Page 13 of Penalty Kiss
So, this is not a random but targeted attack.
Names blur, conversations slip, but I need to remember this guy’s face.
"Time to go," I tell him, putting enough ice in my voice to freeze a rink.
He studies me for another moment, then shrugs like this is all just mildly inconvenient. "Tell your new friend," he says to her, that smile never wavering, "that problems follow you wherever you go."
I see her flinch, see the wall behind her eyes crack, and it makes me want to introduce his guy’s face to the nearest brick wall.
Then he melts back into the shadows like he was never there, leaving behind only the lingering scent of cologne and threat.
I turn to the woman, and the breath catches in my throat.
She's beautiful. Not magazine-perfect—better. Real. Gentle waves of brown hair, blue eyes that could cut glass, and curves that make my hands twitch with want. She's breathing hard, adrenaline flushing her cheeks pink, and there's a fierceness in her that tells me she's tougher than she looks.
"You okay?" The words come out rougher than intended, and I force myself to soften them.
"I mean—are you hurt? Did he—" I can't finish the question. The thought of him putting his hands on her makes me want to punch something, but she doesn't need my rage right now. She needs my calm.
She nods, then those blue eyes widen as they focus on my face.
"You're Cam Wilder."
The recognition shouldn't surprise me—I'm used to being spotted. But something in her voice is different. Not the usual fan-girl excitement or the calculated interest of someone looking for a hookup. Just... knowledge. Like she's filing away the information for later.
"Guilty," I say, flashing the smile that's been getting me out of trouble since junior high. "Don't suppose you want an autograph after I just scared off your... friend?"
She laughs—and the sound hits me like a shot of something stronger than whiskey. It's rich and real and totally at odds with the fact that she was just fighting off some creep in an alley.
"He's not my friend," she says.
“And err… I recognized you from the Candy Jar delivery van," she explains. "Your mugsh—I mean, photo of you and your teammates has been driving around town for a while."
I laugh despite everything. That ridiculous van.
"Yeah, that's us. My contribution to local commerce. And those are artistic portraits." I lean against the alley wall, studying her face. Pretty doesn't begin to cover it.
She laughs again. Melodic and light.
Wow. This woman is dangerous. Dangerous like sunlight after weeks of rain, like the first bite of your favorite food after being sick.
"So, you know who I am. Do I get to know who you are? Besides someone who's apparently got people in expensive suits following her around?"
She hesitates, and I can practically see her weighing options behind those blue eyes. "Tara," she says finally. "Tara Haynes."
"Nice to meet you, Tara Haynes." The name feels right in my mouth, like something I want to say again.
"So, this might be presumptuous of me, but a rescue like that usually comes with some kind of reward."
I'm teasing, expecting another laugh or maybe a playful comeback about hockey players and their egos.
What I don't expect is for her to step closer, her eyes going dark with the intensity that makes my pulse spike.
"What kind of reward were you thinking?" she asks, not quite innocently, and my cock twitches to life in an instant.
Whoa.I think my brain just goes offline.
She's young, maybe in her mid-twenties. All five-foot-four in her running shoes. But the way she's looking at me now makes me feel awkwardly nervous. And a wee bit amused, mixed with a touch of fluster and hope.
