Power Play (Crimson Romance) (17 page)

Lila melted into a chair behind her husband’s shoulder, hoping to avoid being called upon first to play. The tactic worked for it was Cathy Monahan who initially drew slips of paper out of the two bowls, selecting
caramel
and
leg
. Eddie Monahan dragged out the task of licking up the sugary sauce from his wife’s calf while the rest of the men hollered for him to hurry up. Impatient for their own turns, none of the others wanted to linger on the spectacle.

Light-hearted jibes greeted each new couple who volunteered for a turn and compliments abounded when each task was completed, especially after the diminutive redhead married to one of the bigger defensemen chose
whipped cream
and
breast
. Although the male consensus was that the body part in question should be bared, the young woman only lowered her neckline an inch or so to allow her husband access. The defenseman made it clear that the game would be recreated better in the privacy of their home later that night.

Cathy Monahan looked all around the room with restless cornflower blue eyes.

“Who’s left?”

Over Cahal’s broad shoulder, Cathy’s gaze met Lila’s. The blonde woman’s smile widened.

“Only goody two-shoes?”

The taunting question offered Lila an escape route but at the cost of her reputation. The rest of the couples had treated the game as light and harmless and after witnessing the PG nature of the interactions, she was less embarrassed. Every team had its vices — in Chicago, any couple who didn’t play cards was unlikely to be invited out to parties — and judging from the ease at which the Toronto couples embraced Cathy’s suggestion, this was probably not the first time that particular game had been played amongst them.

It was impossible to tell her husband’s reaction from the slice of his profile Lila could see as she reached around him for the bowl.

She uncrumpled the first slip of paper.
Maple syrup
.

Lila wrinkled her nose. She hated the sticky feel of the country’s national food although she loved the taste of it on fluffy buttermilk pancakes or drizzled over the top of a stack of crisp golden waffles.

Passing the first slip to her spouse Lila reached for the other bowl. She unwrapped and handed it to her husband.

Their hostess leaned across the low table. “Let’s see.”

Cahal displayed the second piece of paper in the curve of his hand.

“
Lips
,” Jennifer read out. “Nice.”

“Easy,” was Cathy Monahan’s opinion.

It seemed to Lila that everyone in the room was staring at her mouth, her husband included.

“Where’s the syrup?” Jennifer asked, getting down to business.

The small, carved bottle passed through several hands before it ended up in Lila’s grasp. Her fingers curved around it.

“Come on,” Cathy urged. “You’ve seen everyone else here do the exact same thing.”

“Not the exact same thing,” someone else piped up. “No one else got
lips
.”

“I got
toe
,” one man grumbled. “Whose lousy idea was that?”

“Ask Jenn. She’s the mastermind.”

A chorus of
shh’s
shut the commentators up and all sound evaporated as every gaze swung to the couple at the center of the room. Lila was unaware of having moved, following her husband’s lead to the spot where the others had completed their turns.

She wasn’t flattered by the others’ attention, for that evening was the first opportunity most of the women had had to ogle Toronto’s newest team member at close range.

Far above her head, Cahal’s smile was warm. “Our turn, I think.”

“Cahal,” she whispered his name.

He cupped her face with big rough hands, wrists meeting beneath the soft point of her chin. “I always forget how shy you are.”

He spoke in a low voice and only she could see the shadow in his lowered eyes.

“She won’t do it,” a female voice said. “She’s chicken.”

“Come on, Lila,” Nadia called. “We’ve all taken our turns. Don’t ruin the game now.”

Nadia’s husband hushed her. “Stay quiet, honey. It’s not as if there’s any money riding on it.”

“We should have placed bets,” one of the men mused. “Wallace would have ended up paying through his teeth, which is only fitting since he gets paid a helluva lot more than the rest of us.”

The competitive fire was sparked and soon everyone was placing bets on Lila’s bravery.

Her husband’s voice sounded in her ear, a throaty rumble. “You don’t have to do it, love. Not if you don’t want to.”

Lila’s eyes lifted. She knew what it cost him to be so nonchalant. He was as competitive as his teammates. More so.

She couldn’t let him down. Not again.

Lila brought the bottle of syrup up to her waist and uncorked it. Silence fell as she placed a shaking finger into the mouth and raised it to her own lips, dabbing on the sticky liquid as she would apply lipstick. She didn’t realize how seductive even that simple movement could be until she looked up again at her husband and saw the way his eyelids had dropped to hide a hungry glitter.

The surrounding silence took on a new depth as breaths quickened and hands slipped together.

Lila’s sticky hand fell. The others’ anticipation crept through her and tempted as she was to cleanse her smeared lips with her tongue, she wanted Cahal to perform the task for her.

He moved his fair head with the same determined strength she’d seen him exhibit a thousand times on the ice. As she held her breath, his lips parted to taste her honeyed mouth, first with care and then with hunger, as if he meant to drink her whole.

Syrup was still thick on her mouth when he cupped her head in his hands, angling it to meet the ferocity of his assault. Far from quenching his passion, the memory of their earlier intimacy seemed to fuel him further. The game and their audience were forgotten. All that existed was his mouth and hers and their struggle to be merged.

A tiny shift in the world around, a mere scratch of noise, brought Lila back first and her slow resistance forced him to surface.

Their hostess spoke into the resulting gap. “Wow.” Her eyes were round. “I’ve never seen anything like that off of a movie screen.”

Her husband let out a loud woof. “That was certainly something I’m glad I didn’t miss.”

Jenn Efflin cleared her throat. “I think we have a winner.”

Cahal held Lila for an endless moment and when she finally lifted her head it was to survey an empty room.

“Where did everyone go?”

“To the living room for drinks.”

Lila flickered her eyelashes. “I’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“Yes.” She wanted to end the evening as she began it: in her husband’s bed.

Cahal’s mouth curved. “I can have us home in fifteen minutes flat.”

It took him twelve.

A stream of limousines ejected passengers out onto the frozen sidewalk where men in stiff uniforms, nearly indistinguishable from the tuxedoed guests, ushered each chilled couple indoors.

The brown-and-gold lobby of the hotel was unchanged, its furnishings formal and subdued. A few of the regular guests gaped at the newcomers in their fancy clothes, recognizing faces from newspapers and Saturday night television. The constant flash of cameras and innumerable loitering bodies combined for a spectacle that made Lila light headed.

“This way,” a young woman in the hotel uniform guided them.

Small signposts lined the way to the main ballroom where the photographers would be only those pre-approved by the team and charity. The hotel colors gave way to a predominance of blue and silver, the Toronto colors flying high in every corner of the massive room. Tiny team pennants graced the centerpiece of each of the eighty tables.

“Eight hundred guests,” Lila murmured as she did rapid calculations in her head. Each ticket cost a thousand dollars and every ticket had sold. The overhead was not to be laughed at; the venue was the best in the city and the entertainment and food matched it, although some of this was donated. “The cancer foundation should come away with a quarter million dollars.”

This figure spilled into Cathy Monahan’s ear as they passed her table. The blonde woman was beaming.

“That’s leaving out private donations made tonight, the auction and proceeds from the sale of any merchandise,” Cathy said by way of a greeting. “If we’re lucky we might reach three hundred grand.”

Lila, who had produced similar events in the past, suspected that more than a hundred thousand could be raised through the auction alone. Perhaps more. The room was filled with the city’s economic elite. These were people who wouldn’t hesitate to spend dearly for autographed equipment or a day with their favorite hockey player.

The other woman stared at Lila. “That’s a nice dress,” she said with some reluctance. “Great color.”

Lila’s gown of startling winter white was unique among the crowds of black, gold and the occasional crimson or sapphire dress. The color played off of her raven hair, pulled away from her face, and smooth golden skin. A single shoulder upon which her husband’s hand rested was left bare.

“I like your dress, too,” Lila responded.

Cathy nodded in the direction of a nearby table. “That woman over there is wearing the same one in beige.”

As this was undeniably the case, Lila could only say, “I like it better in black.”

By silent assent, they turned their attention to their husbands’ conversation.

“Terrence Brantford sent a big check along with his regrets,” Ed Monahan was telling Cahal. “Twenty grand toward the cause.”

“That’s good of him,” was Cahal’s comment. “Whose idea was it to invite the owner of a rival team?”

Although each team’s charitable events were not officially off limits to players or owners of other teams, an unwritten rule kept each team’s endeavors restricted to their own cities.

The man averted his eyes. “I can’t rightly remember. It could have been mine.”

His wife’s voice rose above the unconvincing statement. “It was my idea,” she said. “After all the bad press his daughter created for our team I thought it was only right that he should give something back to this city.”

Lila looked into her husband’s eyes and she suspected that he was thinking the same thought. Twenty thousand dollars was considerably less expensive than the payoff Brantford previously offered. But no one would ever know that.

“Interesting crowd,” her husband commented when they finally arrived at their table near the front of the room. He spoke in a dry tone, having already been accosted by a clutch of wealthy autograph seekers who all expressed disappointment at the fact that their hero couldn’t give away for free what was going to be put up on auction later that night.

“Have you seen your agent yet?”

Cahal shook his head. “He couldn’t make it tonight. He gave his ticket to one of his clients.”

“Does Billy represent other sports?”

Again the answer was in the negative.

Since all of the Toronto team mates were coerced into attendance, without any reduction on the price of their tickets even though it was a working night for many, the ticket could only have gone to a member of a rival hockey team.

“You don’t think it was … ?”

A hard silver glitter came into his eyes. “He said client, not former client.”

From that point, it was impossible to keep from sweeping the room in search of a familiar figure.

He arrived late, of course, when dinner was just being served and Lila had long stopped looking for him. He made his way through the tables, stopping at several to exchange a word or two. Nearly everyone seemed to know him but judging from the stiff smiles and curt handshakes not many liked him.

Lila’s breath caught as he slowed next to her seat. He dropped a bruised hand to the back of her chair and it was pushed away by another. The buzzing conversation around them grew louder.

“Why, cousin!” Chris’ voice carried across the room. “Don’t tell me you begrudge me a quick word with my best girl.”

The words were as good as a battle cry and Lila felt every muscle in her husband’s tall tuxedoed figure stiffen.

“I don’t begrudge you a damn thing, Chris,” he ground out. “It was always the other way around.”

The other man didn’t like that, although he smiled through the sudden fire that leaped in his blue eyes.

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “Why would I begrudge you something I’ve also had?”

In a deliberate movement, Cahal came to his feet. Seen next to each other, the two men were more than superficially alike. In a white tuxedo to match Lila’s dress, Chris looked trendy and fashionable. Cahal’s version in black was far more traditional yet he cut a dramatic figure, which somehow made the other man look lightweight.

“One night compared to the promise of a lifetime.”

Chris’ smirk reappeared.

“And a lifetime was how long exactly? Five years? Six?”

“It’s still going,” Lila’s husband pointed out with an edge of menace.

The other man dropped a wink in Lila’s direction. “That’s because you don’t know the truth.”

“I’ve heard the truth,” Cahal said.

He swerved his blue eyes to the woman by his side and a sudden reserve covered Chris’ features.

“What did you tell him?”

“What I remember.”

The frozen look disappeared. “Darling, did you have to? I thought that was private between you and me.”

Lila’s mouth tightened. “Stop it, Chris. Stop acting like a fool.”

Another audacious wink. “I can’t help what I am.”

Cahal’s hand grasped her upper arm she moved to her feet.

“No, I guess you can’t help what you are,” he told his cousin. “You can help how you behave.”

With that, he steered Lila toward the edge of the room where several couples were taking advantage of the slow tableside service to cross the dance floor to the strains of light jazz. She moved into her husband’s arms with a chill of foreboding; she felt as if she was dancing with a man made of tempered steel.

“Did you enjoy that?”

Lila blinked up toward the glittering mesh of chandeliers; he was a dark blur above her.