Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (9 page)

They fell into step next to each other, not quite touching, as they circled the room, chatting with some of his teammates and a few of the VIPs. When music started, he talked her into a dance. Her silk dress shifted over her skin as he held her close, the sensation erotic as hell.

He wasn’t really surprised he’d called her last night. His thoughts were full of her. He managed to focus on training, on the games, but off the ice, his world had become Ann.

Despite vowing to himself he’d give her all the time she needed, he was having a very hard time trying not to seduce her. He didn’t just want sex with Ann, he wanted more. Much more. His feelings went a lot deeper than lust. So he wanted to do this right.

But his willpower was waning. He’d become too well acquainted with cold showers and his own hand over the last few weeks. Every nerve in his body lit up when she was near, like a constant spark of lightning. And it was all he could do not to drag her away to a dark closet so he could explore the glorious curves beneath her silk dress.

Even the thought of it left him edgy with need, and in danger of giving this posh crowd a show with his raging hard-on.

In an attempt to distract himself, again, from thoughts of fucking Ann, he brought up a topic he’d been avoiding. “So, we have a home game this weekend, and I have an extra ticket.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He pressed on. “Would you like to come to the game? Watch me play live?”

Given her reaction to the first game she’d seen him in—and as far as he knew, the only hockey game she’d watched since—he hadn’t invited her to a home game before this. She’d been eager to learn about hockey, but had shown no signs of actually wanting to watch the sport, or see him in action.

Her continued hesitance bothered him. Hockey was a huge part of his life. He wanted Ann to be a huge part of his life, too. But if she couldn’t accept him for who he was on the ice as well as off…he wasn’t sure what kind of future they had.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he found himself saying to fill the silence, then wanted to smack himself because he sounded like a child, pouty and insecure. Very sexy, Evans, he growled at himself.

She stroked her hand up his back as they swayed around the dance floor, and the gesture distracted him. He loved having her hands on him. She was always so damned warm. His imagination jumped immediately to how her warm hands might feel on his cock, and he had to force the thought down or risk embarrassing them both.

After what felt like a very long time, she said, “I think I’d like to see a live game. Will… Is it safe in the audience?”

He tried not to grin like a fool so he wouldn’t scare her off. “You’ll be safe. The home crowd is enthusiastic but not violent. All that stays on the ice.”

“Will you be hitting someone again?”

“Probably.” He wanted her to be prepared. “But remember, it’s just part of the game. Remember I told you about checking?”

“Yes. But fighting is something else.”

“It’s actually part of the strategy. As much a part of hockey as a puck and stick.”

“I know.” She looked over his shoulder, her gaze turned inward for a moment, then she nodded. “OK, I can do this.” She meet his gaze again. “I’d love to go.”

He worked not to cheer, but he hugged her closer, hopeful and anxious all at the same time.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you are tonight?” he asked, unable to resist.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Her blushed charmed him.

She opened her mouth to say something else, then shook her head.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I’m enjoying this.”

“Me, too.”

He danced her off the floor and they wandered around the room some more, chatting with his teammates and their dates, some of the sponsors, he introduced her to the coach. All of it felt right. Having Ann with him, being with her felt right.

He just wished he knew if she felt the same.

Ann entered the Brooklyn Banking Center with the crowds of supporters, all dressed in the Empires’ colors, sporting the teams’ logo on hats and jerseys, some of them with their faces painted. The noise level was deafening, but all of it was enthusiastic, with several chants going up for the Empires even before she’d passed through the doors and into the stadium.

Her seat was an excellent one, just behind and a few rows back from one of the benches where the teams sat. Unfortunately, she was in the middle of a row, which meant she’d have to step over people to leave.

That didn’t help her anxiety levels. She was already nervous about this game. She wasn’t sure she could take the sheer emotion and not lose control. But she’d been working hard with Nathalie and Mr. Mendez. This was the test. If she could get through this game, be surrounded by and swept up in all this enthusiasm and energy, without losing control, then she might, just might, be able to finally take Brody to her bed.

She was getting a little more than desperate now. She wanted him so much she ached from it. But until very recently, every time she’d allowed herself to imagine him making love to her, her body got entirely too hot—in a bad way—and her hands flickered with flames.

Nathalie urged her to be patient, but given her feelings for Brody, patience was difficult.

She was much more comfortable with her control than she’d been two months ago. Over the last week, she’d been able to fantasize a little about Brody without actually lighting up. So she was hopeful.

She didn’t want to consider what might happen if she failed tonight’s test.

The players hit the ice for warm ups and the crowd erupted around her. She didn’t stand until the anthem was played, despite the two men on her left spending the entire warm up on their feet and the group to her right jumping up and down.

Brody was easy to spot on the ice. He was huge, even compared to the other players. He glanced up once into the stands and raised a hand to her. She grinned and waved back, trying to be discreet, but the gestures still drew the attention of the men and women surrounding her. She ducked her head under their stares and concentrated on her breathing.

She could do this. She could.

Brody didn’t look up at her again, at least not that she could tell. As the game started, he was all focus and attention to the rink.

The game was fast and rougher than the first one she’d watched. There was a lot of bumping and swinging and knocking other players hard enough against the glass to sound very painful. She tried to keep up with the play, but despite all Brody’s lessons, things still moved too fast for her to follow. The line changes in particular made no sense to her. Even without understanding everything going on, she still enjoyed the first period a lot.

By the second period, she was cheering with the crowd every time the Empires got close to the goal. She forgot about her breathing exercises and her fire for the entire period, and when the break came, she realized she was excited, having fun, and wasn’t heating up.

The thrill of that made her stomach dance with another kind of excitement—the kind that had everything to do with seeing Brody after the game. As the players hit the ice for the third period, she grinned, anticipation thrumming through her blood even as her hands stayed comfortably cool.

Things started out well for the Empires, but within moments of Brody’s line hitting the ice, everything changed. One of the Empires got hit—taken out completely by someone from the other team. The poor man hadn’t even seen the hit coming. For a heartbeat, the crowd was almost quiet in anticipation of him standing. But he didn’t.

The game stopped. Everyone on the ice crowded around the downed player. The referees ensured the opposing teams stayed separated. The medical staff was called out.

The people around her talked about the penalty that would have to be given, arguing between a major penalty or a match penalty. She didn’t know the difference, but from what she’d seen, there was no question there
would
be some kind of penalty.

By the time the medical staff carried the still unconscious man off the ice, the two men next to her were outlining strategies for the upcoming power play.

And then—no penalty. Nothing. The referee just resumed the game.

Chaos erupted in the stands. Shouts and screams, roars of outrage. Everyone was on their feet, fists waving, howling at the refs, screaming obscenities.

The emotional impact battered Ann because she was just as outraged as the crowd. How could they do
nothing
?

She hunted for Brody and found he was still on the ice. He wasn’t watching the play at all, though. His focus seemed to be entirely on the man who’d taken out his teammate. Her heart started thumping hard. Oh no. He was going to fight.

Panic tightened in her stomach. Not for the impending fisticuffs. She’d only had to see him fight once to know he could handle himself. But she could feel her body temperature rising. The emotions of the crowd, knowing Brody was about to do something vicious, all combined to throw off her control.

She concentrated on slowing her breathing, ignoring the crowd’s continued catcalls. But she couldn’t look away from Brody.

When he struck, it was as vicious and merciless as she’d feared—and hoped. He hammered the guilty player, dropping his mitts and pummeling the man’s face like it was a punching bag. The other player attempted to hit back, but his swings were weak and ineffectual, bouncing off Brody like pillows.

The crowd erupted again, this time in cheers, urging Brody on to more violence. When blood sprayed out from the other man’s nose, Ann grabbed the chair armrest with one hand.

The feel of the armrest giving way under her grip pulled her attention from the fight. The metal had melted in her hand. She released her hold like she’d been the one burnt. She could clearly see finger dents in the metal. Panic pulsed through her again. She stood and tried to edge past the line of standing, still shouting fans. Their words made no sense to her now. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears as fear swept through her.

But all the wild gesturing and excitement meant a man bumped into her as she attempted to ease past. Without thinking, she gripped his arm. He howled, looking down at her with narrowed eyes, and she realized she’d managed to burn him even through his thick winter coat. Almost too terrified now to speak, she breathed out an apology and nudged her way out to the aisle.

Without looking back at the ice to see what had happened, she fled the stadium, taking refuge in the cold winter air.

Brody fully expected the match penalty and took it without argument. It was worth it to make that bastard pay for what he’d done to St. Laurent. As he headed to the tunnel, he looked into the stands for Ann. She wasn’t there.

Worry followed him to the locker room. That fight had been even more bloody and vicious than the one she’d seen on TV. And watching a beat down live was very different to seeing one on the small screen.

He changed out of his gear, let one of the trainers check his hands—he had swollen knuckles but no major damage—then showered. He’d have to meet with Coach and do a few interviews with the press before he’d be able to leave. He’d warned Ann it would take him some time after the game ended before he could meet her. But now, the usual delays made him edgy.

Watching the last of the game from the locker room, he forgot his anxiety long enough to cheer when the Empires won. Then he went back to tapping his foot, impatient to get to Ann so he could check on her.

The team filed in a few minutes later, and for the next half hour, Brody did what was required. He got a lot of congratulations and praise from the guys—which he waved off. He was only doing his part for the team. He went into the office to talk with Coach—where it was confirmed he’d have a five game suspension. Neither he nor Coach MacArthur were very bothered by it. Brody would be back in time for the Winter Classic, and the suspension was worth it given the egregious actions of the other player.

He answered all the reporters’ questions, doing his best to put on his typical easygoing acceptance of what had happened. But during it all, he worried about Ann, and it was harder than usual to focus on this part of his job.

Finally, after a brief talk with Semenov about the suspension, Brody got his chance to escape. By that point, the events of the game were secondary to his growing apprehension about Ann.

After making his way through encouraging fans and a few more reporters, he reached the place on the opposite side of the stadium from the team exit where he was supposed to meet Ann. She wasn’t there. He hunted the passing pedestrians as the scents of cooking nuts from a nearby food cart flavored the cold December air. The streetlights surrounding the stadium were bright, but the stadium’s wall still harbored pockets of shadows. He searched those too, trying not to let his frustration and worry show.

Where the hell was she? Had she left?

He took out his cellphone and checked—again—for texts or voicemails. Nothing. He flicked through to her number and started to call, just as he saw her come around the corner of the building, heading toward him.

Relief made his shoulders slump. He stuffed his phone back in his coat pocket and went to her, so happy to see her he almost missed how pale she looked.

Her hands were jammed into her coat pockets and her skin was nearly translucent under the yellow streetlights. Her eyes were huge and glassy, and she breathed in rough, rapid gasps.

“Hey, are you OK?” When he tried to take her in his arms, she jerked away. “Ann? Was it the fight? I’m so sorry. That was worse than usual. Are you upset?”

She swallowed visibly and shook her head, then nodded, then bit her lip. “It’s… Are you hurt?”

He flexed his hands, though she wouldn’t be able to see the damage through his gloves. “Nothing serious. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“What happened after?”

“You missed me getting thrown out?”

She blinked. “They threw you out of the game?”