Once Upon a Power Play (6 page)

Head down, he knotted his laces, fully aware the sudden hush meant Bash had arrived. Doing his best to play it cool, he turned to his locker and grabbed his gloves, busying himself with them as Bash dropped his bag across the aisle. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Everyone was watching him, no doubt wondering if he’d be able to restrain himself from putting a fist to Bash’s nose. He grabbed his helmet, watching his teammate from the corner of his eye as he slipped into his compression shorts.

“What the fuck!” Bash shrieked, grabbing his balls and tearing the shorts off. “Who put fucking Icy Hot in my cup?”

Ryan laughed. So did the rest of the team. And like that, the tension dissipated. They were a team after all. Nothing could tear them apart. He wouldn’t allow it.

“You should be more careful about where you put your dick.”

Bash eyed him warily. He wrapped a towel around himself and made his way across the aisle. “We cool?”

“Yeah, man. We’re cool.”

“I’ve missed you. Hell, the whole team has.” Relief washed over his face as Bash shifted uncomfortably. “Glad you’re back.”

“Me, too. Looking forward to getting back on the ice.”

“Dude. If you guys start making out, I’m gonna hurl,” Jordy said, clapping Ryan on the back.

Everyone laughed again and Ryan put his fist up, doing the guy thing and giving Bash a fist bump. “Let’s hit the ice.”

While the other guys filed out of the locker room, he sent Chloe a quick text.

You were right. Icy Hot in the jock was priceless. You should have seen his face. Guys loved it.

No sooner did he push send than his phone rang and Chloe’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, princess.”

“What the fuck, Ryan!” she yelled, ignoring the pet name she hated more than him. “Have you seen Page Six? Not only did that scumbag pap sell them the pictures from the other night, somehow they got pics from the bodega.”

“Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“Listen to this… Ryan Douglas and his new flame were
shopping together
when an armed robber entered the store. Our sources tell us the
couple
disarmed the assailant and held him until police arrived. According to the police report, Ryan’s new love interest is none other than Chloe Jacobs, a Junior Associate at Pritchard, Bennett, and Associates. Could it be love? We think the story certainly has a Hollywood feel!”

Ryan snickered at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Who he was fucking hardly qualified as news. “What’s the big deal? Nobody reads that crap anyway.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. “This is New York City. Everyone reads that crap!”

“Who cares?” he asked, trying another angle. He’d hoped the photog had taken only his picture at the restaurant, but clearly it was wishful thinking. Much as he’d wanted to smash the guy’s camera for the way he was eyeing Chloe, that sort of behavior only incited the paps further. What was done was done. Besides, in a day or two,
The Post
would be back to reporting on debutants and other inane bullshit. They’d be old news.

“Who cares?” she shrieked. “Me! I care. I told you, I’m done with men. Especially athletes. Been there, done that, better off single. Hell, I’d rather die a spinster. No offense. Besides, it’s not even true. We had sex. Last I checked, that didn’t make us a couple.”

Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t exactly wrong. They definitely weren’t a couple. No way in hell was he going down that road again. Not after the way things with Kelsey had crashed and burned.

“My Twitter feed is blowing up. Half of them congratulating me for banging such a hottie, the other half swearing to beat my ass for snagging their fangirl crush.”

“Come to the game with me tonight,” he offered, the words pouring out before he could consider what he was asking.

“What? No way. Did you hit your head at practice?” she asked, disbelief coloring her words. “Did you even hear a word I said?”

“My head is fine. And I heard everything you said.” He grinned, imaging her pissed off and flushed. How such a tiny woman could channel so much aggression was beyond his comprehension, but he was more than happy to help her find a physical outlet for it. “People will expect you to be there. And, more importantly, it will look good to your boss and get extra press for Garden of Dreams. You know what they say in PR. Any press is good press, as long as people are talking.”

She muttered something unintelligible, a sure sign she was cussing like a drunk sailor.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll sit in the owner’s suite with the other guys on injured reserve.” He paused, giving her time to think it over before delivering the knockout punch. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t give two shits about Page Six or those Twitter trolls.”

The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line was all the answer he needed. Unfortunately, his dick didn’t get the message this was a future offer of pleasure, not one to be played out immediately. He bounced on his skates, adjusting his padding and loosening his suddenly too tight balls.

“Fine. But I’m only doing this for Garden of Dreams. What should I wear?”

Chapter Seven

R
yan cut across the concourse, making a beeline for the concierge area. Chloe stayed nipping at his heels—no small feat considering the five-inch stilettos she was wearing. Normally she loved large crowds, but after the feature on Page Six, she would happily retreat to the privacy of the suite and avoid the masses. And the masses were pumped. The Garden was pulsing with energy and everyone seemed to be caught up in it, even Ryan. The Rangers were facing the New Jersey Devils, and apparently it was a pretty big deal. At least that’s what Wikipedia said. She snickered. Ryan would probably shit if he knew she’d had to Google the teams.

She glanced down at her dress. Had she chosen conservatively enough? The black wool felt Upper East Side to her, but what did she know about Lifestyles of the Rich and Richer? Only what she’d read on the internet. And while she didn’t know crap about hockey, she knew anyone who had an owner’s suite at The Garden probably fell into the latter category. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself tonight. Or Ryan. Plus, she wasn’t looking for an encore appearance on Page Six. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her, considering the only reason she’d agreed to go to the stupid game with him was to garner press for Garden of Dreams and maybe do a little networking.

Stopping at the bank of elevators labeled
club level
, Ryan turned, finding her eyes glued to his ass.
Busted
. Yeah, that earned her a smirk and a full frontal of his unmatched hotness. The man looked good in his uniform, but in a suit? He was hot as puck. And he knew it. Adding insult to injury, he dragged a hand through his hair, brushing aside the strands that framed his angular face. He was worse than any woman, leaving the top button of his shirt open and teasing her with just a hint of the defined muscles that she knew shaped his chest and arms.

“Tease.”

“After you, princess.” He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her into one of the waiting elevator cars. Despite the heavy fabric of her dress, she could feel warmth emanating from the open palm cupping her back. When his thumb made a lazy pass across her lower vertebrae, her body responded immediately. Such a simple thing, but it warmed her belly, lust pooling hot and heavy. Molten even. His touch had that effect. The man could take her from ho-hum to total eruption in a heartbeat. Like Maytag, he was built strong to last long. Fuck. Rest. Repeat.

The elevator attendant smiled knowingly, igniting her cheeks. Shit. One look and even he knew she didn’t belong. That, or he knew she had a gutter brain. Unable to decide which was worse, she stared at her reflection on the door, refusing further eye contact.

They rode up to the suite level in silence. She wanted to grab Ryan’s hand and assuage her nerves, but she didn’t want to do anything that might attract unwanted attention. Behind closed doors she could fuck his brains out, do every filthy little thing her dirty mind could conceive of, but holding hands in public was off-limits. Not that she was complaining. The sex was more than enough.

After they completed the obligatory introductions and hand shaking, they settled into their seats to watch the game. Ryan was totally invested in his team’s play, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes tracking every movement on the ice. She watched quietly for a while, following the cheers of the others in the suite, but eventually it became painfully obvious she was going to need an actual explanation of the rules.

“All right,” she said, poking Ryan in the ribs. “You’re going to have to explain it to me because I don’t have the first clue what’s going on down there.”

Incredulous didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face when he finally wrenched his eyes from the ice, as if he couldn’t fathom someone not being an expert on his life’s passion. “Explain it? Explain what exactly?”

Might as well have some fun with it. Chloe waved her hand. “All of it.”

He groaned. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you know and I’ll fill in the gaps?”

Oh, this was going to be good. She beamed at him. “All I got so far is a bunch of brutes slapping a Hostess Ding Dong around and trying to slip one past the goalie.”

Judging by the look on his face and the crimson flush making its way down his neck to disappear into the collar of his shirt, it was entirely possible his head was going to explode. And not in the good way.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Chloe burst out laughing and patted his chest. “Little bit. But seriously, what the hell is offsides?”

To his credit, he explained the basics in under five minutes, giving her a much better idea of what the heck was going on and when to cheer. By the middle of the second period, she felt like a pro, screaming right along with everyone else when two of the players dropped their sticks and started slugging it out, tearing at one another’s jerseys and throwing punches.

“Does that get you off, princess?” Ryan asked, leaning in close, invading her space and leaving only a sliver of air between them.

She glanced down at her hand, which seemed to have a mind of its own. It was the only explanation for why she was rubbing his inner thigh like a horny teenager, and in a room full of strangers no less. Before she could withdraw it, he grabbed her wrist, holding her in place just inches from his cock. The place she would have unwittingly gone if he hadn’t stopped her.

“I should have known.” The corner of his mouth crept skyward in that irritatingly sexy way of his. Her pulse thundered, drowning out the sounds of the game, the crowd, and even rational thought. “Meet me in the bathroom.”

For once she had no snarky reply, only a dry mouth and a shit-ton of nerves. He couldn’t be serious. No way was she going in there with him. It was a bathroom for God’s sake.
Eww
. Then again, it was a bathroom, in a very public place, with a captive audience right outside. It was dirty, inappropriate, and damn if she didn’t want it.
Bad
. Forget the Mile High Club, she wanted Ryan to bend her over the sink and make her scream.

A quick scan of the suite confirmed everyone was engrossed in the game. Would they even notice their absence? Doubtful. And even if they did, they’d probably assume she’d gone for another drink. She chugged her beer. Yep. Definitely time for a refill.

R
yan stroked his cock, praying Chloe wasn’t about to leave him hanging. He was so fucking hard he’d probably lose it as soon as he slipped inside that tight little pussy of hers. Seeing the look in her eyes as she’d watched that fight, he’d known then and there they weren’t going to make it back to her place. She was ready to go.

The door clicked open. Chloe slipped through and locked it behind her, looking decidedly sure of her decision. Wearing a plain black dress and minimal makeup, she’d done her best to appear conservative. Only there was no taming those wild curls of hers. Like her personality, they were larger than life. His eyes flicked to her feet. And those shoes. Those fucking gold snakeskin heels. They’d been taunting him all night, silently begging him to unleash his most burning desires. Well, the time had finally come.

He seized her hips and lifted her in the air, spinning her around and sitting her on the edge of the counter. Wedged between her knees, he gripped her ass and pulled her body flush to him. He scraped his teeth over her jaw, losing himself in her sweet scent. Then, twisting his fingers in her hair, he exposed her neck, continuing the rough exploration of her body.

She mewled with satisfaction.

“For the record, there’s nothing conservative about these shoes.” He spread her legs and stroked her left calf, massaging her taut muscles all the way down to the offending gold shoe.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really into boring.” She wiggled her hips in a fruitless attempt to get closer. “What’re you waiting for?”

“This is going to be fast and hard,” he warned her, shoving her skirt up around her waist. “Think you can handle it?”

She raised a brow. “Can you?”

“Princess, I’ve been dying to feel you wrapped around my cock from the moment I last saw you.”

“There’s a condom in my purse,” she said, handing him the little gold clutch that matched her shoes. She went to work on his belt, dropping his pants in record time and taking his erection in hand, squeezing the base and rubbing her thumb over the head. When he was ready, he shoved her panties aside, revealing her smooth entrance. Chloe silently guided him in, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Hold on to the counter,” he ordered, planting a deep kiss on her lips before he drew back and thrust into her.

“Oh,” she moaned, burying her face in his shoulder.

Christ she was wet. Which explained her willingness to follow his lead, having sex in a highly inappropriate place, consequences be damned. He shoved the thought aside, pumping into her hard and fast as promised. Her body tightened around him, creating such an intense friction he knew he’d better work quickly to deliver his partner an O. Licking his thumb, he wedged his hand between their bodies and stroked her clit. She bit down on his shoulder. Apparently she was closer than he’d thought. Good. They were coming together or not at all. He tilted his hips, angling for the spot that would give her the most intense orgasm. Her back arched. He clamped his mouth down on hers, swallowing her cries of pleasure as his own orgasm shot through him, leaving little shudders of pleasure in its wake. Her body sagged against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“We should go,” she mumbled, not moving.

He lifted her head and kissed her, soft and languid this time. “We should do this again,” he suggested, pulling out and discarding the condom.

“Yeah, like every week,” she agreed, adjusting her underwear. She slid off the counter and pulled her dress down. “I’ll bring the shoes, you bring the condom.”