See Jane Score (19 page)

“Where did you hear that?” he asked.

“My biology teacher told me. And a kid in the class went to Disney World and swam with the dolphins, and he says they're really horny.”

The fork continued to his mouth and he chewed thoughtfully. “I don't remember learning about horny dolphins in school. We just dissected frogs.” He turned his attention to Jane. “I feel cheated.” Then he took all the wind out of Marie's sails. “What about you, Jane? Did you get to learn about horny dolphins?”

She shook her head and tried not to smile. “No, but I saw on the Discovery Channel that they found some homosexual monkeys in Africa. So they're fairly sure some species of monkeys also mate for pleasure.”

Luc's brows rose up his forehead. “Homosexual monkeys? How did they determine that?”

She laughed and shook her head.

A smile pushed up the corners of his mouth and little lines appeared at the corners of his blue eyes. “Black-rimmed glasses and cow pajamas?”

“Don't start that again.”

“What?” Marie wanted to know.

Jane returned his smile as she dug into her pasta. “He thinks I have ugly glasses.”

“And pajamas.”

“How do you know what Jane's pajamas are like?”

Luc looked at his sister. “I caught her at the candy machine at the hotel in Phoenix wearing the ugliest cow pajamas you can imagine.”

“I was on a chocolate run,” Jane explained. “I thought the players were all in their rooms.”

“Luc doesn't understand chocolate runs.” Marie rolled her eyes. “He only eats
healthy
stuff.”

“My body is a temple,” he said around a big bite of cauliflower.

“And anyone with long legs and big boobs is welcome to worship,” Jane added and immediately wished she could take that one back.

Marie laughed.

Luc smiled like a sinner.

Jane changed the subject before he could comment. “Who's Mrs. Jackson?”

“The old lady who stays with me when Luc is gone,” Marie answered.

“Gloria Jackson is a retired schoolteacher and a very nice woman.”

“She's old.” Marie took a bite of pasta. “She eats slow too.”

“Now, there's a reason to hate her.”

“I don't hate Gloria. I just don't think I need a babysitter.”

Luc let out an exasperated breath as if they'd had this conversation before. A lot. He reached for his glass of milk and took a long drink. When he lowered it again, a slim white mustache rested on his top lip and he sucked it off. “Why aren't you drinking your milk?” he asked Jane.

“I told you I don't like milk.”

“I know, but you need the calcium. It's good for your bones.”

“Don't tell me you're worried about my bones.”

“Not worried.” A sexy grin curved his mouth. “Curious, though.”

His words and the look in his eyes slipped inside and warmed her up in places that were better left cooled.

“Better just drink it, Jane,” Marie warned, missing the sexual innuendo between the two adults. “Luc always gets what he wants.”

“Always?” Jane asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not always.”

“Most of the time,” Marie insisted.

“I hate to lose.” His gaze drifted to Jane's mouth. “I'm a do-or-die-trying kind of guy.”

Jane glanced at Marie, who was busy pushing her broccoli to the edge of her plate. “Whatever it takes?” she asked and returned her attention to Luc.

“Absolutely.”

“What about finesse?”

“Depends on my odds.” He looked back up into her eyes and said, “Sometimes I'm forced to play dirty.”

“Forced?”

A wicked grin curved his mouth. “Sometimes I just like to play dirty.”

Yes, Jane knew that about him. She'd seen him shove and hook skates and run roughshod in front of his net. But she didn't think he was talking about hockey.

“When can I get my driver's license?” Marie broke in and thankfully changed the subject.

Both adults looked at her, then Luc leaned back in his chair and Jane breathed easier. “You're not old enough.”

“Yes, I am. I'm sixteen.”

“When you're eighteen.”

“No way, Luc.” She gulped down her milk and placed it on her empty plate. “I want a new Volkswagen Beetle. I can buy it with my own money.”

“You can't have your money until you're twenty-one.”

“I'll get a job.”

He watched her take her plate and utensils and move into the kitchen. “She's in one of her moods tonight,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“She's mad because you told her her jeans are too tight.”

“They are.”

Jane gathered her napkin in her hand and laid it on the table. “I don't think she'll have that problem now. Caroline talked her into buying clothes that fit.”

“It was very nice of you and your friend to give up your Saturday and take my sister shopping,” he said as both of them watched Marie leave the kitchen and move down the hall to her bedroom. “I can't imagine anything worse.” Luc slid his palm beneath Jane's and he studied her fingers.

“Caroline did everything.” Her hand appeared small and very white within the warmth of his, and her chest suddenly felt too tight. “I can barely dress myself. I wear a lot of black because I don't know what colors look good on me.”

“Red.” He turned her hand over and looked at her palm. Slowly, his gaze slid up her wrist and arm, past her shoulder to her mouth once more. He leaned closer, and his voice got a little deeper, hotter. “You look good in red, but I believe we've already talked about that little red dress of yours,” he said. His voice chased warm flutters across her flesh to the pit of her stomach.

“The one that hypnotized you into kissing me?”

“I've decided it wasn't the dress. It was the woman in the dress.” His thumb brushed the side of hers. “You have soft girl skin.”

She placed her free hand on her stomach as if she could still the butterflies. “I am a girl.”

“I noticed. Even when I don't want to notice you. Sitting in the back of the plane or bus or walking into the locker room after a game, ready to take on a bunch of guys twice your size, I've always noticed you, Jane.”

Nervous laughter got stuck in her throat. “Probably because I'm the only female traveling with thirty men. I'm kind of hard to miss.”

“Maybe at first.” His gaze took in her hair and face. “I'd look around and see you, and I'd be surprised because you weren't supposed to be there.” He lowered his gaze to hers. “Now I look for you.”

Even as his words made her heart beat a bit harder, what he said was hard for her to believe. “I thought you didn't want me traveling with the team.”

He placed her hand back on her napkin. “I didn't.” He stood and gathered the plates and utensils. “I still don't.”

Jane grabbed the glasses and followed him into the kitchen. “Why? I told you I'm not interested in a tell-all book.” And she wasn't.
Honey Pie
was a fictional column. Erotic fantasy. Her erotic fantasy.

He set everything in the sink, and instead of answering, he took her full glass of milk and drained it. When he lowered the glass again, she repeated her question. “Why don't you want me traveling with the team?”

His blue eyes stared into hers as he sucked his milk mustache from his top lip, and she had a feeling his answer was very important. To her. Because, though she wished it weren't happening, and no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, she was falling in love with Luc. The harder she resisted, the more the force of it pulled her under.

“I'm leaving,” Marie said as she reentered the kitchen.

For a few brief moments, Luc continued to look at Jane before dragging his gaze to his sister. “Do you need money?” he asked and set the glass in the sink.

“I have a twenty. That ought to cover it.” Marie shrugged into a snowboarding jacket and pulled her hair from the back collar. “I might spend the night with Hanna. She has to ask her mom, though.”

“Let me know either way.”

“I will.” She zipped up her coat and bade Jane good-bye. As Jane watched Luc walk his sister to the door, her gaze fell on her briefcase and she was reminded why she was in his apartment in the first place. They might be attracted to each other, but they were both professionals and she was here to do a job. She wasn't his kind of woman, and she didn't want to fall in love with a man who would break her heart like a Dorito.

She moved from the kitchen to the sofa in the living room. She unzipped her briefcase and pulled out a pad of paper and her tape recorder. Jane didn't want her heart broken. She didn't want to love Luc Martineau, but each beat of her heart told her it was too late.

When Luc shut the door behind Marie, Jane looked up at him. “Ready to get busy?” she asked.

“Are we officially on the clock?”

“Yep.” She took a pen from the pocket of her briefcase.

He moved toward her, his long stride closing the distance between them. What was it about him walking toward her, looking at her through his beautiful blue eyes, that melted her beneath his molten mojo?

“Where do you want to do it?” she asked.

“Now, there's a question,” he said through a warm sexy smile.

Chapter 13
Hat Trick: Player
Scores Three Goals in One Night

“A
re you going to sexually harass me?”

Luc folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Jane. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes. I'm here to interview you for the
Times
.
”

Damn. Her shoulders straight, her gaze direct, she was all business. Too bad. He liked harassing her. “Have a seat.” It had been a long time since Luc had seen a woman other than Gloria Jackson in his home. Since before Marie had come to live with him.

Earlier, when he'd first looked up and Jane had been standing in the living room, it had been a shock to see her, surrounded by his things. Like it had been in the beginning when he'd looked around and had seen her sitting on the team jet or bus. An out-of-place female in an unexpected place. Now, as then, it didn't take long before she seemed to fit. As if she'd always belonged.

He took a seat at one end of the couch and Jane sat in the middle. Several dark curls fell across her temple and cheek as she looked at the notepad and tape recorder in her lap. She wore her usual black pants and white blouse, and he knew her skin was as soft as it looked.

“How much of your past do you want to talk about?” she began, keeping her head bent over her notebook as she asked her first question.

“None.”

“There's been a lot written about it. You could clear the air.”

“The less said about it, the better.”

“Which bothers you the most, the stuff written about you that is true?” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Or the total fabrications?”

No one had ever asked him that question, and he thought about that for a moment. “Probably the stuff that isn't true.”

“Even if it's flattering?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She sucked in a breath and blew it out. “The women. The all-night sex stuff.”

He was a little disappointed that she would bring it up. Since she hadn't turned on her tape recorder yet, he said, “There was never any all-night sex. If I stayed up all night, it was because I was high.”

She looked down at her lap again and chewed on the inside of her lip. “Most men would probably be flattered if they were portrayed as some sort of sexual marathoner.”

He figured he must trust her or he wouldn't have told her as much as he had. So much so that he added, “If I was high and up all night, I wasn't up sexually, if you get my meaning.”

“So none of that stuff about you and the different women is flattering?”

He wondered if she asked because she was a bit of a prude and was intrigued by that sort of thing. “Not really. I'm trying to rebuild my career and that shit gets in the way of what's important.”

“Oh.” She clicked her pen and flipped on her tape recorder. “In the
Hockey News's
ranking of the top fifty players so far this season, you are number six, second among goaltenders,” she said, moving the interview away from his private life. “Last year you didn't make the list at all. What do you think contributed to your startling improvement over last season?”

She had to be kidding. “I didn't improve. I didn't play much last season.”

“A lot has been made this year about your comeback from your injury.” She sounded stiff, as if she were nervous, which was a bit of a surprise. He didn't think there was much on the planet that made her nervous. “What has been the single biggest obstacle for you?” she asked.

“Getting a chance to play again.”

She pushed her hair behind her ear and glanced up at him. “How are the knees?”

“One hundred percent,” he lied. His knees would never be what they had been before the injury. He'd have to live with the pain and worry as long as he played.

“I've read that when you started out in the junior league in Edmonton, you played center. What made you decide to become a goalie?”

Apparently she'd researched more than his sex life. For some reason, that didn't irritate him like it used to. “I played center from about the age of five to twelve. Our team goalie quit midseason and the coach looked around and said, ‘Luc, get between the pipes. You're goalie.'”

She laughed and seemed to relax a bit. “Really? You weren't born with a burning desire to stop pucks with your head?”

He liked her laugh. It was sincere and shone from her green eyes. “No, but I got real good real fast so I wouldn't get a concussion.”

She scribbled something on the notepad. “Did you ever think of going back to your former position?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Once I was in the net, I never wanted to leave. I never even thought about it.”

She looked back up at him. “Did you know that you say
aboot
instead of
about
?”

“Still? I've been working on that.”

“Don't. I like it.”

And he liked her. A lot more than he knew was wise, but looking at her, with her shiny hair and pink lips, he suddenly didn't care about being wise. “Then I guess I won't work on it—eh?” he said like a true son of Edmonton.

A smile tugged at both corners of her mouth, and she turned her attention back to the notebook on her lap. “Some people have said that goalies are different from other players. That you are a whole different breed. Would you agree?”

“That's probably true to a certain degree.” He leaned farther back into the sofa and rested his arm along the top. “We play a different game than the other players. Hockey is a team sport, except for the guy between the pipes. A goaltender plays much more one-on-one. And if we mess up, there's no one to cover for us.”

“Lights don't flash and the crowd doesn't cheer when one gets by the wingers?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“How long does it take you to shake off a loss?”

“That depends on the loss. I review the game tape, figure out how to do it better next time, and am usually over it the next day.”

“What are your pregame rituals?”

He remained silent until she finally turned her head toward him, then he asked, “Besides you calling me a dodo?”

“I'm not printing that.”

“Hypocrite.”

She shrugged. “Sue me.”

There were several things he could see himself doing to her, but suing her wasn't one of them. “I eat a lot of protein and iron the night before and the day of the game.”

“Retired goalie Glenn Hall was quoted as saying he hated every minute that he played. How do you feel about the position?”

Interesting question, he thought as he tilted his head and studied Jane. How did he feel about it? Sometimes he hated it as much as Hall had. Sometimes it was better than sex. “On the ice I am very focused and competitive. There is no greater feeling than when I'm in my zone, blocking shots and snagging pucks from midair. Yeah, I love what I do.”

She wrote something in the notebook, then flipped the page. She raised the pen and pressed it to her bottom lip, drawing Luc's attention to her mouth.

There was something about Jane that intrigued him more than any woman he'd ever known. Something more than the contradictions between Jane the prude, and the Jane who kissed like a porn queen. Something that made him want to run his fingers through her shiny curls and hold her face in his palms. Luc had been with many beautiful women in his life, physically perfect women, but he'd always been in control of his desire. Except with Jane. Skinny little Jane, with her small breasts and wild curls and deep green eyes that could look through him and see that he was up to absolutely no good. Ever since the night of the banquet when he'd kissed her, he'd envisioned taking off her clothes and exploring her body with his hands and mouth. He'd tried to avoid her, and instead he'd come close to having sex with her against a parking garage wall. And his desire for her had only gotten stronger over the past few days.

Watching her now, with her soft skin and shiny hair, he wondered why he should avoid her at all. She was in his life. She wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he. They were both adults. If he ended up with his mouth on her breasts while buried deep in her warm wet body, well, there was absolutely nothing wrong with two adults giving each other pleasure. In fact, it was probably just what they both needed. He lowered his gaze to the front of her blouse and the thrust of her small breasts. He knew it was just what
he
needed.

The telephone next to Luc rang, interrupting his study of Jane's breasts. He picked up the receiver, and it was Marie, telling him that she would be spending the night at Hanna's. “Call me in the morning,” he said and hung up.

“Marie?”

“Yes. She's staying at Hanna's.”

Jane turned toward him, pulling one knee on the couch and leaning a shoulder into the cushion next to his hand. “Do you want to talk about Marie?”

“No. I wouldn't want to say anything that would make her life any harder.”

“I think that's wise.” She glanced at the notepad, then looked up at him again. “When you look into the future, where do you see yourself?”

Luc hated that question. He was just trying to survive the season without injury, and he didn't like to think too far ahead. One play, one game, one season, that's as far as he liked to look. “I figure I'll have time to decide what to do with my life once I retire.”

“When do you think that will be?”

“I'm hoping I have at least five more years. Maybe more.”

“You are notorious for not giving interviews. Why are you so hesitant to talk with reporters?”

Luc brushed his fingers across her arm. “Because they usually ask the wrong questions.”

She watched his fingertips slide to her shoulder, and her lips parted on a soft breath. “What are the right questions?”

He placed his fingers beneath her chin and brought her gaze to his. “Ask me again why I don't want you traveling with the team.”

“Why?”

He slid his thumb across her bottom lip. “Because you drive me insane.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

He reached for her tape recorder and shut it off. “I thought if I quit looking around for you, I would forget you. I thought if I avoided you, I could get you out of my head. But it didn't work.” He took the pad of paper and pen from her hand and tossed them on the floor. Then he indulged himself and brushed his fingers through the soft curls at her temples. “I want you, Jane.” He leaned forward and held her face in his palms. He rested his forehead against hers, and to make sure she understood him completely, he added, “I want to strip you naked and kiss you all over.”

Her eyes widened. “Just last night you were really angry with me.”

“Mostly I was angry with myself because I'd made you feel like a groupie.” He brushed his mouth across hers. “I want you to know that I
don't
think for one second that you're a groupie. I know who you are, and despite my best attempts to ignore you, I can't.”

He softly kissed her lips, then pulled back to look deep into her eyes. “I want to make love to you, and if you don't stop me now, that's exactly what's going to happen.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” she said, but she didn't pull away.

“Why?”

“Because I'm a reporter traveling with you. With the Chinooks.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth and felt her melt a little. “You better come up with a better reason than that within the next three seconds or you're going to find yourself very naked very soon.”

“I'm not one of your Barbie Dolls. I don't have long legs or big breasts. I can't compete with that.”

Again he pulled back to look into her eyes, and he might have laughed if he hadn't seen that she was serious. “It's not a competition.” He pushed her hair behind one ear.