Meet the Arizona Vengeance, hockey’s hottest new team. They’re burning up the ice—until a one-night-stand with the coach’s daughter freezes one player in his skates.
Bishop Scott, co-captain. Not too shabby, huh? It’s all part of my fresh start with the NHL’s latest expansion team, and that means new teammates, a new coach, a new city, and a big new contract. Basically, I cannot f***ing wait to show my old squad what they’re missing.
But first, I decide to check out the town before the grind begins. Turns out Arizona chicks are totally smokin’, and I’m fortunate enough to meet one who’s looking for the same thing I am: a night of anonymous, unforgettable, no-strings-attached sex.
Fast forward to the Vengeance arena. It’s the last place I expect to see her again—let alone in her own office. Then bells go off and I finally realize who this girl is: Brooke Perron. My new coach’s daughter. All of a sudden, we’re picking up right where we left off, which means our hands are all over each other. That’s when her dad—my boss—walks in. And before I can get a word out, Brooke’s introducing me as her fiancé.
Sure, she just saved my ass. So why do I get the feeling Brooke’s going to turn my world upside down? Maybe it’s because this fake relationship feels way too real. . . .
Release date:
August 14, 2018
Publisher:
Loveswept
Print pages:
253
Reader says this book is...: action-packed (1) entertaining story (1) escapist/easy read (1) happily ever after (1) realistic characters (1) strong chemistry (1) strong heroine (1) swoon-worthy (1)
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“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer at the last second.
Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not, when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity-looking cocktail, prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.
Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the idiot’s head. I figure at that point I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.
“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.
“You’re going to turn down a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.
“I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.
Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Those eyes are incredible—a golden color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the soft light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate-colored hair as it flowed down her bare back revealed by her sexy halter top. Long-ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass—all f***ing spectacular.
The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.
“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.
The man on the other side of her snorts, but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”
Well, heck. I’m not much of a reader.
I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
“I just finished a reread of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says, moving in closer to her. I’m gratified by the humor that flashes in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.
I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words. “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”
The gorgeous woman whom I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory, so we could talk about that if you want.”
“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.
Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”
“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.
To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.
Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and recrosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through, and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first saw her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and that I’ve already looked.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women dressed like that come out in packs for a night of fun on the town.
“I was actually meeting a coworker here tonight, but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she can’t make it.”
That works for me.
“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”
The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high-quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent, so she may not be into a man buying her those things.
Honestly, I wasn’t into it either—buying someone I was dating something expensive. I did it, I guess, as sort of a thank-you, and it was something they’d wanted. I did it knowing exactly what it meant to them. The women I date—and that most professional athletes date—are in it for the lavish lifestyle I can provide, with even grander hopes it could be a permanent thing one day.
It’s just the way it is.
“So what does this fashion magazine kind of girl do for a living?” I ask her, getting settled into the type of conversation that I hope will spark enough of a connection that I’ll be f***ing her later.
Her smile is neither coy nor flirty, but as direct as her gaze. “I do event planning. What about you?”
“Sounds exciting,” I say, having no goddamn clue what that even means.
She shrugs. “That remains to be seen. I just relocated out here.”
Funny. So did I.
Now would be a good time for me to wow and amaze this woman with the fact that I’m a professional hockey player and I just moved here to join the newly franchised team, the Arizona Vengeance. And you know, if it puts her in my bed all the more quicker, so f***ing be it.
I shoot a quick glance down the bar where I’d left Dax, my teammate who joined me here in Phoenix direct from our positions with the New York Vipers. The Vengeance is the first team that’s been added to the league in eighteen years and I’m not overly thrilled to be here. This year the Vipers are poised to give the Carolina Cold Fury a solid run for their money for the championship, and now suddenly to be moved out west to an expansion team has not made me happy. It’s why a night f***ing my brains out with this gorgeous creature would be a great way to end my summer vacation before training camp starts tomorrow.
Dax is talking to a woman—leaning intimately close—and I’m guessing he’s going to be getting lucky tonight. My eyes come back to Brooke, and I decide to leverage my star status to move things along. If my gut is right about this sexy-as-heck lady, it’s going to be a long night.
Before I can even tell her about how I’m a hot-as-shit right winger, she leans into me and places a hand on my thigh. “Bishop?”
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