Read Online Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) by Samantha Wayland - Free Book Online Page B

Soon.
    He’d called her hotel room at midnight two nights ago to ask
if she had anything she could wear to dinner.
    “What?” she’d asked, astounded. After all this time, he was
asking her out again?
    “I have an idea. A way we might be able to help keep the
Cats going for a while longer.”
    “You do?”
    “Yes. Now do you have anything you could wear to a business
meeting? Something like that?”
    “No.”
    “Damn.”
    She’d hated the disappointment in his voice and responded
without thinking. “But I can hit the Halifax Shopping Centre tomorrow before
the game.” As soon as the words had popped out of her mouth, she’d wondered
what the hell she was doing.
    “Great! I’ll see to everything else.” And with that, he’d
hung up on her.
    Irritating bastard. What “everything else”?
    Damn lucky for him she’d actually enjoyed her sojourn to the
mall—a few minutes alone without a hockey-player-sized shadow or the constant
fear of bumping into Bobby. She’d found some great shops and even better sales—the
only reason she’d splurged on the silk thigh-high stockings and a lacy bra and
panty set. Really, she could have worn her serviceable cotton bikinis under her
new tweed wool skirt, but no way was she going to wear a Lyrca sports bra under
the white silk blouse she’d purchased to go with it. And the bra and panties
came as a set. And they were on sale. And the stockings felt so good.
    She sighed and stomped her feet again. She had spent the
last day making excuses for wearing such outrageously sexy, feminine things. The
truth was simple, though possibly perverse—it tickled her to wear a little
secret under her conservative clothes. No one would ever know. And they were
cute. And comfortable. And a good price.
    And if she kept telling herself this, she might convince
herself it made sense.
    The shoes, on the other hand, had been nothing but an
indulgence. Brown, round toe, high stacked heels and soft leather with the classic
details of a pair of men’s wingtips.
    Somehow, wearing shoes that reminded her of every stodgy old
man who’d ever told her girls don’t belong in hockey made the silk against her
skin feel even softer. Made her feel bolder. Standing a little over six feet
tall didn’t hurt either.
    Of course, why she should feel bold was another
mystery. All she knew was what Garrick’s note—which she’d discovered upon
returning from the arena at midnight the night before—said. A car would pick
her up in front of the hotel at six o’clock tonight, and she should wear the
clothes she’d bought.
    So here she was, like a well-trained lap dog, too curious to
know what the man had up his sleeve to worry about whether this was a good idea.
As much as it galled her to admit it, she trusted him and was more than willing
to go along for the ride.
    Her feet began to feel warm, a very bad sign when standing
in twenty degree weather with an even colder wind chill coming in off the ocean.
She had no choice but to go back into the lobby. She had the door handle in her
grasp when headlights streaked across the glass, the soft hum of an engine drawing
near.
    A black town car glided to a stop under the portico. The
driver immediately opened his door and stood to look at her over the roof of
the car.
    “Ms. Morrison?”
    She blinked at the trim man in black. “Yes?”
    “I’m sorry we’re late, ma’am.” He hurried around the nose of
the idling car. “Please get in and warm up.”
    She hesitated, then moved to the car. Bottom line, she trusted
Garrick.
    She slipped a leg through the door held open for her and caught
a glimpse of grey flannel trousers. It was too late to try to get in the car in
some way that wouldn’t hike her skirt so high.
    Her ass landed in the soft leather seat and she came to two conclusions.
One, heated seats were heaven. Two, Garrick cleaned up well. Really well.
    Shifting against the warm leather, she clipped on her
seatbelt and gave herself a few seconds to