“Should I be worried, Miss Lancaster of your stalker tendencies?”
Her cheeks blush to a pretty shade of pink. “Chett was the first hockey player I ever dated––I guess, hooked up with––and when he mentioned his stepdad was a hockey legend, I wanted to make sure I came prepared to your Hamptons cottage.”
I grind my teeth at the mention of my ex-stepson, jealousy curling my stomach at the idea he had her first.
“It was research,” she says. “I didn’t want to come across ignorant in case you decided to quiz me.”
Good save, sweetheart, but you just admitted to spending way too much time checking me out online.“No, I never smile. Smiling is overrated.”
“Right.” She says that with a slow nod. “We’re gonna have to disagree on that one, mister.”
I shrug. “You keep on smiling.”And dazzling me with your perfect smile.
She shakes her head. “As I was saying, while we were on the beach in the Hamptons, even though I didn’t know you had caught your wife cheating on you in your own house with the captain of the Boston team on the day you threw a birthday party for her fortieth birthday and your stepson’s twenty-fifth birthday, and I showed up at your cottage with Chett, I was intrigued by you.”
I’ve been described many ways, but I don’t think I’ve been intriguing to anyone before. What you see is what you get with me.
“The press dubs you the Roy Kent of hockey. They say you’re so intense, when you’re on the ice, it’s like you’re mad at the puck. Sure, that means you’re grumpy and brooding”––she narrows her gaze at me––“and you think smiling is overrated,but deep down inside, you have a heart of gold. Many may call you the beast on the ice, but off the ice, you’re Mr. Softy.”
What the hell? I’m more of a grizzly bear than a teddy bear.
It’s my turn to shake my head. “I’m no Mr. Softy.”
She nods. “Yes, you are. And today, I can add another title to the list.”
“Because Mr. Softy isn’t emasculating enough?”
She tilts her head back and laughs.
I’m mesmerized by the beautiful smoothness of her neck.
She reaches out and places a hand over mine.
The contact is electrifying.
Her eyes bounce up to meet mine.
She felt it too.
She clears her throat. “You, Kazimir Lindström, are my knight in shining armor. You saved me from the basement dungeon I was trapped in. I can’t thank you enough for opening your home to me.”
“You haven’t seen my home yet. I might be living in a dilapidated shack.”
She rolls her eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that.” She removes her hand from mine, and I miss her warmth. She glances around the restaurant. “Not bad for a second career. The food is amazing and it’s a full house during the lunch hour.”
Message received. We’re changing the subject.“This is a great location.”
“And a great building.”
“My best friend Erik Thornton bought the three-story building on the other side of Creamy Heaven—the ice cream shop we co-own. He bought it to launch his business once he retired from hockey.”
“Did he retire due to an injury?”
“A career-ending injury forced him to hang up his skates three years ago. It was a heart-wrenching decision, but it wasn’t all bad news for Erik. He met his MD fiancée during his rehab.”
“Oh, the injured hockey player and the doctor get their happy ever after.” She claps. “Grey’s Anatomy meets Faceoff: Inside the NHL. Love it.”
I shake my head. “I forgot you read romance books.”
