With what? Meeting with the lover she’d been talking to the day of Virgil’s funeral? Is that what she’d meant by a
rough day
?
“We think this will pack the seats with fans,” Tim continued. “We’re all aware the ticket sales have not yet reached the pre-lockout numbers. If fans think there might be some friction between the team’s captain and the female owner, they might turn out to see it for themselves.”
Bo what’s-her-name added, “We think it’s a good angle. Sexy, and as everyone knows, sex and controversy sells.”
Ty sat back in his chair and frowned. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. What were they planning on doing? Sexing up Mrs. Duffy? She didn’t need any more help. Or him? A T-shirt and jeans were as sexy as he got. He just wasn’t a hair-gel-wearing, blinging kind of guy.
“I think it’s a good idea.” The king of gel and bling, Jules Garcia, pointed to one of the boards with the caption “Beauty and the Savage Beast.” “I like the idea of Faith wearing Ty’s jersey, while he’s bare chested.”
Ty frowned. The guys would never let him live that down. “Forget it. I’m not going to be some ‘Savage Beast.’”
“I believe it’s some Sah-vahge Beast,” the drunk woman across the table pronounced dramatically.
Ty’s gaze moved from Tim to Mrs. Duffy. “That’s right, Miss July.”
She twisted the pearls around one long finger and Ty’s traitorous brain flashed on the picture of her naked with a string of pearls looped around one of her breasts. “Perhaps the reporters saw something that I didn’t.
Do
you have a problem with me, Mr. Savage?”
Other than she didn’t know the difference be
tween a defenseman and a forward, and the press tripped all over themselves to get to her? Other than he’d seen her naked peach and couldn’t get it out of his head? “No. No problem.”
“Excellent.” She smiled as her finger continued to twist those damn pearls, her red nails a bright contrast against all that beige.
“This is all very preliminary,” Tim assured him. “We want you to feel comfortable.”
That wasn’t going to happen. “Well Tim, I’m just never going to feel comfortable being some savage beast in a pair of hockey shorts.”
“Would you feel more comfortable if you were a savage beast in a loincloth?” One corner of Faith’s mouth tilted up higher than the other, and he was sure she was just trying to piss him off.
“Christ.” Ty stood and moved toward the door. “Find some other asshole.”
“She was kidding. I think.” Tim looked at Faith. “Weren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“We can come up with something you like better,” the PR manager said in a rush. “We really feel this will boost sales!”
Kidding or not, appearing on a billboard half naked wasn’t his style. His style was playing hard and putting points on the board. He reached for the doorknob. “Forget it.”
“Baby.”
There was a collective gasp as he stopped and turned slowly around. “What did you say?”
Jules leaned over and spoke in her ear. She shook her head and said, “I don’t particularly like the idea of creating friction to sell tickets, but you don’t see me whining and storming out like a baby.”
That was probably because she didn’t have to take off her shirt. Although it certainly wouldn’t have been her first time. “Let me make a few things really clear for you, Mrs. Duffy. First, I’m not a baby and I never whine.” Not even when he fractured bones or pulled tendons. Hell, he’d finished a game against the Rangers with a broken foot. “Second, I play hockey. That’s what you pay me to do. Nowhere in my contract does it stipulate that I have to appear shirtless on billboards and the sides of buses.”
“If you don’t want to take your shirt off, I think that’s fine.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Some people aren’t comfortable with their own sexuality. I understand, but the least you could do is listen to Tim and Bo. They’ve obviously put a lot of work into this, and in such a short time, too.” She turned her attention to the PR director and his assistant. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Mr. Savage is just being unreasonable,” she added.
Comfortable with his sexuality? Did she just call him gay?
“Ten minutes,” Tim assured him. “Give us ten minutes to change your mind.”
To prove her wrong, and that he wasn’t
completely
unreasonable, he moved back to his chair and sat. “Ten minutes.” They could talk until they dropped dead from exhaustion, but they weren’t going to change his mind.
T
ilt your chin down just a little, Faith, and look right here.” Faith dipped her chin and raised her gaze to the photographer’s hand a few inches above his head. “Keep your eyes on me, Ty,” he added.
Inside the players’ lounge, Faith stood in the center of the big Chinooks logo and slightly behind the captain of her hockey team. Almost a week had past since she and Ty had sat in the PR meeting. Four days since the Chinooks had beaten Vancouver in game six and advanced to the next round in the playoffs.
It was after 7
P.M
., long after the rest of the team had gone home for the day. The lounge had been stripped of furnishings and filled with camera
equipment. Faith’s mother made herself useful by holding up a white light reflector. For once, Faith had been able to persuade her mother to leave her dog at home. Although she did fear that Pebbles might retaliate by chewing up the furniture.
“A little more to the right, Faith.”
For the shoot, she wore a tight black pencil skirt, black silk Georgette blouse with a black camisole, and a pair of red crocodile pumps. It had been a while since she’d stepped out of the shadows and into the spotlight. She felt a bit out of practice. It had been a while since she’d had her hair and makeup professionally done, and she felt a bit overdone. Everything from the arch of her brow to her red lips was perfect. In fact, everything in the room was perfect, from the lighting to the photographer. Everything except the 240 pounds of unhappy man standing directly in front of her. Heat and displeasure rolled off Ty in waves. His arms were folded across his chest; a posture she’d seen him take in the past when he was less than pleased about something. Today that something was getting his picture taken with her.
He wore a plain T-shirt that matched the darker blue of his eyes and a pair of worn Levi’s. He hadn’t allowed them to put makeup on his face or even a little gel in his hair. He was being a complete pain in the ass, but by contrast, he smelled wonderful, like soap and skin, and Faith had an
odd little urge to lean forward a bit and smell his shirt or the side of his neck.
The photographer snapped the picture. “Put your hand on his shoulder,” he said and adjusted the lens. “Valerie, tilt that up a little. That’s it.”
Other than the occasional handshake, Faith hadn’t touched another man since she’d agreed to marry Virgil. She lightly rested her hand on Ty’s shoulder. The warmth of his hard muscles heated her palm through the soft blue cotton, and for the first time in a very long time, she became acutely aware that she was a woman standing very close to a man. A young, healthy man. Not that she hadn’t noticed before. It was impossible not to notice a man like Ty, but she’d never thought of him as anything more than the surly captain of the Chinooks.
“Slide your fingers forward. I want to see your red nails against the blue of his shirt.” She slid her hand over his shoulder and spread her fingers a bit. “Yeah. Like that.”
Click. Click.
She dropped her hand but could still feel the heat of him in the center of her palm. She hadn’t felt anything the least bit sexual for a man in a long time. She paid Ty’s salary. He didn’t even like her. So why did her stomach suddenly feel light, like she’d swallowed too much air?
“You doing okay, Ty?” Tim asked.
“Are we about done?”
“We just got started.”
“Shit.”
The photographer lowered his camera. “Faith, if you could just come out in front a bit.”
Faith happily moved so that Ty stood just behind her left shoulder. She took a deep breath and cleared her head of all the hot pheromones he’d been throwing off like a tantalizing mirage.
“Spread your feet a little and put your hands on your hips.” He raised the camera. “And Ty, just keep looking belligerent.”
“I’m not belligerent.”
“Yeah. Perfect.”
Click.
Faith laughed and glanced over her shoulder and up into his face and the furrow between his dark brows. “If you’re not being belligerent, then I’d hate to see you when you’re downright hostile.”
He lowered his blue-on-blue gaze to hers. “I’m never hostile.”
She thought of the last game against Vancouver and chuckled. He’d body-slammed a Canuck into the boards and jabbed him with his elbow. “You’re just a sweetheart.”
One corner of his mouth turned up and the feeling in her stomach got a little lighter. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, Mrs. Duffy.”
“Faith. You can call me Faith.”
His smile fell and he returned his gaze to the photographer. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Perfect.”
Click. Click
. “Let’s move into the locker room.”
“Faith, I have a change of clothes for you in the trainers’ room,” Bo Nelson said. “We want you in your home uniform, Ty.”
As Faith watched Ty leave the room, she wondered why he thought calling her by her given name was a bad idea. She and her mother followed the assistant PR director across the lounge and shut the door behind them. He probably just wanted to stay on professional terms. Which was always best, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t called Virgil “Mr. Duffy” all the time.
A rack of clothes took up the middle of the room. She looked them over and wondered why using her name wasn’t the same as calling Virgil by his given name. Had she crossed some line she didn’t know about?
“How do you feel?” Bo asked as she straightened the shoes. “Like your face might crack from smiling?”
Faith pulled out a black sheath, then put it back. “Being in front of the camera felt a little awkward at first, but I’m getting the hang of it again.”
Her mother pulled a hot-pink Betsey Johnson baby doll dress off the rack. “Try this one.”
Faith shook her head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate for the owner of a hockey team.”
“We thought this.” Bo pulled a vibrant red dress with a scoop neckline and full silk skirt. It was sleeveless, and except for the silver metallic leather belt, it looked like something from the fifties.
“It’s very bright.”
“The colors will look great on you.”
She hadn’t worn that color red since she’d married Virgil. “Who picked these out?” she asked the woman, whose auburn hair was pulled back in a stumpy ponytail.
“Jules worked with a stylist, and they chose that one because it will accent the red in Ty’s home uniform.”
Jules?
She knew he’d been busy consulting with the PR department, but she’d had no idea he’d helped choose outfits. Despite his unfortunate love of pastels and his ripped muscles, she’d never really gotten the gay vibe from him, but again she had to wonder.
“I’d wondered if he was gay,” Valerie said.
“Me too,” Bo added as she looked through the rack. “He’s very pretty.”
Faith kicked off her pumps as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Being pretty or not is no indication that a man is gay.” One of the gay bouncers at Aphrodite had looked like a rode-hard biker.
“Not always.” Bo took the black blouse from
Faith. “Ty Savage is a pretty boy, but you’d never even think to question what he prefers.”
“Or his father.”
Faith looked from her pants zipper to her mother. “You know his father?”
“I met him the other night after the game.”
“You never mentioned it.”
Valerie shrugged. “I wasn’t impressed.”
Which probably meant he hadn’t asked her out. With Bo’s help, she pulled the dress over her head and her mother zipped it up in back. It showed a little more cleavage than she was used to, and the hem rested an inch above her knee.
“I
love
these.” Bo handed her a pair of Versace mirror leather sandals with four-inch stiletto heels.
Faith sighed. “Come to Mama.” She slid her feet inside and buckled the straps around her ankles. A full-length mirror stood a few feet away and she posed in front of it, adjusted her breasts within the tight bodice, then buckled the belt around her waist.
“It’s perfect,” Bo told her.
“I look like an ad from the fifties. Like I should have a martini in one hand, waiting for my husband as he walks through the door.”
“A little
Leave It to Beaver
,” Bo agreed. “June with more cleavage. I think you look sophisticated and fun.”
“How about these?” Valerie held up a pair of onyx chandelier earrings.
“I like the ones I’m wearing,” she said as someone retouched her hair and makeup. For her twenty-ninth birthday, Virgil had given her three-carat-diamond stud earrings that she loved for their clarity and class. She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. It was a bit shocking to see herself in such a bright color again. She wasn’t sure when she’d given up wearing colors. If it had been her idea or Virgil’s. Not that it mattered, she decided, as she left the trainers’ room and moved through the now empty players’ lounge.
Ty was sitting on a bench in front of an open locker filled with hockey sticks while the photographer and his assistant checked the lighting around him. His helmet and street clothes hung on hooks inside the locker, and his name was on a blue-and-red plaque above his head. Except for the helmet, he was dressed in full gear.
Faith had never been in the locker room before, and it smelled a little funky. Like leather and sweat and chemical cleaners. Each open locker was filled with hockey gear and had a plaque with each player’s name above it.
Ty looked up as she approached. “I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes.”
Lord, what a grouch.
“It doesn’t take as long
when you refuse to let anyone brush your hair,” she told him.
“I can brush it myself.” To prove his point, he ran his fingers through his hair, but one dark lock sprang forward and fell across his brow.
Before she gave it a thought, Faith raised her hand and pushed it back into place. The fine strands curled over her fingers and the heel of her palm brushed his warm temple. His gaze locked with hers and something flashed behind his eyes. Something hot and needy that turned the lighter color in his eyes a dark sensual blue. It had been a while, but she recognized the heat in his eyes. Her lips parted in alarm and confusion. She dropped her hand to the flutter in her stomach.
“You two ready?” the photographer asked.
Ty pulled his gaze away and looked beyond her. “Let’s get this over with. I have an early-morning practice and a game to win against San Jose tomorrow night.” He glanced back up at Faith and his gaze was clear. “That’s what you pay me for.”
“Yes,” she uttered, and wondered if she’d imagined the hot interest in his eyes.
“How’s it going?” Jules asked as he walked into the locker room.
Faith licked her lips and smiled at her assistant. “I’m doing great,” she assured him and pushed her confusion about what had just happened to the back of her mind. “I was a little rusty at first,
but it’s coming back to me. Kind of like riding a bike.”
Jules looked her up and down with a critical eye. “Well, you look great.”
“Thanks. So do you.” Or at least she tried to push it to the back of her mind. With Ty sitting a foot away, it was impossible. “I like your sweater,” she added, reaching out to touch the arm of the gray cable-knit cardigan. “Nice color.” Subtle. “Cashmere?”
“Cashmere-silk blend.”
“Jesus,” Ty swore. “Are you two girls finished? I’d like to get out of here sometime tonight.”
“What’s wrong with
him
?” Jules gestured to Ty with his thumb. “Still pissed off about screwing the pooch in Game Five against Vancouver?”
Ty looked at the assistant as if he was going to kill him with his big hands.
Faith’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Don’t poke the bear, Jules.”
Jules laughed. “Listen, the reason I’m here is because I just got off the phone with an editor from
Sports Illustrated
. They want to interview you.”
The last time she’d appeared in a magazine, she’d been naked and the questions had been easy. The thought of appearing in
Sports Illustrated
and being asked hard questions that she couldn’t answer made her want to run and hide. Making uninformed blunders to a room of staff and man
agement was embarrassing enough. The last thing she wanted was to appear ignorant to the world.
“The PR department wants you to do it, but I think you should hold off until you’re more comfortable speaking publicly about the team,” Jules suggested, and she could have kissed him.
“Thanks, and you’re right. I’m not ready.”
“We’re about set,” the photographer announced as he handed Valerie the light reflector. “Faith, I need you to stand right in front of Ty. Maybe put your foot on the bench.”
She glanced at Ty’s big legs covered in his blue-and-green hockey shorts. Long white socks covered his thick shin and knee pads. The tops were taped around his thighs. “Where on the bench?”
“Between Ty’s thighs.”
She looked down into his narrowed gaze and expected him to raise a loud objection and swear until everyone’s ears bled. Instead he said, “Mind your foot, eh? I’m not wearing a cup.”
Carefully, she planted the sole of her Versace sandal on the bench between his widely spread thighs. She purposely stared into his face to keep from lowering her gaze to his crotch. She didn’t even want to think about the close proximity of his package to her toes. Of course, trying not to think about it only made her think about it all the more. “Don’t make me jumpy, and I won’t hurt you,” she said through a nervous laugh.
“Don’t get jumpy and
I
won’t hurt
you
. I’m going to need that equipment later.”
She turned her face toward the photographer and curved her lips into a smile. She might be a little rusty, but she knew how to pose for a photo without showing her true emotion. “So that’s why you’re in a hurry to leave. Not because you have an early flight.”
The photographer snapped a few pictures. “Faith, turn your right shoulder slightly toward me. That’s it.”
As she smiled for the camera, she asked, “Got a hot date?” and gave the photographer a slightly different angle of her face.
“Something like that.”
“Wife?”