Книга - Her Man Advantage

Her Man Advantage
Joanne Rock


Full-body contact never felt this good…By rights, they should have hated each other. Filmmaker Jennifer Hunter doesn’t want to make a hockey documentary any more than hockey defenceman Axel Rankin wants to star in one. But neither of them anticipated the molten rush of pure lust, and they can’t help but give in, on and off camera….The last thing Axel needs is a camera shoved in his face, probing into life and his rocky past. Especially if the woman calling the shots is a mouthy, assertive, drop-dead sexy redhead —who makes him want to do things that definitely require an adults-only rating! His favourite game just got a whole new set of rules….










“I tried to avoid this,” Axel reminded her.

“I … um.” Jennifer wrestled the urge to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him breathless. “Maybe avoidance was a smarter policy than I gave it credit for.”

“You called. I came.” He stepped closer, backing her neatly into the wall.

She swallowed hard. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s best for me,” she managed to say.

He reached out and skimmed his fingers beneath her hair to encircle the back of her neck, one thumb resting on the pulse point at the base of her throat.

“Axel,” she murmured, her sensitive skin registering every callus.

“Mmm?” He never paused the seductive caress.

Jen tried to reminder herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t be fraternising with someone she’d be filming. “This may be a bad idea,” she warned, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“There’s no maybe about it.” He lowered his head and inhaled a deep breath. “This will only lead to complications.”

And then his mouth descended on hers. Axel filled her senses from the minty stroke of his tongue to the silky slide of his lower lip along her mouth. And she realised that bad idea or not, she was in for one wild ride!


Dear Reader,

Hockey players amaze me. Their season is long, their sport can be brutal, and they play multiple games per week—unlike the sweet schedule of the guys over in the NFL. Best of all, you never see them beating their chests and carrying on about their prowess in post-game interviews. They work hard and get the job done without a lot of fuss.

That’s one of many reasons I couldn’t wait to write about hockey players. I also like the strong camaraderie of hockey clubs who, like baseball teams, spend a lot of time together on the road. There is a real brotherhood forged in that long season.

In the case of Axel Rankin and Kyle Murphy, that brotherhood is even stronger, since Axel was fostered by Kyle’s family during his teenage years. He made a great addition to the Murphy family with his fierce competitive streak. And while he’d like to think he’s put his past to rest and is ready to move on with his life, the arrival of filmmaker Jennifer Hunter makes that impossible. The trouble is, he can’t let her go no matter what the cost …

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock




About the Author


The mother of three sports-minded sons, JOANNE ROCK has found her primary occupation to be carting kids to practices and cheering on their athletic prowess at any number of sporting events. In the windows of time between football games, she loves to write and cheer on happily-ever-afters. A three-time RITA


Award nominee, Joanne is an author of more than fifty books for a variety of series. She has been an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee and multiple Reviewers’ Choice finalist. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-six countries and translated into nineteen languages. Over two million copies of her books are in print. For more information on Joanne’s books, visit www.joannerock.com.




Her Man

Advantage

Joanne Rock





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


To the readers who take time to write e-mails, stop

by my blogs and chat with me on Facebook. You

can’t imagine how much your words uplift me!

Thank you for your support.




1


“I’M NOT SIGNING THE WAIVER.” Hockey defenseman Axel Rankin placed the sheet of paper on the desk of the Philadelphia Phantoms’ head coach, Nico Cesare, hoping like hell his refusal wouldn’t be a big deal. He couldn’t be a part of the TV documentary series that would follow his team over the next month. “There are enough guys on the team to film. Besides, I’m the defensive goon, not some big headliner.”

The native Finn kept the real reason to himself. Axel couldn’t afford to have his personal life broadcast to the world, the details of his day-to-day in the U.S. available to old enemies back in Finland. He’d worked too hard to put that past behind him. Having a camera crew follow Phantoms players around day and night would only resurrect old problems.

“Bowing out is not an option.” The coach, a former goalie and one hell of a leader, passed the waiver back to Axel, not even looking up from a competing club’s roster filled with margin notes. “The league needs the publicity and the Phantoms need the exposure. The dictate from corporate is that everyone participates.”

Win as a team, lose as a team. Axel had been hearing the same mandate since arriving in Philly on a trade six weeks ago. Cesare’s refusal to back off that policy had helped his hockey club earn a spot in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which would start next week, but that die-hard commitment would make it tough for Axel to cut loose from the group now.

Shit. He ground his teeth, sweat dripping down his forehead from the morning practice session where he’d gone hard from whistle to whistle.

“I’ve got personal reasons, Coach.” He hated to go there. Waving the “it’s personal” flag felt like a cop-out.

Cesare finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting Axel’s in the austere office decorated with pictures of his two kids and hot, blonde lawyer wife. Other than that, the space was like a computer geek’s ode to hockey, full of stats and charts, roster breakdowns of twenty different varieties.

“Then you’ll fit right in with the rest of us, Rankin.” He tossed his ballpoint onto the desk and threaded his hands together as he rested the palms on his head. “I’ve got two players who didn’t want to sign because they’re afraid their wives will get wind of their extracurricular activities on the road from watching the show. I have three guys who don’t want their kids referenced in any way, including me. I’ve got a superstitious player who thinks the cameras will mess up his game rituals. The documentary is shit. I get that. But we’re all doing it and we’re all signing.”

Axel heard the unspoken ultimatum. Sign now or you’re not a team player. Or worse—benched.

He hadn’t risen up out of a Helsinki ghetto to play on a championship-quality team only to be sidelined now. He’d have to find a way to protect his Stateside foster family from his past if—when—it came calling. Swallowing hard, he picked up the pen his coach had cast aside.

Carefully, he inked his Anglicized name on the appearance waiver, knowing damn well that Axel Rankin wasn’t far enough from Akseli Rankinen to fool anyone back home. He was sure his old motorcycle gang kept tabs on him. Waiting for the right moment to call in a favor or blackmail the hell out of him. He figured the only reason they’d waited this long was to ensure his net worth went up along with his newfound success.

“Good man,” Nico Cesare assured him, snagging the signed agreement before Axel changed his mind. “You did well in practice this morning. I’ve got you on the starting line tomorrow night.”

Hard-won praise from a notoriously tough critic. Too bad Axel’s gut was too full of lead to enjoy the props.

“I won’t let you down,” he promised, always willing to sacrifice his body to the game. Hockey had helped haul his ass out of the crap life he’d had back home, so he gave it one hundred percent in return.

He just hoped the filmmaking didn’t steal his focus, because now he’d have a whole lot more to think about than lofting the Stanley Cup over his head. Stalking toward the exit, Axel planned to head home and make a few inquiries right away. But as he pulled open the heavy glass-and-steel door, his coach called to him.

“Axel?”

Turning, he paused with one foot out in the hall.

“Yeah?”

“The film crew arrived this afternoon.” The coach’s level gaze gave away nothing. “The director wants to start meeting the team members as soon as possible. You could give it the old stick in the eye and just get it over with. She’s set up camp in the conference room.”

“She?” Axel tried to weigh what that meant. “We’re being followed night and day by a chick?”

He wasn’t some backwoods misogynist or anything, but then again, he wasn’t a fan of females in the locker room. And hey, to be fair, he wouldn’t have taken up journalism and expected free access to the ladies’ showers if he was following a women’s sport. If he had, maybe he would have been in a whole different career field.

“Her name is Jennifer Hunter. And she looked female to me.” The coach grinned, the expression increasing the twist of his nose in a face that could only have belonged to a hockey player. “The good news is, I got the impression she really doesn’t want to be here any more than we want a New York filmmaker in our business. So who knows, maybe she’ll turn in a lame, half-baked assignment and we’ll all get off easy.”

It was the first bit of good news Axel had received since hearing about the monthlong documentary special.

“I could do some reconnaissance and see what I can find out. In fact, maybe I could go meet her right now.” He’d do it before he hit the showers. The smell of unwashed hockey equipment alone could send grown men to their knees. What woman would be able to stand the stench inside an enclosed space like the conference room?

“You’re going to make a hell of a first impression, Rankin.” Thankfully, the coach didn’t seem too upset about that.

Which reaffirmed the message—win as a team, lose as a team.

Sometimes, the role of a hockey defenseman was to throw down the gloves and pick the fight to protect his teammates. Axel’s responsibility wasn’t all that different now. He’d find out a little more about Jennifer Hunter and see why she didn’t want to be here. Then he’d make sure she remembered those reasons daily until she packed her camera and left.

That was plan B, and he liked it as a backup. But right now, he’d go with his A game. Charming the socks off the film director by introducing her to the fragrant reality of life in the locker room….




2


“WHERE THE HELL IS THE director lady who’s supposed to be in the conference room?”

Filmmaker Jennifer Hunter hid a smile as she eavesdropped on the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound human bullhorn clanging around the hallways of the Phantoms’ practice rink in ice skates with a pair of rubber guards on the blades.

The player searching for her had been hammering on the conference room door for two minutes before he started stomping toward the administration offices, his sweaty face glowering. He seemed to have cornered a trainer to demand Jennifer’s whereabouts. She—the missing director in question—simply folded her arms on the cold steel railing that circled the practice rink, feeling no great need to identify herself to some self-important player who hadn’t even seen fit to pull off his helmet before introducing himself.

Besides, from the ominous tone in the behemoth’s voice, she guessed the player wasn’t any more enthused about meeting her than she’d been about meeting him. Them. Anyone on the Phantoms’ hockey team.

Because, as an activist for social change through her art, Jennifer didn’t think affluent athletes were going to make for interesting subjects.

“I’m not sure, Axel,” replied the young trainer in matching blue-and-white sweats bearing the team’s logo. He flung a clean towel over the player’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “I’ll go find out. If you want to hit the showers, I can have an answer by the time you’re on the massage table.”

Tucked behind a post supporting the high, Plexiglas roof that allowed light to flood the rink, Jennifer wasn’t surprised the athletes had celebrity services at their fingertips. It did surprise her that the thick-shouldered player wearing jersey number sixty-eight shrugged aside the offer.

“That’s okay, Ken,” the other man responded, his deep voice matching the fierce expression on his angular face. Thick, dark stubble didn’t hide one heavily scarred cheek. His accent made her want to listen to him speak for a long time so she could trace the cadences and vowel sounds. “I’ll go ask Nico … Oh, there he is now.”

Crap. Jennifer tore her gaze away from the he-man hunky player as the head coach emerged from an office nearby. Not wanting to be drawn out of hiding like a skulking teen since this was an important assignment even if she resented it, Jennifer strode boldly toward the group. She kept her eye on Nico Cesare instead of disgruntled number sixty-eight. The trainer excused himself, leaving her with the looming player and his coach.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m making myself comfortable around the rink, Coach.” Smiling, she adjusted a camera strap on her shoulder as if to suggest she’d been busy taking pictures. “You’ve got an impressive facility here.”

As she neared the men, she gained some perspective on their size. Nico Cesare had been seated when she’d been shown into his office, but now he stood beside his player and she could see he’d probably played the game at one time if his height was any indication. The other man—Axel, the trainer had called him—was positively mammoth. Even without the skates he must be at least six-foot-five. His chest was broad enough that she could have lain on him like a bed and had room to roll around.

An odd image considering the moment. Thankfully, she was saved from developing that thought any further as the scent of pungent male sweat assailed her nostrils. The whole rink smelled of hockey equipment, in fact. She’d seen the massive fans in the locker areas that circulated fresh air, but she’d guess no amount of wind power would freshen up a place built on undiluted testosterone.

“I would have given you a tour if I’d known you wanted to see the place right away, Ms. Hunter,” the coach returned coolly. “I’ve got some business to take care of, but at least let me introduce our best defenseman, Akseli Rankinen, a Finnish import we know around here as Axel Rankin. Axel, this is Jennifer Hunter, who will be a fixture around the team for the next month to film a documentary series.”

The coach excused himself, leaving her alone with Axel. Hello, awkward moment. What did a woman do when faced with the man who’d caught her hiding from him? She straightened her shoulders, determined to brazen her way through it. She might not be thrilled about her first commercial project, but if she ever wanted a bigger budget for the meatier social documentaries she enjoyed, she needed to do well here.

“A pleasure to meet you, Jennifer.” The defenseman reached for her hand, an odd smile on his face considering he must know she’d been dodging him earlier. He’d seemed so irritated before when he couldn’t find her.

But as he leaned in closer for the customary greeting, the sweaty musk of his workout hit her. Damn near choked her.

Then, her eyes watering as she shook his hand, she suddenly understood why he seemed so damn pleased to meet her. His sea-blue gaze twinkled with the sadistic urge to kill her with sweat-stink.

All the more reason not to let him see her flinch.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rankin,” she returned, squeezing his fingers harder in frustration, not that he seemed to notice. He probably had extra muscles there, too. “I’ve been eager to meet all the players so I can get an idea of potential story lines for the series.”

He released her hand in a hurry.

“Story lines?” An unmistakable scowl crossed Axel’s face and she knew a moment’s gratitude she wasn’t facing this man as an opponent out on the ice.

“Yes. I’ll want to see which player is struggling to stay on the team and which one is battling problems at home.” She clicked through some of the more basic narratives that came to mind in a piece where ratings mattered. “I’ll need to see who will make a good candidate for a love interest—”

“Love interest?” Axel Rankin’s color warmed up a shade as his deep voice pitched even lower. The tone was more like a strangled whisper.

And yes, she took a bit of sadistic pleasure of her own in his obvious discomfort since Axel had assaulted her nostrils with deadly intent.

“Yes.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, warming up to the job. “Perhaps you have a girlfriend who wouldn’t mind a little extra screen time?”

Axel’s mouth flattened into a straight line, his face devoid of expression. As if she’d hit a nerve he wouldn’t admit. She could be reading into it, of course, but in her field of work she’d gotten adept at coaching nonprofessional actors into evoking a mood on camera. The nuances of body language were well-known to her.

And somehow, she’d upset the hulking defenseman who’d probably sent opponents to the E.R.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Hunter.” He straightened, his Finnish accent all the more pronounced when he spoke formally. “In fact, I don’t think a player’s private life should be open for viewing in a documentary that’s supposed to be about a sport.”

When he moved past her as if to end their conversation, she realized she needed to mend fences. Coming into the Phantoms’ rink with a chip on her shoulder about the project had been a bad idea. As frustrated as she might be about this series, she didn’t want to alienate all the players before she even began shooting. She had to make a successful series in order to clear the way for what she really wanted to create—a documentary about the way girls used social media to ostracize those they rejected socially. Bullying didn’t begin to describe how mean-girl culture could stomp out an innocent enemy the way Jennifer’s sister, Julia, had been made an outcast by the girls in her school.

And Jennifer had been born with a need to fix problems when she encountered them, a compulsion increased by her single mother’s complete lack of parenting. Jen hadn’t minded raising herself while her mother worked two jobs and returned to college. But she’d been irritated on her younger sister’s behalf when her mother hadn’t stepped up for Julia, either. Their father hadn’t been a factor, coming around every few years to borrow a few bucks from their mom.

“Of course, you’re right.” She reached for Axel’s forearm. “Some people—believe it or not—jump at the chance to land their friends and family on camera. If you’d rather not, that’s fine.”

Pausing, he planted his hockey stick on the industrial carpet and seemed to reassess her.

He was a striking man. Not traditionally handsome with that U-shaped scar on his cheek and the stark, angular features softened only by those blue eyes. But the imposing strength of him would give any woman a thrill. Even without the hockey pads, he would be an impressive size.

Her cheeks heated at where her mind went after that, a girly blush that probably hadn’t happened to her since high school. And Axel Rankin couldn’t have possibly missed it, his eyes roaming over her … lingering here and there for the scenic tour before meeting her gaze again.

“But you’ll still be looking for story lines.” The blue stare turned darker. Stormier.

And for reasons she couldn’t fully fathom, she didn’t want to tick him off any more. If only for the sake of the show, she felt called to make nice with him.

“That’s part of the job,” she admitted. “If all I did was show your team playing hockey, I wouldn’t have anything different than a game broadcast. My work will let fans get to know you on a more personal level.”

She would find a way to reveal the deeper story behind the game. She’d received critical acclaim in her first two years as a full-fledged director for a small film company. But she had yet to produce anything that made money and her higher-ups insisted she make a more marketable film before she got the green light for the project dear to her heart.

“That wasn’t in the job description.” He lifted the hockey stick and thudded the end on the carpet once, twice, three times.

“And choking to death in noxious locker rooms wasn’t in mine, either, but here I am.” She reached for his stick and, leaving it in his hands, she copied his action of tapping it on the floor to punctuate her words. Once, twice, three times. Then she let go. “We might as well make the best of it.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

“Why was a woman who wants to make the best of it hiding from me earlier? Eavesdropping while I wondered aloud where you were?”

“My natural instincts for self-preservation must have kicked in when I heard you banging on the conference room door.”

He seemed to consider that, scratching the inside of a shin guard with his hockey stick.

“I might have knocked a bit forcefully,” he conceded. “I was anxious to find you before the full effect of my workout died down.” He waved a hand around his chest to waft the scent of sweat her way.

Covering her nose with one hand, she used the other to point at him accusingly. “I knew you looked sadistically pleased when you shook my hand. You were trying to asphyxiate me.”

He grinned and she was a little surprised to see beautiful, straight, white teeth. Maybe she’d formed a few premature perceptions about hockey players. What other sexy surprises might be hidden inside the six foot five inches of this mysterious man? Suddenly, she was curious to know Axel better.

“Just trying to acclimate you to your new environment.” Tugging off his helmet, he unveiled cropped brown hair that was spiked up on top from the headgear. “You’ll have to get used to it sooner or later.”

Awareness crackled between them even though he didn’t seem too happy about it. She wasn’t thrilled with the realization, either, but there you go. Who could predict physical chemistry?

“How thoughtful.” She found herself eager to see what he looked like after his shower. “Since you’re so committed to making me feel welcome, maybe you’d consider showing me around after you wash up?”

She wasn’t sure why she’d asked. No, that wasn’t true. She knew why she’d asked—she was drawn to Axel Rankin. She’d always struggled with a tendency toward impulsiveness. But she couldn’t act on that flash of chemistry when they’d be working together. When she might very well have to extract a story line from him that he wouldn’t like.

But it was too late to call back the words.

Surprise registered on Axel’s face a split second before heat flared in his eyes.

“They say you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He tucked his helmet under his arm. “Guess that means I ought to take you up on the offer.”

“Because we’re sure to be friends, right?” She needed a few allies on this project if she wanted to get through the upcoming weeks.

He cast her a level glance while the Zamboni made quick work of smoothing over the rink.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

AXEL STALLED. BIG-TIME.

He made a few more passes over his chest with the soap, wearing the bar down to nothing after spending so long in the shower willing away his reaction to the mouthy filmmaker. He needed a game plan for sending Jennifer Hunter packing before he did something stupid like act on the surprising attraction.

The woman was seriously hot.

Shutting down the water, he grabbed a towel and dried off, knowing he’d kept her waiting long enough. Frustrated he hadn’t figured out how to handle her, he’d have to go with his plan B—learn more about her objections to the film series and exploit those until she wanted to leave.

Except the plan that had made perfect sense in the coach’s office two hours ago, didn’t sound so good anymore. Especially not since meeting Jennifer had been kind of like taking a puck to the chest—minus the padding.

What was it about her?

Standing at his locker, he pulled on street clothes. Kyle Murphy plowed through the doors while Axel tied his shoes.

Kyle was a forward on the team and also Axel’s foster brother. The Murphy family had facilitated Axel’s move to the U.S. the summer before his senior year in high school. Kyle and Axel had attended Boston College together before moving to the pros. But while Kyle had been picked up by the Boston NHL team, Axel had bounced around the league before moving to Kyle’s team last fall. Their combined stats had made them appealing to Nico Cesare as the coach strategized a run at the Stanley Cup, and he’d signed them as a package deal to the Phantoms just before the trade deadline.

“Hey, bro.” Kyle bumped Axel’s fist with his knuckles before moving to his own locker. “Been simmering in the hot tub?”

“No.” He figured shooting the breeze with Kyle was a legit way to waste a few more minutes before he had to meet Jennifer again. Hopefully it would be enough time to get his head on straight. “I’m showing the filmmaker around the facility.”

He hadn’t been kidding about keeping his enemies close. If the woman was going to be filming the Phantoms, he wanted to be sure he knew where she was at all times so he was never caught off guard.

“More power to you, man. You always did go for the redheads.”

Auburn hair was the least of Jennifer’s attractions as far as he was concerned. Sure she had sexy, shoulder-length red curls. Vivid green eyes. Cute-as-hell freckles and a build so willowy he could probably wrap his arms around her a few times. But that stuff was window dressing for the spark inside her, a spark that had flared from the moment she stepped out from behind the post to greet him.

She’d been unashamed to eavesdrop, had called him on his brute behavior without making him feel like a heel, and then she’d invited him to show her around. Keeping up with a woman like that would require more attention than Axel could spare, frankly. But damn. He envied the guy who got the chance to try.

“So you’ve met her?” Axel tied his shoe, curious what Kyle thought of Jennifer.

“Just a few minutes ago. She was trying to get up into the rafters to see what kind of wide-range camera angles she can snag from overhead.”

“You’re kidding.” Axel slammed the locker shut. “She’s here for less than a day and she’s climbing the walls?”

“Actually, she was trying to con a janitor into bringing her a ladder.”

“Great. She’ll probably sue us when she breaks her neck.” Tossing his towel in a laundry bin, he jogged toward the door. “Why the hell doesn’t Nico assign someone to guard her?”

“Didn’t you say you’re supposed to be escorting her around?” Kyle called after him. “Sounds like that job lands in your lap, bro.”

And wasn’t that an image he didn’t need in his head?

Axel plowed through the double doors, past the tunnel leading to the ice, toward the viewing area for visitors. At first, he didn’t see anyone. The morning session had been closed to the public and most of the players were long gone by now.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear her voice echo from above his head.

“Up here!” she called, lying prone on a steel girder that was part of the open web truss system holding up the clear glass arena ceiling. She gave a jaunty little wave over her head, her face hidden behind a medium-size camera with a big lens.

“You go to great lengths to hide from me,” he observed drily.

“You can’t say that when I announced myself right away this time.”

“Do you have any idea the kind of insurance liability you pose right now?” How had she gotten up that high? “Weren’t you supposed to at least wait for a ladder?”

“Your maintenance staff was concerned about the insurance risk, too. Surprising when you have a doctor and dentist on call for players who break bones every day.” The flash from her camera went off and she fiddled with the settings. One red canvas sneaker dangled from fifteen feet up, a hint of ankle visible at the hem of her jeans.

“I’ll make sure you have a ladder for the trip down. Can you sit tight while I find one?”

“No need.” She stuffed her camera into a nylon bag that hung from her wrist. “The descent is bound to be easier than the climb up.”

His heart nearly stopped when he saw her swing down to a lower girder. Positioning himself directly underneath her, he was too busy worrying she’d break her leg to notice the view straight up her colorful Bohemian blouse. Much.

“For someone in the directing business, you sure don’t take direction well, do you?” He reached up to spot her, his hand almost touching her leg as she scrambled over the side of the girder.

“Why do you think I stay behind the camera?” Lowering herself with her arms, she hung suspended from the beam, her knees within touching range now.

No one else was around. He’d have to step in and help. Unwilling to risk her falling, Axel wound his arms around her lower legs and squeezed her tight.

“Let go,” he ordered, certain he had her. He valiantly did not look up her blouse.

At least not at first … Creamy breasts molded by turquoise lace proved too tempting.

“I don’t want to fall on you,” she protested, peering down the length of her body at him.

“You won’t fall,” he assured her, liking the feel of her far too well for a man who intended to send her packing. A man who planned to help her see why this documentary was a very bad idea. “I’ve got you.”

The moment stretched out as they eyed one another and Axel slowly became aware of the scent she wore. The fragrance was subtle and sweet and one he knew well from childhood summers spent in the country.

The fiery redhead smelled like lilies of the valley.

The scent drifted all around him as she let go, giving him her weight. He probably held on to her a second too long, savoring the soft feel of a woman in his arms. With an effort, he tried to recall that the sexy, fragrant female of the turquoise-colored lingerie was an enemy who required monitoring. At the moment, he could only think about how good it was going to feel to lower her body down the length of his.

“Um.” She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. The camera on a strap at her wrist whacked him in the arm as it followed the movement of her hand. “Axel? Maybe you should …”

She glanced meaningfully at the floor.

He would have preferred to settle her on a bed. A couch. Hell, a futon would be fine with him. But since they were in the middle of the arena seating around the Phantoms’ practice rink, he dropped her lightly on her feet, copping only a minimal feel.

How the hell would he chase her away from this film series when he couldn’t even keep his hands off her? He needed to reassess his options sometime when he didn’t have hints of her scent clinging to his clothes.

“Sorry.” He resisted the urge to straighten her blouse where it had ridden up above the waistband of her jeans. “You ready for the nickel tour?”

Her hand smoothed the fabric of her bright purple-and-teal top, covering the sliver of skin he’d spied at her midriff.

“I’ve been ready and waiting.” She gestured expansively to the facility, her cheeks a little flushed. “Show me everything.”

Axel had been ducking opportunities left and right, determined to keep this conversation focused on the job she was here to do. But honestly, how could he walk away from that one?

“Tempting as that might be, I think we’d better start with something more manageable.” Stalking away from the seats, he gestured for her to follow. “The rink’s chiller system, maybe. I’m going to need some cooling down.”




3


AS THEY PASSED a wall of life-size photos of current Phantoms’ players, Jennifer hurried to keep up with her reluctant tour guide. He seemed determined to complete the excursion around the training facility in record time. He’d shown her the state-of-the-art exercise and weight rooms with little commentary, occasionally flipping light switches and nodding to the last few personnel in the building as they went home for the day. Could he make it any clearer that he didn’t want to be around her?

His behavior was a puzzle since she knew damn well he was attracted. The heat between them when he’d plucked her from the steel girders had sent her into a full-on meltdown, and she wasn’t a woman whose head turned easily. He’d even said he needed a chance to cool down when he finally released her. So he must have been overheated, too.

And resenting it, apparently.

Frustrated with him, with herself and with the way the day was going, she stopped in front of a poster of the team’s playmaker, Kyle Murphy. She needed to get to the bottom of this before she moved on. She couldn’t scout filming locations for the documentary series until she resolved the Axel dilemma.

“Axel?”

He’d outpaced her by about four miles down the long corridor. Well, at least twenty feet. He turned now, and peered back at her in the semidark vacated part of the building.

“Did I miss something?” His voice echoed a bit in the wide hall with decorative concrete floors polished to a high shine.

“Yes.”

She stared him down, willing him to come closer and not be so difficult. For some reason, she felt that if she could win him over to her cause, she could make this film project a success.

“Care to clue me in?” he said finally, not budging.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

Even from twenty feet away, she could see the moment of guilt in his expression. And, while it wasn’t necessarily pleasant to have her suspicion confirmed, she appreciated that he had the grace to appear abashed over the fact.

“Am I going too fast?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer the question. Why are you trying to set a new land speed record?” She wished she had her Nikon in hand now, partially because it felt awkward to ask tough questions with no barrier between her and her subject.

Also because the camera would love this man.

She wanted to linger over the harsh angles of his face with her naked eye. Zoom in on the unusual scar that had to be the outline of a hockey puck under one cheek. Pan out for a long shot of his body to appreciate the way he dwarfed everything around him.

He really did clean up well. His brown hair was shorter than his Viking ancestors’, but he had the strong bone structure, which highlighted his magnetic blue eyes. Even without the hockey pads, his physique was extraordinary, a testament to the hours of work in the gym and on the ice. Constant skating, apparently, yielded a truly spectacular butt. She’d been following him around long enough to become familiar with the way the man filled out a pair of jeans.

Now he came toward her slowly, his feet erasing the space between them.

“Maybe I don’t like your idea for this movie.”

“TV documentary series,” she corrected automatically. “I gathered as much when you said that private lives don’t belong in a film about a sport.”

He paused a foot away from her. Looming.

“So focus on the training. The year-round preparation that goes into playing at this level. Why do you need to manufacture personal lives for athletes who dedicate all their time to hockey?” He leaned closer, as if he could impose his wishes on her through sheer will.

She sucked in a steadying breath and could almost taste the soap he’d used, the warm, clean scent of him filling her lungs and giving her nerve endings a private thrill. Her heart rate tripped into a staccato beat.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper given his proximity and her breathlessness.

“Of course not.” He stepped back a bit, though. “Just giving you my opinion. You asked, you know.”

“Yes, but when you proclaim it while hovering over me like that, I feel like you’re trying to eclipse me with your bigger presence.”

“I am the team enforcer,” he informed her, lowering his brows in a semiconvincing menace while flexing his arms. His chest. Actually, everything seemed to tighten and bulge at once.

“Which means … what? You’re going to duke it out with me over this film?” She couldn’t help a shiver of awareness at the he-man muscle show, perhaps a leftover genetic reflex from the days when women were driven to seek out strong men for protection’s sake.

Because surely she wasn’t the kind of woman to be swayed by something so earthy?

“Probably not,” he admitted, his expression clearing as his gaze did a slow sweep of her. “But as the Phantoms’ newly imported enforcer, my role is to be on the alert for threats to my teammates.”

“And you’ve decided I’m the threat?”

“Definitely.” His eyes zeroed in on her lips and her mouth went dry.

She shook her head, trying to deny it, but the movement felt slow. Leaden. Almost as if she didn’t want to say no to whatever it was they were talking about—she’d forgotten in the hypnotic lure of his proximity.

“Say what you want,” Axel said, coming closer again, within easy touching distance. “That look in your eyes right now is threatening the hell out of me. You might not know it, but I’m in big-time fight-or-flight mode this very minute standing next to you.”

Any possibility of breathing was gone. She’d probably start hyperventilating at any moment. Beside her, his chest rose and fell as if he was engaged in battle.

“That’s ironic,” she managed finally, her voice sounding far away and not like her own. “Because I can’t seem to move.”

His eyes widened a fraction before he narrowed his gaze. That battle he’d been waging? She suspected he’d decided the outcome.

“I tried to outrun you,” he reminded her, his voice a soft, minty breath. “You saw me try to avoid this.”

The gentle words chipped away at her defenses, surprising her with the note of stark honesty. She hadn’t seen where this was headed, but apparently he had.

The thought evaporated along with the rest of her brain waves when Axel stepped even closer, crowding her.

“I … um …” She wrestled with a sudden urge to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him until he was as breathless as she felt. “Maybe avoidance was a smarter policy than I gave it credit for.”

“You called. I came.” His last step backed her neatly into the wall.

Her heart beat faster. She swallowed hard.

“Sometimes I don’t know what’s best for me,” she managed, her throat dry as she became intensely aware of his chest mere inches from hers.

“That became apparent when you climbed the rafters.” He lifted a hand and she held her breath, wondering if he would hold her steady for the kiss she foolishly craved.

Instead, his fingers skimmed beneath her hair to encircle the back of her neck, one thumb resting on the pulse point at the base of her throat. Her neck had never been much of an erogenous zone, but the feel of his thumb softly stroking there struck her as more erotic than full-blown intimate encounters she’d had before.

She wasn’t sure if that spoke to how lacking her previous sensual experiences were or what talented hands Axel possessed. Either way, she soaked up the sensation and tried not to arch into him for more.

“Axel,” she murmured against the glide of his fingertips along her throat, her sensitive skin registering every callus.

“Mmm?” He never paused the seductive caress.

The rhythm of the touch hypnotized her, making her long to feel it all over her body. How could a simple stroke feel so mind-numbingly good?

Steeling herself, she tried to remember all the reasons she shouldn’t be fraternizing with someone she’d be filming. She was a professional, damn it.

“This may be a bad idea,” she warned, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his soft cotton button-down.

Sweet, merciful heaven, when had she allowed herself to touch him back?

“There’s no maybe about it,” he told her, lowering his head and inhaling a deep breath. “This will only lead to complications.”

BREATHING IN HER SUBTLE floral scent, Axel told himself to let go of Jennifer.

He needed to pry his fingers off, one by one, and walk away from the insanity. He had her pinned between the wall and the most insistent hard-on of his life, for Chris-sakes. This was totally out of line. Unacceptable.

And why the hell couldn’t some stray maintenance worker show up right about now to startle them apart? He didn’t think anything else—besides a cattle prod—would do the trick.

“I didn’t see this coming,” she confided, her voice kind of soft and wonder-filled in a way that only wound him up more. “Not for a second.”

He kept his head down, eyes on the floor, not ready to see her lips all soft and ready for his kiss. Not ready to see her eyes filled with that hazy, unfocused gaze that meant she was thinking about sex as much as he was.

“No? That’s funny because I felt it like a damn freight train headed my way the moment you asked me to show you around.”

She stiffened slightly, the subtle shift of her body a movement that inflicted a unique brand of torment on him when he knew this little interlude was going nowhere. At least not today.

“I hope you didn’t think I was coming on to you.” She managed to sound honest-to-God uptight about it even though her fingers still clutched the placket of his shirt.

“Of course not.” He gritted out a semblance of a polite smile as he backed up a step and her hands fell away. “I can see you’re not attracted to me in the least.”

“Well!” she huffed, crossing her arms in such a way that drew the fabric of her blouse tight across her breasts. “I don’t mean that I’m not attracted now. I just meant I wasn’t thinking about any such thing back when I asked for the tour.”

Following the line of his gaze, she uncrossed her arms. Straightened her blouse. Lifted her chin.

Damn, but he wanted to take her home and tease her some more. Undress her slowly and put that note of awe and wonder back in her voice. But that was not in the plan. He should be chasing her away from the team and most particularly him, not lingering in darkened hallways with her.

“Fine. But now you see where this is headed and that it’s a bad idea. Can we agree it would be best for all parties if the tour ends here?” He needed to regroup someplace else, somewhere far from the scent of lilies of the valley.

He hadn’t even seen those damn flowers in over ten years, let alone smelled them. How strange that meeting her called up the few rare good memories he had of his childhood home, especially since her project had the potential to bring all the worst ones back to life.

“Agreed.” She gave a tight nod. “Thank you for showing me around.”

“You’re welcome.”

He waited for her to storm off in a display of feminine outrage. Stomp down the hall in a huff, maybe. Or sashay away with a little extra hip swing to remind him of what he was missing.

He should have remembered she wasn’t a conventional female. She simply frowned, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. She appeared deep in thought, her gaze focused somewhere above his head.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?” he prompted in what he considered an inspired moment of chivalrous manners.

His foster mom, Mrs. Murphy, would be proud.

“No, thank you.” Her face cleared and she pointed to the wall behind him, where the life-size posters of Phantoms players loomed. “As long as the tour is over, maybe you can tell me a little about your teammates.”

And he fought the urge to roll his eyes—he couldn’t believe she’d changed gears so quickly when he was still wrestling a massive case of sexual frustration.

“No.” He shook his head, needing to be very clear with her. “I can’t. Spending time with you is not a good idea for me, whether it’s giving you a tour or telling you about the guys. I’m having a career season, Jennifer—”

“Jen. Call me Jen.” Not even looking at him, she moved closer to the posters of the players, eyes narrowing to read the text beside Kyle’s picture.

“Jen.” He angled his body between her and the write-up, needing to make sure she got the message. “It’s important to me to maintain the momentum I’ve got going while we finish up the regular season. Routine is everything when you’re maintaining a streak. I just can’t—”

“Am I interfering with your routine?” She peered around as if mystified about what else he’d be doing if not talking to her.

“This whole TV circus is messing up my routine and I only just found out about it.” He realized he’d maneuvered close to her again when his body started humming as if he had metal under his skin and she was an industrial-strength magnet.

“Okay, I get it. You want nothing to do with me.” Searching around in her purse, she fished out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Can you at least tell me who you would recommend I talk to? Is there anyone on the team who might have a few minutes to spare to give me some insights on the Phantoms?”

Pencil poised, she looked at him expectantly. Here was his out. He could simply give her the name of one of the other guys and someone else could escort her around the rest of the training facility. Their game arena downtown. Someone else could talk to her and catch her when she jumped down from swinging on the girders.

Thinking about how much one of the other guys might like that—and how much he would hate every second of witnessing it—he found he couldn’t come up with a name for her.

“How about I call Leandre Archambault?” she prompted, pointing to his teammate’s photo on the wall.

Her pencil flew across the paper until he caught it. Halted it. Gripped the damn thing so hard he accidentally snapped it in two. Leandre was the worst ladies’ man on the team and he had no intention of letting him anywhere near Jennifer.

“No.” He couldn’t walk away. Besides, he was better off talking to her behind the scenes, steering her away from him and toward other guys for filming purposes. If she had to film them, Axel would make sure her camera was focused on anyone but him. “I have time to talk to you.”

“What about your routine?” One eyebrow quirked, but she didn’t seem to be gloating over his inability to cut her loose. If anything, she appeared genuinely interested.

“I’ll find a way to make it work.” That way he could keep an eye on her. Damn it, he’d known that would be best all along. But the encounter in the hall had rocked him so much he’d second-guessed the plan. “Let’s start tomorrow, though. Give us time to regroup.”

She nodded.

“Great. And because I appreciate it so much, I’m going to promise you that I will keep my hands to myself at all times.” She held up her hands for him to see and wiggled the fingers for good measure. “See? You’re safe with me.”

His skin reacted as surely as if she’d skimmed that touch along his bare back. His naked abs.

Desire slammed him like a body check to the boards.

“Right.” He waved her away from the display toward the conference room so she could gather her stuff. “Too bad it’s not you I’m worried about.”




4


“IS IT TRUE YOU’RE MAKING a movie about the Phantoms?”

The speaker squatted into Jennifer’s vision as she sat in the practice rink’s viewing seats at 10:00 a.m. the next morning. While the players ran a slapshot drill out on the ice, Jennifer worked at her laptop, making notes to ask Axel. Well, she tried to work on her laptop.

The hopeful young face blinking up at her from the row of seats below prevented her from concentrating. The lithe brunette in a knit beret clutched a paper coffee cup in both hands, hovering over the steam drifting up like a nebulizer while the players lofted puck after puck at their backup goalie.

“Not a movie. A documentary series.” Jennifer tried to smile politely, wishing she’d known that today’s morning skate was open to the public.

She would have given her cameraman the day off. Bryce’s equipment attracted attention and questions.

“I’m Chelsea, groupie extraordinaire.” The young woman thrust out a hand. “Let me know if I can be of any help.”

Taking the woman’s hand, Jennifer shook it briefly, reassessing.

“A fan?” Her gaze went from Chelsea to the guys on the ice—mainly Axel, whose number she found immediately through the glass boards.

He stood on a blue line—she had discerned the significance of that location last night in a mega cram-session on hockey. Apparently the blue lines marked the offensive zones and as a defenseman, he was often called a “blue liner” since he frequently played there.

Jennifer’s interest in and admiration for his role on the ice had increased the more she read until she found herself enthused to return to the rink today. But part of that enthusiasm died at the notion of groupies. Did he have female fans who shadowed his movements? The idea rankled. What if caressing strange women in deserted halls was all in a day’s work for a national league hockey player?

“Yes. There are four of us who follow the team whenever possible.” Chelsea gestured to a threesome of coffee-clutching young women two rows down. They appeared to be twenty to twenty-five years old. Unlike the stereotype of attention-seeking groupies who dressed to get noticed, this crowd wore appropriate clothes for a hockey rink—jackets and scarves with the blue-and-white team logo. They squealed as two of the players skated their way, giving them a grin and a nod.

“Do you attend a lot of these practices?” Jennifer wondered what kinds of jobs the young supporters had if they could afford to tailor their schedules around a hockey team.

“We come to these all the time, sometimes even when they’re not open to the public.” Chelsea flipped a long brown curl from one eye, a hint of a tattoo on her wrist visible under her jacket sleeve. “After this, we’re headed to Montreal for tomorrow’s game. The team flies, but we have to leave earlier since we drive and we want to be there when they touch down.”

To do what, exactly? Warm their beds?

Jennifer bit her tongue on the questions, knowing her role here wasn’t to judge, or even to get involved. It was simply to document. She had to admit that “not getting involved” part had always been tough for her. When she’d documented poverty, she’d helped educate young moms on wise consumer choices at the grocery store. When she’d made a film on the public school system, she’d found herself volunteering for bake sales. But if the woman in front of her wanted to follow a team of athletes around the country, it certainly wasn’t Jen’s job to tell her she could do better than that. Although the temptation lingered.

“How interesting.” She waved over her cameraman. The stands weren’t full for the practice session, so he climbed over the seats to introduce himself to Chelsea before Jennifer explained why she wanted them to meet. “Bryce will be recording a lot of raw footage on this project while we figure out our primary angles for this week’s installment. Would you mind if he tagged along on your road trip? Maybe took some footage of your conversations about the team?”

“Really?” Hopping out of her seat, Chelsea sloshed a little coffee out the top of the cup as she waved over her friends. “Almost like we were in the movie, too?”

A whistle blew on the ice and Jennifer noticed the players congregated around the coach.

“You would be.” Her attention went back to the woman’s wrist where she could have sworn she’d spotted numbers in Phantom blue. An ode to a player? “I’d have to ask you to sign waivers giving us permission to film you and use any footage we obtain, but only a small percentage ever sees the final print.”

There was a brief huddled conversation among the women, but it didn’t take long for Chelsea to pop out of the cluster.

“We’d love to.”

“Great.” Jennifer pulled up the waiver page on her laptop and handed Chelsea the stylus so she could sign it electronically while the players seemed to finish up their practice. “Just make sure Bryce knows where to be and at what time to meet you.”

While the fans thronged the tunnels off the ice for a chance at slapping hands with the exiting players, Chelsea handed the laptop around to her friends so they could each sign the waiver. When she turned back to Jennifer, her expression had clouded, the initial excitement dimmed.

Second thoughts already?

“Is everything okay?” Jennifer asked, not wanting her documentary stars to be second-guessing themselves yet. Any misgivings had to wait until the series was edited and printed.

Although she knew Axel would have reservations every moment of filming until she returned to New York. She respected his privacy, in theory, even if her assignment here proved at odds with his personal preferences. But was there a deeper reason behind how fiercely he protected his privacy? Most athletes saw the benefit of media attention on their careers, and it turned out Axel Rankin was having a banner year on the ice.

Why so camera shy?

“Sure.” Chelsea still held Jennifer’s laptop, her eyes fixed on the ice where Axel and Kyle Murphy—his foster brother, she’d learned in her reading—were laughing with the goalie. “I’m glad the documentary will help the team. Maybe boost ticket sales.”

“It probably will,” Jennifer agreed, trying to see which one of the guys Chelsea had her eye on since all the others had headed to the locker room by now.

She turned back to Jennifer. “But the guys are so great, I almost hate to share them, you know? Kind of like when the newspaper reviews your favorite dive restaurant. Soon everyone’s showing up to try the grub and it’s not the same anymore.”

While Jennifer tried to puzzle through Chelsea’s concerns—lack of access to the players, maybe—she reached for her laptop.

And, as Chelsea extended it, her sleeve lifted higher on her wrist. Revealing #68, Axel Rankin’s jersey number, tattooed on her skin.

THE CAMERAS WERE OUT in full force today.

Axel had noticed as soon as he’d arrived at the practice facility early that morning. Even now, as he waited for Jen to meet him after the team skate, he had to contend with the bright light of a fill flash in his eyes. He’d taken refuge in a practice room to tweak his shot on one of the shooting tarps, but the camera guy had followed him in.

There were three camera operators—all male—who would roam the Phantoms’ facilities over the next month. The team had been introduced to the group at the morning meeting. They would attend games and road trips in addition to occasionally following the players home or around town on errands, nights out or anywhere that might be relevant to the larger story. Besides the film crew with handhelds, there were stationary cameras in the rafters above the ice, in the box where players sat between shifts and in a couple of other common areas.

He’d called his foster parents last night to warn them about the documentary. They didn’t know the extent of his connections to the motorcycle club back in Finland—ties that hadn’t been easily severed. He’d never hidden from the old crew, exactly. He’d known an NHL career gave him a certain amount of visibility, so he’d always been accessible to his enemies. But there’d been a tacit peace these past nine years, with everyone moving on.

Axel wasn’t all that sure the peace would hold if this documentary series found a global audience. What would the old gang think of his high-end lifestyle if they saw pictures up close and personal? Would they be able to forgive what they considered the debt of letting him leave if they could see the evidence of his success from the comfort of their living rooms overseas? He didn’t want to push his luck.

So he’d told the Murphys to be on their toes if anyone called looking for more information on him. The wealthy Murphy family had resources to increase security at their Cape Cod compound and he’d advised them to do so, claiming a rise in public interest could bring out the occasional nut job. Better to be safe.

As Axel found his shooting rhythm on a tarp, he tried to ignore the hum of the Panasonic recording his every move and wondered if Jennifer had stood him up.

With how gung ho she’d been to quiz him about the Phantoms the day before, he’d figured she would bombard him with questions the second he left the ice. But an hour and a half after practice, he still hadn’t seen a sign of her.

Except, of course, in his mind’s eye. She’d set up residence there after yesterday’s close encounter, insinuating herself in his thoughts and making him edgy for more.

“Have you seen Jennifer around?” Axel asked the young guy shouldering the video equipment, breaking protocol by addressing him directly.

But hey, the less usable footage they had of him, the better.

Shutting off the camera, the tall, skinny dude shifted it aside. “She might be in the parking lot, setting things up for one of the crew to ride with some fans to Montreal.”

“Fans?” Surprised and encouraged that she would devote so much film to people who weren’t on the team, Axel decided he’d have to give her a rundown on everyone on the Phantoms support staff.

That alone could occupy a camera for a couple of days.

“Groupies, man.” The kid—twenty at the oldest—grinned. “Four girls that came to the morning skate. You’re living the dream.”

Before he could reply, Jennifer strode into the practice room, her cheeks flushed and her hair windblown.

“Yes, congratulations on that, Mr. Rankin.” She thumbed through a stack of notes on her clipboard, her hands a flurry of shuffling. “You’re a very fortunate man to be so widely admired.”

He’d never been in it for the fame. If anything, that made his life more difficult given the enemies he’d made back home.

“Actually, I think I’m fortunate because I get paid to do a job I love.” He handed his stick to an attendant, eager to shake off old ghosts and talk to Jennifer away from the whir of rolling film. “Are you ready to go?”

“Very.” Pivoting on her heel, she walked out of the practice room.

She wore a blue-and-white Phantoms T-shirt today, a thoughtful endorsement. A floor-length black skirt with big blue flowers billowed around her legs, a skinny silver chain belt dangling from her waist.

She looked great. He liked her colorful, offbeat style. Her energetic walk and enthusiastic hands when she touched him. He liked everything about her a little too well. But sticking close to her throughout the filming might help him avoid being a central figure in any of the footage.

As for the heat between them? He’d have to gamble they’d be able to handle it.

He had to admit Jen seemed to be keeping a professional distance today.

Hell, he wasn’t even keeping up with her, now that he thought about it. Was she pulling the same trick he had yesterday, trying to outpace him?

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, lengthening his stride as she headed toward the administrative offices. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Just trying to be considerate.” She shoved open a door to a small office that should have belonged to the staff travel secretary. Apparently the office had been lent to Jennifer while she was here since an assortment of camera bags crammed the floor and a board with a list of shot sequences had been hung behind the desk. “I know you have to travel tonight for tomorrow’s game.”

He followed her inside, leaving the door open to ensure they wouldn’t have too much privacy. It was being alone with her yesterday that had driven him to touch her. Today would be all business.

“Our flight doesn’t leave until seven and I’m already packed. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Well, I need to make a lot of arrangements before then.” She turned to face him, her shoulders tense. Still clutching the clipboard like a flotation device for a woman at sea.

“Jen.” He stepped closer in spite of himself, sensing a vibe at work that he didn’t understand. “Is something wrong?”

“Honestly?” She slammed the clipboard on the desk, sending a few loose papers flying. “I’m a little creeped out to think you have your own personal fan base following you around to all your hotels when you travel.”

A strong reaction from a woman he’d only just met. She couldn’t be … jealous?

“I think every big-league sports team develops that kind of following,” he said carefully.

“Well, I don’t see how you can object to a romantic story line for yourself when you’ve got a groupie with your jersey number tattooed on her like a neon sign.”

A prickle of unease started at the base of his neck. As amusing as it might be to think Jennifer would feel any sort of proprietary claim toward him, he couldn’t afford to indulge that kind of thought if it led to him having a feature role in her series.

“The fan you’re thinking of happens to have all the players’ numbers tattooed on her.”

“You’ve seen them?” Jaw dropping, she pitched her voice lower.

“Hell no.” His response was automatic since she made it sound so sordid. “Well, some of them. You need to understand Chelsea and her friends. They hang out around the team a lot, but the guys don’t mind because that whole group has had a rough time of it. Chelsea especially.”

Outside the office, a couple of the team higher-ups walked by and Axel gave them a wave. The documentary series had brought in all the big brass, who were excited at the idea of more ticket sales in their future.

“What do you mean?” Jen frowned, and for the first time since he’d seen her today, she didn’t look quite so tense.

“I mean she has a hell of a story, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. I, on the other hand, don’t have a story. Something I’ve already made damn clear to you.”

“Right.” She chewed on her lip, an auburn wave snaking forward to land against her cheek as she looked down. “The trouble is, I don’t have a romantic story line. I have a team full of hot athletes, and every one of you is either married, in a committed relationship or too married to the game to think about women.”

Ha. Did she really believe that he wasn’t thinking about her right now? He’d be lucky to have his head in the game by tomorrow with memories of touching her playing over and over in his brain. Even now, he wanted to get closer to see if he could catch that scent of hers that drove him crazy.

“So follow around one of the guys with a girlfriend. Done deal.” Why couldn’t she film Kyle and Marissa, the matchmaker his brother had fallen for who now occupied all his free time?

“And do I chronicle a happy relationship with no conflict that will put viewers to sleep? Or a relationship on the rocks—and there’s no lack of those, according to preliminary research—and really piss off one of your teammates by showcasing his marital problems to the world?”

“Point taken.” More than one guy was going through a messy divorce. Some guys’ marriages broke up because their wives messed around while the team was out of town.

Then there were the guys who did the messing around themselves. Ax tried to stay out of stuff like that, but he’d seen enough in his short time with the Phantoms to know there were a few team Casanovas.

“So you see my dilemma.” Idly, she ran a fingertip up a stack of paperwork piled on one corner of the desk. Behind her, an open laptop flashed her production company’s logo for a screen saver.

“I wonder where you got all your research.” He was surprised at the twinge of jealousy that spiked for whoever had gotten to fill her in on the team dynamics last night. “I thought I was the go-to guy for the inside information.”

“A good journalist never reveals her sources.” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“Was he as entertaining as me?”

She studied her nails—filed short but painted with blue and purple stripes.

“Let’s just say the anonymous party didn’t try to scare me off with the scent of sweat and too much testosterone.”

“In other words, you missed me.” His testosterone levels seemed to stir when drawn into conversation. He might have taken a step closer to her, too, because he caught a hint of her perfume.

“I was still stinging from your rejection, so you can hardly hold it against me if I was driven into someone else’s arms.” Glancing up from her nails, she gave him a grin that managed to be wicked and innocent at the same time.

And even knowing that she was messing with him didn’t stop a surge of possessiveness he had no business feeling.

“Then I hope you’re prepared to start naming names before I have to take out my teammates one by one.”

“Hmm. I’d hate for you to sacrifice your season to a jealous streak when I got the inside scoop from the head coach’s wife.”

The ridiculous wave of relief he experienced was a very bad sign. Knowing that she flirted with him only made it tougher to hold back. This time, she was the one sidling closer.

Good thing they’d left the office door open, right? Too bad the hallway outside had been quiet for a while. All the action was down in the players’ area where preparations were being made to transport all the team’s gear for the road trip.

“Nico Cesare’s wife was your source?” He couldn’t resist tracing the cinnamon wave along her cheek, liking the way her eyelashes fluttered a little at his touch. “I’d be curious to know how exactly you ended up in her arms.”

“It wasn’t easy, but after some girl talk and margaritas at a local bar, I gave her a hug as a thank-you for the lowdown on the team.”

Axel cupped her chin. Tilted her face up. He really needed to kiss away that knowing smile. Remind her that he wasn’t the only one whose senses were keyed up and ready to fire into hyperdrive.

Except he couldn’t do that.

“Yesterday wasn’t a rejection,” he said instead, his voice gravelly and harsh, revealing too damn much.

Her nod was the smallest of movements, but he felt it in his hand.

“I know,” she whispered, her fingertips landing softly on the back of his hand, as if to hold him there.

With all the time in the world to back off, Axel stared, transfixed, at her soft pink mouth. She would taste perfect. Feel perfect.

And soon, that was all he could think about. How damn good she’d feel. How impossible it would be to keep away.

When their lips met, he gave in to the inevitable, knowing that fighting this would be an uphill battle. He had to give some ground or he’d lose his mind. He wanted Jen too badly.

The slide of her lips over his, the gentle press of her breasts against his chest, created a roar in his ears. A demand in his blood.

He reached for the door, needing to shut out the world for just a minute. Not finding it with a blind swipe, he cocked open one eye enough to orient himself. But as his hand wrapped around the knob to swing the barrier closed, he found a whole lot more than a frosted glass office door.

A handheld-camera operator stood in the hall, the red Record light blinking while the lens trained on them.




5


CAUGHT ON TAPE!

It sounded like a tabloid headline, but it was Jennifer’s life thanks to the traitorous cameraman who’d turned the lens on her. Now, skin still tingling from Axel’s touch, Jennifer was back in the conference room on-site at the practice rink. After what had happened, she had no choice but to dial in for a teleconference with her boss, hoping like hell she couldn’t get fired for a lip-lock with a guy who was supposed to be her film subject.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” she told Axel, who’d gone stone-cold silent ever since the incident.

Great. He was cool as ice while she’d seethed like molten lava ever since their kiss.

The only emotion she’d seen from Axel was when he’d ripped the camera out of Steven’s hands, of course. Unfortunately, the problem couldn’t be solved by tearing film out of the back of the camera since the digital model streamed a live feed accessible to anyone on the crew. The footage all went directly to a live link.

“I never guessed your crew would film you.” Axel paced around the long conference table where she had set up her laptop and notes. He couldn’t seem to sit, though, his body language restless and tense at the same time.

At least he was still speaking to her, right?

“I never thought they would, either. But to be honest, I haven’t worked with this particular crew before.” She hit the redial button on her laptop when her boss didn’t pick up.

Axel stopped pacing.

“Don’t tell me this is your first time directing.” He pinned her with his gaze, the air between them still crackling with awareness.

“Of course not.” She adjusted the angle of her screen and her elbow hit a stack of tentative storyboard ideas. The papers spilled onto the floor in a messy sprawl. So much for trying to stifle her attraction to him. “I just usually tackle social rights subjects, things that demand an artistic approach with a photo crew that specializes in that kind of cinematography. This time, I was assigned a different crew to capture more commercial hooks.”





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