Excerpt – In Skates Trouble / Kate Meader
“Since the Great Escape, I haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on the team’s roster or their colorful nicknames. So there’s a hockey player at the dinner table. Is he house-trained or should we expect juicy belches and ball-scratching?”
“I can probably go an hour before I need to be walked.”
The ground yanked from beneath Addison’s feet.
It couldn’t be, but she’d recognize it in . . . well, the dark. It was him, her hotel room neighbor, her dirty-talkin’ fantasy man. How could he have known she’d be here?
No. It was a coincidence, nothing more. A crazy one-in-a-billion coincidence. He couldn’t know she was the woman on that balcony, the woman who had turned into a wanton sexpot with very little encouragement. And he wouldn’t know it was her.
Unless she spoke. A little late to be concerned about that because he must have already heard her speaking to Harper. What had he said about her voice? A dead man’s dick would raise the lid of a coffin on hearing that voice of yours.
Her heart jerked like a pinball around her body, her gaze following suit as she pivoted to meet the Panty Whisperer in the flesh. She had a sense of something big and blond and vaguely Viking pillaging her senses, and she quickly looked away as if that could make it all disappear.
Unfortunately the universe did not work this way.
She shot a look at Harper, trying to discern her friend’s knowledge levels. Harper didn’t give off smug or pleased, merely concerned.
Addison searched her brain for another explanation. Had he followed her? Was he a whacko nutjob after all?
Something clicked, locked, and knocked her on her ass.
This was the hockey player Harper had mentioned.
The one who had dropped by out of the blue for dinner.
The one who played for her ex-husband’s team.
Unable to avoid reality any longer, she turned to where he stood at the entrance to the salon, though “stood” was all wrong. More like “loomed.” She had underestimated his height. He was at least six feet four inches of brute strength, topped with shoulders as wide as a Buick, and further crowned with a head of dirty-blond hair that was a little on the long side. Plenty for her to hold on to.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, all sexy-serious, and her body’s reaction to that voice confirmed his lie. Her body knew that voice like a snake knew its charmer.
And worse—as if there was possibly another level to this cluster—his lie confirmed something else.
He knew who she was, even before she’d uttered a single word.
He was here. For her.
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