Backhand (Gold Hockey) Read online

  A blip of silence trailed their entrance as twenty-something eyes flicked in their direction then away before the conversation started back up.

  The sound of the Matchbox cars rolling along the granite abruptly cut off, and little feet pounded in their direction.

  “What did you bring me, Mr. Mike?” a little girl who barely came up to his waist asked.

  Mirabel was the daughter of their backup goalie, Spence, and as gorgeous as her model mother. Black corkscrew curls, coffee skin, chocolate eyes, bright white teeth and a brilliant smile.

  “Nothing today, pipsqueak,” he told her.

  Her bottom lip came out, and he grinned, well familiar with the young girl’s tactics.

  “Mirabel,” her mother, Monique, warned.

  “How about I have Brit make some good saves?”

  Rosebud lips pressed together, considering.

  “And,” he whispered as he crouched down, “this.” He slid a chocolate kiss into her hand.

  “Mike,” Monique said, now warning him. “You’ll spoil her.”

  He tugged one of Mira’s springy curls. She unwrapped the chocolate and shoved it in her mouth before her mother could confiscate it.

  Smart girl.

  “She’s the only kid around,” he said. “She needs spoiling.”

  The Gold were a young team, and Mira was the only kid amongst the WAGs. Their players were either single, or those who were in committed relationships didn’t have kids yet.

  “More will be coming soon and then—”

  “She’ll lead the shenanigans.” Mike winked, teasing a smile out of Monique. “I wanted to introduce you to someone. This is—”

  “Sara Jetty, as I live and breathe.”

  Sara’s face paled, and Mike didn’t blame her. Monique’s tone was completely unreadable. Still, he had to give his girl credit. She didn’t flinch or shy away, just extended a hand.

  “Nice to meet you…”

  “Monique LeBrat,” she said. “Spence’s wife.”

  Sara flicked her gaze in his direction. “Backup goalie,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Sara murmured. “I haven’t been watching the team for long, and I’m not totally familiar with the players.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve kind of avoided everything to do with the ice since… well, you know.”

  Monique tilted her head. “Since the you know.”

  “Yup. You knows are painful, if you would believe it.”

  “You know?” Monique tapped one black painted fingernail against her mouth. “I think I would.”

  Sara giggled.

  “All right,” Monique said and slid an arm around Sara’s shoulders, tugging her away from Mike. “Come on, and let me introduce you around. I’ll even tell you where they store the really good chocolate.”

  “You good, Sara girl?” He didn’t like leaving her, but he also didn’t want to mess up her chances of making a friend or two up here. The WAGs were super protective of the team, and once they accepted someone into their fold, it was for life.

  Sara had made a good start already and didn’t need him hanging around cramping her style.

  “She’s good,” Monique said, pulling her into the other room and making a shooing motion. “Go do your hockey thing. We’re going to get to know each other.”

  But Mike didn’t move, not until Sara’s eyes connected with his, and she nodded.

  He probably wouldn’t have gone even then, except her expression was anticipatory, as though she wanted the chance to know the girls.

  “I’ll meet you up here after the game.”

  “Good luck,” she said softly and let Monique lead her into the next room of the suite.

  THEY WERE DOWN two goals in the bottom of the third with seventeen seconds to go.

  The crowd was pouring out of the arena, the fair-weather fans leaving to beat the rush while the diehards stayed on.

  Hockey was a game of seconds, but they were quickly running out of them.

  At the sound of the ref’s whistle, Mike skated to the blue line and readied himself for the faceoff. They were in the offensive zone, with an extra attacker — Coach had just pulled Brit — but they needed to act fast if they were going to make a game of it.

  The Gold needed a goal now.

  And then another.

  Music from the arena’s speakers cut off, the ref stood between the players, telling them to adjust their sticks, their feet, and—

  The puck dropped.

  It was a clean win—meaning their center was able to send the puck exactly where he wanted it, in this case to Mike, before the other center even touched it. Mike flicked it to Barie, who in a set play, passed it right back to him for a one-timer.

  Blue crashed the net and… deflected the puck just enough that it squeaked between the goalie’s pads.

  Goal!

  But he and the boys hardly celebrated. They had more work to do. The season was winding down, and every single point counted.

  Line back up at center ice. Ten seconds left on the clock. Setup for the faceoff and… go!

  This time the puck landed on Barie’s stick. He carried it forward, Mike sliding back and middle to cover his position. Blue streaked up the boards, and Stefan spotted him, sending a lofting pass cross-ice to land right on his tape. A deke, a rapid change in direction paired with an acceleration, and it was just the rookie and their opponent’s goalie.

  Seconds ticked down. Four. Three. Two—

  Score!

  The remaining fans were louder than the entire arena had been all night, jumping to their feet and screaming as he and the guys mobbed Blue.

  Two goals, fifteen seconds. That had to be a record.

  They skated to the bench as Brit returned to her net. Another puck drop, and the buzzer sounded.

  The game would be decided in overtime… or a shootout.

  Coach said a few things, but not many. His words of wisdom mostly came in practice rather than the games, which he believed were the time for execution. Tweaks would be made, but primary system changes were to be cultivated during practice.

  Overtime was three on three, and Mike would be on the ice with Blue and Blane, following Stefan’s trio.

  In close games, the bench was shortened — meaning, Coach gave the hot and more experienced players more ice time.

  Luckily, that included him.

  Winners wanted the puck. And he was definitely a winner—

  And great, now he sounded like Keanu from the bad football movie, The Replacements. But his lips twitched when he wondered if Sara had seen it—

  Tweet!

  He pushed all extraneous thoughts away and focused on the game.

  Players streaked across the ice, now with so much more space since each team was down two players. Six instead of ten skaters made for more room, more excitement, more goals.

  Stefan peeled off and came hard to the bench. Mike jumped over the boards when he got close and rushed forward to join the play. He picked up a pass, got a shot on goal that deflected into the corner. Seeing that the forwards were tired, he hustled over and snagged the puck.

  That gave the rest of Stefan’s group time to change… and Blue the chance to get back on the ice.

  The kid was on a run right now, and Mike wanted to get him the puck.

  He turned, skated toward the front of the net, but instead of going for the shot like everyone no doubt expected, he made a quick move and dropped the biscuit to Blue.

  Who wound up, shot, and — fuck — hit him right in the ass.

  There was a reason players weren’t supposed to have their backs to the net.

  But what made his aching cheek feel better was the offending disk landing right between his feet. He reacted, flicking the puck up and over the goalie’s shoulder.

  The red light came on. The buzzer sounded.

  And hell yeah, that felt good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SARA WAS COMFORTABLY tucked into one of the ridiculously plush armchair
s of the Family Suite reading on her phone and waiting for Mike to finish his post-game routine.

  Monique had left a few minutes earlier to take Mirabel home — it was a school night after all — and the others had gone after the game, since they’d brought their own cars.

  Sara had been surprisingly relaxed with the women in the suite that night. A couple had given her a curious look when they’d recognized her name and face, but none had been cruel or asked her any questions about her past.

  What was going on between her and Mike was a different story.

  Apparently, relationships were a hot topic.

  Still, she kept things light; telling them how she and Mike had run into each other after so long apart and just hit it off. They’d laughed hysterically at the rain-car-blocking-traffic story, which she had to admit was kind of funny now.

  Kind of.

  Monique was definitely the most welcoming, and Sara hoped that they would continue to get along.

  It would be nice to have some female friends.

  The row of televisions on the wall were black, the lights dimmed. Three separate spaces made up the suite: the large open area with TVs to watch the game, another that held a kitchen and a play zone for the kids, er, kid, since Mirabel was the only munchkin around, and a bathroom.

  The suite was beautifully decorated in pale gold with accents of black and white, and she found herself drifting off under the logo-emblazed fleece blanket that was pulled up to her chin.

  She let her eyes slide closed after reading the same paragraph three times over.

  “Hey.”

  “Mmm.” She shifted, almost found herself on the floor.

  “Careful.” Mike placed his hands on her arms and gently nudged her back. “Sorry I took so long.”

  Sara glanced at the phone in her hand, saw that it was not quite midnight. “I thought you’d be later.” The blanket fell as she stretched and sat up. His eyes flicked down to her breasts, and those little hussies perked to immediate attention. “Nice goal.”

  A flash of white teeth. “You saw?”

  “Of course.” She stood. “That’s what I was here for.”

  “I thought maybe it was the wine.”

  Her cheeks felt a little pink. So, there’d been a little wine to go with the girl talk, but the gossip had mostly stopped when the game came on.

  Hockey was serious business in these parts, and the wives and girlfriends fiercely cheered on the entire team.

  “Shh.” She walked into his arms, stood on tiptoe, and kissed the hell out of him.

  Though she’d wanted to knock his socks off and knew they had no shortage of chemistry, the heat that swept through her was almost shocking. It began in her middle, radiating outward to her limbs.

  She was on fire—

  “You’re dangerous, sweetheart,” Mike murmured, pulling back to cup her face. He pressed his mouth to hers in a chaste kiss. “Dangerous for my sanity.” His smile softened the words. “Ready?”

  “Take me home, Hot Shot.”

  He slung an arm over her shoulder. “Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind.”

  THE FRONT GATE of Mike’s house was still crowded with paparazzi, but they slid through the barrier barely stopping.

  “Wait for—”

  “I hired some security. They’ll make sure it’s closed.”

  Her head twisted toward him. “When could you have possibly found the time to hire security?”

  He shrugged. “A former teammate runs a management firm. He has connections and hooked me up.”

  “What management firm?”

  “Prestige Media Group.”

  “Prestige?” She tried to control her shock, really she did. It still sounded like a shriek though.

  “Um, yes?”

  Why did Mike sound so confused? How could he be so calm when—

  “Devon Scott is your former teammate?”

  The garage door rolled open, and Mike pulled the car inside. “Yes.” He was amused now.

  “The Devon Scott.”

  “I don’t know about the—” he did air quotes with his fingers “—Devon Scott. Dev used to play for the Gold, but that was before I came to the team. We overlapped for a season on the Kings.”

  “That’s when he dated…”

  “Emily Perkins. Yup.” He rolled his eyes. “And if we’re comparing media circuses…”

  “I love her movies. I wonder—”

  “He’s married now. Not to a movie star.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “Oh.” A pause. “I’d still like to meet him.”

  “Second best?” He turned off the car, pushed the remote for the garage door.

  “Yeah. But he still has dreamy chocolate eyes.”

  “Dream—” Mike shook his head, expression irritated. “He’s married.”

  She couldn’t resist pushing his buttons. “And he was still voted 2009’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

  “I think his wife might have something to say about that,” Mike muttered, reaching for the handle.

  “I also think you’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

  He froze, brows pulling down.

  “And when you frown.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “And I think your eyes are way more dreamy.”

  A full smile. “And I think you are way more trouble than I gave you credit for.”

  “People underestimate me.”

  Those dreamy eyes went a little serious. “Yes. Yes, they do.”

  “No sappy,” she warned, holding her hands up, palms out. “I’ve had enough serious for a while. Let’s stick with fun.”

  “Fun as in you teasing me?”

  She shrugged and got out. “Yes, that works.”

  “Or fun as in sexy naked time?” he asked, getting out and looking over the top of the car at her. The garage was dark, except for the faint light coming from the opener above their heads.

  He was gorgeous, as in he literally took her breath away, all planes of hard lines softened by his five o’clock shadow and plump lips.

  She wanted to sketch him.

  She wanted to fuck him more.

  “I do like sexy naked time.” Sara tugged at the hoodie she’d borrowed from him. It was huge and baggy, but she hadn’t exactly packed a bunch of clothes when she’d left her apartment.

  She’d need to go over, get a few things if they were going to stay here, and with the group camped outside of the gate, that seemed to be the only reasonable possibility.

  “I know you do.” Mike grinned, and it was predatory.

  Thoughts of the paparazzi faded because God, did she love the way he looked at her, eyes smoldering, focus intense. Every inch of the huge, muscular body was tuned into her.

  And she wanted every inch inside her.

  Her mouth quirked.

  He raised a brow.

  “Just making up bad innuendos to myself.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Inches. And—” Two steps back, and she was next to the workbench. She picked up a random piece of pipe. What it was doing there, she had no idea. But it served her purpose. “Shaft.” The tape measure she held up next. “Length.”

  Mike snorted, but those dreamy eyes were on fire, and those flames shot straight between her thighs.

  Her lips parted, her exhale was shaky—

  Then he was there, lifting her on top of the workbench, stepping between her thighs. “And let me guess—” A thrust of his hips, grinding that hard erection against her. “You need to use my tool?”

  She burst out into giggles, the whole scenario almost too ridiculous for words. “I love you.”

  His face went soft. “Me too, sweetheart. So much.” Then he grinned, wicked and promising. “But no more sap, remember?” He unzipped her hoodie, tossed it to the side.

  She ripped his shirt from his slacks, slid her hands over the exposed flesh. “How about hard and fast instead?”

  “Hard, I can do,” he said, mouth dropping to her neck, hand
s finding the button of her jeans and tugging down the zipper. “Fast, not so much.”

  Sara undid the waistband of his pants, gripped him tight. “I think you can do fast, Hot Shot.”

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  A stroke. Another and… Mike showed her he could do fast.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  IF HIS AND Sara’s first night together after the press got hold of their story had been nearly perfect (and it had been, since Mike was pretending the proposal debacle hadn’t happened), then the next two weeks became progressively less so.

  The media attention was frenzied.

  Twice more, photographers had hopped the back fence to his property and had to be escorted off with threats of criminal trespassing charges if they returned.

  The circus outside his gate grew, as did the complaints from his neighbors.

  Not that he blamed them. The fucking paparazzi were imposing and annoying as hell, but what was Mike supposed to do? The team was in the middle of the season, and he had to be in the area.

  And he wasn’t about to be separated from Sara, at least not any sooner than the team’s schedule pulled him away.

  Plus, it was safer.

  He had employed three full-time security guards, and enough cameras had been installed to keep an eye on big brother himself.

  But now the press was affecting the team.

  Sara paced back and forth in front of the television tuned into the gossip show. Blue had been out with a few of the guys, and several belligerent photographers had tried to get a reaction by calling Sara unkind names.

  They’d gotten one.

  In the form of Blue throwing a punch.

  Not that Mike hadn’t felt like doing the same when he’d heard the C-word in reference to his woman, but it wasn’t Blue’s battle to fight.

  “He shouldn’t put his career at risk,” Sara said, stopping to stare at the TV. Her shoulders slumped. “Not for me.”