Page 8 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

“Out there.” She cut in, stepping even closer.

From this vantage point, I had a clear view straight down her blouse. She crossed her arms, pulling the V-neck taut over her breasts. It was likely meant to be a power move, and was not intended to show off her delicious cleavage, but I was hot, tired, and horny. She presented a challenge, and I had zero desire to play nice to the public. “Why do they dictate who I am off the ice?”’ I’d never understood that since coming to the United States.

She considered my question. I respected her for not having a pat answer ready but for taking her time and thinking it over. “It shouldn’t. As much as we with the public could separate the professional on the ice from the man off the ice, they don’t. Because they see you play, they think they have the right to say what is acceptable or not. And considering our current trend of cancel culture, they can–and will–get you banned from the ice if you don’t play along.”

Damn. No one ever put it to me quite like that before. “So, this rough around the edges thing?” I swept my hands out and down, the palms skating over my gear. “That’s just who I am.”

“That’s fine. I can work with who you are, Duncan. Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.” Her lips puckered in a pink pout, and she tapped her index finger over them. “What do you say, can you work with me?”

I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “Don’t have much of a choice, now do I?”

“Oh, you do.” She smirked, one side of her mouth hiking upward. “You can say no. Coach Dalton will hire some second rate publicist, who’s probably going to have you dressing up in tuxedos and going to charity events that you’ll hate. You’ll do okay for a while before your temper gets the better of you and you start a fight in the middle of a black tie event, and you’ll be done.” She dusted her hands together and flung them apart. “Done and dusted. Or you can say yes to me, have a little fun, and walk away with an arsenal of information at your disposal so you can handle things on your own.”

I liked the sound of that. I didn’t know how to be anything other than what she called a rough around the edges brawler. But looking at her and the promise she offered, I was willing to try. “What do I have to do?”

She laid out a strategy that had my head spinning. Everything from making public appearances to being willing to grant a few Make a Wish wishes. I didn’t have any problem with that last one, but what kid wanted to meet a man like me?

“All that?” I tried to temper my voice, but the tone remained dark and grating. “Sounds like a hell of a lot.”

“It’s a good start. And don’t worry.” Her smile bloomed, dimpling her cheeks. “I’ll be at your full disposal.” She tapped her chest, right over her heart. “I’m here for you.” A flick of her wrist and she checked the slim gold watch. “We can go out to dinner and discuss things further if you feel the need? Think of me as another coach.”

Not likely. The last part. Dinner, sure. Coach? Nope.

She kept talking, her lilting voice hypnotic. “I’ll be putting you through a grueling regimen of training so you’ll be ready once the spotlight comes back at the start of the season.” She held out her hand. “What do you say? Ready to grab the world by the balls and make it your bitch?”

Did she just say what I thought? I locked eyes with her. “You are not what I expected.”

Her smile tightened. “I never am.”

“You going to talk like that in front of the media?”

“Nope.” She wiggled her fingers. “All about the image, remember? I can cuss like a sailor all I want on my own time, but the instant I walk through that door, it’s business mode. Dress the part. Act the part. Play the part. Eventually it becomes second nature.”

“Sounds like a lie to me. I won’t be changing who I am, only covering it up.” Still, it was worth a shot, wasn’t it? “If you really think it will work, I’m in.” I took my time meeting her hand with my own.

The spark of attraction I’d felt the instant she walked into the room burned hot and fast. Delicate fingers wrapped around mine. Did she feel it too? She remained perfectly cool and professional, but I swore her lips parted slightly, her gaze sweeping over me with a hint of longing.

Our hands moved in a casual and completely innocuous handshake, but I felt the lingering touch of her fingers long after we should have let go.

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