Playing for Keeps/Body Check (Rules of the Game) (12 page)

"I'll take you home, but this is not over.
 
You're hot and I'm hard, and all I want to do is get inside you, prove to you we need to be together, so you'll know what I already know. You don't have to be afraid of me, sweetheart."

He didn’t wait for an answer.
 
Instead, he answered for her. "I'll do what you want, for now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Just give me time, Q," she whispered as he continued on to her apartment.

"I know you're thinking about him." Quinn referred to Mia's former relationship with Andre Goyette, and was silently grateful he didn’t pursue the conversation.
 
The subject of her ex was off limits. To say her relationship with him ended badly was a gross understatement.

"I'm not Andre, Mia, and the sooner you stop comparing me with that sadistic son of a bitch, the better we'll both be."

"You're nothing like him, Quinn, I know that.
 
But the bad memories of him are still there."

"Well then, it's up to me to give you new, happy memories, isn’t it?"

Mia couldn’t help but smile back at him. "One day at a time, ok?"

"Don’t take too long. You're sexy and gorgeous, and I'm young and horny." He joked, making her laugh, which she knew was his goal.

Driving onto the ramp to the FDR parkway, he once more slid his hand over hers, squeezed it gently, and Mia turned her hand over to clasp his strong fingers.

The rest of the ride home was quiet and devoid of conversation.

Moments later, Quinn arrived at her building, parked the car, shut off the engine, and turned to her once more.

Leave it to Quinn to always have the last word.

"We're not kids, Mia. Don’t deny us what I know we both want."

She shook her head and needed to distance herself from his closeness, his mouth, those dreamy blue eyes. Weak, she was so weak.

"I don’t deny it, but you can see how he feels about me and you.
 
I'm not a child, but I also don’t want him taking his anger out on you, or the team.
 
I don’t want to be responsible for anything that may seem unprofessional."

Mia sighed and swallowed.
 
She wasn’t going to say what she knew they were both thinking.

His eyes were devoid of all humor now. Mia grabbed the door handle, but Quinn pulled her coat sleeve toward him, his eyes a storm of blue fire. "Do you actually believe the words you're telling me? Because I think you're afraid of giving yourself to me. The old man may love you, but he sure has a funny way of showing it. He has no idea how lucky he is to have you. I'm not going to hurt you, Mia, and I'll do anything to convince you that it's true."

"I know you won't mean to, and I can't, wont, risk it all again." She slipped her hands from his, instantly missing his warmth, and his touch.

"Kiss me, Mia, just kiss me."

Mia paused, her eyes meeting his. She sighed, touched her lips to his, tasted him there.
 
She couldn’t deny what her body experienced. Hunger, aching and hot, slid from her mouth to her center.

"What do you want from me, Q?"

"Be my date for the fundraiser." He slid his lips to her ear, gently nibbling her lobe. "Please."

She was too weak from his closeness to deny him anything.
 
Besides, he looked so damn sexy when he begged. "Ok, one date."

He smiled and winked at her, knowing he got what he wanted. "That’s my girl."

Mia broke his hold on her, and ran to her apartment, not looking back. Her emotions fought with her brain. She shouldn’t do this.

But it was too late. Her emotions had won.

CHAPTER Three

Quinn took his place on the ice with the rest of the team for practice session, focusing on the upcoming weekend game series with the Boston Brown Bears. He skated toward the goal, holding his water bottle. He placed the container on top of his net, slid his colorful mask over his face, then grabbed his huge goaltender stick and turned to face his team, now scrimmaging and doing stretching and skating exercises on the ice.

Behind the bench off the ice, he spied Mia, conversing with her assistant, Henry Richter as she made her way out of the arena.

It never ceased to amaze Quinn that each time he saw her, he smiled. His body instinctively tightened, his heart pounded furiously, and her mere presence filled him with emotions he'd never experienced before with any woman.

Sure, he'd had his share of women, he was young and healthy. But since meeting Mia, he didn’t want any woman. Mia was the one. He'd had a serious crush on her from the moment they met, and that crush had steadily grown into something more.
 

Mia was not only gorgeous, but intelligent, funny and could stand out in a crowd without effort.
 
Possessing a contagious laugh and eyes that could make a man beg for mercy, Mia Sinclair was one tough lady, although it seemed the person who intimidated her most was her father.

Struggling to turn his gaze from her, Quinn managed to focus solely on his teammates, who were now relentlessly pummeling him with the dozens of pucks that were there for their practice shots.
 
Quinn hunkered down, and turned on his athletic prowess.

His defensemen, James Morrissey, and Adam Piersson, team captain, nicknamed the Dynamic Duo, charged toward Quinn, armed with pucks, like a runaway train.

Gripping his heavy goaltender stick with his stick glove, Quinn took a squatting position in front of his net. Like a panther waiting to pounce, he positioned his large stick across his skates and waited for the onslaught.

He loved the speed, strength and power of the game. Quinn fell in love with the game of hockey from a young age and his affair with the sport continued through the years.

After years of struggling in street leagues, and paying his own way through college, Quinn's dream of becoming a major league hockey goaltender had come to fruition. Playing for the New York Thunder and being a part of a great organization was his ultimate goal.
 
He loved being part of a team and sharing in the wins, losses and leading his team to victory.

At the blue line, the centers and wingers gathered to join the battle.
 
Quinn prepared himself, took deep breaths, and slapped his stick against his pads, signaling his teammates he was ready for their coming onslaught.

The Thunder's most proficient and consistent player, center, Greg Vail, skated toward Quinn, faked a back hand shot, then circled around the net and tucked the puck into Quinn's glove hand. Save.

"Nice try," Quinn taunted, pushing his wingers to take more aggressive shots toward the goal, and him.
 
He was the team's unofficial cheer leader, always calling out to them during a game, shouting at the top of his voice to direct his wingers or defensemen, warning them an opposing player was on the attack.

This time, defenseman Jerry Donnelly skated towards Quinn's stick side and took a blistering slap shot, only to be stopped by Quinn's lightening quick reflexes. Save.

"That all you got, Donnelly?" Quinn called out, goading his teammate to try harder the next time around.

On and on it went, until their coach, Terry Gilbert, blew his whistle to cease play.

Reaching for his bottled water resting on his net, Quinn lifted his face mask, took a long pull, then squirted the rest over his head to cool off.
 
He grabbed a towel from the top of the net and wiped away the sweat. The coach whistled for the next drill, skating and exercising legs and arms, all done with full equipment.

Forty minutes later, after a dozen turns on the ice, after drills that strengthened and pushed the limits of the team's strength, the workout was over.

The team, breathing hard, gathered around the coach. Terry Gilbert possessed an excellent sense of the game, a natural leader for whom Quinn had much respect.

Gilbert nodded and addressed the team.

"Good work, you all look sharp out there.
 
We leave for Boston in the morning. The old man is on my ass to make sure we're on our toes out there. Like I don’t already know that."

"Vail, your line will start tomorrow's game, along with Piersson and Morrissey on defense.
 
Rafferty,  that glove hand looking mighty  sharp.
 
We'll be able to get ice time as soon as we get off the bus in the morning in Boston.
 
Let's play hard, get a win, and we'll secure first place for home ice advantage through the play offs."

Quinn and the rest of team agreed. When the meeting ended, however, Quinn opted to work out some more by himself, taking the ice for fifteen more turns in full equipment.
 

Breathing hard, tired but feeling great, Quinn skated toward the gate to the dressing room.

The moment his focus left the ice, his mind once again centered on Mia.
 
Where was she now?
 
What was she doing?

 
Quinn was almost to his car when he realized he'd left his cell phone in his locker. He turned and headed back to the arena, and made his way to the dressing room to retrieve it.

Approaching his locker, he opened it, retrieved his phone, then slid it into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Exiting the locker room, he noticed that the arena lights were still on. Strange. Curious, Quinn strode through the tunnel that led to the ice from the locker rooms, and heard the telltale noise of skates scratching the frozen surface.

He walked to the gate that led to the ice and there she was.

Mia.

The lone figure, dressed all in black, glided and slid on the ice as if born to it. Quinn stood, mesmerized, hypnotized.

She was truly a vision.

He felt  slightly voyeuristic but he couldn’t turn away even if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.
 
 
 
 
 

Right about the time he joined the team, she'd been involved with a scumbag by the name of Andre Goyette, who was, at the time, a big part of the Thunder.

After the incident with Mia, Goyette was shuffled off to Toronto, and deposited behind a desk. Even that was too good for the son of a bitch, as far as Quinn was concerned.

He'd once seen Goyette arguing with Mia, treating her like shit, and it was all Quinn could do not to knock the pretty boy on his ass, but he never got the chance.

There was talk that Goyette hit Mia. What Quinn couldn’t figure out was how could the old man let the jerk get away with hitting Mia?

He'd never understand.

Focusing on Mia's beautiful, long legs, slender and toned, skating and gliding, kicking up ice, aroused him. His body came alive just looking at her, imagining his hands on her. He imagined her soft flesh respond to his touch, kissing her senseless, burying himself deep inside her.

Watching her at the other end of the ice, skating backward, performing little spirals and holding out her graceful arms in ballet positions, Quinn stood behind the gate and enjoyed her sensual ice show.

Mia had been a figure skating coach until she'd broken her ankle when she slipped on the ice and fell into the boards. It was obvious that she could still skate beautifully, but she'd never coach again. Her ankle would never bear the pressure of endless hours on ice.

Yet to look at her now, you'd never know it. She was breathtaking.

Sitting on the team bench, he followed her actions, her long legs pushing and gliding, her arms stretching to her sides, balancing herself on her good ankle, skating in circles, performing a perfect pirouette in center ice, then coming to a stop, and ending her mini-performance with a poised bow.

He wanted to talk to her, be with her, to let her know he cared.

Should he let her know he was here?