Tension threatened to suffocate him. It knotted the muscles in his shoulders and tightened his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he really would stop breathing. Just collapse right where he was standing. That would put an end to things. No more headaches. No more struggles. No more drama.

Charles glanced over at James Murphy and squelched a sigh. As much as he might wish for it, passing out would only prolong the inevitable. Might as well just come clean and face the music.

"Things aren't going well, Chuck."

"There's still time."

Murphy's brows jerked up in surprise. His gray eyes focused on Charles, piercing and intent—and filled with obvious disbelief. Charles couldn't blame him.

"Opening night is a month away. Ticket sales are dismal. Practically nonexistent. We brought you on to help with that but so far, we haven't seen any improvement."

"It's not going to happen overnight, James. We're facing an uphill battle. You know that. It doesn't help that the game coincides with the Banners' first game."

"That's just an excuse. Their game starts at seven. The girls play at one." James looked away, his thin lips pursed in frustration. Charles could relate—he was experiencing his own frustrations.

His gaze darted back to the ice. Practice was officially over but two girls remained: Taylor and Sydney Stevens. They were shooting the puck back and forth, taking shots at the net at the end.

One of the pucks hit the pipes. The noise rang out like a shot, making him jump. Had James noticed? No. The older man was too busy scowling at one of the players.

Damn Taylor. How had she done it? If things had gone according to his plans, she'd be standing on the ice right now, flanked by her step-father and her uncle, posing for the camera and answering questions.

But there were no cameras. No television crew. No reporter.

No Sonny LeBlanc or JP Larocque.

Damn her.

Charles clenched his fists, his gaze narrowing as he watched Taylor race across the ice and take a shot from between her legs. The puck hit the back of the net with a satisfying whoosh. Damn shame there was no camera crew to film it.

James released a loud sigh and fixed Charles with another piercing look. "Make it right, Chuck. No more excuses."

Charles watched the older man walk away, knowing that he had just been issued a final warning. Part of him was tempted to just throw his hands up in the air and call it quits. This was a losing battle, had been from the start.

A women's hockey team? Seriously? What had made any of them think they could make a go of this? What had made any of them think that people would even be interested?

And why the hell had he thought he'd be able to successfully promote it?

He hated losing. Hated it with a passion. And making a success of the Chesapeake Blades was nothing more than a losing battle. If he was smart, he'd walk away right now. Cut his losses and move on to something better. Something guaranteed.

Something that paid one hell of a lot better.

But he wasn't a quitter, and he never walked away from a challenge. Not since he was seventeen. He'd be damned if he started now.

He spun on his heel and stormed off to the equipment room with just one thought on his mind: success. At any cost. Taylor thought she could undermine his efforts? Maybe she had, this one time. But not anymore. If she wanted a battle, she just got one.

Taylor was the only player left by the time he returned to the ice. She was focused on lining up a dozen pucks, her back to him when he opened the door to the rink. He took his first step, held his breath as he found his balance, then slammed the door shut and readjusted his grip on the stick. Taylor jumped and spun around, her ponytail whipping behind her. Her gaze caught his and held it for a long minute. Then her eyes widened and a disbelieving smile flashed across her face.

What did she see when she looked at him? Did he look as ridiculous as he felt, wobbling on a pair of old skates while still wearing an expensive suit? He had ditched the jacket and tie and had rolled the sleeves up his forearms but he still felt ridiculous. Over-dressed. Unprepared.

Incompetent.

He clenched his jaw and skated toward Taylor. Slow. Out of practice.

Out of his league.

Screw it. He didn't care how awkward he looked. Didn't care that she was laughing at him. Hell, it wasn't the first time. And he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.

"Chuckie-the-fart." She laughed and shook her head then rested her elbow on the butt end of the upright stick. "What do you think you're doing?"

He moved closer, finally finding his center of balance, feeling a small spurt of confidence shoot through him. He pinned her with a steady look, long enough that she finally looked away, the smile fading from her face.

"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you?" The language surprised him as much as it obviously surprised her. Charles didn't care, not when the sudden anger coursed through him, searing him. He moved even closer, not stopping until he was a foot away from Taylor. Her eyes widened in surprise and she slid away from him. Was she afraid? No, not Taylor—she wasn't afraid of anything. But she was smart enough to recognize his black mood.

"I'll hand it to you, Tay-Tay. That was a slick move."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" He moved forward again, his eyes narrowing. "Why don't I believe that?"

"I don't—"

"You know exactly what you did. Congratulations. You won that round. I never saw it coming. To go behind my back and cancel the interview? How'd you do it?"

"I didn't—"

"Oh, come off it. You did. We both know it." He paused, holding her gaze. "And so does Murphy."

A flicker of unease flashed in her eyes as she looked around. Searching for help? Or trying to figure out the best way to escape?

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, nibbling the pink flesh for a nervous second before turning back to face him. Charles forced himself to meet her eyes, forced himself to look away from the sight of that full lower lip being nibbled by straight white teeth.

Her shoulders heaved with a deep breath. "I didn't mean—"

"Knock it off. We both know exactly what you meant. Well, congratulations. Murphy's pissed and put me on notice. Is that what you wanted? To totally derail my efforts?"

She laughed, the sound short and bitter. "Your efforts? Is that what you call using me?"

"Using you? Is that what you think?"

"It was kind of obvious there, Chuckie. I mean, pulling in my dad and uncle for your little dog-and-pony show? What else would you call it?"

"I call it doing my job." The words came out between clenched teeth. He swallowed back the spurt of anger, tightened his hands on the stick, and leaned closer. "I call it doing everything in my power to promote a team that nobody has heard of. I call it trying to make a go of this team. Of this league."

"Oh please." She laughed again and waved a hand around them. "This whole thing is a joke. You know it. I know it. So stop wasting my time, okay?"

Her words caught him by surprise. Not just the words, but the bitterness in her voice. Charles straightened, watching her for a long minute. A wisp of understanding drifted through his mind, offering him some unwanted insight. He pushed it away. The words insight and understanding had no place in his vocabulary when it came to dealing with Taylor.

"If you think it's such a joke, why are you here?"

"Where else would I go? Where would any of us go? To some beer league? Because that's all there is."

"Then I'd think you'd want to do whatever you could to make this a success."

"Yeah." She narrowed her eyes and leaned so close he could feel the heat of exertion drifting from her body. "But on our own. You're supposed to promote the team. Not exploit me and my family."

"Is that what you're so pissed off about?"

Taylor's jaw clenched, anger flashing in those whiskey-colored eyes. He half-expected her to take a swing at him, or to say something sarcastic and biting in true Taylor-fashion. But she just shook her head and offered him a cold smile. "I'm not wasting my time talking to you. Just leave me alone."

"Or what? You going to beat me up again, Tay-Tay?"

"What are you talking about? I never beat you up."

"The hell you didn't."

She shook her head and tried to skate past him. Charles stepped to the side, blocking her. Her gaze shot to his and he held it, silently daring her to look away. The expression in her eyes was cool. Aloof. But there was something else there, too—just the tiniest bit of doubt.

"I never beat you up."

"Bullshit. You never had patience for me—or anyone else who couldn't play as well as you. And you made damn sure everyone knew it."

"That's not the same—"

"What about that time you boarded me?"

"I never—"

"Yeah, you did. I had the puck. I was trying to take a shot. You got pissed and slammed me against the boards, grabbed the puck, and skated it in."

"I wouldn't have done something like that."

"Yeah? Maybe you should think long and hard because that's exactly what you did. And you scored the winning goal."

"What's wrong with that? We won, right? That's all that matters."

"Is it? Because there was more to it than that to me."

A short, impatient rush of air left her, the sound not quite a laugh. "If you say so, Chuckie."

"I say so."

"So what? I mean, why are you even bringing this up? Why do you even care about something that might have happened twelve years ago?"

"Because you're not taking this win away from me, Taylor. Not this time."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me. I have a job to do. And I will do it—at any cost. Don't get in my way. I'm not that thirteen-year-old kid you enjoyed tormenting and intimidating." And damn, had he said too much? He hadn't meant to tell her that, hadn't meant to admit to any weakness. But there wasn't any gloating in her eyes—just surprise. And maybe even a little regret.

Unless he was imagining that part.

"I, uh, I intimidated you?"

"Christ, Tay-Tay, you intimidated everyone."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you did." And shit, how had they veered so far off the subject? She opened her mouth again, no doubt to defend herself or say something else totally out of line. Charles interrupted her before she could get started.

"It's not happening again. The sooner you realize that, the better off we'll both be. I have a job to do, Taylor, and I'm telling you again, I will do it."

"Fine. Then do it. But don't use me or my family. Use the other girls. There's a lot of talent on this team. You should be focusing on that, not my dad or uncle."

"You don't get it, do you? All the talent in the world doesn't mean shit if there's nobody here to see it. I will use whatever I have to in order to get people through those doors. Understood?"

"No. I want no parts of it, Chuckie."

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't." She took a deep breath and looked away. "All my life, I've had people compare me to Dad and Uncle JP. Tell me that the only reason I got anywhere was because of them. Because of my last name. Because of their connections. I'm still hearing it, even now. I don't need you making it worse."

"Making what worse?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter." She shook her head and tried to move past him again. He blocked her once more.

"You're right, it doesn't. You don't have a choice in this, Tay-Tay, not when Murphy is backing me up on this one."

"That's bullshit."

"Maybe. But that's life. I don't need you fighting me every step."

"I don't—"

"Which is why I have a proposition for you."

Her head whipped around so fast, Charles was surprised she didn't lose her balance and fall. "What are you talking about?"

He would have laughed at the expression of dismay and uncertainty on her face if he wasn't so serious about what he was about to say. Yes, it was ridiculous. Yes, it could seriously backfire on him. Hell, it probably would backfire on him. But he was desperate. God help him if she realized how desperate he really was.

"I'll fight you for control." Hell, that wasn't exactly how he meant for the words to come out. It was too late to take them back—although, if he was honest with himself, the blush that seared Taylor's face was worth it.

"Um—" Her mouth snapped shut and she looked around before turning back to him. He ignored the heat rushing through his body at the way her gaze slowly drifted from his skates up to the top of his head. "You want to, uh, fight for control?"

"Not the way you're thinking." Not even close. And damn, now he had to stop thinking of how Taylor's body would feel pinned under his. "A fight for control of the puck. In the corners."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm dead serious."

"You don't have a chance in hell."

"Then why are you worried?"

"I never said I was worried."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is, it isn't even a fair fight. You're setting yourself up to lose."

"Am I?"

She moved back and shot a pointed look at his feet. "When's the last time you were even on a pair of skates?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it does." She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Let me worry about that."

Taylor studied him, her sculpted brows pulled low in a deep frown. Silence descended on the rink, broken only by the obnoxious clunking of the aging compressor kicking on somewhere in the back. She finally heaved a heavy sigh and tilted her head to the side, still watching him.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, because I win either way."

"How do you figure?"

"Like I said, I have Murphy on my side. If you win, you can make yourself feel better and fight me every step of the way. If you lose—"

"Yeah, right."

"If you lose, the fighting stops. No more arguing. No more going behind my back and undermining me."

"Doesn't sound like there's anything in it for me."

"There's not."

"So then why are you even suggesting it?"

"For my own peace of mind."

A smile crept across her face, one that tugged at something deep inside him. He ruthlessly pushed the unwelcome thoughts from his mind.

"You're not very good at propositions, are you?"

"What do you care? You're convinced you're going to win, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I still lose, no matter what."

"Then you get bragging rights. You can tell all the girls how you beat me up. Again."

She frowned again then finally shook her head and leaned down to pick up one of the pucks. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, fine. But this is stupid. And don't say I didn't warn you."

"Fair enough." He followed her across the ice and watched as she dropped the puck in the corner. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm trying to give you a fighting chance. We both know you don't have a shot in hell of catching me if we don't do it here."

"Cocky as always, I see."

"Not cocky—honest." She rested the blade of her stick on the ice then leaned against the boards, looking slightly bored and arrogant. She smiled and nodded toward the puck. "Go ahead. Get it."

"Just like that?"

She laughed, the sound low and throaty. "Just like that…if you think you can, that is."

Charles bit back a smile. He knew exactly how this would play out. As soon as he reached for the puck, Taylor would spring into action and snag it from him before he could do more than blink in surprise.

At least, he knew that's how Taylor thought it would play out. He had something else in mind.

He kept his gaze focused on hers and moved closer, until mere inches separated them. Her body tensed, prepared to launch into action as soon as he reached for the puck. But she underestimated him, her eyes widening in surprise as he pinned her body between his and the boards. Her mouth opened, no doubt to argue or call him names. Charles leaned down and closed his mouth over hers, cutting off any protest she might have made.

It was supposed to be nothing more than a simple kiss. A brief meeting of lips, just long enough to distract her so he could shoot the puck away. He hadn't anticipated the softness of her mouth, hadn't anticipated the heat that flared to life between them. Her mouth opened wider on a sigh—or maybe it was a gasp of surprise. It didn't matter because he took ruthless advantage of it, sweeping his tongue inside to dance with hers. Warm, sweet, tantalizing. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, his body tightening as she curled one hand along the back of his neck. And shit, he hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't expected his reaction—or hers.

The sound of a stick clattering to the ice broke through the haze of want and need coursing through him. Her stick, not his. And shit, he needed to stop, needed to pull away.

Needed to remember why he was kissing her in the first place.

He pulled away, swallowing a groan that echoed hers. Taylor's eyes were still closed, her mouth full and damp from his kiss, her chest rising and falling beneath the pads as she struggled to catch her breath. Christ, all he wanted to do was kiss her again. To feel her body pressed against his, to feel her hands tangling in his hair as she came to life under his touch.

He was a fool. Such a fool.

He clenched his jaw and reached for the puck, sent it flying down the ice with an awkward swing of his stick. Taylor's eyes popped open, the heat in their depths quickly turning to frost when she realized what he'd done.

"I win." His voice was shaky, a little too breathless and husky. He watched her, waiting for the biting set-down he so richly deserved.

"Yeah, I guess you do." She took a deep breath then leaned down to pick up the stick she had dropped. Her eyes were hard, her expression unreadable when she looked back at him. "Do you always cheat to get what you want?"

"When it matters? Yeah, I do."

"Then congratulations." Her hand tightened on the stick as her eyes drifted over his body. Could she see how the kiss had affected him? How could she not? Her eyes narrowed then moved back to his. "You got what you wanted. This time."

Charles didn't miss the silent accusation in her voice, or the disappointment. She started to skate past him, her head hung low. He reached for her, anger and self-loathing filling him.

"Taylor—"

She skated to the side, moving away from him when he would have stopped her.

"Taylor, I didn't mean—"

She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. "Sure you did. Anything to win, right? I can appreciate that."

"Tay-Tay—"

"See you around, Chuckie." She skated away, her head high and her shoulders squared. But he could still see the hurt. See it? Hell, he could feel it. And he didn't know what the hell to do about it.

The door slammed closed, the noise echoing around the empty rink. Accusing and somehow final.

And still he stood there, unable to move. Unable to shake the feeling that his little stunt had cost him more than he fully realized.