The Erotic Secrets of a French Maid (18 page)

Emma groaned.

A few minutes later, the players collected the extra pucks, and those on the first string took their positions. A puck was dropped between two players and a quick, furious battle of slapping blades knocked it away, with skaters in hot pursuit.

"Now!" Daphne said, bounding up and grabbing Emma by the sleeve, dragging her through the glass door.

Emma stumbled after her, the cold of the rink hitting her face. Only the boards and the Plexiglas panels of the rink were between them and the players now, and as the game shifted direction the herd of skaters turned. With scraping, running glides, their bodies hunched low, sticks wagging on the ice in front of them, they chased straight toward Emma and Daphne. Emma grabbed Daphne and hurried her toward the stands.

They had almost reached the shelter of a wall that hid the steps up to the stands when, glancing back over her shoulder, Emma saw one player look up at her and freeze. And although all she could see clearly were his eyes, she knew it was Russ.

The moment of distraction cost him dearly. Another skater hit him hard, sending him into the boards and glass right in front of Emma. The glass and frames shook, the impact sounding like it must have crushed half the bones in his body. Both skaters fell to the ice.

Emma dashed to the glass, pressing her hands and forehead to it, trying to see down to the players.

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"Was that him?" Daphne asked, appearing beside her.

Emma didn't answer, anxiously watching the skaters untangle themselves. One regained his feet, then put a hand out to help Russ up. Emma backed away from the glass as she saw him moving, no harm done.

He turned to her as soon as he was up, a question in his eyes. Another skater tapped him on the helmet with the handle of his stick and asked him a question Emma couldn't hear. A moment later, the skater looked at her and raised his hand.

"Hi, Emma!" he shouted, the sound barely coming through the glass.

Dumbfounded, she waved back.

The skater pointed to the stands.

Emma looked at Russ, who gave the faintest of shrugs and lifted his hand slightly, as if to say, "It's up to you." She couldn't tell if he was happy, angry, or indifferent.

Emma shrugged back, smiled in embarrassment, and headed for the stands with Daphne.

The game resumed, and when the players changed out Emma looked down at the box, picking out Russ.

He was gesturing and talking to one of his teammates, and Emma had no idea what he was saying, although she guessed it related to the game rather than to her. Then two of the players farther down the line turned around and sought her out with their eyes.

"Hey, Emma! Come to see Buffy play?"

She smiled nervously and gave a little wave, not knowing how to respond.

"Buffy?" Daphne asked her softly.

Emma shrugged. "I've never heard it before."

Russ turned around and waved to her, and she wondered if it was a show for his friends. He wouldn't want to let on that he hadn't expected her, and might not want her here.

Unless they all knew of her "arrangement" with him?

The thought sent a chill down her back. He wouldn't have told them, would he? Down in the locker room, bragging about their prowess, he wouldn't have said anything about having a "kept woman," would he?

It would explain the amused friendliness of the players.

"Daphne, I think we should go."

"What? You've got to be kidding. This is great! And look, there goes Russ!"

Emma watched as he went out the gate and joined the play on the ice. Perhaps she'd stay for a minute more. She'd only seen snippets of hockey on TV and never been to a live game. They seemed to be
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wearing a pile of gear, and when they skated full speed she wondered at the strength and endurance it must take. Sticks slapped and the puck glided and she had no clue what was going on; she couldn't even tell where the puck was half the time. Russ was equally as hard to keep track of: the number of his jersey—12—wasn't always visible. Players changed in and out of the box, whis- ties blew for penalties she hadn't seen, and then suddenly the buzzer went off, stopping all play entirely.

"Do you have any clue what's going on?" Emma asked.

"Not a one."

"I think I've seen enough. We should go."

"Aw, come on. Stick it out. He knows you're here; he'll think it's weird if you bail on him now."

"I'm cold."

"So we'll get some hot chocolate out of the vending machines."

"Daphne—"

"What?"

"I—"

"What?"

"I don't know what Russ might have said about me. You know, locker-room talk. Everyone seemed a little too amused to see me."

Daphne frowned. "You think they know that you're fuck buddies?"

"Don't
call
it that! But yeah, I'm afraid they might know."

"Is Russ that kind of guy? One who would talk about it?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't really know. I don't
think
he would, but I don't know him beyond our nights together. I mean, people can be completely different in different situations, can't they?"

"Especially with sex as an incentive to be sweet, yeah." Daphne chewed her lip as the game restarted below. "Okay, here's what I think: your best bet is to stay here and meet those guys after they come out of the locker room."

"No! Absolutely not!" Emma's face flushed with heat, her stomach sinking.

"Hear me out. Right now, you're just a story they heard.
Assuming
they heard anything at all, and aren't just being friendly because they're friendly guys and are glad to have two hot babes like us watching their game."

Emma snorted.

"Hey, we're pretty good compared to the competition."

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Emma raised a brow, looking pointedly around the empty stands.

"Exactly," Daphne said. "We're the only estrogen in the place.
But,
if Russ did tell them some sort of crap about you that he should have kept to himself, well, then that means he's not worth keeping. But it also means that if you meet the guys face-to-face and are charming and sweet, they'll like you and turn on Russ for being such a sleaze to you."

"Guys don't do that to each other."

"Sure they do. Some of them." She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe. But the point is, you can do more to save your reputation by meeting them than by slinking away."

"What do I care what my 'reputation' is with a bunch of men I've never met and will never see again?"

"If you don't care, then you shouldn't mind meeting them."

Emma scowled. "It doesn't work that way."

Daphne shrugged. "Then think of it this way: you don't know who those guys are. Russ is a rich entrepreneur. You don't know how many of those guys down there you really
might
meet again, as you make a name for yourself in architecture. Seattle's not that big a city, and there could be captains of industry down on that ice—doctors, lawyers, stockbrokers. Do you really want them to remember you as someone's booty on demand? Or do you want them to remember you as that incredibly nice and smart and funny woman that their asshole friend didn't treat as well as he should have?"

Emma thought for a long minute. Daphne was right. She could do more for herself by staying than by leaving. "Dammit."

A moment later number 12 slapped the puck, sending it sailing straight past the goalie and into the net.

Emma leapt up and shouted, "Woo hoo! Way to go, Russ!"

He lifted his head at the sound, his mask turning toward her. He raised his stick in acknowledgment as a teammate slapped his back.

"See? You would have missed that!" Daphne said. "Got some quarters? I'll go get us some cocoa."

Emma watched the game, but her mind was wrapped up in the ordeal ahead. She was going to have to put on an Oscar-worthy performance to get through this evening. She would need divine inspiration if she was going to charm two teams of middle-aged hockey players.

* * *

What was she doing here?

Russ wondered with a mix of anger and confusion as he showered after the game. Why had she come?

What did she want?

No answer came to mind.

Of course, that was the problem between them: that sense he had that she had desires she wouldn't tell him. He would never have guessed she would do a thing like this.

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He didn't like this kind of surprise, where he was left confused and uncertain as to motives. Though he'd felt a certain pleasure at knowing she was watching. James had watched a couple of his games, but no one else ever had.

He dried off and dressed quickly, taking part in the conversation around him with only half his attention until one of the guys, Frank, slapped him on the shoulder.

"Buffy, you dog! Here we all thought you were gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that! But jeez, no one remembers ever seeing a girlfriend of yours."

"You think I'd bring one to this place?"

Frank clamped his hand to his heart. "You wound me! You're ashamed of us?"

"Hey, you going to take her to Harold's?" Tom asked.

"That's cruel and unusual," Russ answered. "I don't want to scare her off."

"All serious girlfriends are required to spend one evening at Harold's," Frank said. "It's tradition."

"God knows they wouldn't want to spend a second," Russ said. "I don't think Emma would enjoy it."

"Of course she won't," Greg joined in, grinning. "Since when is that the point? Nope, she's got to come.

Unless you don't intend her to be around for long?"

Russ tied his shoes, trying to keep his face impassive. He obviously couldn't explain why Emma didn't quaHfy for a Harold's initiation.

"You can't give her up!" Tom said. "Christ, she's gorgeous! You'll never get your hands on someone like that again!"

"I'm shocked he got a woman like that the first time," Frank said, standing with beer in hand, a towel wrapped around his hairy, pot-bellied waist. "After all, he doesn't have my hot body going for him."

Russ laughed and picked up his gear. "Yep, you've got a great twelve-pack."

Frank patted his gut. "Any woman would be proud to call this her own."

Russ headed out to the lobby, not knowing if Emma would still be there, but wanting to get to her before his teammates if she was. He had no idea what he would say to her; all he knew was that he had to get to her and find some answers.

Emma watched the Zamboni trundle around the ice and tried not to think about what Russ was going to say when he emerged from the locker room.

"I'll bet he's happy to see you," Daphne said, interrupting her determined oblivion. "You saw the way he raised his stick to you each time he scored. He was
glad
you were here."

"I don't know. Maybe he was just being polite. I was yelling his name, after all. His friends would have noticed if he'd ignored me."

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"You worry too much. I'll bet he was flattered, and I'll bet you'll get some amazing sex out of it."

"I thought the point of this was to move beyond that."

"Not
beyond
it," Daphne said. "Just
in addition
to it."

Emma worried that she might have lost it completely with this stunt.

She heard a noise and turned.

Russ.

He set his bag and sticks down and came toward her, and there wasn't a smile on his face. Just an unsettling look of intensity. She couldn't tell what he was feeling, except that it was focused on her. She plastered a smile of greeting on her lips and hoped he didn't see the quavering uncertainty that she felt.

"Emma. I was surprised to see you came to the game."

"Russ! Yes, hi. Er... this is my friend Daphne."

Russ put out his hand and shook Daphne's. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too." Daphne grinned at him with a little too much knowledge in her smile.

Russ scowled and turned to Emma. "Can we have a private word?"

"Go ahead!" Daphne said, and widened her eyes at Emma with an exaggerated "Ooh, you're in trouble!"

expression.

"Yeah, sure," she said, and started to follow him. As she did so, though, a couple of guys emerged from the locker room and called out, "Emma! Watcha doing with a miserable old fart like Buffy, huh?"

She remembered what Daphne had said about doing her best to charm them, and gathered her courage.

After a quick glance at Russ—who had frozen in place—she moved toward the men, extending her hand to shake theirs. "He's spry for his decrepit old age, and a young heart counts for a lot, don't you think?

I'm Emma Mayson. It's a pleasure to meet some of Russ's teammates."

The men stared at her in shock for a moment, as if surprised that she could tease right back, then dropped their bags and shook her hand, introducing themselves as Frank and Tom.

"This is the first hockey game I've ever seen," Emma said, and decided to lay it on thick. "You all skate so fast!"

"Nah, we're slow," Frank said.

"You should see the guys who are nineteen, twenty," Tom said.

"You looked fast to me. I kept thinking how athletic you were, to move so well under all that equipment."

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"Yeah, well..." Frank mumbled, and tilted his head. He almost looked ready to kick the ground, blush and say Aw,
shucks.

"Let me introduce you to my friend Daphne Elliot. Daphne?" she called.

Daphne trotted over and Russ followed, looking cross at having lost control of the situation.