Ransom

  Nana Malone

  Contents

  1. Ransom

  2. Ransom

  3. Ransom

  4. Lexa

  5. Ransom

  6. Ransom

  7. Lexa

  8. Ransom

  9. Ransom

  10. Ransom

  11. Lexa

  12. Lexa

  13. Ransom

  14. Ransom

  15. Lexa

  16. Lexa

  Epilogue

  Also from Nana Malone

  About Nana Malone

  1

  Ransom

  I fisted my hands into blonde hair, relishing the silken texture, as I kissed the lithe woman in my arms. When she'd come on to me in the bar downstairs, I didn't think much of it. Hell, I was a Ragin' Cajun. Women threw themselves at me all the time. And considering we'd just won the championship, the after-party was like a pussy buffet.

  Usually I stayed out of the fray. I liked a little less desperation in my women. But considering I’d gotten a call from Callie earlier, I needed to blow off some steam.

  My ex-wife had a way of worming her way under my skin without even trying. Sometimes just her name was enough to do it. Oh sure, I'd thought I was in love with her once. But I'd mistaken that desperate urge, the buzz of electricity and attraction, for something real.

  You're too difficult to live with. All you care about is hockey. You never take me anywhere fun. Why don't you ever spend any money on me? Why do you want so much sex? Those were just a few of her complaints that ran on a constant reel in my head. Her biggest complaint was that I wanted too much sex. Of all the things, that was the craziest. She said I was too demanding in bed, wanted more than she was willing to give. Wanting to have sex with your wife? How was that a crime?

  I shook my head. Focus on the woman in your arms, not the woman who ran from you like her hair was on fire. The blonde melted into my arms, and I tried to focus on the party going on in my pants. Okay, not really a party. Truth was, I was on autopilot. My brain wanted to focus on other things. You probably should take that as a bad sign. Nevertheless, I tried to force my attention back to the woman in my arms. But like so many times before, when I'd hooked up with some anonymous pro-ho, I mentally replaced her with someone I hadn't thought about in a long time.

  Silky, dark hair, wide, chocolate-colored eyes, full lips that were usually running at about a mile a minute.

  It would make a lot of sense if that's what Callie looked like. But oh, no, my fantasy woman wasn't my ex. I was picturing the girl I’d barely even talked to back in high school.

  Lexa Carlisle.

  She hadn't even been necessarily the hottest girl in school. But there was something about her constant chatter, upbeat personality, and fast-talking that always made me smile. And then there was that tight, compact, little body, that guaranteed to put any guy in just the right kind of mood.

  The woman currently wrapping herself around me, cooed, interrupting my little daydream. "Oh, my God. I see the rumors about you weren't wrong."

  If I'd been paying attention, if I'd made an attempt to focus on her words, I might've understood that this hookup wasn't about her wanting to be with one of the Ragin' Cajuns. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've noticed that she was here for an entirely different reason altogether.

  But I wasn't thinking clearly. Instead, my mind had latched onto the fantasy, replacing the anonymous woman with the one I'd used as my personal, private material for far too long.

  I pictured Lexa’s dark hair sliding over my fingers. Her full lips opening under mine. How her lips would part in surprise when I picked her up and encouraged her to wrap her legs around me.

  Yeah, that was a fantasy I could get behind. And sure enough, my dick was all-in. As long as I kept pretending I was with Lexa, I was all good.

  Never mind that this woman smelled all wrong. Never mind that the way she scratched at me and attempted to climb me like a tree said that there was something too desperate about what she was doing. Never mind that as far as I was concerned, she might as well be anonymous. Yeah, never mind all that, because in my head, I was finally kissing Lexa Carlisle.

  I softened my kisses, and gently backed her against the desk in the hotel room. Because with girls like Lexa, you didn't rush things. You didn't drag off their clothes, ripping them and tossing them to the floor. You took your time. Took things nice and easy. Made it last.

  But this girl wasn't Lexa. As I kissed her, she had her hands under my T-shirt and was dragging it off with an expertise that gave me pause. But still, I held on tight to the fantasy.

  When was the last time I'd slept with anyone? Months? It would do me some good to work out some of the tension, some of the frustration.

  When she reached hurriedly for my belt, flipping the latch like a professional, I frowned. "Easy," I muttered around our kisses. She was in a hurry. Why was she in such a hurry? Because in my head, fantasy Lexa was enjoying everything. This chick, it was like she was in a hurry to get to the prize, not because we had any crazy-great chemistry or anything.

  My frown deepened and I pulled back. "Hey, what's the rush?"

  She gave me a wide smile. "You don't need to do all that, or take your time with me. I'm ready. Super excited."

  Oookay, then. Again, alarm bells tried to ring. But I didn't pay them enough attention.

  I unzipped the back of her dress, and it fell straight to the ground, the soft fabric not making any sound as it fluttered to the carpet. And, yeah, her body was top-notch. Clad in black lace and thigh-high stockings, I salivated. She might not have been exactly the woman I wanted, but I was still a guy, and she was beautiful. I leaned in to kiss her neck, and she shivered.

  Taking my belt, she finally managed to pull it through the loops, then unsnap my jeans. Yeah, it had been too long. Far too long. When she stuck her hand down my boxers, I groaned. Hell, yes. This was what I needed.

  Her breath hitched. "Oh, my God. Seriously?" She pulled back, my jeans sliding down over my hips, then off my ass, revealing my erection.

  I held still. This was the moment of truth. Ever since Callie had written that tell-all book, I found my bedroom partners fell into one of two categories—those who were up for the challenge, and those who were…not.

  Callie's tell-all had been the beginning of all my trouble. Women I encountered either wanted some insane BDSM fantasy, or they wanted to be told what to do and controlled. And that was not my style. I liked a woman who took charge of her own life.

  Of course, then there were the gawkers, who didn’t believe what Callie had said about the size of my dick, and they wanted to have a looky-loo for themselves. Half the time, I felt like an animal at the damn petting zoo.

  My anonymous partner slid her hands through the waistband of my boxers and tugged them down. When my cock sprung free, she gasped. "Oh, wow."

  Okay, so far so good. She reached out and wrapped her slim hand around me tightly. I grunted. "Easy does it."

  "I should be saying the same thing to you." She licked her lips. "I mean, I heard you had this monster dick, but I never expected..." Her voice trailed off.

  What? My brain was still fuzzy because, well, she had me by the cock. All I could think about was that I was about to get laid.

  "I mean, this is big. Maybe I could just blow you. Or you could go down on me."

  I swallowed my disappointment. "Okay. There's a lot of other—" What the hell? There was a faint clicking noise, but I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It wasn’t until then that I noticed her free hand had taken something off the table behind her. Oh, shit. Was that a phone?

  I leaned over her, as if I were going to kiss her again, all the while gently peeling her hand off my dick. When I had myself free, I tugged my boxers back up, and then I reached for the phone. Snatched it out of her hand.

  "Hey, that's my phone!"

  "Yeah, and that's my dick you were taking pictures of just now."

  She scooted back on the desk. As if afraid of me. "Are you going to punish me?"

  What. The. Holy. Fuck? I wasn't sure if I should be more worried that she was afraid, or more worried that she seemed to want to be afraid. I could kill Callie for that stupid book she'd written. In it, she talked about my epic, monster dick, and my insatiable appetite. How after a fight, we’d fuck for hours, and how she felt like she was being punished. Well, far be it from me to give multiple orgasms.

  She also talked about my brooding. "Like there was a well of anger deep inside me." Which was just bullshit, because I wasn't angry. I was quiet. But women met me and expected this brooding, crazy guy. Some of them were afraid.

  "You can't take my phone like that."

  "Yes, I can. Especially if you're infringing on my privacy. You realize that you can't take pictures of me without my permission? Pictures of my dick, no less. Ever heard of consent?"

  "What do you care? Getting pictures taken would just make you more of a legend."

  I shook my head. Seriously? What the hell was wrong with me? I clearly couldn't pick the right chicks for shit. Or maybe Callie was right. You do deserve to be alone. The deep ache in the center of my chest spread. After all, wasn't that what my father said? That I was too much trouble. He didn't want to bother to take care of me, so he'd taken off. Then Callie and that disastrous marriage. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be with anybody. Because every time I made the attempt, something shitty happened.

  "You can have your phone back. But I'm just going to do a hard system reset. What's the code?"


  She gave me a mutinous glare. "I'm not giving you the code. I've got pictures I care about on there."

  "You should've thought of that before you took pictures without my consent. Code? If you don't give me the code, you lose the phone. Your choice, really. With all these gold crystal thingies on it, I figure you care about the phone, so code."

  She stared at me as she tried to figure out if I would actually break her phone.

  This part of Callie's book probably helped me. "I will do it. Give me what I want."

  She mumbled the code and I tapped it in. First, I deliberately went and deleted all the pictures she'd taken that night. I just hoped she hadn't uploaded to a cloud server. And then I performed a hard system reset before handing her back her phone.

  "You are a supreme asshole."

  I just shrugged. "An asshole you won't be sleeping with tonight."

  I crossed to the door, yanked it open, and held it for her.

  She stared at me. "You're really going to make me leave? You're not giving me money for gas?"

  I crossed my arms. "Now, how did you get to the hotel in the first place?"

  "With friends."

  "Then I suggest you make some more so you can get home."

  She stepped back into her dress and zipped it up, cussing me out the whole time she adjusted the straps of her shoes and grabbed her purse. "You are going to regret this."

  I closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, squeezing my eyes shut tight. I already did.

  2

  Ransom

  Where the fuck was he?

  I forced myself to take a deep breath. There was no point in freaking out if there was nothing I could do to control the situation. Eddie would get there when he got there.

  Eddie Motts was the Keeper of the Cup. The cup that my teammates and I had toiled over for months. For the right to own it. The right to have it for the season. The right to be on top. Today was my day with the damn cup, and Eddie was already late. The dude hated to be called Eddie, but somehow, it was a nickname that stuck. Kind of like mine?

  Eddie was all right. A tech billionaire kind of kid. And man, did he love hockey. And that was something that he, I, and every other Ragin' Cajun had in common. Which was why I was staring out the window, like some poor teenage girl who'd been stood up for her prom.

  "Honey, scowling at the window won't make whoever you're waiting for show up any faster."

  The only woman who could make me smile these days stood right behind me, but I didn't turn around. "Mom, now is not the time. The time will be after I have what I need in my hands.” Where the hell was he? Anything could have happened.

  She chuckled. "What exactly is it you’re waiting on?"

  Nope, that was a surprise. I wasn't telling her. I'd come home from New Orleans a few weeks ago to spend time with her, and I'd arranged for the cup to be delivered here. I could just imagine what some of my teammates had gotten up to with the thing. I shuddered, pushing the thought away. All I knew was that winning wouldn't feel real to me until I had it in my hands. Each member of the team was allowed twenty-four hours with it. I had been very specific about what day I wanted. I'd requested it, and made a couple of deals to get it. I checked my watch again. Six-fucking-AM, and there was no bloody cup.

  "Mom, why aren't you in bed enjoying breakfast?" I’d made all her favorites. Okay, so the croissants were from Mills Bakery in town. But I'd made the eggs and pancakes on my own.

  "Sweetheart, just because you need 4000 calories a day, doesn't mean I do. And my Lord, where did you get the lox from? It tasted fresh."

  "You let me worry about that, Mom. It's your birthday. I wanted the day to be special for you. So, can you please go upstairs, and enjoy your morning?"

  "You know I can't lay around in bed. Come on, let's spend the day together. I took it off, just like you said. And you know how I love to work."

  She was a features reporter for the Hope Gazette, as well as the town librarian. She'd always worked too hard.

  I nodded. "We will spend the day together. But this part is important, so I need you to go upstairs and lay down. Get a book. Something. Just relax for once." Ever since I was a kid, I had watched my mother run herself ragged. She always said she enjoyed it. But as newspapers had cut their staffs, and she'd been reduced to working on features, she'd added the library, too. And until I'd made it into the majors, she'd often picked up odd jobs around town when money was tight. Sometimes even going to the city to work on weekends.

  As soon as I'd hit the majors, though, I'd put an end to that. I paid off her house, because she refused to move to anything bigger. And I'd made sure that she only worked because she wanted to, not because she had to take care of me. I even bought a small patch of land in town and built a little place on it, just so I could look out for her during the off-season.

  Though, while she appreciated having me home, she’d already said more than once that she didn't need me hovering over her. But coming home was as much for me as it was for her. Not like I had any kind of life, anymore. Not since Callie.

  No. I was not thinking about her today. "Just do me the favor and go upstairs."

  "What are you planning anyway?"

  "You'll see. Now upstairs. Go."

  For once, my mother listened to me. I grinned as she turned around and mumbled underneath her breath. Never in her life had Sherry Cox ever listened to anyone. Someone should write an article about that. And thank God she'd gone, too, because the moment she rounded the stairs and I heard her footsteps on the landing, there was a knock at the door. "About fucking time."

  I yanked open the door and glowered at Eddie. "You're fucking late."

  Eddie blinked rapidly, but he held his ground, and I had to respect that.

  Eddie rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Handsome. My maps app sucks. I need you to sign here."

  I ignored Eddie's use of my nickname as I signed the paper attached to the clipboard. Eddie'd done it on purpose, because I was being a dick. Eddie was a good guy. And I needed to check my attitude. I'd been telling myself that for months. Shit, nearly two years, now. Problem was, it wasn't getting any easier to do so.

  I'd sort of settled into my role as team grump. Unfortunately, being an asshole didn't stop my teammates from messing with me. Or the press, for that matter. They all used that goddamn unfortunate nickname. And there was no fucking changing it. Not since that New City Post article had dubbed me Handsome Cox. Once it was out, everyone used it.

  I handed the clipboard back to Eddie and modulated myself this time. "Sorry. It's for my mom's birthday." Just because you feel like a churning cement grinder inside, doesn't mean everyone needs to know you're a twat.

  Eddie shrugged. "No big deal. I know how much this means to you. Can't imagine what it's like for you. I’ll call you tonight and we can arrange pick-up for the morning."

  I nodded. "Yeah. That's cool." I hesitated. "Anything I need to know? You know, about what the cup's been through lately?"

  Eddie shuddered. "You don't want to know. I had it cleaned though, so enjoy it. Have a good day."

  I chuckled and nodded. "I plan on it. Mom's gonna go nuts when she sees her."

  Eddie's brows popped. "Her?"

  I pinned him with a glare, but Eddie didn't budge off the front step. Damn. I was losing my touch. That look usually made goalies cower. Not Eddie though. "Yes, her. The Cup is a she. Like a car or a boat. She’s for my Mom. I wanted to win it for her. So…" Shit. Did I sound as lame as I thought I did?

  Eddie smiled at me. "That's cool, man. Have a good day. The cup's already had one too many adventures. Maybe a quiet day home with your mom is just what the poor thing needs. Please don't tell me your mom is the jump-out-of-a-plane type. Because I may have a heart attack if she does it with the cup."

  I couldn't help it. I chuckled low, the thought of mymother jumping out of a plane with the cup strapped to her back, screaming, made me laugh. "That would be hilarious."