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Authors: Lynda Aicher
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man to be heard was a requirement in the crowded arena.
He used the excuse and the proximity to brace his leg against Rock’s. The hard press of muscle from knee to ankle sent a jolt of awareness through the material of his jeans that surprised him. Just like the extended handshake and the small touches had buzzed through him earlier.
“Yeah,” Rock answered with a grin. He turned his head to look at Carter, his mouth just inches away. He sucked in a breath, that wide smile faltering for a second as his gaze shot to Carter’s mouth then back up. He licked his lips. “I know the PR person who reps a couple of the players. She owed me a favor.”
The urge to lean in and taste those freshly wetted lips was so strong Carter almost forgot himself. He caught the desire in time to lean back instead. “You’ll have to thank her for me.”
The hard crash of bodies slamming against the Plexiglas jerked them back to the game. He sighed in relief. What was he thinking? He was an experienced professional who didn’t get caught up in his clients.
Yet the almost-gruff military man was such a puzzle of shyness and insecurities beneath the hard-built frame and aura of confidence that each new piece of information or revelation was too enticing to back away from.
He gripped his beer and took a drink of the now-warm liquid. He’d been nursing the same drink since the first period. One beer was all he’d allow himself. Rock had stopped after two. He’d learned early to pay attention to that. He never went into a private situation with a client who was drunk. It’d taken a few bad incidents, experience and the balls to walk away before he’d gotten to that point though.
He set the cup in the holder and refocused on the game. The action was fast, thecompetition fierce. He’d accompanied men to high-class functions from the opera to formal affairs, but this game was probably one of the best events he’d been to. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was an avid fan of the local sports teams. It was almost like Rock was trying to impress him. Like this was a real date.
And wasn’t that a novelty.
The energy level buzzed around them. Fans dressed in the bright royal blue, black and gold colors of the Glaciers called out curses and taunts at the opponents while yelling for their favorite players. Blaring music filled the arena between plays and was accompanied by the booming voice of the announcer.
“Get in there, Hauke,” Rock yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. He’d unzipped his winter jacket, and the brown Henley hugged his chest and revealed a few dark hairs at the base of the unbuttoned V. “Shit.” His curse was low as the other team stole the puck and raced toward the goal.
Carter leaned toward Rock. “Hauke’s been lagging the whole game.” The Glaciers were down by one with ten minutes left in the third period.
Rock arched a brow and shook his head. “His game has sucked lately.”
“At least he’s playing better than Walters.” Carter watched the starting center fight for the puck before he took off down the ice, only to have his pass stolen by Detroit’s defensiveman.
“The whole team’s been off.” Rock grabbed for his beer but stopped when he saw it was empty.
“The playoffs are out if they don’t clean up their game.”
“Goal!” The loud boom of the announcer echoed through the area, followed by the blaring bullhorn.
The crowd sprang to its feet in a wild celebration of the much-needed score. Carter jumped up with the rest of the cheering fans and pumped his fist in celebration. Yes .
He turned to Rock and met the guy in a joint high five of hands raised over their heads. Pure excitement lit up Rock’s face, all nervousness forgotten in the fever of the game. Rock’s long fingers laced with his to grip his hands in a fierce hold. He tugged Carter forward to bump their chest in a caveman-style celebration. It was an action completed by many fans throughout the
He used the excuse and the proximity to brace his leg against Rock’s. The hard press of muscle from knee to ankle sent a jolt of awareness through the material of his jeans that surprised him. Just like the extended handshake and the small touches had buzzed through him earlier.
“Yeah,” Rock answered with a grin. He turned his head to look at Carter, his mouth just inches away. He sucked in a breath, that wide smile faltering for a second as his gaze shot to Carter’s mouth then back up. He licked his lips. “I know the PR person who reps a couple of the players. She owed me a favor.”
The urge to lean in and taste those freshly wetted lips was so strong Carter almost forgot himself. He caught the desire in time to lean back instead. “You’ll have to thank her for me.”
The hard crash of bodies slamming against the Plexiglas jerked them back to the game. He sighed in relief. What was he thinking? He was an experienced professional who didn’t get caught up in his clients.
Yet the almost-gruff military man was such a puzzle of shyness and insecurities beneath the hard-built frame and aura of confidence that each new piece of information or revelation was too enticing to back away from.
He gripped his beer and took a drink of the now-warm liquid. He’d been nursing the same drink since the first period. One beer was all he’d allow himself. Rock had stopped after two. He’d learned early to pay attention to that. He never went into a private situation with a client who was drunk. It’d taken a few bad incidents, experience and the balls to walk away before he’d gotten to that point though.
He set the cup in the holder and refocused on the game. The action was fast, thecompetition fierce. He’d accompanied men to high-class functions from the opera to formal affairs, but this game was probably one of the best events he’d been to. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was an avid fan of the local sports teams. It was almost like Rock was trying to impress him. Like this was a real date.
And wasn’t that a novelty.
The energy level buzzed around them. Fans dressed in the bright royal blue, black and gold colors of the Glaciers called out curses and taunts at the opponents while yelling for their favorite players. Blaring music filled the arena between plays and was accompanied by the booming voice of the announcer.
“Get in there, Hauke,” Rock yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. He’d unzipped his winter jacket, and the brown Henley hugged his chest and revealed a few dark hairs at the base of the unbuttoned V. “Shit.” His curse was low as the other team stole the puck and raced toward the goal.
Carter leaned toward Rock. “Hauke’s been lagging the whole game.” The Glaciers were down by one with ten minutes left in the third period.
Rock arched a brow and shook his head. “His game has sucked lately.”
“At least he’s playing better than Walters.” Carter watched the starting center fight for the puck before he took off down the ice, only to have his pass stolen by Detroit’s defensiveman.
“The whole team’s been off.” Rock grabbed for his beer but stopped when he saw it was empty.
“The playoffs are out if they don’t clean up their game.”
“Goal!” The loud boom of the announcer echoed through the area, followed by the blaring bullhorn.
The crowd sprang to its feet in a wild celebration of the much-needed score. Carter jumped up with the rest of the cheering fans and pumped his fist in celebration. Yes .
He turned to Rock and met the guy in a joint high five of hands raised over their heads. Pure excitement lit up Rock’s face, all nervousness forgotten in the fever of the game. Rock’s long fingers laced with his to grip his hands in a fierce hold. He tugged Carter forward to bump their chest in a caveman-style celebration. It was an action completed by many fans throughout the
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