Page 12 of Puck You Very Much

“Yup,” Lucy said and hung up.

Her sister was absolutely right. She was strong and independent and all the rest. She would explain to Dax what the next few weeks would be like. She would set boundaries and not let him get under her skin.

With renewed vigor, she pushed open the door to the parking lot…and stood rooted in place.

Less than 30 feet away, leaning against her car, was Dax.

His long legs, wrapped in jeans, were stretched before him, his arms were folded across his body, and the sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sinewy, tanned forearms.

He wasn’t on his skates or even standing at his full height, yet he still looked powerful.

The t-shirt under the open button-up clung to his chest and fell loosely over his stomach, leaving too much to the imagination—although she didn’t need any imagination at all because thanks to his exhibitionist tendencies, she knew exactly what was hiding underneath.

Her mouth went dry, and goosebumps scurried down her spine. All her nerve endings were electrified. Her tongue thickened and her fingers were clammy as her heart skipped a beat—in anticipation, in fear, maybe both.

Shit. Hewasspecial. She hated that fact.

Hated the effect he had on her, hated that her heart rate was climbing, that adrenaline and a strange mix of anticipation, fear, and tension were pumping through her veins.

Just like she hated that he glanced up at the exact moment she let the door fall closed behind her—as if he knew she’d been standing right there staring at him.

Chapter 3

Dax always knew when Lucy was around. He recognized the steady click of her high heels, which she never took off. He felt it tingling in his neck, and a turbulent tightening in his stomach.

It was as if she radiated an energy that automatically heightened his awareness. He was certain it was merely his body’s way of protecting him: The Lucy radar was simply vital for his survival, a mechanism that allowed him to mentally prepare for her.

Oh, shit. He should have been long gone. It was already dusk, and practice had been over for an hour. He shouldn’t be leaning against Lucy’s old Honda; he should be sitting on Austin Fox’s couch drinking beer and chatting with the others about who was their most dangerous opponent on the ice this season. However, he couldn’t leave until he talked to her.

Dax knew that Lucy thought he was…well, to put it mildly, an ass. He also knew she had reason to believe so. Their first meeting had been less than ideal. He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted, but it had been his birthday and…well, it should have been Leslie’s or at least Matt’s duty to point out to her that irritating him on that day, of all days, was an incredibly stupid idea.

But no matter their differences, he had always assumed that they had at least one thing in common: the certainty that they didn’t work well together and the certainty that they enjoyed each other’s presence about as much as they enjoyed athlete’s foot.

Which meant there was no way she had agreed to this idiotic plan to play his keeper. He was ninety-nine percent sure Gray was joking. Gray had merely wanted to scare him with the prospect of Lucy James following his every move for the next four weeks.

Still, he needed to be certain, so he could sleep better. He drummed his fingers steadily against his biceps as he watched Lucy approach with long strides, her chin raised as always.

Trying to make herself taller was hopeless. Nothing and no one could hide how short she was. She barely reached his shoulders without shoes, and even with the killer heels, she still had to look up at him. Still, she never showed fear—never backed down, never gave in.

Her face wasn’t soft around him like it was with Matt. Never happy and exuberant like with Gray or Fox. It was hard and impressively unyielding. And when he made her angry—an undertaking that, if he could humbly say so, he excelled at—her light brown eyes darkened to black coal and her red hair glowed.

It was the most fascinating, creepy, and hottest thing he had ever witnessed a woman do.

No. Bullshit. Not the hottest, the most…disturbing. That was the word he was looking for.

She continued to approach him, her eyes fixed on his face, her dark red hair in a ponytail that just brushed her shoulders.

Had she ever worn her hair down? He couldn’t recall. All he knew was that he had never seen her in anything other than a pencil skirt, black heels, and a prudish blouse, the kind that automatically fired up a man’s imagination. And that type of skirt couldn’t hide her curves. He hated the way she dressed. It was torture, a single, perfect provocation. But she had been good at that from the start. Better than anyone in the organization, the entire team included.

“So, I’m a certified PR nightmare who makes marketing angels cry?” he greeted her dryly, pushing himself off the car. He locked his gaze on her already sparkling eyes so they wouldn’t go wandering down her body, like he wanted to do every time he saw her.

“Oh, I’ve never been quoted by a famous hockey player before,” she replied with mock excitement, stopping a foot in front of him. “What an honor.”

He snorted and then asked, “Just out of curiosity, are you one of those angels in this scenario? If so, I find it a bit blasphemous for a messenger of God to be selling a demon—even by your standards.”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Well, first off, I’m surprised you know the word, especially when you consider how many pucks and fists you’ve taken to the head. Second, the day I cry over a man will never come. And third, what are you doing here? Don’t you want to enjoy your last day of freedom before your marketing angel wraps the chains around you tomorrow?” She pointed with both thumbs at herself.

His stomach clenched as the blood drained from his face. She couldn’t be serious. “You agreed?” he snapped, because, by God, he couldn’t stop himself. “Are you insane? We can’t be joined at the hips for four weeks! We won’t survive.”

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