Cold as Ice

Book 2: Warriors

by Charlene Groome

Genres: Sports; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

The Warriors take to the ice again in Charlene Groome's sensational series about hockey players and the women who love them. But the team's new addition may have to work for a warm welcome. . . Defenseman Devin Miller has bounced from team to team and city to city, but he's finally ready to settle down—professionally and personally. The Warriors seems like the perfect fit. Now all he needs is the right woman to start a family with—and he's willing to put in the practice to find her. Sports anchor Carla Sinclair already doesn't like Vancouver's hot new acquisition. So when she's persuaded to interview him, she's not prepared for the chemistry between them. But though Devin seems eager to show Carla his moves—on and off the ice—he keeps his personal life off-limits. Frustrated by him in more ways than one, Carla decides to track down Devin's secrets on her own—and soon must decide if their attraction is worth the hit to her fragile heart. . . 96,000 Words

Release date: December 1, 2014

Publisher: eOriginals

Print pages: 250

Sample

Devin sits alone at the bar, cupping his pint of beer as he watches an NHL game on the big screen above. He takes the last swig.

“Another beer?” the bartender asks while pouring an ale from the tap in front of him.

“Sure. One more. Thanks. Two is all I’m having,” he says, taking out his wallet. He lays his money down, more than enough to cover a tip, and slides his empty glass in exchange for the new one. The bartender drops the glass down in front of him.

“Where’re your buddies?” the bartender asks, referring to his teammates.

“I don’t know. I was planning on being a tourist tonight, drive around, check out the city . . . but I wasn’t sure where to go and I ended up here.” Devin gives a half smile.

“Good choice,” he says, holding steady as he pours whiskey into a shot glass.

Buckley’s Bar and Grill is uptown, with brick walls and track lighting. Music is always playing and a continuous ray of loud conversations are what keeps the place lively.

It’s taken Devin a couple of days to settle in to his new city. For the first time since his teammate Mark Buckley invited him and some of the guys out for a beer, Devin’s making an appearance by himself.

“What’s good to see around here?” Devin asks.

“You’ll need a guide to show you around,” the bartender says, placing a vibrant blue concoction down on a tray. He wipes his hands on his white apron and gets started on another drink.

Devin takes a sip of his beer, tapping his lips together. He understood why his dad loved his beer so much; the settling taste filled him with satisfaction, knowing he could have a drink and forget about things. Although he never got out of control, never having more than three or four drinks. He feared ending up like his dad, where alcohol played a role in his life. Devin focused on hockey and being as great as he could at the sport he loved the most.

“Depends what you’re in to. There’s stand-up comedy shows, a playhouse if you like live theater . . . Granville Island. Concerts . . .”

The bartender walks to the opposite end to take a couple’s order. Roaring laughter is coming from a booth at the end of the bar. It gets Devin’s attention. He smiles, expecting to see college girls having a good time, but he takes a second look and to his surprise, he notices Carla Sinclair sitting at the booth across from two women. It’s that reporter who interviewed him last year. His heartbeat quickens and his chest tightens, like he’s just completed a set of push-ups. Her wave of blond hair lay past her shoulders and he watches as she talks with her hands, telling a funny story, he’s sure. Devin turns away and takes a gulp of beer. Should I talk to her? What does she care? She just wants to interview me, but she’s so damn hot. He glances her way again, hoping to catch her eye. Carla’s long legs are angled so that her shiny black heels are tipped sideways. She loosens her shoe, revealing a bare foot, and then puts it back into place, repeating the motion in rhythm with her excitement.

“What’s that blonde over there in the booth drinking?” Devin asks with a raised chin and using his eyes as a pointer. “I want to buy her a drink.”

“Whoa! You know who that is?” the bartender asks. His eyebrows lift at the same time as his jerky grin.

“Yeah.” Devin takes out his wallet and puts down another bill. “That should cover it.”

“Do you know her?” The bartender places a drink down and starts mixing another.

“We’ve met before.”

“Not giving up, then?” he asks, his lip curling.

“What do you mean?” Devin asks, knowing well what he’s hinting at. Carla must be a big deal in this city. What guy wouldn’t want to get with her? She’s pretty, knows sports and can obviously relax and have a good time. She probably has a huge Twitter following too.

The bartender concentrates on pouring shots into a glass. “Has she turned you down?” He chuckles.

“I haven’t tried,” Devin says with an honest gaze, watching the smirk on the guy’s face get bigger. “I’m not trying to score a date with her, although I wouldn’t turn her down.”

The bartender pours vodka into a cocktail shaker. “She’s divorced.”

“Is that right?”

“You didn’t know? She was married to some television producer. They were featured in the newspaper, got lots of publicity. It’s been a few years now.” He pours the drink into a cocktail glass. “She’s kept a low profile lately. Don’t hear much about her.”

“Is she dating anyone?”

The bartender laughs. “No idea, but she’s pretty to look at. Makes the evening sports report a lot more interesting.” He garnishes the glass with an olive. Then talks to the waitress about the drink, and she carries it over to the booth. “From what I’ve heard, she’s not easy to get along with. One of those I-can-do-it-myself kind. A real professional, though.” He takes a white towel and wipes down the bar. “Not many women are as tough as Carla, at least that’s how she comes across.”

“Tough?”

“Sure. She’s a small thing, but she must be tough, working with guys.”

“Oh.” Devin laughs. “Not the kind of tough I was thinking.”

“I wouldn’t let looks fool you. I heard she works her ass off; that’s how she got the job.”

“How do you know so much?”

“Ah.” He shrugs. “Everyone knows that.”

“I see. Word gets around.”

Carla takes a drink of her semi-sweet martini and holds her glass to her mouth, ready to take another sip. “Would you go back to the playhouse and watch another show?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle says. “The acting was so bad! It wasn’t like the movie at all.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t boring,” Gabby chimes in. “I’ll give them that. It could have been worse.”

“It could have been,” Michelle says. “But at least the actors weren’t trying to be perfect.”

“They were making fun of themselves when they screwed up a line. Like when that girl took pills to settle herself down on the plane, had a drink and closed her eyes, and the other passenger whispered, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be obnoxious and dance around?’ Now that was funny,” Carla says with a giggle and points her finger. Perhaps two martinis was too much for her. She licks her lips.

“That was the best part!” Michelle screeches. “Don’t you think?”

“Maybe next time we’ll hit the movie theater,” Carla suggests. She sips her drink, letting her fingers slide down the smooth stem. It was going down too good. Thankfully, she didn’t have to work the next day, giving herself permission to sleep in.

“This was good for a change. It was more fun. Didn’t that actor guy look like Timothy?” Gabby asks.

“My Timothy—I mean, my ex, Timothy?” Carla asks, putting down her drink, fixated on her best friend.

“Yeah. Don’t you think? His body language? He stood with his hand in his front pocket—”

“Timothy does that?” Carla asks, perplexed.

“He has a stance, you know? Relaxed. And the way he talks? Totally like Timothy.”

Gabby’s green eyes and mouth are wide open.

“For sure!” Michelle says, slapping her hands on the table, exposing her painted pink nails.

“I guess a little,” Carla admits.

“I can’t believe you two still work together after your divorce,” Michelle says.

Carla shrugs. “He’s harmless. He keeps to himself.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that you know about his personal life? Who he dates?”

“He hasn’t dated—”

“That you know of!” Gabby says. “You know he has.”

“What does it matter?” Carla says. “We don’t associate with each other, anyway.”

“I guess if you don’t talk to him, much,” Gabby says.

“We talk. Mostly about work.” Carla twirls her glass, her eyes dropping down to her drink. “We’re adults. It’s not like we don’t get along.”

“What’s wrong?” Gabby asks softly, extending her hand across the table, trying to reach her friend’s arm. “Should I not have mentioned Timothy? I thought it was okay to say . . . you’ve been your old self again, and well—”

“No, I’m fine. It’s not that.” She lifts one shoulder. “I was thinking about what my mom said the other night. I haven’t forgotten or talked to her about it.”

“Now what happened?” Gabby asks, her bangs falling forward, enough to cover her glittery eye shadow. “Last time she insulted you by telling you about her single neighbor guy.”

“Curtis?” Carla asks.

“I think that was him. She told him you were single, that’s all I remember.”

“Yes. And he’s old!” Carla says, making a face.

“She needs to mind her own business,” Gabby tells her.

“I went over to her house for dinner and she said I work too much and if I didn’t settle down soon, I’d be a lost cause.”

“Your mom said that?” Gabby asks, picking up her glass. “What does she want from you?”

Carla flicks up her hand. “She knows what she’s saying. She doesn’t care.”

“That’s not fair!” Michelle says. “She’s your mother! Of course she cares!”

“She thinks by putting pressure on me that it’s like reverse psychology, I’m going to find some random guy to have a baby with.” Carla rolls her eyes. “As if it’s not hard enough being divorced and now single at thirty-one. How many women do you know who are divorced?” Her girlfriends stare blankly across the table.

“Besides me!”

“There’s a fifty percent divorce rate,” Michelle says. “It happens. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen!” Carla bellows. “I was supposed to be married to Timothy, have his babies and live happily ever after.” She blows out a breath and buries her head in her hands. “My mom’s right; maybe I blew my chance.”

Gabby lowers her face. “No! Don’t listen to her!”

Carla pouts.

“I didn’t know you were still upset about it,” Gabby says, toning down her voice. “Sweetie, I had no idea. Aw, I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay, really.” Carla rubs her forehead and wipes her eyes. “It’s not about Timothy. I mean, I loved him.”

“You married him, of course you did!” Michelle says, patting Carla’s arm.

“I always wanted to have a husband and kids, and now that I’m thirty-one and single again, my chances are slim.” Carla sniffles. She will not cry. She can’t cry, not about Timothy. Not about their costly wedding. Not about the cat he had to have and she bought for him as a birthday present. Timothy’s not crying over her. So why is she so upset about being single and starting over?

“You’re still young!” Gabby says, flashing her a glossy pink smile. “You have plenty of time to find someone again to start a family with. That’s if it’s what you want.”

Carla nods from side to side. “I’m not looking and I’m certainly not looking to be knocked up just to please my mom.” Carla bites her bottom lip and twirls her glass between her fingers, although she wouldn’t be upset if it happened.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I won’t!” Carla snaps.

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?” Carla twirls her glass.

“Meeting someone,” Gabby says, sipping her drink. “It’s time!”

“You think?”

“Yes! Of course! You’re not going to marry the first guy you date. Come on! You need to start building relationships with guys. Get out and meet someone!”

Gabby slams down her hand. “I’ve got it! You should make up a story and tell your mom you’re dating a guy from another country and that he wants to get married and have a baby really bad.”

Carla puckers her lips thinking about the idea. “That,” she says with the point of a finger, “could go either way. My mom might be a detective and find out everything there is to know about this fake guy, or she just might love the idea.”

“Are you kidding? What mom would think that’s okay?” Michelle asks, tucking a long, dark brown strand of hair behind her ear. “She’ll want to meet this guy, won’t she? And where did you meet this future husband?”

Carla lifts an eyebrow.

“He’s a reporter from overseas, visiting . . .” Gabby says.

“That won’t work,” Carla says with a little shake of her head. “My mom has the potential to be a crazy lady. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but because my sister is married—happily married, I might add—and has a baby, my mom is putting pressure on me to settle down again. She doesn’t realize how annoying it is. It’s all I hear from her. Are you dating anyone?” Carla mimics her mom. “Why haven’t you found anyone? What’s wrong with asking someone out from work?” Carla tightens her lips before continuing. “It’s like she’s forgotten that Timothy and I met at work, and look where we ended up!”

“Maybe she needs something to do,” Michelle says and sips her drink. “She’s thinking too much about your personal life and not enough about her own.”

“She does that a lot,” Carla admits.

“What about your brother? Any pressure on him?” Gabby asks. “He’s still single.”

“Gavin can do no wrong.” Her eyes bounce from one friend to the other. “Besides, he’s been with Mia for something like two years.” She takes a sip and swallows hard. Her eyes squint from the sweetness of her drink. “As far as I know, he’s doing fine. He doesn’t say much. What about you? Still with what’s his name? Cracker?”

Michelle hangs her head. “Graeme. And yes, it’s going well, thank you.” She lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “He’s a good guy. I’m happy. He’s taking me to a junior hockey game Saturday night.”

“Since when do you like sports?” Carla asks.

“I’m only going because he’s been talking about it since our first date. His nephew plays for the team. He wants to introduce me.”

Carla lets out a barely there whistle. “Sounds serious if he wants you to meet the rest of his family.”

Michelle’s eyes sparkle. “So far his family has been accepting and very kind.”

“Why wouldn’t they? You’re thoughtful, educated.”

“This drink was just bought for you,” the waitress says, sliding a martini over on a coaster toward Carla.

“For me?” Carla asks. “From whom?”

“That hockey player . . . Miller,” the waitress says. She thumbs over her shoulder.

“Did it come straight from the bartender?” Carla asks, skeptical. The last thing she wants is a drink laced with some drug.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he say why he bought this for me?” Carla asks.

“Nope. He’s at the bar. Ask him,” she says and walks away.

All three women turn their heads to the bar and stare.

“Where is he?” Michelle asks. “It’s hard to tell from this angle.”

“Is it the guy wearing the military boots or the one with the ponytail?” Gabby asks, trying to keep a straight face.

Carla lets out a huge breath and wiggles out of her seat, securing her shiny black heels on her feet. She ignores her friends’ questions and takes a step out of the booth, marching toward the bar, where she spots Devin watching the big screen overhead. She swallows hard as she stares at him. The closer she gets, the slower her feet move. His large shoulders are hunched over, his hands cradling a glass like he wants to be alone. She notices the cut on his cheekbone and wonders if the pain is as bad as it looks.

She inhales a big breath, holding it and counting to three before taking the last step before saying hello. Carla opens her mouth to speak and when he turns his head toward her, she is taken back by his tanned complexion and dark brown eyes that make her insides melt. He straightens his back and his shoulders roll into good posture, revealing his muscular upper body. There’s another cut above his eyebrow that alarms her. Even still, his face is a handsome one.

“So, Miller,” she says, making a popping sound with her lips. “You could have admitted to me that you weren’t staying in Carolina.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You had to have known.”

“It was too early to tell.” Devin pushes his coaster away from him. “How did you know?” His eyes narrow in on her.

“You had to make a move. My guess was you were done with Carolina and wanted a new team to play with that had better chances.”

Devin shakes his head. “You called it.”

“So, what do you want?” Carla asks, one hand on her hip. Devin gives her a half smile, looking at her with his weighty brown eyes. The thickness of his eyebrows and short black hair have Carla taking in his every facial feature.

He hasn’t stopped looking at her. Is her makeup okay? Is her shirt too revealing? It always feels good wearing something loose or low-cut, something she wouldn’t or couldn’t wear to work.

“Nothing,” he says. “Thought you’d want a drink. Who are you with?”

“Why? Are you interested in one of them?”

“Nope. I’m interested in you.”

She throws her head back and her heel falls behind her other foot for balance. “Seriously?” Carla puckers her honey-dipped lips and puts a hand on the bar, facing him.

“I am!” he says, turning his hand over before grabbing his glass. “You don’t believe me.”

“I’m not sure that I do,” she says, eyeing him.

“Have a seat!” he says, with a wave of his hand at the empty seat.

She looks beside her at the empty bar stool. “I can’t. I’m with my friends,” she says. “I’d invite you over, but I’d want to interview you.” She steps away from the bar. Does he remember the last time they spoke? Didn’t he think she was an idiot? “I’ve had a couple of drinks, so it would be unprofessional.”

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about other than hockey.”

She blinks her eyes. “Tempted, but hockey’s on my mind,” she says. Work was always on her mind. If she could interview Devin and break a story—a story that’s desperately needed in sports right now because the reporting has been so dry—it would excite her and her audience. “Plus, I’d want it taped.”

His expression goes from smirk to serious. “I can talk hockey anytime. It’s never stale.”

“Let me know when you’re available.” She flips her hair back off her shoulder.

“Give me a place and time. I’ll be there.”

“Come on, Miller, you’re not that easy. I’ve been trying to get an interview with you since you arrived here forty-eight hours ago. You never returned my calls.”

“I don’t remember giving you my number,” he says, feeling the wet glass with his fingertips.

“You haven’t,” she snaps, folding her arms against her chest. “Your PR lady said she would pass along the message. Did you get it?”

His eyes close slightly, his look mysterious, like the first time they met at the Dome.

“Maybe I did,” he says. “I don’t remember now.”

“I’m a reporter, not a crazy fan,” she says. “You don’t have to worry; I won’t give out your number.”

“I like crazy fans,” he says, arching the side of his lip.

How kissable those lips must be.

“I can only imagine,” she says, blinking, thinking about two different things. She had to stop thinking about Devin’s lips, and how they would feel against her skin. He probably had a girlfriend or girlfriends. He wouldn’t be interested in her anyway, and she is definitely not interested in him. No way would she be caught gallivanting around with a guy who is on the road half the year with God only knows how many women nipping at his feet.

“Imagine what?” He tilts his chin.

“That you have an entourage following you everywhere you go? I don’t doubt it.”

“Every team has them,” he says.

“Sure they do.”

“It’s a bit crazy at times here, too, after a game . . .”

“So, Devin, what do you want from me?”

He glances down at his almost-empty beer. “If you want an interview, I want a night out with you. Show me the city.”

She burst out laughing. “You have teammates for that,” she says, staring at his prickly chin. “Ask one of the guys.”

“I plan to stay here for a while. I need to know about the city I’m playing in.”

“Do you do this in every city you play in? Get a chaperone to show you around?”

“No, this is the first.” He looks up at her and their eyes meet. For a second, Carla can barely breathe, mesmerized by his seductive eyes, so dark they make her heartbeat carry on with double rhythm.

She swallows hard. “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it! Do you have a hard time making friends?”

“No.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem if we get to know each other.”

She stares at him, contemplating. “That can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” She’s stumped. “Because it can’t.”

“You don’t think I’m good enough for the team, do you?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You implied.” He looks at his glass and then at her. “I know how you feel about me.”

“I don’t know what I said.” She tries to recall her last newscast.

“It’s not what you said, it’s what you want.”

“Is that right?” She taps her toe. Is he always this cocky? “And what do I want?”

“You have questions about me being here, I can see that. Hell, you mentioned it on your last broadcast.”

“I did? Look, the Warriors need a new forward line,” she mumbles. “And we were fine before the trade.”

“I’ll let you interview me and you can judge for yourself.”

Carla laughs. “That doesn’t change a thing.”

“It will.” His back arches, leaning into the bar, and he takes a sip of his beer. His head turns in her direction. “I want to see my new city. I’m gonna be here for a while.”

“Six years?”

“We should get to know each other better. Don’t you think?” He takes another sip. “I’m sure I’m going to see a lot of you . . .