Rebound
Authors: Cher Carson
Rebound
Book Two in the Hot Shots Trilogy
By Cher Carson
Copyright © by Cher Carson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, including photocopying, graphic, electronic, mechanical, taping, recording, sharing, or by any information retrieval system without the express written permission of the author and / or publisher. Exceptions include brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Persons, places and other entities represented in this book are deemed to be fictitious. They are not intended to represent actual places or entities currently or previously in existence or any person living or dead. This work is the product of the author’s imagination.
Any and all inquiries to the author of this book should be directed to
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Rebound © 2011 Cher Carson
Dedication
To my amazing team of editors, cover designers,
Beta readers, web designers, tour hosts, and publicist.
Thank you.
I could not do this without your help.
Brooklyn Sykes rolled her eyes, wondering what had possessed her to accept a date with Nick Morris. It must have been the three tequila shots she had guzzled with her girlfriends before he and his friends approached them. Sure, he was a professional hockey player, but that appeared to be his only redeeming attribute.
The two-hour drive to the cottage where his team captain was hosting a weekend bash seemed never-ending. She even tried closing her eyes, hoping sleep would save her from having to listen to him drone on and on about his life as a high-roller. No such luck.
“We’re here,” he said, pulling into the long gravel drive.
The huge stone and cedar structure overlooked a clear lake with several hundred feet of private shoreline.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. She was no stranger to the finer things in life. Her father owned one of the most successful law firms in the city. She just made partner last year, and the promotion had afforded her the luxury of buying a home most would envy. But she worked hard, often seventy hours a week, to earn the position. Her father was a self-made man who believed his daughter should have to work twice as hard as any of his other employees to earn the same accolades. That was just one of the many reasons she was ready to explore other opportunities.
“I know, right?” He chuckled. “There’s not much a fifty million dollar contract won’t buy.”
She’d read about Steve Davis’s contract in the newspaper, fifty million over five years. The general consensus among hockey fans, herself included, was that Davis was worth every penny. He was a strong leader who led the team to the play-offs year after year. In a city where hockey dominated all other spectator sports, that made him a living legend.
Brooklyn secured her handbag on her shoulder and reached into the backseat for the bottle of wine she’d brought for the host. Making the selection had been difficult. She appreciated a nice bottle of wine and was adept at selecting a good vintage, but her perception of Davis, from the TV interviews she’d seen, led her to believe he was a little too rough around the edges to appreciate a hundred dollar bottle of vino. Of course, judging by his exquisite vacation home, she may have underestimated the man.
“This is gonna be a blast,” Nick said, jumping out of the car. “Davis is famous for his parties.”
She felt like she’d stepped back in time to her law school days, when she and her friends would devote their weekends to blowing off a little steam. Trying to make partner had left little time for a social life, and aside from her friends dragging her out for drinks last night, she hadn’t cut loose in a long time. She was more than ready to have a little fun. She wasn’t surprised when Nick dashed up the stairs ahead of her. A gentleman he was not.
Nick poked his head in the door and shouted, “Let the games begin.”
She was embarrassed to even associate herself with him, but she was here, so she might as well make the best of it. Maybe the rest of the guests wouldn’t judge her too harshly for the company she kept.
Steve Davis made his way to the front door to greet them. He shook hands with Nick. “Glad you could make it, man.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” He laughed, slapping Steve on the back. “Where’s the keg?”
Steve chuckled. “Try the back deck.”
Brooklyn stood just inside the door, admiring their host from afar. The pictures she’d seen of the man didn’t do him justice. He was bigger and broader than she expected, and the contrast between his black hair, dark tan, and light blue eyes was startling.
He looked past Nick, his eyes settling on her. His chiselled face split into a grin, revealing a flash of white teeth and shallow dimples.
She swallowed, trying to find her voice. She had never been speechless, not in front of a judge, jury, or roomful of her esteemed peers, yet one look at this gorgeous man and she could barely remember her own name.
She waved her hand in greeting. “Uh, hi.” She cursed herself for giving him the impression she was a star-struck fan. Clearing her throat, she extended her hand, forcing a smile as she looked him directly in the eye. “Brooklyn Sykes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He took her hand, smiling. “I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He released her hand and crooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re here with Morris?”
She winced. “I guess you could say that.”
He laughed. “I won’t hold it against you.”
She smiled, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Come on in; I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
She held out the bottle of wine. “I brought this for you. I hope you like red wine.”
He smiled, accepting the bottle. “Absolutely. In fact, a wine room was requisite when I built this place.”
She was impressed. He appreciated a good bottle of wine, and he could turn her inside out with one innocent touch. It had been too long since a man made her feel that way.
“I’ll have to show it to you later.” He took her hand in his, linking their fingers as he led her into the great room.
“I’d like that.” She loved the way her soft, manicured hand felt inside of his rough, callused palm. He was rubbing circles on her wrist with the pad of his thumb and it was making her think all kinds of naughty thoughts. She could imagine him mimicking the action on her clit as he made her come apart in his arms.
He introduced her to the group. She recognized many of the players. They were all open and friendly. The single ones were a little too friendly. The wives and girlfriends eyed her with open interest, but she expected that reaction. Women were always a little cautious the first time they met her, until they realized she wasn’t set on seducing their man.
She watched Nick make the rounds, talking up the ladies and making a fool of himself, if the women’s reactions were any indication.
Steve squeezed her hand. “Why don’t we take this bottle of wine downstairs?”
“Sure.”
He led her down a narrow staircase to the lower level of the house. It had a full walk-out basement with several patios bordering his private beach. The main room housed a big-screen TV and leather furniture, an ornate wood bar, pool table, card table, and, off to the side, an exercise room.
He ushered her toward a spacious room tucked into a back corner. It had an etched glass door with wraparound shelving that contained hundreds of bottles of wine.
“Wow, I’m impressed,” she said, whistling under her breath. “And I was worried you wouldn’t appreciate a good bottle of wine.” She blushed when she realized he might take that as an insult. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”
He laughed, setting her bottle in an empty compartment. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. People have a certain perception of hockey players, right? We’re beer drinking, skirt chasing jocks with rocks in our head.”
She grimaced at his characterization. She was ashamed to admit she had jumped to unfair conclusions about him and his friends based on that stereotype.
He closed the door behind them.
There were two leather club chairs in the center of room, but it didn’t seem like a room built for entertaining guests. It seemed more like a place to get away when you wanted privacy. She glanced at the closed door, then back at him.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, taking a step closer.
She shook her head and swallowed. She didn’t get nervous. She was always calm and collected, in and out of the courtroom. “Of course not. Why would I be nervous?”
“I have a feeling you’re a little out of your comfort zone.” He took another step toward her.
She was standing in front of the club chair. One more step and they would be standing toe-to-toe or she would be forced to sit down. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What do you do, Brook?”
She frowned at his abbreviated form of her name. No one called her Brook. It seemed too familiar, too intimate, especially given the fact they just met. But she had a feeling he was a man who didn’t stand on ceremony. “I’m a criminal defense attorney.”
