A Better Man (32 page)

Jordan yelled, “Shoot
it.”

O'Reilly pulled his arm back, swung, and the puck flew right of the net. The buzzer
rang.

Game
over.

No playoffs. No Stanley
Cup.

While the joyous Stars gathered at center ice, the defeated Vipers skated off to the locker
room.

Once they'd all gathered, Coach Reiner gave his spiel about there always being next year. They'd worked hard. Tried hard. Things just didn't go their way. Blah blah blah. Once he wrapped up, the media converged like sewer rats. Usually the reporters went straight for the victor's locker room but apparently the Stars' doors were locked and they had time to kill until entry was gra
nted.

Jordan sat down on the bench in front of his locker. While taking off his skates he noticed a pair of pressed khakis in front of
him.

“Brett Beaver from FOX 4 News. Can I interview
you?”

Jordan looked up to the man holding a video camera who looked like he never went out in the sun or had learned to properly knot a tie. “S
ure.”

“How do you feel about losing the chance to go to the playoffs? Are you depressed?” The man stuck the microphone in Jordan's
face.

H
eartbroken for the Vipers, Lucy sat next to Nicole on the sofa in her living room watching post-­game interviews. After Jordan had left for Dallas, she and Nicole had spent more time together. They'd grown closer. And when Nicole finally explained the cause of her anger and the situation with the missing money, Lucy's heart a
ched.

Right now the young girl sat on Lucy's sofa wearing a huge frown because her brother's team had lost. Lucy felt bad because they'd fought a good fight out on the ice. But at least he'd given it a try. That's what matt
ered.

At their feet lay Ziggy and the kitten Jordan had given Nicole. The cute little gray fluff of fur Nicole had named Fezzik had perched himself along Ziggy's back and lay purring while he s
lept.

Suddenly the camera went to the Vipers' locker room, where Jordan's gorgeous face filled the sc
reen.

With a slight tilt of his head, Jordan replied to the reporter's question. “Am I depres
sed?”

Nicole chuckled. “Jordy's going to punch that
guy.”

Lucy chuckled because she'd bet that's exactly what Jordan felt like doing. “No he's not. He saves the fists of fury for on the
ice.”

“I feel bad for the team.” Jordan's broad shoulders plus padding came up in a shrug. “They've worked hard to get this far. Plus they had to cover for me while I was g
one.”

“Family matters, right?” the voice behind the camera
said.

“Both my parents were kil
led.”

“My condolen
ces.”

“Yeah.” Nicole snorted. “He sounds real sinc
ere.”

Lucy had to agree the guy sounded like he couldn't care
less.

“Thanks.” Jordan ran a hand through his soaking wet hair. “Being back home gave me a lot of time to th
ink.”

“I can imagine,” said the voice behind the camera. “So how did that feel when O'Reilly completely missed that last shot on g
oal?”

“Can't think about that right now.” Jordan shook his head. “I've got more on my mind than what someone did or didn't do on the ice tonight. You can't rewind time and change things. You have to move forward. That's why this is my last season. I'm retir
ing.”

“What?” Nicole and Lucy said at the same time, then looked at each other like maybe they hadn't heard r
ight.

“Retiring?” The voice behind the camera perked up like he knew he'd just caught an exclusive moment. “It's not like you're too old to play anym
ore.”

One side of Jordan's mouth quirked. “I've been playing hard for fifteen years. That's fifteen years of busting my ass, my knuckles, and my face. Fifteen years of tearing ligaments and cracking ribs. I'm not going to miss any of that. I'm leaving the game with 668 goals and 934 assists. I'm proud of that. But to accomplish all of that I missed a lot of time with my fam
ily.”

“But you love the game, right?” the reporter asked. “The competit
ion?”

“He does,” Nicole said to Lucy. “So why would he q
uit?”

Lucy shook her head and a sinking sensation hit her in the gut. “We have to trust he knows what he's do
ing.”

“He did tell me that when he leaves the game, it will be the right thing for him,” Nicole said. “Not because he felt forced into
it.”

“Then we definitely need to trust him,” Lucy
said.

“I do love the game,” Jordan said to the reporter. “And there might be times when I'll miss it. But there are other things I love just as much or more. I don't want to be a Kincade in name only anymore. I want to be an actual part of my family. I can't do that if I'm never around. So, back to your question. Am I depressed about losing this game and the chance to go to the playoffs? The answer is no. I have something better to
do.”

“Anything specific you have planned for your fut
ure?”

“Yep.” Jordan looked into the camera and grinned. “I'm going home to ask my girl to marry
me.”

Lucy and Nicole looked at each other, screamed, then hugged each other until they c
ried.

Nicole's kitten sprang off Ziggy's
back.

Ziggy cocked his head and completely ruined the mo
ment.

J
ordan had texted Lucy while she'd been teaching a class to say he was on his way home via commercial flight. A feat that could mean he'd arrive home on time or possibly end up sleeping on the floor of the Phoenix airport. She'd texted him back saying she couldn't wait to see him. Since she hadn't made any reference to it, he wondered if she'd watched his last game. Wondered if she'd seen the interview after
ward.

A grin lit him up inside and replaced any doubt about walking away from his career. With his skates and jersey in his suitcase, he knew he'd have days of doubt. Possible days of regret. Days where he just missed the fast pace of the game and the camaraderie between teammates. He also knew that he was heading into unfamiliar terri
tory.

And that excited the hell out of
him.

The possibilities were end
less.

He had no idea what he might do with the rest of his life except for one thing. He wanted to be with Lucy during the good times and the bad. He wanted her to be the last thing he saw at night and the first thing he saw each morning. He wanted to plan their future together, have children, and grow old together. And the faster he got to her house, the faster he could make it all ha
ppen.

Finally, at ten minutes after seven he rang her doorbell. The front door flew open and Lucy rushed into his
arms.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, I'll marry
you.”

He planted a long, sweet kiss on her luscious mouth, then chuckled. “So I guess you saw the post-­game interv
iew?”

She nodded and her glasses slipped down her nose a little before she pushed them back in place with the tip of her finger. “I saw the whole game. And I'm so sorry you lost. But I'm so glad you're home. And . . . yes. Oh, I love you, Jor
dan.”

Something wound around his heart that he'd never experienced before. Not even the first time he'd slapped the puck between the p
ipes.

Absolute pure
joy.

Lucinda Nutter loved
him.

“Can I ask you properly anyway?” he asked with a grin. “Just for the rec
ord.”

“You can do anything you w
ant.”

“
Anyth
ing?
”

Her fingertips danced down the buttons on his shirt. “
Anyth
ing
.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.” He backed her into the house and kicked the door shut. Then he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She giggled all the way up the stairs and the entire time he stripped her n
aked.

He took off her glasses and set them on the nightstand. Then he pulled off his own clothes in fast-­forward s
peed.

When he eased her back onto the bed she was still chuckling. “I thought you wanted to do this prope
rly.”

He kissed her deep, hot, and wet. The kiss set him on fire. He wanted her. Needed her. Loved her like crazy. When she moved her legs apart he slid inside, filling her body while she filled his h
eart.

“
This
is
my
version of properly.” He framed her face with his hands. Kissed her forehead. Kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, Lucy. You're everything that matters today, tomorrow, and forever. You've made me a better man. Will you marry
me?”

“I love you, Jordan.” She sighed dreamily. “Yes, I'll marry
you.”

Once upon a time, Jordan's wishes had been about hockey goals, fame, fortune, and life in the fast lane. Somewhere along the way he'd learned to be careful what he wished for. But if he'd known Lucy would come into his life and fulfill his dreams for a happily-­ever-­after, he would have made different choices a long time ago. Together they were about to create a life together where the sky was the l
imit.

And in that new world, loving Lucy was everything that matt
ered.

Don't miss Candis Terry's next

fantastic Sunshine Creek Vineyard novel

PERFECT FOR YOU

Coming early 2017

I
n Declan Kincade's world the real problem with leisure time was finding the time fo
r it.

At the window of his Newport Beach high-­rise office, he watched the sunset glisten across the ocean waves. Down on the beach–­like a ritual changing of the guards–­the sun worshipers packed up their beach towels, tanning lotion, and umbrellas to head home while the locals grabbed their boards for their moment in the sand and surf. Early summer was the perfect time of year for Californians to play along the coastline before the hoards of vacationers swamped the beaches and local
bars.

Not that Declan knew much about having fun these days. In fact, he hadn't had fun in . . . hell, he couldn't remember. He'd spent nearly eight non-­stop years working on his career. Not that he was complaining, but he had started to feel the wear and tear on his brain. At the age of thirty-­three, he felt like he was entering his golden years without all the significant life experiences. And that was not
okay.

The recent tragic deaths of his parents had taught him one thing–­life was too damn s
hort.

Hands in pockets, he settled back on the heels of his black oxfords, wishing instead he was in a more casual shoe and strolling down the Newport pier. He imagined the sound of the waves crashing against the pier's massive pylons. He imagined watching the fishermen bring in their daily catch while the gulls hovering overhead screeched for scraps. He imagined stopping at the oyster bar for a cold brew and a quiet moment to watch the last of the bikini-­clad beauties shuffle back to their cars. Instead he would spend one more evening within these office walls in a meeting scheduled to start in . . . He glanced down at the Citizen Signature watch clasped to his wrist . . . four min
utes.

Imagining life was no longer enough. He'd reached a point where he needed more. He needed to participate instead of just being a part-­time observer. The problem was, he'd kind of forgotten
how.

Behind him the door op
ened.

“They're here. Are you re
ady?”

The husky female voice caused him to turn instead of just nodding his head. Over the past four years he'd heard that voice a million times. But today, as his assistant peeked around the door, Dec couldn't help consider his twin brother's recent observa
tion.

She's hot as
hell.

It wasn't that Declan had never noticed Brooke Hastings's bikini bod, long legs, and deep brown eyes. It wasn't that her bubbly personality hadn't made him laugh at times when he really wanted to pull his hair out. And it wasn't that he didn't have an appreciation for her high IQ that never failed to create a solution that would benefit the financial investment company he'd built from the ground up. But Brooke was his assistant and mixing business with pleasure was a very bad
idea.

Even if his newly engaged brother insisted he chose pleasure over
work.

“Dec?” Brooke's head tilted slightly and a waterfall of honey blonde hair fell over the shoulder of her silky white blouse. “Are you o
kay?”

Hell no, he wasn't
okay.

Because right now, even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help wonder how all her soft shiny hair would feel wrapped around his hands while he pulled her in and seduced her right out of that hip-­hugging s
kirt.

“Dec?” When she stepped inside his office he blinked to take his eyes off all those curves that made a simple button-­down blouse look like something that should be rem
oved.

Sl
owly.

One button at a
time.

With his t
eeth.

“Yeah.” He took a breath. “Bring them
in.”

“You sure?” Her head tilted in an are-­you-­positive-­you-­haven't-­gone-­off-­the-­deep-­end
way.

The only thing he was sure about was he was going to kill his brother for planting ideas in his brain that had no business being t
here.

“Yep. Let's do t
his.”

Before she disappeared to escort their clients into his office, Brooke flashed him a grin that showed off a perfect set of dimples. He'd seen those dimples five days a week for four freaking years. So why, all of a sudden, did he have the urge to press his lips against them and then follow up with a slow slide of his tongue down her long, delicate
neck?

Less than a minute later she escorted James and Josh Flavio into his office. The father-­son duo was looking for investment advice on a beachside Caribbean-­style restau
rant.

“Gentlemen. Welcome.” Declan extended his hand. With the perfunctory introductions made, he gestured to the conference table. While the men chose their seats, Declan watched Brooke settle into the leather chair at the end of the granite table and cross her
legs.

Her bare, tan, smooth, shapely
legs.

The black high-­heeled ankle strap sandals she wore bordered on dominatrix and that intrigued the hell out of him. Not that he was into the whole Christian Grey red room thing, but he sure as hell wouldn't mind seeing Brooke in a little black lace and lea
ther.

When she opened the file folder she'd placed on the table, he noticed the length of her fingers and the pale pink polish on her nails. A white-­gold band graced the ring finger on her right hand and a silver bracelet with a charm that said
Fearless
encircled her left w
rist.

What made her fearless? Extreme sports? Overcoming anxieties? Taking r
isks?

And why was he wondering these things
now?

He had plenty of other things to think about. Like the fact that he had clients sitting at his conference table. Or that his parents had been killed barely three months ago and he and his brothers were struggling to keep the family vineyards afloat. Yet here he was, eyeing his assistant like she was a five-­star meal he couldn't wait to de
vour.

Damn his
twin.

This was all Jordan's f
ault.

For four years Declan had kept his mind to business and his hands to himself. Aside from knowing he'd be lost without Brooke, he knew virtually nothing personal about her. He didn't know what she did in her spare time. He didn't know if she was vegetarian or if she liked her steaks rare. He didn't know where she'd been born or what kind of upbringing she had. He didn't know if she lived in a rental house or one she owned. He didn't know if she lived alone, had a roommate, or lived with a boyfriend. Hell, he didn't even know if she had a boyfr
iend.

For four years he'd kept everything on a strictly business level. Now all he could think about was how much he'd like to caress Brooke's shapely curves in a very non-­businesslike ma
nner.

“Would you like me to record the meet
ing?”

Caught daydreaming, Dec's head snapped up. “W
hat?”

Her lips tipped in a saucy smile. Okay, maybe it was just a regular smile. But for what he'd just been imagining, saucy fit the scenario be
tter.

“I asked if you'd like me to record the meet
ing.”

“Gentlemen?” He glanced at the two men at the table. “It's your cho
ice.”

“Josh can take notes,” the father
said.

“I'll be happy to do that for you,” Brooke said. “That way you can focus on the discuss
ion.”

“Then let's get down to business, shall we?” At that moment, Dec made the mistake of looking at his assistant again. While she reached for her laptop, her breasts pushed together just above the buttons of her shirt. Then she looked up at him and licked her lips. And for the first time in his career, he couldn't give a shit about anything other than how badly he wanted a taste of
her.

Damn.

As soon as he got back to the vineyards, he was going to beat the shit out of his brother–­one punch for each insane thought he'd planted in Dec's
head.