender would still have won their contest if they hadn’t been chased off the rink by a figure-skating class. Naturally, Kasanski did his best to wind up both sides, while Scott declared himself Switzerland.

Scott was zipping up his sports bag when his cell chirped with a missed call. Picking it up, he was surprised to see the name of his former general manager.

He looked at his friends. “Any reason Callum Hardshaw would be calling me?”

Kasanski shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

Rivera shrugged. “Maybe he wants to offer you a job.”

“He knows I don’t want to coach.” Though even that would be better than sitting on his ass at home, doing nothing.

“What about scouting?” Monty offered.

“Definitely not. I’m done with traveling the whole time. Scouting would be worse. Heading to all those junior and college teams to check out prospects—I’d never be home.”

“Team ambassador?” Chance pulled on a black T-shirt with the team’s snow-leopard logo. “You know, schmooze the sponsors and the season-ticket holders at Ice Cats events.”

“Not my scene either.” A job where he had to spend his time making small talk? No way.

“I bet Hardshaw wants you for some PR stuff,” Ice Man said, combing his wet dark hair. “Some fancy, high-dollar-a-plate dinner where you’re the big-bucks draw.”

“Why would the GM call me for that? Usually I hear from the marketing guy when they want my face or name.”

“Didn’t he move on?” Monty frowned. “To that soccer team, the Bridgers. He got pissed about the way the Scartellis kept nixing his proposals while spending crazy amounts of money on weird promotions the fans hated.”

“There were changes in the front office over the summer,” Scott said. “But I thought it was because of budget cuts. Either way, it’s a shame. The kid was pretty switched on.”

“If you ask me, those kinds of people—advertising, marketing, PR—are a dime a dozen,” Rivera said.

“None of which tells me why Hardshaw called.” Scott tapped his cell against his chin.

“You could do the obvious thing and phone him back.”

He cuffed the back of Kasanski’s head. “I know that, numbnuts.” He hit Call Back.

Hardshaw answered on the first ring. “Hey, Scotty, how’s it going?”

“Not bad. You?”

“Yeah, good. Busy. You know how it is.”

He didn’t but played along. “For sure. So, what can I do for you?”

“Any chance you could stop by sometime today? I have a couple ideas I’d like to bounce off you.”

Scott tried to read the GM’s voice but couldn’t. “I have an hour this afternoon, at three, if that works for you.” He had the whole freaking afternoon free, but he wasn’t about to let Hardshaw know that.

“Great. See you then.”

Once he’d hung up, Scott turned to his friends. “He wants to see me.” He relayed the brief conversation. “I’ve got nothing to lose by hearing what he has to say. It’s not like I have anything else on the horizon.”

Monty clapped him on the shoulder. “They say the second year of retirement is the hardest. When reality sets in. If you can get through that, you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Good thing you have us around to keep you from turning into an old man—pipe and slippers and reading the paper by the fire.” Kasanski smacked Scott’s stomach with the back of his hand. “We’ll keep you from getting fat and flabby, too.”

Scott slung his bag over his shoulder. “Look who’s talking, Ice Man. You were puffing like a steam train in those last sprints. Too much fun in the sun over the summer?”

“Too much junk food and too many margaritas in Cancún,” Rivera said. “With that and J.B.’s wedding bash on the weekend, I don’t think Kasanski has stopped partying since we raised the Cup.”

“Like you’re any better,” Ice Man scoffed. “None of us are.”

“You forget, I have the twins to keep me on my toes. Running around after them is a full-time job.” Chance’s wife had suffered badly from postpartum depression and walked out on him and their babies eighteen months ago. “Especially now they’re walking, talking and into everything. It’s the terrible twos times two.”

“No joy finding another nanny?”

“The agency sent a woman who seems to be working out okay. Still, I want to spend as much time with them as I can. Especially in the off-season.”

The three friends understood how hard it had been for Chance. They’d stood by him and seen him through the worst of it.

Always the smart-ass, Kasanski lightened the tone as they walked out of the rink. “Whatever you say, you were puffing as much as me, Net-Boy and the old guy here, Rivera.”

“In your dreams, Ice Cube.”

“You wish you had my dreams.” Kasanski grinned. “Anyway, the hard work starts now and I’ll be in prime condition for training camp. If only it didn’t take so much longer to get in shape than it did when we were in our twenties.”

“Amen to that,” Scott said fervently. “That’s why I had to hang ’em up in the end.”

“Gone are the days when players used to have a drink and a smoke between periods,” Monty said sadly, even though he was too young to remember that.

“The speed some of the old guys skated at, you could have a drink and a smoke between plays,” Ice Man added, tossing his bag into the back of his SUV. “Now we have to watch calories and monitor food intake like Miss freaking America.”

“Which brings us to lunch. Good thing, because I’m starving.” Monty opened his car door. “Usual place?”

The four men agreed and headed off to the local bistro they’d been frequenting for many years. After lunch they agreed to meet up again the following day at the gym and then went their separate ways.

Scott drove to the Cats’ head office. Though he was a little early, Hardshaw’s assistant took him straight to the GM’s office.

“Can I get you a drink, Scotty?” Doreen asked.

“Ice water would be great, thanks.”

“Make that two, please.” Callum came around his desk to shake Scott’s hand. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Your call intrigued me.” Scott took the seat his former GM indicated, while Callum leaned against the front of his desk.

“These are interesting times for the Cats. People outside the business don’t understand that the summer after winning the Cup is actually more difficult than one when you’ve lost it. Riding high on the win creates its own set of problems.”

Scott nodded. “I know you have some tough decisions to make, especially with the salary cap not going up as much as it has in the past.” Plus he’d heard the rumors about the Scartellis’ financial problems.

“Right. We have some big contracts up for renewal over the next twelve to twenty-four months. We also need to think about how to leverage our success into future strength. It’s hard to repeat a Cup win the following year, no matter how much we want to.”

It was true. Since the powerhouse teams of the ’70s and ’80s, few teams had managed back-to-back Cup wins.

“I want the Cats to be positioned to win in alternate years like Chicago and LA have done. But as an organization, we need to make sure we’re delivering for our fans, our sponsors and our owners, too.”

“For sure.” Scott still wasn’t sure where this was leading. “Having retired, I’m far enough removed to get that this is a business and the team’s performance on the ice is only one aspect—albeit the most important one—of how success is measured.”

“Exactly.” Hardshaw snapped his fingers. “I knew you’d see the bigger picture.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“I understand that the commentating gig isn’t working out for you.”

“Yeah.”

“Frankly, that was a waste of your skills. There are plenty of other guys who can do the talking-heads thing.”

“That was the network’s view, too.” Scott made a dismissive gesture. “Can’t say I’ll miss it.”

“Their loss is my gain, I hope.”

“In what way?”

“I’m looking for a new right-hand man. One who can complement my strengths and weaknesses. Who can bring fresh insights to the organization. Who is close enough to the game to provide a player’s perspective but still understand the financial needs of a business. I think you fit that bill perfectly.”

Join the team’s management? For the first time since he retired, Scott felt a genuine stirring of interest. The sports-bar idea was a bit of fun, but this was something he could get his teeth into. “What about Brendan?”

The current assistant general manager had been with the Cats since Scott was a rookie. He was also the only one left from the previous GM’s era. Brendan was a nice-enough guy but, in Scott’s opinion, resistant to change and lacking in vision.

Callum crossed his arms. “We both agreed it was time for fresh blood. He’ll transition into one of our ambassadors, so he can still be part of the organization and we can tap into his knowledge base whenever we need it. The man has a phenomenal memory of the Cats’ history and players.”

“That’s a good role for him.”

“A win-win. So, what do you think? Are you up for a new challenge?”

Although it seemed like an interesting solution, Scott didn’t want to leap into the job without knowing more. “I’d definitely like to hear what would be involved.”

* * *

“I’M GLAD YOU’LL be part of my team. Welcome aboard.”

Callum’s simple words, when Scott signed his contract two days later, summed up what had really appealed to him. What Scott had missed since he’d retired. Being part of a team. And not just any team, but his beloved Ice Cats.

He’d discussed the job with Andy, his friends and his kids before accepting Callum’s offer. Andy had reiterated his view that Scott would do well in a business role. Angela had teased him about finding another position where he could boss people around, and Wayne had thought it was cool that his dad would be in management. Kasanski had put in a bid for a mega-millions mega-year contract, which Scott had treated with the respect it deserved—he’d ignored it.

As for Scott, he was psyched. For the first time in a year, he was eager to get started. “Glad to be here.”

Callum wasted no time throwing Scott in the deep end. After a quick introduction to the front-office staff—most of whom Scott knew from his time as a player—and a review of his induction schedule, the pair went through the issues that needed to be dealt with before training camp began.

They were about to break for lunch when Callum’s cell rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s Jim Scartelli.”

As Callum exchanged pleasantries with the owner, that familiar chill slithered down Scott’s neck. The presentiment worsened when Hardshaw’s face paled.

“I see. Thank you for letting me know. Yes, I’ll be there.” Callum ended the call and stared at his cell for several moments before looking at Scott, his expression a little bleak.

“Is something wrong?” Even though it was obvious, Scott sensed his boss needed prodding to be able to speak.

“The team has been sold. There will be an announcement tomorrow, but the Scartellis wanted to give me a heads-up.” Callum swore. “I knew they were considering a sale—I helped with due diligence for potential buyers—but I had no idea things had moved so quickly. I thought we had more time.”

“How will that affect us?”

“That’s up to our new owner. Mr. Antonelli may want his own people in charge. I’ll have my work cut out convincing him I’m the right man for the job.”

And if Antonelli didn’t want Callum, he wouldn’t want his management team either. “You built the Cats into a Cup-winning team, despite a bargain-basement budget. Our new owner has to respect that.”

“I hope so, but the Scartellis’ lack of investment has tied my hands with marketing and business development for a long time and it shows. I could be the easy sacrifice.” Hardshaw sighed heavily. “Anyway, we’ll find out more soon enough. Antonelli and his posse are flying in this evening and they expect to meet us right away.” He gave Scott an apologetic look. “Looks like you’re going to have a trial by fire.”

What could he say? “It’s an interesting first day, for sure.” Scott shrugged, as if it was no problem to him. But he couldn’t shake that sense of foreboding.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_06f56047-2e1f-5429-ba65-a5a960f4e93a)

WITH THE PRECISION of the Secret Service escorting the president, the three limos that had ferried Marty Antonelli’s people from Teterboro Airport pulled up outside the Ice Cats headquarters.

Scott smiled when several of the well-dressed men emerging from the cars appeared to wilt as they encountered the notorious New Jersey humidity. He’d take any edge he could get for the upcoming meeting. Not that he expected to play anything but a minor part. Still, he was damned if he’d let them mess with his team.

“They look set for action,” he said as Callum joined him by his office window.

“We will be, too. How free are you this weekend?”

“No plans. Why?” Glancing at his boss, Scott was intrigued by his buoyant expression.

“Good.” Callum slapped him on the back. “I’ve decided to be proactive. I figure with all the media hoopla, we have until Monday before Mr. Antonelli gets down to serious business and I plan to use that time wisely. We’re meeting with the department heads at my place so we can pull together our vision for how the organization should move forward. I want us to walk into Monday’s meeting prepared to knock them on their asses.”

“You’re talking my language. I’ve always preferred to take the battle to my opponents.”

Scott turned to the window. His smile faded as a pair of gorgeous, tanned legs in beige spiked-heel shoes emerged from the middle limo.

His body reacted instantly, recognizing who the legs belonged to even before Sapphie straightened and his brain caught up.

What’s she... The question had barely begun to form before memories of their last morning together flashed and things clicked into place. He remembered the client she’d had to rush away for had been called Marty, but Scott hadn’t made the connection with the new owner. Guess he now knew why it had been so urgent.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Sapphie as she shrugged a red jacket over her red-and-white dress. She stood out like a colorful flower in the midst of the dark suits of her colleagues. His gaze followed her hungrily as she led the others toward the building, where she disappeared from his sight.

She’d be coming up here. She’d be in all the meetings.

Crap. This wasn’t how he’d expected to run into her again. He wasn’t ready.

Scott had hardly gotten his mind around that uncomfortable fact when Callum’s assistant informed them that their guests were waiting in Reception.

“Please get the management team to the boardroom. Scott and I will go greet Mr. Antonelli and his people.” Callum turned to him. “Ready to face the enemy?”

No wasn’t an acceptable response. Especially when driven by purely personal reasons. But Scott had never backed down from a challenge and he wasn’t about to start now. Just as he had on so many nights before a clash with a tough opponent, Scott put on his game face. “Always.”

* * *

“OF COURSE I KNOW our former captain.”

Sapphie’s smile felt overbright as she shook Scotty’s hand. “Nice to see you again.”

There—the perfect mix of good manners and enthusiasm. If anyone noticed an edge to her words or the color that crept into her cheeks from the touch of his skin against hers, they’d assume it was fan-girl awkwardness. Not that she was shocked at coming face-to-face with the man with whom she’d spent a glorious weekend burning up the sheets. God, was that really less than a week ago?

They certainly wouldn’t see her frustration, that she was so jittery, while Scotty looked calm. But then, he was probably used to dealing with starstruck fans.

“Nice to see you, too.” His deep voice sent a tremor through her, reminding her body of the sexy things he’d murmured in her ear.

Despite all the hard work preparing for this trip, she hadn’t been able to get Scotty out of her head. If she was honest, she’d admit that she’d hoped they’d bump into each other at some point. At a fund-raiser or a meet and greet. In a few weeks, maybe a month or two.

Not now. Not today.

What was he doing here? Thankfully, before she could find a way to ask without giving herself away, Marty did it for her.

“As nice as it is to meet one of my all-time favorite players, we weren’t expecting any media at this meeting.”

“Scotty isn’t with the network any longer.” Callum explained the former captain’s new role as AGM. “We’re excited to have him.”

Her gaze shot up to meet Scotty’s.

The serious, steady look in those blue eyes confirmed the news. “This is my first day on the job.”

“Excellent.” Marty laughed and clapped Scotty on the back. “Smart move. I always thought you were wasted in the booth.”

As her boss and the Cats’ GM talked about how good it would be to have someone of Scotty’s experience, Sapphie managed to clear her throat and force out some words.

“Congratulations. Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “It’s been...interesting, so far.”

“For sure.” Cursing herself for not being able to come up with a better response, Sapphie dropped her gaze to her jacket and picked off an imaginary thread.

“Shall we head upstairs so you can meet the rest of the team?” Callum suggested, holding the elevator door open.

Sapphie held back, waiting for the second car, thinking Scotty might go with the first group. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and they ended up standing next to each other. Although there was plenty of space between them, she was ridiculously aware of how close he was.

In the boardroom it was easy to move away from Scotty as she was introduced to the other members of the Cats’ senior management group. While people took their seats, her stomach tightened as she waited to see where Scotty would end up.

“Sapphire, come and sit beside me.” Marty stood at the head of the table and indicated her place at his right hand. He put Callum on his left with Scotty alongside him.

Which meant she and Scotty were practically opposite each other. Wishing she had some papers to fiddle with, she busied herself pouring glasses of sparkling water for those close to her.

Once everyone was seated—Marty’s people on the right, the Ice Cats’ on the left—Hardshaw stood. “Welcome, Mr. Antonelli and your team, to New Jersey.” He pointed to the painting of the famous hockey trophy on the far wall. “And to the headquarters of the reigning Stanley Cup champions.”

Everyone whooped and clapped.

“We look forward to a bright and prosperous future for our organization as part of your group. We—” Callum waved his hand toward the Ice Cats’ management “—and all the hardworking people in our departments are committed one hundred percent to giving you our best.”

Once the applause had quieted, Marty rose, thanked Callum, then gave his usual spiel, reassuring the people around the table that he wasn’t there to do a hatchet job. He emphasized that he was a fan and wanted continued success for the team. “I want the Ice Cats to be a dynasty. Winning the Cup every year is almost impossible, but alternate years would be perfectly acceptable.”

Everyone laughed.

Marty grew serious. “I also want my teams to be well run and profitable. We all know, I’m sure, there is plenty of room for improvement on that score.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement came from across the table.

“However, I assure you that it will be business as usual until I have a complete picture of what is required for this organization. I’m a great believer in talking to people at all levels and in all departments before making any decisions.” He indicated the men and women on his left. “You know the strengths and weaknesses of this business better than anybody. My team has a lot of experience in making businesses perform at the level I want them to. Together, we will fix what doesn’t work and, more important, leave alone what does. Together, we will create a winning team in the front office as well as on the ice.”

As Marty continued with his speech, Sapphie sneaked a peek at Scotty. Though his body was angled to appear as though he was listening to Marty, his gaze clashed with hers.

For a moment, she was startled to see a flash of heat in his unguarded eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as unmoved by their meeting as he seemed. That gave her a boost of confidence, and for the first time since setting foot in the Ice Cats’ building, her tension eased. She sent him a half smile before turning her attention to Marty.

“Let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves. Then we’ll break and head to my club for drinks and dinner so that we can get to know each other. Tomorrow we’ll have a press conference and announce the sale to the media. Beginning Monday, we roll up our sleeves and the hard work starts.” He paused, then grinned. “Well, it will for you. I’m afraid my attention is required elsewhere. There are definite perks to being the owner, other than the best seats for a home game.”

This time, the laughter had a definite edge. Everyone in the room was aware of how important the coming weeks would be and what was at stake. No matter how jovial and avuncular Marty Antonelli seemed, his reputation preceded him. His standards were exacting. He did not suffer fools or incompetence. His decision, once made, was final.

Marty laid his hand on her shoulder. “You all know who I am, so I’ll hand you over to my right-hand gal. Sapphire will keep you on your toes. She certainly keeps me on mine.”

Sapphie was conscious of all the eyes on her. Not exactly true. Just one pair of blue eyes. A pair of serious, slightly damning but oh-so-sexy blue eyes.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/anna-sugden/a-perfect-strategy/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.