But Becker remained firm. “Don’t confront Craig, kid. If it bothers you this much, I’ll talk to him, okay?”

  He glanced at his friend in surprise. “You’d really do that?”

  Becker gave a faint smile and said, “Unlike my old-timer self, you’ve still got a lot of years ahead of you. I don’t want to see your career tank just because Presley Houston might’ve decided he needed some extra cash.”

  “My two favorite players!”

  Speak of the devil.

  Brody shot Becker a look of gratitude, then pasted on a smile as Presley approached them, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. Considering there were reporters outside just dying to roast Pres for these bribery charges, the man seemed surprisingly jovial. Either the allegations didn’t concern him, or he was doing a damn good job covering up his distress.

  “Having a good time?” Pres asked.

  “We just got here,” answered Becker.

  “Well, the party’s just getting started.” Pres lifted his glass to his lips and emptied it. A second later he flagged down a waiter and promptly received a full glass.

  “Is your daughter here tonight?” Brody asked. His voice came out more eager than casual. His peripheral vision caught Becker’s mouth creasing in a frown.

  Pres looked distinctly ill at ease at the mention of Hayden. “I think she went out on the patio,” he said.

  And there was his cue.

  Brody didn’t feel bad leaving Becker in the clutches of the obviously plastered team owner. Sam had been in the business long enough to know how to handle every situation thrown at him, and he usually handled them as well as he did the puck. The man was a pro, through and through.

  Brody stepped away, glancing around the enormous ballroom for the patio entrance. Finally, he spotted the French doors and made his way toward them.

  His breath caught at the sight of Hayden’s silver-clad figure. She was leaning against the railing overlooking the grounds of the estate, her long brown hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her delectable ass hugged by the silky material of her dress.

  Christ. She was fucking edible.

  He paused at the doors, admiring her. To his surprise, she turned abruptly as if sensing his presence. Their eyes locked. And that was when he saw that her eyelashes were spiky with tears.

  He was by her side in seconds.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he demanded, resting both hands on her slender waist and pulling her toward him.

  She sank into his embrace and pressed her face against his shoulder as she mumbled, “What are you doing here?”

  “I tagged along with a friend.” He gently stroked her back. “And I’m glad I did. You look awful.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Her voice came out muffled against the front of his tuxedo jacket.

  “Oh, quit sulking. You know you’re the sexiest woman at this party.” He swept a hand over her firm ass. The feel of her warm, curvy body made his pulse quicken, but he reminded himself that now was not the time.

  “Now, tell me the reason for these.” He brushed the moisture from her lashes. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hayden.”

  She lifted her head, chin tilting with defiance. “It’s not a big deal, Brody. Just go inside and enjoy the party.”

  “Screw the party. I came here to see you.”

  “Well, I came here to see my dad.” She turned her head away and stared out at the landscaped grounds.

  The temperature had dipped drastically and the thick gray clouds littering the night sky hinted at a storm. Already the endless carpet of flowers on the lush lawn was starting to sway in the wind, sweeping a sweet aroma in the direction of the cobblestone patio.

  It was the kind of night he usually enjoyed, the moistness of the air, the hint of rain and thunder, but he couldn’t appreciate it when Hayden looked so distraught.

  And beautiful. Damn, but she also looked beautiful. The silver dress, the strappy heels, the shiny pink gloss coating her full lips. He wanted her, as strongly and as violently as he’d wanted her that first night in the bar. And not just sexually. Something about this woman brought out a protective, tender side in him he’d never known he possessed.

  “Please. Tell me what happened.”

  She hesitated for so long he didn’t think she’d say anything, but then her mouth opened and a string of words flew out.

  “I think my father is drinking too much. He blew up at me when I questioned him about it, and then he made a few remarks about bad investments.” She looked up, her eyes wide with anguish. “I’m worried he might have done some of the things everyone is accusing him of. Fuck, Brody, I think there’s actually a chance he might have bribed players and bet on games.”

  His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket, hoping to bring warmth to hands that had suddenly grown ice-cold. Damn it. He didn’t want to have this conversation, especially with Hayden. Not when his own flags were risen.

  So he just stood there in silence, waiting for her to continue and hoping she wouldn’t ask him any questions that might force him to reveal something she probably wouldn’t want to hear.

  “I don’t know what I should do,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know if he’s guilty or innocent. I have no proof he has an alcohol problem, but it’s obvious after tonight that something is going on with him.”

  “You need to talk to him when he’s sober,” Brody advised.

  “I’ve tried,” she moaned with frustration. “But he’s determined not to be alone with me. And then when we are alone, he changes the subject every time I try to bring up my concerns. He won’t let me in.”

  They stood there for a moment, silently, his arms wrapped around her body, her head tucked against his chest.

  “I never thought my relationship with my dad would get to this point,” she whispered. “He treated me like a stranger tonight. He snapped at me, cursed at me, looked right through me, like I was just another headache he didn’t want to deal with instead of his only daughter.”

  Brody threaded his fingers through her hair and stroked the soft tresses. “Did you two used to be close?” he asked.

  “Very.” She gave a sigh. “Nowadays, the team comes first.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Tell me, in all the years you’ve played for the Warriors, how many times has my father mentioned me?”

  Discomfort coiled in his gut. “A bunch of times,” he said vaguely.

  Her eyes pierced his. “Really?”

  “Fine, never,” he admitted. “But I’m just a player to your father. He’s certainly never treated me as a confidant.”

  “My dad is obsessed with the team,” she said flatly. “He’s always loved hockey, but when he was just a coach, it wasn’t this bad. Now that he owns a franchise he’s almost fanatical. It used to be about the game for him. Somehow it’s become about making money. Being as powerful as he can be.”

  “Money and power aren’t bad things to want,” Brody had to point out.

  “Sure, but what about family? Who are you supposed to rely on when the money and power are gone? Who will be there to love you?” A cloud of sadness floated across her pretty face, her expression growing bittersweet. “You know he used to take me fishing a lot? Every summer we’d rent a cabin up at the lake, usually for an entire week. We moved around so much, but Dad always managed to find a place to go fishing. I hated to fish, but I pretended to love it because I wanted to spend the time with him.”

  She moved out of his arms and walked back to the railing, leaning forward and breathing in the cool night air. Without turning around, she continued speaking.

  “We stopped going once I moved to California. He always promised we’d go back to the lake during my visits home, but we never got around to it. Though we did go out on the yacht last summer. Sheila spent the entire trip talking about her nails. And Dad was on the phone the whole time.”

  The wistful note in her voice struck a chord of sympathy in him. Despite his busy schedule, he always made sure to return to Michigan a few times a year to see his parents. In the offseason he stayed with them for a month and spent every available moment with his folks. Although it pissed him off a little that his mom refused to quit her job and take advantage of her son’s wealth, he loved being home. And they were always thrilled to have him. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever being too busy to hang out with their only child.

  Presley Houston was an idiot. There was no other explanation for why the man would pass up the opportunity to spend time with a daughter as incredible as Hayden. She was intelligent, warm, passionate.

  “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she blurted out. “There’s no point. Dad and I have been drifting apart for years. I was stupid to think he might actually value my support.”

  “I’m sure he does value it. It’s obvious he’s been drinking tonight. It was probably the alcohol that made him snap at you like that.”

  “Alcohol is no excuse.” She raked her fingers through her hair and scowled. “God, I need to get out of here. I want to go someplace where I can hear my own thoughts.”

  He glanced at his watch, nodding when he saw it wasn’t that late. “Come on. I know just the place.”

  She studied him warily, as if she’d suddenly remembered what transpired between them two nights ago. He noted her hesitation, her reluctance to let him back in, but thankfully, she made no protest when he took her hand.

  Instead, she clasped her fingers in his and said, “Let’s go.”

  NINETEEN

  “This is it? The place where all my thoughts will become clear?” Hayden couldn’t help but laugh as she followed Brody into the dark hockey rink twenty minutes later.

  She’d let Brody drive her car, but hadn’t thought to ask where he was taking her. She’d been content to sit in silence, trying to make sense of everything her father said to her tonight. Now she kind of wished she’d been more curious about their destination.

  The night guard, who Brody addressed as Bob, had let them in. He’d seemed surprised at the sight of Brody Croft showing up at the practice arena way after hours, but didn’t object to Brody’s request. After digging up an old pair of boys’ skates for Hayden from the equipment room, Bob the guard had unlocked the doors leading out to the rink, flicked on the lights and disappeared with a smile.

  “Trust me,” Brody said. “There’s nothing like the feel of ice under your skates to clear your head.”

  “I should probably mention I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid.”

  He looked aghast. “But your father owns a hockey team.”

  “We’re not allowed to talk about my father anymore tonight, remember?”

  “Right. Sorry.” He flashed a charming grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t fall flat on your ass. Now sit.”

  Obligingly, she sat on the hard wooden bench and allowed Brody to remove her high heels. He caressed her stockinged feet for a moment, then reached for the skates and helped her get a foot into one.

  “It’s tight,” she complained.

  “It belongs to a twelve-year-old boy. No figure skates here, so you’ll have to make do.”

  He laced up the skates for her, then flopped down on the bench and kicked off his shiny black dress shoes. He’d retrieved a spare pair of skates from the bottom of his locker, and he put them on expertly, grinning when he saw her wobble to her feet. She made quite a fashion statement in her party dress and scuffed black hockey skates.

  She held out her arms in an attempt to balance herself. “I’m totally going to fall on my ass,” she said.

  “I told you I won’t let it happen.”

  He took two steps forward and unlatched the wooden gate. Like the pro hockey player he was, he slid onto the ice effortlessly and skated backward for a moment while she stood at the gate and muttered, “Show-off.”

  Laughing, he moved toward her and held out his hand.

  She stared at his long, calloused fingers, wanting so badly to grab on to them and never let go. Yet, another part of her was hesitant. When she’d picked him up at the bar, she hadn’t imagined she’d see him after that first night. Or that she’d sleep with him again. Or that she might actually start to like him.

  But she did like him. As much as she wanted to continue viewing Brody as nothing more than a one-night stand who’d rocked her world, he was becoming unnervingly real to her. He’d listened when she’d babbled about art, he’d let her cry on his shoulder, he’d brought her to this dark rink just to take her mind off her worries.

  “Come on, I won’t let you fall,” he reassured her.

  With a nod of acceptance, she took his hand. The second the blades of her skates connected with the sleek ice, she almost keeled over. Her arms windmilled, her legs spread open and her skates moved in opposite directions as if trying to force her into the splits.

  Brody promptly steadied her, grinning. “Well, fuck. You’re not very good at this, are you?”

  “I told you I wasn’t,” she returned with an indignant glare. “Ask me to lecture you about Impressionist art, I can do that. But skating? I suck.”

  “Because you’re trying to walk instead of glide,” he pointed out. He clamped both his hands on her waist. “Quit doing that. Just take my hand and do what I’m doing.”

  Slowly, they pushed forward again. While his strides were effortless, hers were clumsy. Every few feet, the tips of her skates would dig into the ice and she’d lurch forward, but Brody stayed true to his word. He didn’t let her fall. Not even once.

  “There you go,” he exclaimed. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. Once she’d taken his advice and stopped treating the skates as shoes, her movements had become smoother. She felt giddy as they picked up speed, gliding along the ice.

  The boards, the benches, the bleachers—it all whizzed by her, the cool air in the arena reddening her cheeks. Although there were goose bumps dotting her bare arms, she didn’t mind the cold temperature. The chill in the air soothed her, cleansing her mind.

  She cast a sideways glance at Brody and saw he was enjoying this, too. God, he looked delicious in his tuxedo. The jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and powerful chest. When she noticed his bow tie sat a little crooked, she resisted the urge to reach out and straighten it. She didn’t want to move her arms and risk falling, so she tightened her fingers around his instead.

  He looked down at their intertwined fingers, his mouth parting slightly, as if he wanted to speak but was being cautious. She knew exactly what was on his mind, because the same thing was running through hers. God help her, but she really liked this guy.

  He was arrogant, yes. Pushy sometimes. But he also turned her on in the fiercest way, and every time he fixed those midnight blue eyes on her, every time he wrapped those big arms around her, she melted.

  They slowed their pace, and she forced her thoughts away from the dangerous territory they’d crossed into and tried to come up with a neutral topic of conversation. One that didn’t make her think of Brody, naked and hard as he devoured her body with his tongue. She’d been second-guessing their fling ever since Friday night, and now she was second-guessing her second-guessing of the fling.

  “When did you start playing?” she finally asked, deciding his career was as safe a subject as any.

  “Pretty much the second I could walk, I was learning to skate. My dad used to take me to this outdoor rink near our house in Michigan.” He chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t much of a rink. Just a crappy pond that froze over every winter. My parents couldn’t afford the membership fee for a real rink, so I used to practice my slap shots on that pond while Dad sat on a folding chair in the snow and read car magazines.”

  “Did you play on a school team?”

  “What team wasn’t I on?” He dropped her hand and began skating lazy circles around her. “In high school I played hockey, rugby and baseball in the spring. Oh, and I was on the lacrosse team until the practices started to interfere with my hockey schedule.”

  “Got it. So you were one of those guys. I bet you were voted Most Likely to Become a Pro Athlete in your high school yearbook.”

  “Actually, I was.”

  He told her a bit about his early years in the league, then made her laugh with some anecdotes about his parents and their overwhelming pride in him. At times, a twinge of bitterness seeped into his voice, giving her the feeling that his childhood was tougher than he let on, but she didn’t pry. She remembered him saying that money had been tight for his family, and it was obviously something he didn’t like talking about.

  A few minutes later, a cramp seized her leg and she wobbled to a stop, leaning against the splintered sideboards as she rubbed the back of her thigh. On the west coast she jogged every morning before heading to the university, but she was obviously not in the great shape she’d believed herself to be in. Her legs were aching, and they’d only been skating for twenty minutes.

  “Wanna take a break?” Brody offered.

  “Please.”

  They stepped off the ice and climbed up to the bleachers. Brody was an expert when it came to walking on skates. She wasn’t so fortunate. She almost pitched forward a half dozen times before she finally sank down on the bench and exhaled with relief.

  “I think I pulled a muscle in my butt,” she grumbled.

  “Want me to rub the kinks out?”

  She sighed, wishing his voice didn’t contain that husky note of erotic promise. Damn it. She couldn’t fall into bed with him. After how their conversation had ended on Friday night, continuing the fling probably wasn’t a great idea.