See Jane Score (17 page)

“What?”

God, he wanted her. He wanted to fall on top of her and stay there for a good long while. “We'll have sex all night. Half the morning too. And just when you think you can't take anymore, we'll go at it again.” It had been a long time since he'd wanted it so bad that he could hardly think beyond the throbbing in his pants. “I'm going to fuck you real good.” She didn't say anything and he looked down into her face.

She unwrapped her leg from his waist and lowered her foot to the ground. “In a motel room?”

“Yes. We can take my car.”

“No.”

“Where?”

She pushed his hand from her breast. “Nowhere.”

“Why the hell not? I'm hard, and I don't have to stick my hand down your pants to know you're wet.”

Her eyes were wide and a little glassy. “You're talking to me like I'm one of your groupies.”

He'd never even thought of her in those terms. Had he? No, he hadn't. “You don't like
wet
? What do you call it?”

“I don't call it anything, and I don't fuck. I make love. Groupies fuck.”

“Jesus,” he swore, “who cares? When you get down to it, it's all the same thing.”

“No, it's not, and I care.” She shoved at his chest and he took a step back. “I'm not one of your women. I'm a professional reporter!”

He didn't know who she was trying to convince. Him or herself. “You're a tease and a damn prude,” he said and turned on his heels. He shoved one hand in the pocket of his jacket and his hand curled around his keys until they cut into his palm. He was sorry he'd ever met Jane. He was sorry he'd ever laid eyes on her, and sorrier that she made him so insane that he'd kissed her and now he was going home hard. Again.

As he walked to his vehicle, he heard her car start and by the time he unlocked the driver's side door of his Land Cruiser, she was gone, the glow of her red taillights the last remnants of her.

That and the ache in Luc's groin and the pounding in his brain and the knowledge that he'd have to see her again in three days.

I make love,
she'd said. The first time he'd met her, he'd figured her for one of those uptight, probably-hadn't-had-sex-in-five-years women. And he'd been right.

“‘Make love,'” he scoffed as he climbed into his vehicle and started it up. Jane didn't want to make love. He hadn't misinterpreted her signals. A woman who wanted him to “make love” to her didn't kiss like a porn queen. A woman who wanted to “make love” wanted to take her time. She didn't wrap her leg around his waist while he had her shoved up against a wall in a parking garage.

He backed out of the parking space and headed home. Someone should teach the little prude a thing or two about being a tease. But it wasn't going to be him. He was through with Jane Alcott.

This time he meant it.

Chapter 11
Juke: To Fake an Opponent

T
hree days after the parking garage incident, Jane sat in the press box at the Key Arena, staring down at the ice.

“Do we get free food and booze up here?” Caroline asked her.

“There's free food and booze in the media lounge.” She'd brought Caroline along so that she'd have someone to talk to. Someone to help take her mind off her current man problems. “I don't usually go there until later.”

Caroline was dressed in an extremely tight Chinooks T-shirt and equally tight jeans. She was dressed for a fishing expedition, and she'd already caught the attention of the guy operating the video for the game. He'd flashed Caroline up on the screen three times already.

Darby joined them a few minutes before the pregame entertainment was to start. His hair was stiff with gel, and his pocket protector was stuck in his black silk shirt. Jane introduced him to Caroline, and his eyes widened and his mouth fell open a little as he gazed at Jane's beautiful friend. She wasn't surprised by Darby's reaction, but she was a bit surprised when Caroline turned her charm on Darby and reeled him in.

The pregame show started, and Jane knew that in about fifteen minutes she was going to have to go to the locker room and wish the team luck. She was going to have to see Luc for the first time since he'd kissed her and she'd lost her mind and wrapped her leg around his waist. Thank God she'd come to her senses at the last minute and hadn't gone with him to a motel. That would have been bad for a lot of reasons.

There was no denying it, though, she'd fallen madly in lust with Luc. She was drawn to him, pulled like she was a magnet and he was a big hunk of metal, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it.

She'd spent the past week on the road avoiding him as much as possible. Avoiding the man who irritated her, and angered her, and made her insides melt. For the most part, she'd kept herself busy. She'd interviewed Darby for her
Single Girl
column, and she'd written a piece about nice guys who finished last. She'd told her readers that they should avoid those guys who set women's hearts on fire and instead give nice guys a second look. She'd quoted Darby and made him sound good, and in return he was supposed to talk her up to the coaches who still didn't want her around.

She'd taken her own advice and done fairly well at avoiding the one guy who set
her
heart on fire. Then he'd backed her against that wall and kissed her. She should have been shocked and appalled, but seeing him come at her, his lids lowered to half mast and lust heavy in his blue eyes, she'd gone all weak and excited at the same time. The moment his lips had touched her, she'd given in to her heart and fed it what it so desperately wanted. Luc.

Even though her feelings for him were a tangled mess, she could no longer avoid the truth. She wanted Luc. She wanted to be with him, but she wanted to be more than just another woman to take to just another hotel.

More than a groupie.

He'd called her a prude. She was anything but a prude. She didn't care if men used rough language during sex. She wrote
Honey Pie,
for goodness' sake. No, she was no prude. She was a woman hanging on to her dignity, fighting him and herself. Fighting not to fall completely in love with an unattainable man.

If he ever found out that she was Honey Pie, she supposed she wouldn't have to fight it anymore. He might never speak to her again. He might even hate her.

After he'd stood in her hotel room in Denver last week and told her it was her dress's fault that he'd kissed her, she'd sent in the March serial she'd written featuring a handsome Seattle goalie. She'd been so angry and hurt and she'd pressed send and had zipped it across cyberspace.

If Luc found out and read the March column, he'd know he was Honey's latest victim. She told herself that he should be flattered. That maybe he would be flattered. Not every man in America had the honor of being put into a coma by Honey Pie. But she really didn't believe Luc would feel honored, and that made her feel a little guilty. Of course, there was no way he'd ever connect her with Honey. He'd never know what she'd done. That didn't assuage her guilt, however.

Darby laughed at something Caroline told him and pulled Jane's thoughts from Luc. For a brief second, Jane wondered if she should warn Darby that he wasn't her friend's type, that she'd probably throw him back, but Darby looked more than happy to be caught up in Caroline's smile. Instead of warning him, Jane left him to figure it out for himself. She put her briefcase beneath her seat and forced herself to take the elevator to the ground level.

She glanced down at the navy blazer she wore over her white turtleneck. She buttoned the jacket to make sure it covered her breasts. Before Luc had mentioned that her nipples stuck out, she hadn't really given them a lot of thought. She really didn't notice her breasts much. They were small and weren't her best feature, and she just figured no one else noticed them either.

No one but Luc.

Her feet dragged a little as she approached the locker room, and she stopped by the door and listened to Coach Nystrom's inspirational speech. When he wound down, she straightened her shoulders and walked into the room. She refused to look at Luc, but she didn't need to see him to know he was in the room. She could feel him watching her. And it wasn't a good vibe.

“Hey, Sharky,” Bruce called out to her.

“Hey, there, Fishy,” she said and turned her attention to the rest of the team. She took her place in the middle of the room and recited the good- luck ritual. “Keep your pants up, gentlemen. I have something to say. It will just take a minute, and I don't want you to do that synchronized jock-dropping crap. Traveling with you guys has been an experience I won't forget. I hope this is your year to win the Stanley Cup.” She walked over to the team captain, who was in the process of pulling his jersey over his head. “Good luck with the game, Hitman.”

He shook her hand. Although the cut on his lip must have caused him pain, he smiled. “Thanks, Jane.”

“You're welcome.”

Rob had been cleared to play tonight and she moved to his stall. “How are you feeling, Hammer?”

“One hundred percent.” He stood and towered over her in his skates. “It's good to be back.”

“It's nice to see you back.” Finally she turned to Luc and walked toward him. Several locks of his dark blond hair touched his forehead, and he sat with his helmet resting on one knee. His clear blue eyes watched her approach, his gaze carefully blank. With each step she took, her stomach twisted tighter into a knot. She almost preferred his anger. Something. She stopped in front of him and took a deep breath. “You big dumb dodo.”

“Thank you,” he said, completely devoid of any emotion.

“You're welcome.” She told herself to leave, but she couldn't make herself go. “I interviewed Dion last week.”

“So? Haven't you been told not to irritate me before a game?”

Okay, so maybe he wasn't completely without feeling. He was obviously mad. Good. Mad was better than indifferent. “Yes. And you've told me not to irritate you after a game too.”

“So why are you still standing here?”

“I have everything ready for your interview.”

“Too bad.”

Time to get rough with him. “We had a deal, Martineau. If you don't keep it, I won't ever call you a dodo again.”

He stood and looked down at her. “Fine. Tomorrow after you finish shopping with Marie. When you bring her home, bring your questions.”

She smiled. “Fabulous.” Then she left before he changed his mind. When she returned to the press box, Darby and Caroline were deep in conversation about his Hermes suit.

Jane reached beneath her seat and retrieved her briefcase. She dug around inside and pulled out her day planner and a pad of Post-Its.
Interview with Luc,
she wrote and stuck it on tomorrow's page of her planner. As if she'd really forget.

During the second period, Caroline leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Look at all that testosterone on ice.”

Jane laughed. “Kind of like Campbell's Soup Stars on Ice?”

“No, kind of like a sperm bank.”

The Chinooks lost to the Florida Panthers in the last four seconds of the game, when a Panther ripped a one-timer from the blue line. Luc went down on his knees, but the puck somehow shot beneath his pads. Luc looked behind him in the net and hit his stick on the bar as the final buzzer blew.

When Jane reentered the locker room, she kept her gaze up and came face-to-face with Vlad Fetisov and his broken nose. She didn't know which was worse, looking at him above the shoulders or below the waist.

As she asked Vlad about his injury, she cast a surreptitious glance a few stalls away. Luc stood with his back to her, stripping off his armor until he was naked from the waist up. Her gaze slid down the indent of his spine to the small of his back. He turned and her throat got tight. Rising out of his shorts like an invitation to sin was his horseshoe tattoo. No wonder she was infatuated with him. Coming or going, the guy was eye candy. No wonder her brain shut down when he touched her. She hadn't had sex since Vinny, and she'd kicked him to the curb almost a year ago.

“. . . Iz just game,” Vlad finished, and she was glad she'd recorded his response because she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

“Thanks, Vlad.” Maybe it was time to get a new boyfriend. Someone to help take her mind off Luc and his lucky tattoo.

A gray mist hung over Seattle the next morning when Jane picked up Caroline and drove to Bell Town. Because of her interview with Luc later that day, Jane had dressed in her usual business clothes, gray wool pants and white blouse. Caroline wore pink suede pants and a red-and-pink-striped body shirt. She looked like she was about thirty-five years too late for her
Laugh-In
audition. On anyone else, the outfit would have been a fashion don't, but on Caroline it somehow worked.

They collected Marie outside Luc's condo and made it just in time for Marie's hair appointment. First Vonda cut the dead ends from Marie's hair, then she feather-cut it just below her chin. The cut was young and cute and aged Marie about four years.

Afterward, they walked to the Gap, Bebe, and Hot Topic, where Marie bought a leather belt with big sliver studs and a Care Bear shirt. Caroline bought a new belly button ring and a Strawberry Short Cake nail file. Jane got a Batgirl T-shirt. They talked about boys and music and which Hollywood actress was starting to look skanky. Each place they went, Marie gave Luc's Visa a thorough workout.

At the MAC counter in Nordstrom, the makeup artist applied just enough cosmetics to accentuate Marie's big blue eyes and bring out her smooth complexion. Marie chose a deep red lipstick that looked good on her, but added another year. Jane couldn't help but wonder what Luc would think of his sister looking older. She would find out shortly.

When it came to picking out clothing, Marie took Caroline's suggestions without arguing. Caroline had a way of steering people away from faux pas without them knowing they were being steered, and it didn't hurt that Caroline was tall and beautiful and dressed like a supermodel.

“Those run small,” she told Marie when she wanted to try on a size three pair of Calvin Klein stretch jeans. “Designers design for anorexic girls or little boys,” she said. “And thank God you don't look anything like a boy.” She handed Marie a size-five.

Darby Hogue showed up in the shoe department as Marie tried on a pair of Steve Madden clogs with a five-inch wedge.

“I told Darby I'd help him pick out some shirts,” Caroline said, and if Jane didn't know better, she would have sworn her friend blushed a little. Impossible, because Mensa nerds with flaming red hair were not Caroline's type. She liked them tall, dark, and free of pocket protectors.

Caroline pointed Marie to black boots with big silver buckles on the sides. “These will look fabulous with that camo skirt and belt you bought.”

Personally, Jane thought the boots were hideous, but Marie's eyes lit up and she said, “Boo-ya!” Which Jane assumed was good. Once again, listening to a teenager made Jane feel old. To counterbalance the feeling, she tried on a pair of rope sandals with two-inch heels.