Page 10 of Power Play

He smiled. I forced myself not to smile back. Two brothers playing each other in the Stanley Cup Finals was not new. But it was still a good story. One defenseman, one star center. One elder statesman. One young hot shot. The press was loving it.

“My brother always has my number,” Liam said with all the grace of a little brother who’d made a hell of a home in his older brother’s shadow.

“His time on ice was double every other defenseman on that bench,” I said.

“It will cost them for game seven,” Liam said. “When his legs are ruined.”

“You hope.”

Liam grinned, and for a moment it was so…tender between us. Kind. Like it had been that night in Nashville. The air was warm and sparkly. His blue eyes were the bluest blue.

I wanted to ask him what it was like. Playing his brother for the Stanley Cup. If it was as fun as they made it look. Two men who’d played thousands of hours of hockey together. During warmups Liam was constantly chirping at Wyatt, until Wyatt got frustrated and skated away to warm up someplace else.

But they always hugged each other after every game. No matter who won or lost.

“Hey Liam,” The blonde said from behind me, snapping me out of my trance, reminding me she was there. “Is it okay if I…?” She jerked her thumb back towards the long hallway that I assumed led to bedrooms.

“Knock yourself out,” he said.

All perfection, she skipped down the hallway.

“So, why are you dressed like a cat?” Liam asked, crossing his arms over that hairy chest and making every muscle pop and ripple. The tenderness was gone and now he was a growly predator. An NHL star, full of bad intent. A man wronged by my father.

And me, if I was being fair.

But I only owed him money. Not my story.

“It’s none of your business.”

Cool as a cucumber, I opened up the giant bag I was carrying, full of birthday supplies and snacks, and pulled out my wallet. I had the money I’d saved over the week, plus what I’d earned this morning.

“I think I’m making it my business,” he said. He stepped forward. His toes touched the edge of my ridiculous cat feet.

“Our arrangement doesn’t work that way,” I stepped back, adding his feet to the list of things I was ignoring. But stupidly, my eyes fleeing the scene of his feet got distracted by that damn underwear and what it was barely concealing.

Touched by God, indeed.

“Our arrangement,” he said, his voice a dark purr that did wonderful and terrible things to my cat insides, “is whatever I say it is. This was your idea. You came to me, remember?”

“Yes. I did. Fine. What do you want?”

His laughter was all kinds of innuendo.

You’d think it would be easy to flat out reject a guy who thought so little of me, but…whatever. He was hot. And once upon a time, a million years ago, he’d directed all that charm my way. It had been…electric. The kind of electricity that could kill a girl if she wasn’t careful. I’d grabbed onto it for as long as I could and we both got burned.

Though only one of us had the scars to prove it.

“So many things,” he said with a sigh. “I want both my brother and me to win the Stanley Cup.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“You asked me what I wanted, not what made sense. I want to learn how to fly and perfect my approach shot. I want to meet Sydney Malloy and declare my undying love. I want you…to beg me for forgiveness.”

“Forgive me,” I said, without any begging. Because I knew it was impossible. He’d made it more than clear he would never forgive me. “Here’s your money.”

I held out the five hundred dollars, mostly in ones and fives, as well as the crisp two, one hundred dollar bills I’d earned today. He looked down at it and back up at me.

“No. Like…beg…on your knees,” he said with a smirk. And just like that, the golden boy of the NHL, who was known for his volunteer work and soft heart, was all cruel intention when it came to me. When this was over, I could sell my story to the press, but no one would believe me.

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