Captive (4 page)

I wrinkled my nose and laughed. “No, don’t do that. The only hands I want on my body are yours.”

His soft groan was frustrated. “Jesus Christ, I miss you so bad. Say the word and I’ll leave right now to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“You just missed a game, you should stay with your team. I’ll be here when you get home tomorrow afternoon and we can spend all evening together. Go back to sleep, love.”

He sighed deeply into the phone. “Okay. See you soon.”

“Goodnight.”

I hung up and held my phone against my chest, thinking of him. No one had ever wanted to take care of me the way he did. My mom had raised me mostly alone, and I’d become independent since she worked long shifts as a nurse.

Knowing how co-dependent and resentful Maggie had been, I always went out of my way to support Ryke’s career and be self-sufficient. I wanted to be a good hockey wife, but my independence only seemed to make him that much more determined to take care of me.

The apartment was still and silent when I slipped out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Mimi had left the light over the stove on, and I found my way to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. The cold feel of it flowing past my lips reminded me how long it had been since I had anything to eat or drink.

I wandered down the hallway to the room I’d been thinking of turning into a nursery for the baby. When I flipped the light switch on, I was greeted by colorful reminders of my husband that made me smile. Red pennants and darkly-framed certificates lined one wall. Another wall had photos of Ryke playing hockey. They started when he was a toddler with a wide grin and round cheeks and progressed through the years. He was missing his two front teeth and standing with his two brothers in one, all of them holding hockey sticks. In another, he was a teenager, his lean face and developing arms a younger version of the powerfully-built, breathtaking man he’d become.

During one of his road trips last season, I’d secretly converted one of our guest rooms into a hockey room for him. My mom helped me, and we created something that made Ryke’s eyes shine with emotion when I removed his blindfold and showed it to him.

I’d unpacked his trophies and lined them on a tall shelf. His prized pucks for his first NHL goal and a championship he scored the winning goal in were framed behind glass in mahogany boxes, and his prized sticks were mounted to the wall.

From the rich leather scent of the chairs to the faint hint of his cologne, I felt him here. This room had been my gift to him, and he’d thanked me with extra hot sex up against the wall I was looking at right now. I’d never forget the words he said to me when he was still panting against my neck afterward, my legs wrapped protectively around him.

“Kate … I just …” He paused, burrowing his face into my neck so his lips grazed my ear. “I love the way you love me. I don’t just mean the sex, I mean the room.”

Those low words of appreciation warmed me to my soul. Telling someone you loved them was one thing, but showing it was something far more.

I reached for the sticks mounted to the wall, running my fingertips lightly over the one that was
my
prized possession. The one that Ryke had used to show his love for me.

One year earlier

My heart pounded wildly, and I took a deep breath in hopes of calming it. Thousands of people would be looking at me soon, and the thought reminded me that I was crazy for agreeing to this madness.

“I can’t do this,” I said, turning to Dawn, who stood behind me.

“You’ll be fine. We’ve all done it,” she said, looking past me dismissively.

“I never saw this last season, and I was at all of the home games.”

“Well, you missed it then.” She shrugged. “Ask the other girls.”

“I’m not even a wife,” I said sharply, my apprehension growing as I saw an announcer walking onto the red carpet walkway on the ice with a microphone in his hand. “It’s bullshit that I have to go first and I’m the only girlfriend.”

“Yeah, that sucks. Go get em.” Dawn gave my back a shove and forced me onto the ice. This was nuts. How had I gotten roped into trying to shoot a goal at an NHL game? When Ryke said the players’ wives and girlfriends did something every year to raise money for the team’s foundation, of course I said yes. But I had no idea this was what he was talking about.

“Can I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” the tuxedo-clad announcer said. The roar of the crowd dulled. I wanted a stiff drink so bad right now. My cheeks were getting warm at just the thought of the pressure I was under.

Focus, Kate. You can do this. Don’t embarrass Ryke.

“Tonight our team’s wives and girlfriends are helping us raise some money for a great cause.” The announcer’s deep, smooth voice reminded me this was all in good fun. “They’ll each try to put the puck in the net, and for each goal our generous team owners will donate $10,000 to the team’s foundation.”

I bit my lip and remembered the lessons Ryke had been giving me this week. The time I pulled the stick back, slipped and fell on my ass was all I could think of. Maybe I needed to stop hoping to make a goal and just try to survive this while remaining upright.

“First up is Kate Camden, the girlfriend of Center Jason Ryker!” The thunderous applause of the crowd grew even louder when Ryke stepped through an opening and skated toward me, the stick I’d been using in our practice all week in his hand. It was one he’d won a college championship game with, and he said it was his lucky stick. I hoped it would be lucky for me. If not, no big deal. Just the loss of $10,000 to a charity that helped children’s causes.

Shit. How had I gotten myself into this?

When he slid to a graceful stop next to me, I was reassured by Ryke’s presence. These people all loved him, so hopefully they would take pity on me if the puck didn’t even get close to the net.

The announcer waited for the roaring of the crowd to die down, and I used the time to square my shoulders and remind myself that I could do this. I’d made it into the net a couple times when we practiced. This was no different, other than the 10,000 plus people watching me. A wave of nausea hit and I scanned the crowd. Mom and Dale were out there, offering moral support. There were too many faces for me to find them.

“Ryke, do you have any words of advice for your girlfriend?” the announcer asked, holding the microphone up for him. In his skates, Ryke towered over the announcer and me. He grinned broadly and met my eyes.

“Don’t miss, babe.” The crowd roared again and I shook my head and smiled. Ryke covered the few feet between us in two glides of his skates and reached an arm around my waist. My stomach did a flip when I took him in, his brown eyes looking down at me warmly and his black hair sweat-soaked from playing the first period of the game. I loved seeing him like this, on the ice without his helmet. He really was the most rugged, beautiful man I’d ever seen.

When he leaned down to kiss me, the crowd roared its approval. The whistles and cheers and screams were lost on me, though. I was only aware of Ryke’s sweaty scent and the salty taste of his lips on mine. Sure, he needed a shower because he technically smelled bad, but
damn
, this was nothing but good. It was different from the way he smelled after long, sweaty sex sessions; this exertion had come from battling other men and moving his powerful body up and down the ice.

“You’ve got this,” he said, winking and pulling away. I took his stick, which was way too big for me. But I needed all the luck I could get, so I’d insisted on using it.

“Alright, Kate,” the announcer said, “Get into position and we’ll drop the puck when you’re ready.”

Ryke skated behind me, out of view, and I wished he’d come back and stand next to me. I blew out a breath. The faster I did this, the sooner it would be over. I looked at the net and took a couple of practice swings with the stick. The crowd roared to life, louder than I’d heard them before, some people on their feet. I gripped the stick, grateful for something to keep my hands from shaking.

I turned to tell the announcer I was ready, but he was gone. Only Ryke was there, and he was bent down on a knee on the ice. Holy shit. Was this what it looked like?

The thousands of people in the arena were cheering and clapping louder than I’d ever heard them. I walked in front of him, my puzzled expression making him smile. He held a hand up to the crowd and the roar faded like magic.

“I love you, Kate,” he said, taking my hands in his. “You fill up my heart and make me whole. Will you be my wife?”

It struck me as funny that he looked at me with such expectation when I adored every hair on his head. I was madly in love just three months into our relationship.

“Yes.” I reached for his face when I said it, brushing a thumb over his bristled cheek. He opened his hand to reveal a platinum ring with a glistening square cut diamond. When he took my hand and slid it on my finger, my unshed tears finally spilled over.

He swept me up by the waist, spinning me around as his lips met mine. The roar of the crowd was deafening now, but I was focused on my sweaty, sexy, incredibly sweet husband to be.

“You really know how to surprise a girl,” I said, smiling and leaning my forehead against his.

“I want it all with you. I want us to have a family and grow old together. Are you happy?”

“I’ve never been happier. Does this mean I don’t have to shoot the puck?”

He laughed and gave me one more soft, quick kiss before setting me back down on the red carpet walkway on the ice. The announcer stood off to the side, and Ryke motioned him back over and asked for his microphone.

“She said yes!” He took my hand and raised it in the air and the crowd went wild again. His magnetism seemed to affect both men and women, because none of these people could get enough of him. He waved the noise level back down and spoke again. “Kate was a little nervous about shooting that puck, but it was all a ruse so I could propose. I was just thinking, though, guys, what if she could make a goal? Should I give $50,000 to the team foundation if she does?”

The crowd thundered its approval and I covered my face with my hands. Five times the pressure.

“Ryke …” I tried to think of a way out of this, but he just smiled and squeezed my hand.

“You guys think my girl can do it?” he asked. The crowd cheered a much higher level of confidence than I had. “I think if she does, the Naughtons should match my donation to the foundation. What do you say, Jean?”

He looked up at the box the team’s owners, Jean and Steve Naughton, watched the games from. Jean raised a thumb in the air and the crowd cheered.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. This was getting worse by the second. Ryke took his stick from the announcer and handed it to me. He led me back to the spot I was supposed to shoot from and someone wearing a shirt with the team logo brought out a bucket of ice with a puck in it. Ryke took it out and held it up to drop on the ice.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, sighing. I was looking down the ice and remembering what Ryke told me about shooting when Luke and Vic skated up to the net, each one disconnecting the hardware on one side of it and lifting it. They skated toward me, bringing the net with them, and Ryke rolled his eyes dramatically.

The crowd loved it; their laughter was almost as loud as their clapping. Luke and Vic positioned the net about ten feet from me and skated away. In spite of my nerves, I laughed. Even I could shoot a puck ten feet, couldn’t I?

It turned out I could. I made the goal and got another embrace from Ryke, who swung me through the air while I laughed and my hair flew behind me. It was fitting. This man had swept me off my feet in every way possible. I’d spend my life making his dreams for us come true.

The deep lines on my client Margo’s face had gotten more pronounced over the month I’d been meeting weekly with her. Her frizzy gray hair looked more like a dirty mop than the helmet of old-lady curls it was set in when we first met.

“I just don’t see the point anymore,” she said softly. “There’s no reason to even get out of bed. No one to cook breakfast for. No one to clean up after.”

“Fifty-one years of marriage is a very long time,” I said. “It’s completely normal to feel this way.”

“Henry was my other half. Part of me died with him. I’m just a shell now, going through the motions. I put on a good front for my kids and grandkids, but inside …”

Her words sent a tingle down my spine. I wanted to tell her I knew all too well how she was feeling. That I was also going through the motions and wondering why I bothered.

“Have you thought at all about what we talked about last week? About setting some goals?” I asked. Last week had been a lifetime ago. I’d been pregnant then; my baby and my dreams had still been alive.

Margo smiled and I saw the first flicker of life in her eyes since she’d come in my office. “I don’t want any new goals. We had a wonderful life together, my Henry and I. We achieved all the goals we ever had. And at my age … I just wish I could’ve gone with him.”

“Do you ever wonder if he’s looking down on you?”