Once Upon a Power Play (10 page)

“Admiring the view?” he asked, turning to face her, the grin on his face confirming he already knew the answer.

“Something like that,” she said, climbing to her knees and meeting him at the edge of the bed. She ran her hands over the smooth muscles of his stomach, relishing the way they rippled under her touch. Was he ticklish? She made a mental note to test the theory later, when it wouldn’t jeopardize a perfectly good orgasm. Stroking the head of his penis, she pulled him close and fused her mouth to his. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the kiss as his lips moved hungrily over hers. The space between them evaporated and once again, Ryan lifted her from the bed, lying her down on her back, his body positioned above her. Chloe nibbled his bottom lip, enjoying the lingering taste of spearmint on his breath. She whimpered when Ryan pulled away.

“Open your eyes.”

“Didn’t we already play this game?” she teased, jutting out her bottom lip. He swooped down and bit it, tugging gently. As he sucked on her lip, Chloe forgot all about games, winners, and losers. She only had one thing in mind, and Ryan would deliver.

When he pushed into her, filling her completely, she cried out, knowing the feeling of euphoria would quickly grow to a mind-blowing crescendo. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he slowly withdrew and sank back into her, burying himself to the hilt. Each move was slower than the last—deliberately, excruciatingly slow. Her skin was too tight, her temperature too hot. Every nerve in her body tingled with pleasure as their bodies joined, blurring the line between them. It was intense and exquisite and reality altering. She never wanted it to end.

Staring into his eyes as he pleasured her body? Knowing he was watching every moan, whimper, and sob? Each arch of her back, twist of her head, bite of her lip? It was sexy as hell. Erotic even.

Unable to take the slow glide any longer, Chloe rocked her hips, meeting him halfway. Ryan groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. It was all the encouragement he needed. Holding her tight, his fingers dug into her back as he pumped into her, their hips crashing together. Wrapping her legs around him, she gave herself over to the pleasure he offered. Need ripped through her body, seeking release for the tension that had coiled deep in her belly. Two more quick thrusts and her body shattered to pieces, clenching him tight and savoring the afterglow of amazing sex.

Chapter Twelve

R
yan toyed with Chloe’s curls, trying to decide the best way to wake her. His gut told him she wasn’t a morning person. It also told him he was starving and there was nothing to eat in his cabinets except a few slices of bread. Bread coated with a questionable green fuzz. So, yeah, he was going to take his chances.

His stomach growled. Again.

Chloe’s eyelids fluttered. “What time is it?” she grumbled, stretching and arching her back. The woman had wicked sex hair, but he wasn’t about to point it out. The look suited her just fine, and he was more than happy about his role in helping her achieve it.

“Almost nine.” He leaned down and kissed her, loving the way she responded immediately, rising up to meet him, crushing her soft lips to his. “You want to grab breakfast?”

Pulling herself into an upright position, she glanced at her clothes, which he’d folded and laid across the foot of the bed. “Probably not a good idea.”

“Why not?” He rubbed her knee absently. “You have to be hungry after last night.”

“Hungry? Yes. Walk of shame? Not so much.” She gave him a wry grin and pointed. “There is nothing about that shirt that is appropriate for nine a.m.”

“Easy fix,” he assured her. “My sisters are always forgetting stuff when they visit. I’ll bet there’s something that would fit you in the guest room. Get dressed. I’ll go check.”

Thirty minutes later he was ushering Chloe through the line at his favorite café, after finding her a turquoise blouse one of his sisters had left behind.

“You’re really going to eat all of that?” she asked with a disbelieving stare as the cashier bagged his order.

He chuckled and paid for their food. “Skating burns a lot of calories. And I’ve always had a good metabolism.”

“If I ate like a garbage disposal, I’d look like the Pillsbury Doughboy.” She sighed and sipped her giant coffee. “So where are we going anyway?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, slinging an arm across her shoulders and steering her out into the crisp December air. “I want to show you one of my favorite places in the city.”

They stopped at The Garden, knocking on one of the service doors around back.

“You know, if you wanted to have sex, we could’ve skipped the cold and just stayed at your place,” she quipped, gripping her cup with two hands. Steam escaped out the top, mingling with her frosty breath.

“Cute, but we’re not here for sex.”

The door opened and one of the security guards waved them in. “Cold one today,” he said, closing the door behind them.

“Thanks, Joe.” Ryan turned to Chloe. “This is my friend Chloe. I’m just going to give her a quick tour and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“No problem, man. Take your time. Nothing going on this morning.”

Sunday mornings at The Garden were usually pretty quiet, unless the Knicks were playing at home. It was Ryan’s favorite time to visit. No crowds, no pressure, no responsibility. He could just soak up the silence and think. Alone. In fact, this was the first time he’d brought anyone with him, he realized. Not once had he brought Kelsey. It wouldn’t have interested her. She’d never missed a game, and was always there for a public show of support, but hanging out at the rink on a quiet Sunday morning? Not likely.

Trying not to think too hard about why he’d brought Chloe, he led her to the rink, choosing seats at center ice, where they ate in silence. He could feel her gaze on him, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. If anything, it felt curious. Not surprising—after all, she had to be wondering why he’d brought her. Hell, he wasn’t quite sure himself. Balling up the wrapper from his sandwich, he stuffed it back in the bag and finished off his orange juice.

“Playing for the Rangers has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.” He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. How many times had he uttered that phrase? To reporters, fans, other players. It wasn’t personal, but sitting in the quiet arena with Chloe, it felt that way. “My old man is a diehard fan. I grew up watching the Blueshirts. When I was eight years old, Mark Messier led the team to their first cup in over fifty years. I remember it like it was yesterday.” He pointed to the rafters where red, white, and blue banners bearing the name and number of former players hung. “They retired his number in 2006.”

“That’s incredible.” She dropped her hand on his, infusing it with warmth. “Most kids change their dreams a hundred times before they reach adulthood. And very few actually get to live them. You must’ve worked really hard to get where you are today.”

He shrugged, embarrassed by her assumption. “When I was a kid, my parents brought me to New York to see the Rangers play. At the time, I thought it was the coolest thing ever.” He shook his head, remembering how excited he’d been. “Even better than Disney World. I made sure we were waiting at the doors when they opened. I was on the edge of my seat trying to absorb every little detail of The Garden. My dad said to me, ‘Ryan, if you work hard, you can make it. I know you’ve got the talent, son.’ Even now his words are the one thing that stands out above the rest.”

She grinned, her whole face lighting up. “Looks like you proved him right.”

“I was really lucky.” That part was true. He never would have made it otherwise. Even Kelsey, the one person he thought would always be in his corner, had seen it. “My parents were really supportive. Hell, they believed in me when no one else did.”

She arched her brow and pursed her lips. “It can’t all be luck. Give yourself some credit.”

“I guess. I just don’t want to let them down. When I got hurt, a lot of people said I’d never recover. Not my parents though. They said, get your ass back out there and prove them wrong.”

“They sound like my kind of people.”

“Are you kidding? They’d love you.” He realized his mistake too late. Chloe would never meet his parents. That wasn’t what they were about. Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. The silence that hung between them was beyond awkward. Painful, that’s how he’d describe it.

Chloe stared at the ice. “Do you come here often to clear your head?”

“When I can,” he admitted, impressed she’d made the connection. “Close your eyes.”

She shot him a warning look, but complied, tipping her head back.

“Take a deep breath. Smell the ice. Feel the cold in your lungs. Now imagine yourself flying across the ice. The rush of adrenaline that comes with it.” He closed his eyes, taking her hand in his. Despite all the intimate moments they’d shared, he was hyperaware of her presence next to him. Maybe it had been stupid to bring her here, but he couldn’t turn back now. “Once it gets in your bones, you can never get it out. There’s nothing like it in the world. I love the game.”

Chloe sat up and turned to him, their knees bumping in the process. “This is your place,” she said, looking around, as if seeing it for the first time through his eyes. “The one place where everything makes sense.”

He narrowed his eyes. How the hell had she managed to see it and articulate it so clearly, when he hadn’t even known it himself until just a few months ago? “You’re a little too perceptive, you know that?”

He squeezed her hand, seeking a lifeline as the words he’d never spoken aloud poured from his mouth. “Getting injured opened my eyes to the very real prospect of being traded. Or worse, permanently sidelined. Sitting around in that hospital room, I realized I had nothing without the game. No one gives a damn about Ryan Douglas the Sci-Fi geek with quick hands from Minnesota. They want Ryan Douglas, Captain of the New York Rangers and the NHL’s hottest center. Ryan Douglas is nothing without the game. Without the fans, the fame, the money.
I
am nothing without the game.”

And it scared the shit out of him.

C
hloe’s heart faltered at Ryan’s confession. Why had he told her those things? She hadn’t asked, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to spill his guts to her. Seeing Ryan as something other than the pompous, self-centered, pretentious jerk she’d met that first night at the bodega? It was too dangerous. If she made the mistake of seeing him as anything else she might go and do something stupid like fall for him. And she knew exactly where that road led.

Heartbreak Hotel.

Still, he was hurting and it wasn’t in her nature to sit idly by while others were in pain. And somewhere along the way, she’d at least come to think of Ryan as a friend. An annoyingly sexy friend, but a friend nonetheless.

Crawling into his lap, she twisted her body so they were face to face. His eyes were hard, like the ice he loved so much. “I’m sure there are some scumbag freeloaders in your life who’re happy to bask in your fame and fortune, but you know what?” she asked, stroking his cheek, desperate to soften those eyes. “When you’re ready to cut them loose, you’ll be stronger for it, and they’ll help you appreciate the people who really matter. Your family, your friends, they’ll be there for you no matter what. They love you for you, Ryan. Star Wars references and all.”

He studied her, his face deadly serious. “Are you making fun of me now?” he finally asked, a playful glint in his eye. “That’s a dangerous game, one you are not equipped to win.” Before she could move, he was tickling her sides and she was squealing like a toddler, doing everything she could to wriggle from his iron grip. It was useless. She howled with laughter, begging for mercy. When he finally stopped, she gasped to catch her breath.

“What about you?” he asked, dragging a gentle hand down her cheek and following the long line of her neck. Ryan’s touch left a blaze of heat in its wake, stoking the always smoldering desire he evoked in her without even trying. “You’re not like the others. Why is that? What are you so afraid of that you’ve sworn off men and settled for… whatever this is?”

Damn. She’d walked right into that one, hadn’t she? Maybe she should lie. It would be a hell of a lot less painful than admitting the truth. But no, he’d been straight with her, and he deserved her honesty in return, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m exhausted. I’ve kissed my fair share of frogs, and all I got for my trouble was slimy lips. Hell, the last time I thought I found Prince Charming, he upgraded to a blond model who was a better fit for his image. She got the heirloom diamond; I got the curb.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing her arm and looking at her with such pity that anger bubbled up from her belly. The last thing she wanted was pity. Especially from him.

“It was a long time ago.” She shrugged, striving for indifference and tamping down the emotions that threatened to burst forth. He was worried about being traded? She could relate. She was tired of being traded. “Happily ever after is a fairytale that’s not meant for me. Some women get it, some don’t. I’ve got a great career, wonderful friends, and my very own sex god on speed dial. It’s more than enough,” she finished, wishing like hell she believed her own words.

Chapter Thirteen

T
ucking her legs beneath her, Chloe settled into the couch with a glass of wine and her laptop. The game would be on in a few minutes, and she fully intended to get a glimpse of Ryan’s sexy face while she worked. The Rangers were wrapping up a road series and she hadn’t seen him in nearly a week. Five days to be exact. Five long, frustrating, sex-free days. Not that she was counting or anything. Which just proved the time apart was probably good. It would keep her from becoming a sex-addled fool, something that was a very real risk with Ryan. At least she was putting her nookie-free time to good use, keeping her promise to do something meaningful that had nothing to do with men or fairytales.

Although her job description technically ended at PR and Marketing for Garden of Dreams, the children at the foundation were impossible to let go. The more she got to know them, the more she wanted to help. When the opportunity to volunteer for their Christmas party presented itself, she jumped on it. Plus, she could ensure the event got tons of PR, which meant more donations. She’d even arranged an auction for the high-ticket items she’d hustled from the players. It was shaping up to be her very own hat trick.

Jabbing the volume button on the remote, she cranked up the sound as the national anthem wound down. Her eyes swept the screen, seeking number fifty-eight. Ryan glided to center ice and prepared for the face-off. After their time at The Garden together, she saw the game—and him—in a different light. It was impossible not to. On the ice he was so serious. Focused. Driven. A born leader. She envied him that, wishing there was something in her life to be so passionate about. And off the ice? He was nothing like she would have imagined. The cocky, arrogant guy who’d flipped her bitch switch that first night? That wasn’t the real Ryan. He really was more Minnesota than New York. An actual, honest-to-God nice guy. Something she never would have believed it she hadn’t experienced it firsthand.

The puck hit the ice and the two centers jockeyed for position, trying to gain control of the puck. Ryan lost cleanly. Cringing, Chloe reminded herself it didn’t matter. It was still too early to call the game. There were three nail-biting periods to go. Sipping her wine, she watched for a few minutes as the two teams traded the puck back and forth, moving up and down the ice at a breakneck speed. If the first two minutes of play were any indication, it was going to be a brutal game with a whole lot of checking. And probably a fight or two.

Focusing on her work, she pulled up the list of Santa references she’d gotten from the talent agency. It was her responsibility to book the Santa for the party and she was determined to do a good job, finding a real jolly old elf, not one of those tacky looking dudes in a cheap, bright-red suit. She peeked at the screen. The Rangers were off to a rough start. The Pens stole the puck and were moving it down the ice. Chloe held her breath. They took a shot on goal, but it was blocked by Wright.

Shifting her attention back to the profiles, she discarded the first option immediately. Too skinny. A nice round Santa would definitely be more authentic.

The buzzer sounded, disrupting her train of thought. The Pens were celebrating when she looked up.

Damn
.

Still early, she reminded herself, forcing her gaze back to the Santa profiles. She dismissed two more candidates, one for his fake beard, the other for being a smidge too fat. What good was a Santa who was too fat for kids sit on his lap?

When Chloe looked up again, Ryan was on the breakaway. “Take the shot!” she yelled, shoving her computer aside and climbing to her knees. She leaned toward the television, holding her breath and willing the puck to find the net. Ryan’s stick came back, and he fired.

The shot was wide.

Sonofabitch
!

Chloe slumped on the couch, wrapped in the overstuffed cushions. Well, that sucked.

Ryan slashed the ice with his stick before returning to the bench. The camera followed him, zooming in when he rubbed his calf. Was his leg bothering him? The freaking announcers seemed to think so. Idiots. What the hell did they know? So he wasn’t on his game tonight. Maybe he was just having a bad night. It happened, didn’t it? Hopefully it wasn’t anything serious.

Ryan had been working so hard.

Maybe
too
hard.

No. That was bullshit. Kelsey was wrong. And so were all of the other assmonkeys who said he was washed-up. Ryan would fight for his career. She was sure of it. The look in his eye when he talked about hockey? How could anyone doubt it.

Chloe blew out a breath. Obsessing about Ryan wasn’t going to get the party planned. Besides, he was a big boy. A
really
big boy. He could take care of himself. She didn’t need to mother hen him. Nor did she want to.

Pulling the computer back into her lap, she scrolled through the Santa profiles with renewed focus. Why the hell were there so many anyway? The agency must have sent her every freaking Santa they’d ever employed. Perhaps she hadn’t been clear enough. She didn’t need a hundred Santa’s. She just need one really good one.

It took nearly an hour to narrow the list down, which probably had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes off the TV. Finally satisfied with her top three choices, she settled in to watch the last few minutes of the game.

The Rangers were losing two to one, but it wasn’t over yet. There were still six minutes of play. They could pull it out. Chloe chewed on her thumbnail, eyes glued to the screen as the Blueshirts moved the puck past the red line.

Jordy passed to Ryan. Before he could make a move, one of the Pens’ players slammed into him, checking him against the boards. Ryan took an elbow to the jaw, losing control of the puck. He came off the glass swinging.

Unable to believe her eyes, Chloe watched as Ryan grabbed the jersey of the other player and delivered a right hook to his face. She sat slack jawed as the two men traded blows. The refs circled, but kept their distance. Ryan throttled the other player, pummeling him with his fists. Blood ran down his face, staining his white and black jersey. Ryan wasn’t looking so hot either. His cheek was split and he was sure to end up with a massive bruise.

What. The. Fuck.

Ryan wasn’t a fighter. That was Bash’s job. He’d told her as much. So what the hell did he think he was he doing?

The ref steered him toward the penalty box, but Ryan shrugged the guy off. He skated right to the players’ tunnel and left the ice. Even with the heavy pads, it was clear his body was laced with tension, a live wire ready to short circuit at the smallest provocation.

Chloe cut her eyes to the clock in the upper right corner of the screen. Her gut clenched. Less than five minutes to go. Ryan wouldn’t be returning to the game. She grabbed the remote and punched the power button. There was nothing left to see. The game was over.

Pocketing her phone, she went to bed and stretched out on top of the fluffy comforter. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Ryan was probably feeling like shit. But what could she do about it? Unlike the puck bunnies she knew would be blowing up his Twitter feed offering solace, she was four hundred miles away.

F
uck it. Ryan pushed the call button on his phone and waited. He glanced at the clock. It was late. Maybe too late. The phone rang and Chloe answered on the second ring. Even though he was glad to hear her voice, he cursed himself for caving. He should’ve just downed some aspirin and gone the fuck to bed. It had been a shitty night and his leg was on fire.

“Hey,” she said, yawning into the phone.

Shit. He’d woken her up. “Hey,” he returned, feeling like the jackass she’d accused him of being so many times. Why had he called anyway?

“Tough night,” she said quietly. “How’s your leg?”

“My leg is fine.” He bristled, hating himself for being a defensive asshole. After all, he’d dialed her, and whether he liked it or not, it was a natural question to ask.

“Okay.” She sighed, sounding frustrated. “Then how’s your face?”

“I take it you saw the game?” he asked, ignoring her question. His face was also not fine and hurt like a motherfucker, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Not after he’d taken the first swing. It was just part of the game. Of course, Bash had ripped him a new one after the final buzzer, pointing out that Ryan should’ve left the fighting to him. He’d just been so damn angry. Still was. The game had been a fucking disaster. And if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d played like hell, he’d gone right ahead and added poor sportsmanship to the mix, drawing a major penalty over a clean hit. He shook his head in frustration. So much for being a leader when his team needed him most. The only thing he’d done tonight was let them down.

Again
.

“I saw the game,” Chloe finally admitted. There was a quiet rustling in the background, as if she was repositioning herself, confirming his earlier assumption that she was in bed. “I had it on while I was planning for the Garden of Dreams Christmas party.”

“I didn’t realize your agency was handling the party,” he said, surprised by the news. Based on last year’s event, it didn’t seem like a big enough deal for the advertising and marketing people to be have a hand in it.

“They’re not. I’m volunteering,” Chloe explained matter-of-factly. “Figured I might as well put my new pseudo-celebrity status to good use and see if I can get the organization some additional press before the end of the year. Which reminds me. When are you due back in town? I miss your dick something fierce.”

Grinning in spite of himself, Ryan laid back on the hotel bed, exhaustion taking over. “I’ve got Saturday off.”

“Saturday?” she repeated, sounding so disappointed he could easily picture her bottom lip jutting out in that pouty frown she used when things weren’t going her way.

“Princess, that’s less than two days from now.”

“Might as well be an eternity,” she grumbled. “I’m horny right-
freaking
-now.”

Ryan stretched his leg, flexing his ankle. A searing pain ripped through his calf, cutting off any further discussion of weekend plans. Moving the phone away from his head so Chloe wouldn’t hear, he sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with controlled measure like the therapist had taught him. Fucking A. There would probably be another visit to the doc in his future. Just what he didn’t need.

When the pain subsided, he brought the phone back to his ear. Chloe was still going strong, totally oblivious to his silence. His pride said he should be grateful she was unaware of the momentary weakness, so why was he suddenly so pissed off?

“You know what? Who says we have to wait for Saturday?” she asked, her words taking on a seductive edge. “Talk dirty to me, baby.”

Ryan gritted his teeth. Any other day, he would have jumped at the challenge. Hell, he’d have reveled in it, determined to make her come while he ordered her to finger that sweet little pussy and fulfill his every sinful suggestion. But for some reason, her request just didn’t sit right with him. Anger bubbled up from his gut. Did she think sex was all he was good for? That he was just some big, dumb fucking jock that could make her come and get her extra press for her work? If so, she didn’t know the first goddamned thing about him. Just like every other woman he’d been with.

“Come on, Ryan,” she purred. “I’m naked and alone in this big old bed. And my pussy is so damn wet for you. What are you going to do about it, baby?”

Spoiling for a fight and unable to stop himself, he blurted out the first ugly thing that came to mind. “You know there’s more to life than sex, right, Chloe? And more to me? Or am I just a neat little NHL notch on your bedpost?”

She gasped as though he’d slapped her.

Then the line went dead. A wave of molten lava rushed through his veins. He threw the damn phone across the room, not giving a shit when it cracked against the wall and clattered to the floor.

Fuck.

Ryan scrubbed hand over his face and groaned, the anger ebbing from his body. He’d been a real asshole, throwing the most prickish, demeaning thing he could think of at her. To hurt her. And for what? Because he was feeling like shit. Hurting her certainly hadn’t made him feel any better. If anything, he felt even smaller and less deserving than ever. What had he expected from her anyway? She wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t a thing. Hell, they barely even knew each other.