Slap Shot Read online

  Slap Shot

  Lily Harlem

  Book three in the Hot Ice series.

  They say a leopard can’t change its spots. They’re wrong, because I did! Now I’m successful and independent and busy heading up my own company. I don’t have time for the complication of a man in my bed—not yet. That plan is years down the line.

  Or so I thought. Because when a certain devastatingly sexy hockey captain sets his sights on me, my old impulsive self is determined to make up for two years of abstinence. I had to get sweaty, naked and dirty real quick. Heck to the consequences, regardless of the outcome. It’s all about immediate pleasure and intense satisfaction.

  Trouble is, best laid plans never run smoothly and before I know it, I’m working a pole again and running for my life. Just as well Rick “Ramrod” Lewis lives up to his reputation and his name—big, bad and fortunately playing to win!

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Slap Shot

  ISBN 9781419934612

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Slap Shot Copyright © 2011 Lily Harlem

  Edited by Jillian Bell

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication August 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Slap Shot

  Lily Harlem

  Dedication

  For Nic—with much appreciation for your endless support, professionalism and patience during the creating of Hot Ice.

  Chapter One

  “Is there an airport around here or is that my heart taking off?”

  I looked up, and up some more, searching for the face of the culprit who’d dished out possibly the cheesiest pick-up line ever. Seriously. Airport. Heart taking off?

  High above me, chestnut-colored eyes full of mirth topped with heavy black brows sparkled down. Despite myself I couldn’t help but smile back as his mouth stretched wide, revealing neat, white teeth and dimples that just didn’t belong on such a giant of a man.

  “I’ve got more if you like that one,” he offered, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting on the baked pathway that led to the church.

  I raised my brows in a “and you seriously think I want to hear them?” kind of a way and clutched my clipboard to my chest.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice deep and rasping. “How about, are you a parking ticket babe, ’cause you got ‘fine’ written all over you?”

  I groaned and glanced at the bride and groom who were still busy having their photographs taken. Despite the corny approach, the testosterone-overdosed guy looming at my side was hot, damn hot, hot enough to make a nun break her vow of celibacy. And I, for one, was no nun.

  He tipped his head to mine, his mouth only a whisper from my ear. The scent of citrus, honey and amber filled my nose, an aftershave so tantalizing and unique I couldn’t help but suck in a little more deeply than was required. He spoke again and his warm breath tickled my neck. “I wish you were a door, then I could bang you all night long.”

  “That’s truly terrible.” I shook my head and took a step away. “Don’t tell me it has ever actually got you anywhere.”

  “Once or twice.” He grinned. “I’m Rick by the way.” His huge palm cupped my elbow, preventing me from moving any farther. “Remember that, darlin’, ’cause you’ll be screaming it later.”

  I shifted my elbow from his grip. “I think we can safely say that is not going to happen.” My legs stayed firmly together these days. Gone was the old Dana who’d danced and played around, living life to the fullest, partying as though there was no tomorrow. The new Dana was work-focused, determined—a classy, independent woman.

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged and grinned. “My mouth gets carried away sometimes.”

  “Is that another line?”

  “No.” He laughed, rubbing his fingers over the patch of dark hair beneath his full bottom lip. “But it could be.” He held out his hand. “Rick Lewis.”

  I placed my hand in his palm and colossal fingers wrapped around mine. “Nice to meet you, Rick.” I already knew who he was because it was my company, Best Laid Plans, that had been responsible for organizing Mae French and Charles “Wolf” Roberts’ wedding. For weeks I’d been scanning lists of the guests, checking and double-checking invitations and place settings, hotel rooms and personal favors. The sheer volume of famous names from both the world of the NHL and the music industry had required extra security measures. No one wanted the picture-hungry paparazzi or overzealous fans intruding on the big day. The local police had even insisted on checking over security arrangements, something they’d never done before.

  “So now you’re at a distinct advantage,” he said, sliding Ray-Bans down from carefully tousled black hair and settling them over his eyes. “You know who I am but I have no idea who you are.”

  “Dana Wilcox, and I’m sorry but you’ll have to excuse me, I have work to do.” I glanced at my clipboard.

  “Work?”

  “Yes, I’m the event organizer.”

  “Ah, then you’ll be at the reception?”

  “Of course.” And the sooner we got there the better. The Florida humidity was killer today.

  “Good, that means you’ll dance with me later then, Miss Dana Wilcox, event organizer.”

  “I very much doubt it.”

  He smiled again with a mixture of cockiness and challenge. “Wanna bet?”

  “If I was a gambling woman then yes, I would bet.” I spun on my heels and strutted away. Although my final words had been cool, I couldn’t ignore the heat of Rick “Ramrod” Lewis’ gaze on my butt. It was like a hot caress, licks of flame curling over my tight pencil skirt and down my calves to my towering, fire-engine-red heels.

  As I stepped toward the photographer’s assistant, a shiver of appreciation for the sexy hockey player who’d asked me for a dance snaked up my spine. My walk turned a little more sensual, a little more provocative—my hips rolling just a fraction more than they needed to.

  I would have to make a point of avoiding Rick Lewis later. Despite his cheesy pick-up lines, he was dangerous. A man who could make my flesh sizzle with just a few words and a cheeky gaze was definitely not good for continuing my two years of sexual abstinence.

  The reception ran like clockwork. Country-and-western star Mae was stunning in a voluminous ball-gown-style wedding dress, which
suited the fairytale hotel she’d invited her two hundred guests to. She was aglow with happiness and the smile never once left her face. Not even when the best man made a comment about Wolf’s past conquests and the top tier of the chocolate cake wobbled dangerously when a child dressed as one of the seven dwarves charged into it. Dopey, I think.

  I stared out the floor-to-ceiling window. Dusk was rapidly turning to night. I was relieved to see that the herd of unicorns grazing on the lawn had all managed to keep their horns attached. It had taken a considerable number of calls to get eight white Andalusians transported in and even more anxious calls from my assistant, Maddie, trying to get long, silver polystyrene horns made for their white head collars. The men on stilts juggling fire at the drawbridge entrance had been easier to organize but the glass pumpkin-shaped carriage had been considerably trickier.

  Still, I couldn’t complain. Best Laid Plans was being paid handsomely for the event, and in turn so was I. Soon I would own my house outright, something I never thought would happen in my life. Just went to show that, along with a ton of hard work, planning parties for the rich and famous could be very lucrative.

  I still surprised myself sometimes when I sat back and looked at what I’d achieved. I’d grown up with a drunken father and a mother who liked a few hits of dope by three in the afternoon, every afternoon. As soon as I could, I’d left home, got an honest job for all of three weeks, then, just when my only option was sleeping rough, I was offered more money per hour dancing than I could earn in a week at the mall. I knew it wasn’t what I would do forever, but it had paid my way and given me something to focus on.

  Trouble was, I’d become more and more entrenched in the seedy nocturnal world. To my horror, each day I was becoming more and more like my parents—until, that is, my wake-up call. A wake-up call that had been swift and final and changed my life.

  My thoughts came back to the wedding and right on time the music switched from one of Mae’s rockier hit records to one of her slow ballads. In a deep, bellowing voice, the DJ announced the first dance.

  I moved to the end of the long mahogany bar draped with orange and cream flowers and found a spot tucked out of the way of guests.

  “Here,” Jay, the head barman said. “You look like you could use a drink.” He slid a tall glass my way, the orange contents fizzing invitingly.

  “Thanks,” I said, perching on a stool and sipping the wonderfully peachy concoction.

  “It’s a Fizzy Fuzzy Navel.” He grinned, spinning an empty glass into the air and catching it behind his back. “If you like it I’ll make you a hairy one later.”

  I laughed and turned to watch Mae and Wolf take to the flickering shadows of the dance floor. Jay had been easy to work with during the planning of the wedding. He was flirty and full of laughs but he was way too young. If I’d been on the lookout for a man in my life that was, which I definitely wasn’t. That plan was several years away, and even then he would have to be Mr. Absolutely Spot-on Perfect.

  A movement in the shadows of the curtains caught my eye. Out of the fading light stepped the captain of the Orlando Vipers.

  I snatched in my breath and wondered how long he’d been standing there, so very near to where I’d been staring out at the grounds. Close—but silent.

  He banged his bottle of beer on the bar next to my Fizzy Fuzzy Navel. “Hi, Dana,” he said, his wide shoulders and considerable height looming at my side.

  “What, no cheesy pick-up line this time?” I asked, hooking my left heel on the brass rung at the base of my barstool and crossing my legs.

  His eyes swept over me for the briefest of moments. “I’ve exhausted all my best lines on you and they didn’t get me anywhere.” He shrugged and one side of his mouth tugged upward. “I give up.”

  “Really, that easily? I don’t believe it.”

  His eyes narrowed and small creases shot toward his temples. “Nah, just lulling you into a false sense of security.”

  “Oh, I see.” I took another sip of my drink. “And what if I told you I’m just not interested, no matter what line you use.”

  “You’re not interested in men?” He shoved his hip against the bar and folded his arms. “You don’t strike me as a girl’s girl.”

  That wasn’t what I’d meant, I liked men plenty. Cock over pussy every time, when I wasn’t celibate that was. But I didn’t tell him that. Instead I tipped my head, lifted my brows and waited for him to go on.

  “A beautiful woman like you,” he said. “It would be a crime to mankind if you didn’t share your elegant…” He paused and scanned my body again, from the toes of my pointed high heels right back to my chest, covered demurely in a cream silk blouse with the tiniest red polka dots. “It would be a crime if you didn’t share your delectable body with an appreciative, willing, experienced man.”

  “Then you’re only interested in me for my body?”

  “Hell, no.” His mouth stretched into an infectious grin. “Well, maybe there’s a little bit of interest from certain parts of my anatomy.”

  I smiled back up at him, it was impossible not to, and wondered why my heart was hammering in my chest. Why my breathing was quick and shallow. His delicious thick scent enveloped me again and the music had dulled into the background. “Thanks for your honesty,” I managed, my fingers tightening on my glass. “It’s a refreshing change.”

  “I’m an honest guy.” He tugged his bottom lip with his teeth, stretching the small soul patch in the cleft of his chin.

  I sipped my drink and tried to play it cool. I’d been right to be cautious earlier, Rick was a dangerous guy for the new Dana. Old Dana would have dragged him into the nearest closet and banged him senseless—he was definitely old Dana’s type. Tall, dark and devastatingly handsome, with chiseled cheekbones and a soft, sensuous mouth. Not to mention the sin smoldering in his brown eyes—bad, greedy, but oh, such delicious sin. Yes, he was definitely someone to avoid if I was going to stick to my life plan.

  “If you don’t believe I’m an honest guy then get to know me,” he said with a shrug. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Sorry, no can do.” I resisted adding because there was no way I would give old Dana a chance at him. It would get messy, dirty, sweaty and naked real quick.

  “Then lunch, or a coffee. A movie maybe, I bet you like the movies.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not you. I’m just not dating at the moment.”

  “Why, you had a recent breakup?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He shrugged and raised his beer to his lips. “Guy is either a complete jerk or drowning his sorrows somewhere because he knows he’ll never have a stunner like you again.” He shook his head. “Poor sucker, if he wasn’t competition I’d almost feel sorry for him.”

  “No breakup,” I said, draining my glass. “I’m just busy with my work. It takes up all my time.”

  “So I shouldn’t be hugely affronted at the rejection?”

  “No, definitely not, and I’m sure there are plenty of women who would bite your hand off for a date.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but the trouble is the only woman I want to bite me is you.”

  I swept my tongue over my bottom lip. The thought of tasting him, biting him, was just too damn powerful to ignore. I dragged in a breath and braced my shoulders. Set my face to business mode. “It was nice chatting but please excuse me, I have final details of the evening to sort out.” I reached over the bar and grabbed my clipboard, all the time aware of his gaze drinking up my every move. It was as though he was a starving man feasting on my curves. In normal circumstances it would have been irritating but there was something about him, despite his terrible pick-up lines, that appealed to a very base, very carnal level of my soul.

  “Don’t forget the Cristal, Jay,” I reminded the barman as he glanced my way. “In ten minutes, to go with the fireworks out front.”

  “Already on the case, boss,” he said with a grin and a wink. He flip
ped the lid off a bottle of beer and handed it to a hulking blond guy who nodded in Rick’s direction.

  “I’ll see you later then, for that dance,” Rick said, turning back to me after acknowledging the nod.

  I stood and my eye line came level with the cream flower in his lapel. “I’m afraid I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  “Ah.” His face lit. “So you do admit it would be pleasurable to dance with me?”

  I looked up. His eyes glinted like great vats of thick chocolate. He was too tempting and too damn sharp by far and that damn Fuzzy Navel had messed with my cool, calm, collected thought processes.

  I had to get out of there.

  “Dancing is pleasurable, yes,” I said, moving away. “Though whether or not it would be pleasurable with you I will never know. Good night, Mr. Lewis.” I stepped from the bar, needing space and air. Wound through guests watching the newlyweds dance and made it out into the starkly lit, cool corridors of the hotel.

  Ducking into the kitchen, I confirmed that the evening buffet was set to go after the fireworks then headed to the small office the hotel had loaned me for the weekend. I clicked on a table lamp and the windowless room filled with a soft glow. I tapped my long red fingernails on my laptop and hit start. As it whirred to life I spoke to the fireworks guy who assured me they were minutes away from go, then I confirmed with the head stablehand that all the horses had been safely put away for the night.

  A knock on the door snapped my attention from my clipboard. “Come in,” I called, wondering who it could be. Everyone who knew I had this tiny office was busy carrying out my instructions.

  The door swung open.

  My heart stuttered.

  Filling the frame was an enormous silhouette that could only belong to one guy at the wedding.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, flipping shut my mobile and straightening.

  “I thought I’d give you my number, in case you change your mind about the dating thing,” Rick said, his deep, gritty voice echoing around the quiet office.

  “You followed me?”

  “I went to the restroom and spotted you heading this way on those sinfully sexy shoes you’re wearing.” He paused. “I guess I was hypnotized, it was like a scene from the Pied Piper. I had to follow you.”