Cross-Checked Page 2

  I sighed, took a sip of water and pushed Tim from my mind; thought about my exchange with Brick instead. The guy was as seriously hot close up as he was on TV and my body was still buzzing from being pressed up against his. It hadn’t gone quite to plan, landing in his arms within seconds of meeting had thrown me considerably off balance. But it was okay because I would see him again next week when the promotion for the song went into overdrive and I could hardly wait to indulge in some serious flirting.

  The car drew up and I reached for the door.

  Suddenly a big hand engulfed my wrist.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “What?” I turned sharply and came face to chest with Brick.

  “I’ll take you home.” He grinned. “I’m going that way.”

  “But you don’t even know where I live.” I tugged my wrist from his grip even though having him touch me sent waves of delight over my skin.

  He shrugged. “Wherever you live, I was going that way.”

  I took a step back and surveyed him. Unlike me he’d changed and now wore low-slung, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt with a small logo of a hockey stick on the right side of his broad chest. Now that his helmet was off, I could see he’d cut his blond hair short too, much shorter. Last time I’d seen him being interviewed on TV before a game it had been curling around his ears and neck. Now it was cropped close to his head, no more than half an inch all over. It suited him, made him look even more handsome, if that were possible.

  “Hey, miss, you want this ride or not?”

  I turned to the red-faced driver whose stomach grazed the base of his steering wheel.

  “I, er…” So much for being cool when Brick was around.

  “I haven’t got all freakin’ day.” The driver frowned at me. “Hurry up, I got two more fares waiting.”

  “I’m sorry, I…please, wait one second.”

  The driver let out a string of colorful expletives.

  Brick stepped to the curb, rested his hands on the roof of the car and ducked to the window. “She doesn’t need the ride,” he said, “but before you go you can apologize to the lady.”

  I strained to see around Brick’s shoulders and could just make out the driver’s wide eyes.

  “What for?” the driver asked, a tone of uncertainty lacing his voice.

  “She doesn’t want to listen to your foul language. This woman, this athlete you’ve just insulted has won medals for this country. What have you ever done, eh?” Brick stepped sideways but kept his big fists on the roof of the car. “Apologize,” he said in a voice that dared the driver to disobey him. “Like you mean it.”

  The driver tipped his head and caught my eye. “Sorry, miss,” he said with a shrug and a tight swallow.

  “It’s okay.” I took another sip of my water. Tried to look as though having a burly bit of muscle follow me around and defend my sensitive disposition was normal routine.

  Brick banged the top of the car. “Get outta here.”

  The car pulled off with a squeal.

  “Er, thanks. I think.” I looked up at Brick. “Except actually I really was going to need that ride home.”

  “Well, he’s gone now.” Brick stepped up to me and once again his delicious spiced aftershave invaded my nostrils. “Sorry, but I can’t bear bad language around women. The air is thick on the ice, but Phoenix beat me out of the habit of using it in female company.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s like smokers who give up. Once you stop you don’t like other people doing it around you.”

  “But you still curse on the ice?”

  “Yeah, ’cause they’re all a bunch of dodos who can hardly hear a thing through their cauliflower ears. It’s the language they speak and understand.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t get anywhere if I didn’t join in.”

  I tossed my empty water bottle into a nearby bin—perfect shot—put my hands on my bare waist and cocked my hip. “So,” I glanced up and down the street, “since I don’t have my car or my bike, I guess you’ll have to take me home.” I frowned and received a triumphant grin in return.

  “Yeah, you can ride on my bike.” He spun and pointed to the parking lot at the side of the studio. Standing in the shade was an enormous, bright-orange Kawasaki with “Ninja” written in swirling black letters down the side.

  “You want to take me home on that?” I’d promised my parents years ago never to go on the back of a motorcycle. I could still hear my father’s stern voice in my ear, warning me of the perils of boys with bikes.

  Brick smiled. “Sure, honey. You’ll love it.”

  I stared at the enormous monster of a machine. Huge wheels, shiny and silver, a long, wide, black leather seat, and handlebars so wide and thick that I couldn’t imagine my hands would reach between them. And the exhaust at the back, it was more like an oil-well pipe it was so wide and black with soot.

  “Hey, don’t look so worried.” Brick drew his dark blond brows together. “I’ll look after you.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just…”

  “It’s just you’re scared.”

  “I am not!”

  He mimicked my stance and placed his hands on his hips. My gaze was drawn to the faded creases of denim covering his groin. “So come on then, if you’re not scared what are you waiting for?”

  “Nothing.” I looked him straight in the eye. “We should go. I have things to do today.”

  He grinned and dug out a set of keys from his pocket. My gaze slipped again and I watched as his wristwatch tugged on the bottom of his t-shirt. I caught a tantalizing glimpse of hard, flat abdomen coated in light brown hairs. Was this really happening? Was I really about to get on a motorcycle with the hot guy I’d all but collated a scrapbook on? My mouth dried and my heart rate kicked up to top gear. I had to play it cool. I couldn’t let him know I was desperate for him. Dying to get my hands on him. As long as I stayed a challenge, an unknown entity, I would have a chance at getting to know him.

  Chapter Two

  After unlocking and handing me his black helmet, Brick straddled the bike and revved the engine to life. “Hop on,” he shouted over the roar.

  I silenced my father’s cautioning voice, slid the heavy protection over my head and threw my leg over the back of the bike. Instantly my pelvis slipped forward on the leather toward Brick’s delectable butt. A throb of excitement pulsed through my body. It had nothing to do with the powerful engine rumbling between my legs and everything to do with the hot man I’d just settled my legs around.

  The bike suddenly jerked forward and I let out a squeak of surprise.

  “Hang on to me,” Brick ordered over his shoulder.

  Hastily I fastened my arms around his waist and linked my fingers just above the waistband of his jeans. He tipped forward as we zipped across the parking lot and I leaned with him, my breasts pressing against his spine. My body slotted against his wide back. We were like two parts of a jigsaw puzzle coming together.

  “You okay?” he asked, thumping down a foot to balance the bike as he paused at the parking lot exit and looked left and right.

  “Yeah, great.” Despite my anxiety, I couldn’t ignore the feel of his soft cotton t-shirt on my bare midriff. I couldn’t ignore the taut muscles of his stomach beneath my hands. And there was no way in hell I could ignore the lust screaming through my body.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “Head toward Richmond Hill. I’ll show you from there.”

  He twisted his wrist, the bike let out a roar, and we sped onto the street considerably faster than was legal. I spent more time on a bike than off, but this was amazing. This was different. This was so powerful. My legs gripped the seat, the wind buffeted my body and heat from the man I gripped poured into me like molten lava.

  Shops and houses flew past, streaks of color in my peripheral vision. Brick weaved between cars and buses. He overtook a truck and sped through the lights as they switched. His t-shirt flapped around his hard torso though his hair was too short to move. I glan
ced up at his profile as he scanned the road. His jaw was set tight in concentration. I’d seen that look before when I’d watched him on the ice. It did strange things to my hormones.

  Eventually we came to Richmond Hill and I pointed the way down the next few streets as he rolled along gently. When we reached my condo I called into his ear, “This one, we’re here.”

  The bike came to a stop and the monster of an engine silenced. He banged down his feet and straightened his back.

  “Carly,” he said, his voice sounding quiet after the roar of the wind and the engine in my ears.

  “Yeah?”

  “You can let go of me now, honey.”

  “Oh…oh of course.” I released my hands, quickly got off the bike and handed him the helmet. Instantly my body felt cool despite the relentless heat. Not being pressed against his hot torso felt wrong. As if I was missing something I needed.

  “Did you enjoy that?” he asked, still straddling his bike and shoving a hand over his hair.

  I grinned. “Yeah, it was great. Bit faster than mine.” “Yeah, this is a bit more expensive than your bike too.”

  “You reckon?” My bike had been custom made. Its total value was probably worth more than the average family home. All thanks to sponsorship of course.

  He tipped his head. “Mm, I guess maybe not if you’re as fussy as I am about the equipment you use.”

  “Oh I’m fussy all right.” I glanced at my second-floor condo with its small balcony overlooking the tree-lined avenue. Inside it was like a show home. Not a thing out of place and all sparkling clean. Just how I liked it, nice and ordered. It made me feel in control. I was tempted to invite him up but I knew it was too soon.

  “Are you hard to please too?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

  “Depends what you’re talking about.” I tried and failed to resist a smile because I had a feeling Brick would find me incredibly easy to please in certain departments. Shockingly so. The touch of a finger, the flick of a tongue…

  His mind was clearly wandering down the same route as mine. His gaze slipped from the hollow of my throat to my chest—nipples still erect—to the spot he’d stroked earlier at the top of my stomach. He carried on over my tight Lycra shorts and down my suntanned legs. When he reached my sneakers, he raised his gaze until he was looking at my face again. For the second time that day, he made me feel completely naked even though I was clothed.

  “What about food?” His voice was husky as his gaze finally reconnected with mine.

  I cocked my head and tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth. “Go on.”

  “Are you easy to please in the food department or do you follow some weird training diet?”

  “No weird diet.” I hardly dared to hope where the conversation might be leading.

  “Good, then you’ll come for dinner with me tonight.” He gave a confident grin.

  “I can’t.” I shook my head. “I’m busy.”

  “Why?” His brow furrowed into three neat lines. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s another very personal question.”

  “I want us to be personal.” He shrugged. “Do you have a date tonight?”

  “I might.”

  “Cancel it. Come out with me, you’ll have more fun.”

  “You reckon?” I took a step away and threw him a challenging smile.

  “Yeah, I know you will. You know you will. Come on, Carly, come out with me tonight, not some loser who won’t know how to show you a good time.”

  “You’re so full of yourself.” I shook my head, smiling and reaching into my bag.

  “Yeah, but don’t you just wish you were full…” He paused and pressed his top teeth onto his bottom lip. A grin balled his cheeks.

  I snapped my head up. “Don’t I just wish I was full of what?” Surely he hadn’t been about to say what I thought. Something crude about wishing I was full of him? It was true, hell, I was aching for it. But he didn’t know that. I couldn’t let him know that.

  “Nothing,” he said through a broad grin. “How about tomorrow night then?”

  “No can do.” I pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down my mobile number.

  “So when?”

  “Lunch. I can do lunch tomorrow but not dinner.” Lunch was safe. Lunch would mean I wouldn’t be tempted with wine and wouldn’t go and forget my rules. The harsh light of day and the sobriety of lunch would keep me on track.

  He gave a shrug. “A late lunch could work. I’ll pick you up about three after I’ve finished practice.”

  I handed him the scrap of paper with my number. “Call me if you’re going to be late. I can’t bear hanging around waiting. You’ll blow your chance, forever.”

  He took the number, poked it into the front pocket of his jeans and slotted his helmet over his head. “I won’t be late,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “Forever is a long time.” The bike roared to life and gave a deep rumbling bellow as he twisted his wrist.

  Quickly I turned. I wanted him to watch me leave, not the other way ’round. I strutted up the path, hips rolling and shoulders back. My butt was great, so I’d been told. Taut and toned, pert and in perfect proportion. I definitely wanted Brick to get a good eyeful of it encased in tight black Lycra. It would even up the score.

  He must have had a good look because I was safely inside the building before the bike burst into action. I smiled and leaned against the wood. Today had gone even better than I’d dared hope.

  The cool air-conditioning blew down on my sun-hot shoulders and I relished the thought of a night alone with fantasies and my vibrator. Fantasies that I hoped would soon be realized.

  * * * * *

  Three o’clock precisely, I heard a bike rumble down the street. I ducked my head through the balcony doors and beat down a thrill at the sight of Brick rolling to a stop.

  I smoothed my t-shirt and pushed my hair behind my ears. Pressed my lightly glossed lips together and slipped into flat sandals. I’d made an effort, a huge effort. But I didn’t want it to look as though I had.

  I waved to show I’d seen him then scooted through the condo. Locked the door behind myself and paused in the corridor. I counted slowly to sixty, then hit the button on the elevator. I didn’t want to look too keen.

  “Hey, sexy,” he said as I sashayed up to him.

  “You surprise me,” I replied, tipping my brows.

  “What, ’cause I think you’re sexy?” His gaze roamed down my legs, which were encased in dark denim.

  “Oh no, I know I’m sexy.” I treated him to a dazzling smile. “The fact that you’re on time surprised me. I was expecting you to be late.”

  “Didn’t want to blow my chance,” he said, handing me a small black helmet and putting on his own. “Come on, let’s get going. I’m starved. Coach really put us through our paces getting ready for Saturday’s big game in Seattle.”

  I slipped onto the seat behind him and once again wrapped my arms around his body. Today he wore a black t-shirt with his distressed jeans. It was as soft against the inside of my arms as the one he’d worn yesterday.

  The bike pulled forward and I tightened my grip and leaned in closer. As I inhaled his freshly showered scent I studied the neat angle of blond hair behind his left ear. The skin there looked baby soft. Golden and delicate, a contrast to the rest of his big, strong body. My lips tingled with the thought of kissing that small patch of skin. Of tasting his flesh. Savoring his flavor.

  I forced myself to resist the urge.

  We hit the main road and I clung to him with my arms and legs, wondering if he was going fast to make me hold more firmly. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  He pulled to a stop outside a small, backstreet restaurant with “Ciao!” handwritten on a wooden board over the doorframe.

  “This is my favorite place to eat after practice,” he said, kicking down the bike stand.

  I released him and climbed off. “It looks…nice,” I said, studying the net curtains at the window a
nd the peeling paint on the gutters. Since NHL players earned megabucks, this seemed an odd choice of eating establishment.

  He locked our helmets to the bike and offered me the crook of his arm with a grin. I took it and he led me to the door. “It’s real nice,” he said. “And the best thing is there are never any photographers around.”

  “You mean like paparazzi?”

  “Yeah, they drive me nuts. Always trying to get a scoop on what I’m up to or who I’m dating.”

  “Like when you were seeing Mae French?”

  “Yeah.” He pushed the door open and a wonderful aroma of garlic and cheese, basil and oregano flooded out. “Like when I was seeing Mae French.”

  He settled his palm in the small of my back and urged me into the restaurant. It was no bigger than an average living room but had dozens of chairs and tables packed in. It was half full and the conversation created a gentle hum. Our arrival didn’t alter the flow. White-shirted waiters darted about with laden trays and a young girl with a shiny chestnut ponytail clutched a notepad to her blouse. She nodded profusely at an elderly couple and pointed at a chalkboard on the wall.

  “Oh Brick, Brick. I so glad you here today. I not seen you all week, my boy. I was worried. So worried.” A small woman with a bobbing gray bun and wearing an apron printed with the Italian flag rushed over. She slapped her hands on Brick’s shoulders and pulled him over almost double at the waist so she could plant noisy kisses on both his cheeks. “You naughty boy,” she said. “You get too thin without my cooking at least three times a week.” She slapped her hands against his concrete abdomen. “We don’t want you skinny. That would be terrible.”