“We need to get a photograph of Faith with the team,” Jane said.
“Now?” She looked at the shorter woman.
“Yeah.”
“We have a whole PR campaign with Ty, so why don’t we shoot with some of the other players?” Jules suggested.
“Faith, this is Brad Marsh.” Jane introduced the stranger. “Staff photographer for the Post Intelligencer. Brad, this is Faith Duffy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Faith.” He took her hand in his. “I’m a huge Chinooks fan.”
“I’m thrilled to meet you. Especially since you love my team.”
Jules stepped out onto the ice and pointed to the defenders. “I need some of you guys to volunteer to take a photograph with Mrs. Duffy for the Post Intelligencer.”
Sam and Alexander Devereaux were the first to skate toward her, but the rest followed close behind.
“I’ll do it.”
“Count me in.”
Soon eight big defensemen, including Vlad, had volunteered.
“Let’s take the picture at center ice,” Brad suggested. “I’ll try and get some of the logo in the shot.”
Faith carefully stepped onto the ice, and Blake Conte offered his arm. “Be careful, Mrs. Duffy,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to fall and hurt yourself.”
Sam offered his arm on her other side. “Someone might have to give you CPR.”
“I know mouth-to-mouth,” Blake added, and Faith sincerely hoped she would never have to take him up on the offer. For some bizarre reason, he’d shaved his playoffs beard into a reddish blond strip of hair beneath his nose. It ran down his chin, too. Kind of like he’d gone in for a wax and come out with a Brazilian on his face.
“And chest compressions,” Sam said, whose playoffs beard was blond and kind of patchy.
Faith placed her hands on their forearms and smiled. “It’s good to know you boys are worth more to me than just looking
good, shooting pucks, and spitting.” Being the female owner of a hockey team had a few nice perks. Being escorted by two very hot hockey players was a good one.
“Look at those bastards,” Ty said from his position halfway across the ice from Faith. “You’d think they’d never been around a woman before.” The last time he’d seen Faith, she’d pulled up her shirt, then told him she was bored. Sure, he’d said it first, but he’d been lying.
First-string goaltender Marty Darche pushed the front of his helmet up and revealed his impressive facial hair. “You’ve got to admit, Saint, there aren’t a lot of women around who look like her.” He leaned back against the pipes and shook his head. “Damn.”
The photographer pointed to a few of the guys and called out, “Why don’t one of you men give Mrs. Duffy your stick?” The whole blue line rushed forward.
“I wouldn’t mind giving her my stick,” Marty said through a chuckle.
Ty liked Marty. Usually, he’d laugh at the stupid shit that came out of Marty’s mouth. Most of the time he’d add his own stupid shit and say something about eight to ten inches of good wood. Today he didn’t find any of it amusing, for some unknown reason. Maybe he was tired or dehydrated or something. He tended to lose his sense of humor when he was tired or dehydrated.
“Have you seen the pictures of her?”
“Yeah.” The damn pictures. But today he didn’t see the damn pictures when he looked at her. He saw her teasing smile and her smooth belly. He saw her eyes as she’d looked back over her shoulder and said she was bored.
The defense crowded around her for the photo and she laughed. The sound rippled across the ice. It brushed across his skin and tightened his chest. Surrounded by big, hulking men wearing skates and shoulder pads, she looked small and so beautifully female.
When he looked at her across the ice, he didn’t see the Playmate. He saw the woman he’d kissed in a hotel in San Jose. He could almost feel her sexy mouth beneath his and her hands in his hair. He could see the lust in her eyes and feel the need in her kiss. He’d kissed and been kissed by a lot of women in his life, but he’d never been kissed like that. Like an all-consuming desperation that was so hot, it made his gut clench.
“Some of you guys come out a bit,” the photographer said. “That’s good.”
Pavel was on a kick about Ty meeting Valerie, but Ty had no interest in meeting his father’s latest. Especially when chances were good that he’d have a different girlfriend in a month or two. Especially if it meant hanging out with the woman across the ice who was having a great old time laughing and giggling and turning a bunch of hockey players into slobbering idiots.