CROSS-CHECKED. Chapter One

 

I’d admired him from afar for over two years now. Ever since he’d been taken on as right-winger for the Orlando Vipers, I’d been having decidedly dirty thoughts about his delectable body. Okay, so maybe I was a little star struck, but there was just something about him that captured not just my fancy but also my fantasies. Tall, broad and handsome, with the look of the devil in his eye, he was trouble on the ice and sexy as hell off it and I, for one, wanted a piece of the action.

Maybe my crush had something to do with the fact that it had been a while since I’d hooked up with a guy. But it was time for that to change and if it was going to be anyone, I sincerely hoped it would be Brick. I reckoned he was just what my poor neglected body and my recently repaired heart could do with.

But today, seeing him in real life rather than on TV or the glossy pages of a magazine, was enough to crack even my calm, cool exterior. Strange things had happened to my usually perfectly controlled body. My stomach fluttered as though filled with butterflies, a delicious heat pooled in my pelvis and my nipples strained against my tight Lycra top.

I tried to concentrate on the photographer’s instructions. But it was near impossible with every nerve in my body homed in on the hot hockey player several steps to my right.

“Move closer,” the photographer snapped at the group. “Move closer. You with the oars, shuffle one in front of the other. We need you tighter, people, so much tighter. If you all want to be in the shot, squeeze up and look friendly.”

There was much shuffling of feet and apologizing as shoulders jostled. A balding swimmer dressed in a Speedo pressed in behind me. He’d clearly eased up on his training, and heat from his generous belly radiated on to the hollow of my back. I suppressed a shudder and glanced to my right. The need to study the object of my desire was as strong as two opposing magnets being drawn together. I simply couldn’t help myself.

From beneath his hockey helmet, Brick’s piercing green eyes sparkled my way. My breath hitched and my heart thumped but I refused to let it show. Instead I caught his gaze and calmly held it.

The right side of his mouth curled in a dirty, bad-boy grin and I tipped my eyebrows just a fraction in reply. I wanted to show interest but not seem overeager. If I’d caught his eye, which it seemed I had, then I wasn’t going to be an easy conquest for the infamous Brick. That would get me nothing but a one-night stand and I refused to be just another rink-bunny notch on his no doubt filled bedpost.

I wanted to be more than that.

So much more.

“People, people, concentrate, please.” The photographer mopped at his brow with a red-dotted handkerchief as he ducked to his lens. “No, no, no. This isn’t going to work at all.” He flapped his arms in despair. “This is dull, boring. Who wants to look at a bunch of people just hanging around? We need something more.” He paused, then his whole face lit up. “You’ll have to go up if you can’t go out.” He raised his hands in the air. “Gymnast,” he barked. “Stand on, on, what’s his name, the runner, stand on his shoulders and pose.”

The waiflike gymnast, shivering in her red-white-and-blue-starred leotard, nodded then shimmied up the tall, thin Olympic runner at her side as if she were a mountain goat. She stretched her arms to the roof, lifted one leg into the air and pointed her toes. The runner gripped her ankle and grinned.

“Excellent, excellent.” The photographer beamed. “And you, you with the…” He pointed straight at my chest and for one horrifying moment I thought he was going to identify me by my protruding nipples. “You with the long black hair and the, er…tight black outfit,” he said, fluttering his hand in my direction. “You’re light, you can go upward, too.” His gaze swung around the assortment of athletes as he gnawed on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Viper players, yes, perfect, lift her up, sideways, above your heads, like she’s lying down but way up high.”

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. Get lifted up by three giants—was he crazy? I could do most things but I hated heights. I hated heights the way most people hated the idea of burning in Hell. Heat I could take.

“Come on, come on, we haven’t got all day.” He snapped his fingers and the sound echoed around the studio.

The two rowers and the swimmer stepped away and the bright overhead lights disappeared as three enormous shadows engulfed me. I looked up, my heart beating wildly and my knees dissolving. Three big hockey players, easily the hugest objects in the room, loomed over me. With their red-and-white jerseys and their enormous shoulder pads, they were intimidating and gorgeous all at the same time.

Ramrod, captain of the Orlando Vipers, grinned down at me. “Don’t look so worried,” he said with a quick wink. “We won’t drop you.”

“As long as you don’t wriggle,” Brick added.

Oh my God. His deep, drawling voice was even sexier in real life than on TV.

“’Cause if you got plans on wriggling, then you should seriously consider being worried.” His gaze fell to my nipples straining even harder against my top. “’Cause then we’ll have to hold you real tight so you can’t get away.” He poked out his tongue and swept it across his bottom lip.

I stared at the sheen of moisture his tongue left and resisted folding my arms over my chest. “I’m not worried in the slightest,” I said, trying desperately to hide the shake in my voice. I never admitted weakness. The idea of people thinking of me as anything less than one hundred percent capable was not something I entertained. If it were, I wouldn’t have an Olympic gold medal sitting in my trophy cabinet at home.

“Today, not tomorrow, if you don’t mind.” The photographer clapped at us.

“I’ll take feet.” Phoenix, the bad boy of the team, stooped down. There was something about the scratchy quality of his voice and the two-day-old stubble coating his jaw that made me nervous. I started to take a step away. I had no intention of being lifted above his head.

But I didn’t move more than a foot. Because next thing, six big hands wrapped around various parts of my torso and limbs and catapulted me upward faster than an amusement park ride.

I squeaked a protest and flailed my arms, instinctively looking for support. But Ramrod had my upper arms tightly secured and I couldn’t find purchase on so much as a shoulder pad.

Still traveling upward, I looked down on the other athletes’ heads. As I was unceremoniously pitched horizontal, I swallowed a cry of fear. Six elbows locked beneath me and the nothingness of air surrounded me.

“Perfect, perfect,” the photographer said. “Now place your right hand beneath your cheek and smile.”

Ramrod altered his hold so I could do as instructed.

“Smile. I said smile,” the photographer snapped.

I did my best to stretch my mouth sideways, but I knew it looked more like a grimace than a smile. How could it not when I was about to vomit?

“Like you’re happy, my dear. We’re supposed to be raising money for a children’s charity, after all. Be happy about the millions you’re raising with this insanely cheesy song.”

Suddenly I became acutely aware of Brick’s hands. He had one wrapped around my lower ribs, on the bare flesh between my cropped Lycra top and shorts, and the other over my hip. Unlike Ramrod and Phoenix, whose fingers were still, his were lightly brushing the skin in the dip of my waist. Delicate little caresses that sent flames shooting to my belly and heightening the sensation in my nipples all the more. I glanced down at him. All I could see was the top of his shiny white helmet and the upward tilt of his caged visor. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he know how scared I was at being lifted so high even though I’d tried to hide it?

The caress continued and he poked his fingertip under the elastic of my top. Only a fraction, the merest distance, but it increased the sensation tenfold. I almost forgot about being so high. I’d fantasized about Brick’s big hands on me more times than I cared to admit. Dreamed of him touching every part of my body wearing the same determined look he wore when driving a puck down the ice. I tuned into his hand over my hip, his huge palm and his long, strong fingers pressing into my buttocks. Was this really happening?

“This is great, great, much better.” The photographer was back behind his camera. “Swimmer, you’d best move to the rear. Rowers, oars to the floor—how many times do I have to tell you? Perfect, perfect. Smile, people, don’t grimace up there, come on, smile, smile.” The camera clicked rapidly, like a gun shooting at targets. I managed a semi-genuine smile. “Perfect, perfect.” More clicks and instructions. “Excellent, it’s a wrap, well done. That’s us finished, people.”

As I was lowered, I let out a sigh of relief. My feet sank until mercifully I was once again vertical. Phoenix released my ankles and knees and Ramrod passed my shoulders to Brick, who seemed determined to keep hold of my waist in a viselike grip.

“You okay?” Brick asked as our heads came level but my feet still hung several inches from the floor.

“Of course.” The entire length of my body pressed against the front of his. I spent most of my time wearing Lycra, training and competing. But now, for the first time ever, it felt as though I wore nothing at all, as if I were utterly naked. But, I had to admit, being pressed against him was even better than I’d imagined. So much better. Heat radiated from him and he smelled divine, something that reminded me of spicy cinnamon toast dripping in butter and stolen in the middle of the night.

“You didn’t like being high?”

“I’m fine, really. I knew you wouldn’t drop me.” I curled my hands over his giant shoulders and pressed the hard pads under his jersey. “Are you going to put me down?”

“I might,” his eyes sparkled cheekily, “Carly.”

“You know my name?” I was genuinely surprised.

“Sure, I cheered for you two years ago when you were in second place. I swear my yelling at the screen got you past that Italian and boosted you the last mile.”

“You watched me?”

“Honey, the whole country watched you. Well, at least the male population did.”

Now I knew he was teasing. Long-distance bike-riding in a velodrome hardly attracted a huge audience. Not when there were so many more exhilarating sports to watch in the mad two weeks of the Olympics.

“Impressive display of stamina,” he said. “And a finish time not many people could have beaten.”

“I think I proved no one could beat it,” I said, a little sharper than I’d intended. “Isn’t that the point of the Olympics?”

The corners of his mouth tilted upward. “Yeah, I guess.”

I squirmed in his arms. “Put me down.”

“Say please.”

I looked into his eyes and felt my jaw clench in frustration. This was not how this was supposed to happen. I had a plan for how I was going to handle Brick during this charity promotion. And him being in control was not on that list. I always had plans and lists. It was the way I organized my training schedules, and the habit had leaked into other areas of my life. With Brick, I was planning on leading the show. I wanted him on his toes and unsure of my intentions. Not the other way around. Just because he was big and strong didn’t mean he could scoop me up as if he were a Neanderthal and take me off to his cave.

“Put me down,” I said more firmly. “I didn’t ask to be picked up so why should I say please to be put down?”

“Oh, feisty. I like that.” He tipped his face nearer to mine and his breath breezed hot on my cheek. “Tell me,” he whispered, “are you cold or does getting picked up by hockey players turn you on?” His gaze dropped to my chest.

“Do you mind?” I wriggled even more. “That’s rather personal.”

“Hey, Brick, stop harassing the lady,” Phoenix said, whacking Brick between the shoulder blades. “Put her down.”

Brick glanced across at his teammate then back to me. “I’m not harassing her,” he said, smiling broadly. “I’m telling her how much I admire her athletic achievements.”

“As well as commenting on my body temperature,” I said.

“Yeah, well.” I was lowered and my feet thankfully came back into contact with the floor. “I was just curious,” he said.

“Well, you’ll just have to stay curious.” I folded my arms over my tiny breasts to hide my pebbled nipples.

“Mmm, I’d rather find out for sure.” He grinned, showing neat, white teeth.

“Brick, you really are too smooth,” Phoenix said with a groan. “Are you coming with us or not?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Brick took a step away from me. “I’ll catch you around, Carly Flannigan.”

I watched them file out, three giants amongst the other athletes and photography staff.

As they reached the door, Ramrod turned and winked at me.

 

*****

 

I wandered out into the dazzling Florida sunshine and slid on my shades. The air was hot and humid. It clung to my skin and dampened my hair. I was looking forward to getting home. I’d cycled early this morning, only thirty miles as I wasn’t in serious training for another three months. So all I had to do now was chill out in my condo with a movie and perhaps a glass of wine.

I scanned the parking lot. My car was at the mechanic’s but the cab the charity had sent to ferry me to and from the shoot was waiting.

I waved, caught the driver’s attention and shifted to the edge of the sweltering sidewalk. It was odd that I’d met Brick today of all days. Tim and I had split up this exact day three years ago. Well, split up was not the most accurate description. He’d left me, came out the bedroom of our apartment with his bag packed and said he was leaving. No discussion, no arguments, not even a hint that he was unhappy in the weeks leading up to it. It had devastated me. I’d loved him body and soul, and when, three weeks later, I saw a picture on Facebook of him surfing in Oz with some blonde bimbo, I fell into a very dark place. Only cycling and training had got me out of bed each morning. It turned out he’d left me for someone he’d never even seen in person. They’d been emailing for months after meeting on a chat site.

I sighed, took a sip of water, and pushed Tim from my mind and 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. 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 now 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 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 hate 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 get 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 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 eyebrows 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.